His head bobbed now, matching the tempo of his foot. “And that bothers you?”
Violet wasn’t sure how to answer. It’s not like she’d never considered the question before: Did it bother her to find those who’d been killed? Would she rather not be drawn to unsettled bodies? That depended, she supposed. She liked helping, being useful, and the team had given her the ability to do some good with her strange talent. And she didn’t mind the dead, necessarily; they certainly deserved to be at peace.
But would she rather be like everyone else? Maybe.
Probably.
She picked at a hangnail on her index finger, making it worse when she tried to rip it free and leaving an angry red strip of raw skin in its place. “I don’t know,” was all she could come up with for a response.
Dr. Lee let it pass. “Okay. Well, how’s everything else going this week? Anything happening at home? Is there anything with your friends or your boyfriend that you want to talk about?”
This time the smile was genuine and Violet’s cheeks flushed as her eyes lifted to meet Dr. Lee’s gaze. “Everything’s good. Really good. Especially with Jay. He gets me, you know?”
“And you mentioned before that he knows about what you can do?” He’d picked up her file and was leafing through it now, looking at old notes he’d written. “You two have known each other since you were seven?”
She nodded. “He’s the only one of my friends I’ve ever told.”
Dr. Lee leaned forward, his pale eyes intense. “So you trust him with your secrets?”
There was a note in his voice, something that made Violet hesitate as she tried to place it. “Completely. Jay would never betray me.”
“What about other people’s secrets? Have you told him about the team? What the others can do?”
Violet stiffened now, wondering what Dr. Lee was insinuating. Did he think Violet was revealing top-secret information to Jay? She understood that she needed to be discreet; Sara had been more than clear that what they did at the Center was confidential.
“He knows I’m working with Sara, but he doesn’t know what I’m doing. Or what anyone else is doing either. I haven’t told him anything.” She hated feeling like her loyalty was being questioned. Dr. Lee was supposed to be helping her. He was supposed to be on her side, wasn’t he?
His face smoothed over once more, his expression becoming placid, unruffled. He was obviously satisfied by her answer and he leaned back, running his palm over his too-crisp, too-blue jeans as if there may have been a wrinkle that needed straightening. “What about the other team members? You’ve said before that you don’t think some of them care much for you. Do you still feel as if you’re having trouble fitting in?”
Violet was flustered by the change of topic, and she wondered if her confusion—and her misgivings about his questions—were simply other side effects from the dead girl she’d discovered the day before. Clarity wasn’t exactly her strong suit in the wake of finding a body.
Besides, she supposed it was Dr. Lee’s job to dig into her personal life, to pry. And she reminded herself that he had been making things easier for her.
An image of Gemma flashed through Violet’s mind. Gemma Kidder was the one team member who had gone out of her way to make Violet feel unwelcome in the two months since Violet had joined their group. Violet kept hoping that something would change between them, that maybe Gemma was one of those people who had a hard time warming up to new people, and that eventually her cool exterior would thaw and they’d find a way to get along. Or at least be civil to each other.
But so far, all she’d gotten from Gemma were icy stares and cold shoulders.
On the flip side, there were Sam and Krystal and Rafe.
Violet didn’t know Sam all that well yet—she’d only met him a few times—but what she knew of him, she liked. With Krystal, it was different. She’d felt that instant connection. In some ways, Krystal reminded Violet of her best friend, Chelsea. Well, in the sense that she was loud and sort of obnoxious. But that was pretty much where the similarities ended. Where Chelsea didn’t mind being thought of as overbearing—and probably tried to be, for the most part—Krystal was oblivious to it. She would probably feel terrible if she realized how disruptive she tended to be. Even when she was trying to be quiet, Violet realized early on that Krystal seemed to be almost incapable of whispering. Add that to her loud sense of style—her constantly changing hair colors and lipsticks, her brightly colored tights and biker boots, and multiple ear and eyebrow piercings—and Krystal stood out like a sore thumb. But she was also very calming. Her presence was reassuring, soothing. It was a strange combination.
Rafe, on the other hand, was not soothing. His intense blue eyes made her feel like he could look right through her, boring into her whenever he watched her. And even now, her fingers tingled as if they’d just brushed against him, despite the fact that he was nowhere near. . . . That phantom spark.
What was that all about anyway? That static she felt whenever their skin met? She didn’t understand it, yet she knew she wasn’t the only one aware of it. Rafe had to sense it too. She’d seen it in his reaction, watched him flinch in response. But neither of them ever mentioned it, like an unspoken secret.
“It’s better,” Violet lied. “I think I was just nervous at first.” She purposely avoided saying Gemma’s name. She didn’t want to talk about her; she’d had enough drama for one day, she thought, recalling the incident in PE with Jacqueline.