“The portal on your wall is like an access key that will follow you wherever you go. It can also deliver premonitions and warnings. For contacting the Keepers on demand, you’ll have to figure it out on your own. It’s different for everyone. For me, it’s the teacup. Stirring a certain way and clinking the sides of the cup sends them a signal. Your summons seems to be EMDR. It’s unique for each of us, like fingerprints. You can try in therapy.”

“On my own?”

“Your purpose and your journey depend solely on you.”

I eagerly jolt across the Green to Jennifer’s office my second week back on campus. I’m sweating and out of breath by the time I knock on the door.

“Oh my goodness,” Jennifer says in surprise. “Have you been running? Is someone chasing you?”

She tilts her head out and looks down the hallway behind me.

“I just felt like running today.”

“OK, well, I guess any exercise is good. Come in. Grab some water. Sit.”

Her office smells sweet like freshly cut grass, not lavender or rose anymore. I notice new air fresheners hanging on the wall behind her. Garden Fresh and Fields of Spring. I inhale deeply to soak in the scent.

“Smells good in here now, like spring,” I say, uneasily trying to deflect from the pressure of figuring out how to call the Keepers.

She smiles softly. “So, tell me. How was your trip home? I want to hear all about it.”

I don’t want to talk about my life right now. I want to figure out how to use my supernatural powers. I wish she could just sit there silently while I try various methods, but that would be ridiculous. The thought of it makes me giggle.

“Is something funny?”

“No, I’m sorry. I was just thinking about something that happened in class the other day. My trip home was fine. My family is doing a lot better than when I started here in the fall. Everyone’s hanging in there.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m glad to hear that.”

Since the Keepers stare, I assume I should call them through my eyes somehow. I try an assortment of things: opening and closing my eyes, pulling the lids back and bulging them out, rolling them in circles, even crossing them. I have to be subtle. I quickly do these things when Jennifer looks away or writes something on her notepad. None of it works.

“Have you had any more episodes of seeing things that weren’t there?”

“No, actually. I think it’s finally stopped.”

“Wow, that’s incredible. I wonder if the work we’re doing here had an impact. I’m sure it must have. You’re really making strides.”