the telepath | vii

WHERE DO YOU BELONG?

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It's safe to say that from that point on, I wasn't exactly very social.

I spent most of my days holed up in my room, only emerging for meals, and even then, keeping mostly to myself. No one seemed to notice my absence, and I wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. I never really felt like I fit in. In fact, I wasn't even sure if I'd ever fit in at all.

By now, I could recall every detail of my ceiling from countless hours spent lying on my bed, hair splayed out, sighing like a moody teenager in a cliché movie. Today was no different.

That's when I heard the voices.

People were outside my door, speaking in hushed tones clearly meant to be private.

"That's not fair, Olive," Emma's airy tone argued. I could almost see her, arms folded and eyebrows furrowed.

"I know what I heard. She was all over him the first week, then to say something so cruel— That's what's not fair," Olive's voice, quieter but still audible, carried a genuine tone of upset rather than anger. However, having eavesdropped in the first place, I felt no sympathy. What did she know about the situation? Why was it her place to say anything when she wasn't even involved?

"What does he think of this?" Emma asked, clearly exasperated.

"He— he doesn't care. He never liked her anyway."

He never liked her anyway.

The words echoed in my head, making my heart sink and my stomach twist even tighter. I knew who they were talking about. Enoch. He never liked me. What I'd told Emma was true—I didn't like him the way she might have liked Abe—but after spending so much time together, I'd hoped we'd at least be friends. Still, I couldn't understand why the comment stung so much. But I knew I'd had enough of the conversation.

It took no more than three steps to reach the door and swing it open, glaring at the guilty faces before me.

"Maybe next time you talk about someone, you should check if their room is occupied," I snapped, brushing past them without a second glance.

My shoulder bumped Olive as I passed, not intentional but satisfying nonetheless. The brief contact allowed me a glimpse into her mind—she was scared. Scared I'd steal Enoch, scared I'd steal Emma, scared she'd be pushed out and replaced by me.

Despite pitying her, my anger didn't subside. Why hadn't she just talked to me? She'd seemed so nice at first; I'd almost considered us friends. Clearly, I was wrong.

I wasn't sure where I was heading, but I needed to get away. The library was out—too many older ones with too many questions. Instead, I found myself in the garden, letting the warm sun wash over me, back in my travel clothes because the sight of the dress Emma had lent me made me feel sick.

I longed to go back to the time when I felt like I was becoming part of this family. When Emma gave me her dress, and Olive taught me about everyone's peculiarities. When Enoch let me watch him work. Well, that last one was my fault for not trying to reach out to him, but the point still stood.

No, scratch that. I wanted to go back to Ireland. I missed our tiny home, my dog, my mum, and my friends.

Without realizing it, I'd started crying, tears streaming down my face as sobs wracked my body. I wrapped my arms around myself tightly, wishing for some privacy in this enormous house. It was ironic to be surrounded by people yet feel so alone. The humor wasn't lost on me, but I was in no mood to laugh.

"Don't cry, Bobby. What's wrong?" A small voice broke through my sobs.

"Wha—?" I looked up to see Claire. She'd caught me off guard with the nickname only my mother used, but I didn't say anything. She didn't need to be burdened with my troubles. This was embarrassing enough as it was.

"Oh, I'm okay, Claire. Just a little homesick," I admitted, accepting her hug as she cuddled into me on the grass.

"Sometimes I get homesick too," she whispered, and for some reason, her small confession was a big reassurance.

After sorting myself out and cleaning up my face, I spent the rest of the day playing with Bronwyn and Claire. Silly games for little girls, but they kept me from thinking about anything else. It felt good to act like a kid again, and by the time supper was called, I realized today had been the longest I'd been out of my room in weeks. It felt good.

Our daily walk passed uneventfully, though I made more of an effort, talking to the younger children. They were easy to talk to, and I felt guilty for distancing myself because of something so stupid. For someone who could enter other people's minds, I spent an awful lot of time in my own—a bitter irony not lost on me.

Before supper, Emma apologized, and I did too for overreacting. We hugged and made up, but Olive remained silent. At supper, I sat in my usual spot, feeling slightly better knowing I could talk to the others if needed. I even wore Emma's dress again; it made me feel more like them, like I actually fit in with this peculiar family.

"You haven't stopped by in a while..." came a quiet voice beside me, the distinct Scottish accent making me catch my breath.

Instinctively, I looked towards Olive, almost scared to speak with her around, but she was engrossed in a conversation with Victor.

"I haven't had the need," I half-lied. His work didn't bother me anymore; I actually found his presence calming, but I still couldn't sleep. My mind was too busy. I didn't know what was going through his head after what Olive probably told him.

Enoch nodded and looked back at his food. Instinctively, my hand moved to touch his, seeking a glimpse into his mind. At the last second, I pulled away, thankful he didn't notice. I couldn't do that to him; it wasn't fair. If he had something to tell me, he would. Besides, I wasn't sure if anyone besides Miss Peregrine knew my peculiarity was through touch.

"Enoch, I'm sorry. I really want us to be friends. I— I shouldn't have said what I did. I really am sor—"

"But you did say it, didn't you?" he interrupted, his voice low to avoid alerting the others, but his tone unkind.

He shook his head, continuing to cut up his food, avoiding my gaze.

"I don't need an apology, Robyn. I don't care about your opinion of me. Maybe it's time you grew up and stopped moping around. Then you'd have something more to talk about than plain gossip."

With that, I slammed my cutlery down, forcing the room into silence. Even Enoch looked startled as I stood abruptly.

"May I be excused?" I asked politely, my eyes pleading with Miss Peregrine.

Under other circumstances, she might have said no, but she simply nodded and reminded me of my evening chores before sending me off.

Little did she know, I wouldn't be here for evening chores. There was no way I would spend another night here. It had only been a month or so since I moved, so returning to my time wouldn't be an issue. Maybe the driver would take me back to the mainland. He seemed friendly enough for a good sob story. Getting back to Ireland would be harder, but if I could just get to a phone, I knew my mam would come for me.

The point was I had to get out of here. I'd never be one of them. It seemed dramatic, but even after a day of talking to the other peculiars, I still felt like a guest. A new plaything for the younger ones and a major inconvenience for the older.

Quickly, I changed back into my travel clothes and packed my few belongings, including the pictures on my wall. I laid Emma's dress carefully on my bed, leaving a small note of thanks. She'd only ever been kind to me.

I just didn't belong.

With that, I climbed out of my window, down the side of the house, and ran across the grounds to the loop entrance and out to 1963.

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A/N

Hello! It's been a while since I last updated this story. I've come across a couple of plot holes in my drafts, but I finally have some time to start working on them.

Thank you to all of you who have been following this story. I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

- Andrea x