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- Herausgeber: Ryer Publishing
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
Retired psychology professor Dr. Winifred Parsons spent decades studying the human psyche as a scientist and academic. But she also explored it from another angle: Winnie Parsons is clairvoyant.
Now Winnie uses her psi talent to help clients resolve mysteries that are outside the reach of standard investigations.
The path to justice might be twisted, but Winnie always finds a way.
A Mind for Mysteries includes five original Winnie Parsons mysteries:
THE GENIUS TRACK: A high school academic star needs Winnie to unlock her troubled mind.
A MAN OF APPETITES: An ambitious entrepreneur assumes no one can uncover his secrets.
A DROP OF SWEAT: A cutting-edge scientist hires Winnie to find out who destroyed his lab.
THE LONG GRAY HOOK: Winnie investigates the medical mystery hobbling the university’s dance students.
THE SLIP OF A RIB: Winnie’s work at the local animal shelter leads to a mystery that only she can solve.
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A MIND FOR MYSTERIES
5 WINNIE PARSONS MYSTERIES
ROBIN BRANDE
RYER PUBLISHING
A Mind for Mysteries
5 Winnie Parsons Mysteries
By Robin Brande
Published by Ryer Publishing
www.ryerpublishing.com
Copyright 2021 by Robin Brande
www.robinbrande.com
Cover art by byemoke/Deposit Photos
“The Genius Track” ©2021 by Robin Brande. Published by Ryer Publishing. Cover art by rb.octopus.vc/Deposit Photos
“A Man of Appetites” ©2021 by Robin Brande. Published by Ryer Publishing. Cover art by dmirgorod/Deposit Photos
“A Drop of Sweat” ©2021 by Robin Brande. Published by Ryer Publishing. Cover art by vectorvalera/Deposit Photos
“The Long Gray Hook” ©2021 by Robin Brande. Published by Ryer Publishing. Cover art by osbkin_/Deposit Photos
“The Slip of a Rib” ©2021 by Robin Brande. Published by Ryer Publishing. Cover art by olgacov/Deposit Photos
Cover design by Ryer Publishing
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
CONTENTS
Introduction
The Genius Track
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
A Man of Appetites
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
A Drop of Sweat
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
The Long Gray Hook
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
The Slip of a Rib
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
About the Author
Also by Robin Brande
INTRODUCTION
I have always loved any book I can get my hands on about ESP, psychic powers, clairvoyance, any of it.
Fiction, non-fiction, all of it. Give me, please.
But what I’ve always wanted to know is how someone with those powers lives his or her everyday life. What do you do when you can see, hear, and know what other people can’t? Do you still bake cookies, walk your dog, go to Target? If so, how are those experiences different?
This collection of mysteries about retired psychology professor and clairvoyant Dr. Winifred Parsons is my exploration of that. I wanted to write a life that wasn’t all flash and dazzle and jazz hands. For Winnie Parsons, her psi ability is just like any other talent someone might have. And she treats it the same way an athlete or musical genius might treat his or her own talent: by trying to get better at it all the time.
I hope you enjoy this collection as much as I loved writing every story in it. As you’ll see, I also took the opportunity to weave in some of the cool frontier science I’ve researched over the years. Can’t get enough of that, either.
Now let’s go see what Winnie and her yellow Lab Clover are up to over the Thanksgiving holiday in THE GENIUS TRACK. Enjoy!
~Robin Brande
THE GENIUS TRACK
1
Selena Martez scrunched down further into her crimson fleece hoodie and leaned against her mother while they waited for Dr. Parsons to answer the doorbell.
“It will be fine,” her mother said. Although Selena could tell from her voice that she wasn’t so sure, either. “If you don’t like her, we won’t stay.”
Selena nodded. She felt tired again this morning. Exhausted to the bone. Yet her nerves were buzzing now like bees inside her blood. She clenched her teeth together and tried to force herself to stop shaking.
She wanted to be here, but she didn’t. The whole thing sounded so weird.
But also, in a way, exciting.
If this were a TV show, she would watch it. But to be living it instead …
Selena and her mother stood in front of a brightly blue painted wooden door set within a high stucco wall that surrounded Dr. Parsons’s house. An old, branchy mesquite tree stretched tall and wide above them, shading the front entrance.
The houses in this neighborhood looked old, as old as some of the buildings at the University of Arizona a few blocks away. From what Selena’s mother said, a lot of professors lived in the area since they could walk to work.
Besides the big mesquite tree, there were lots of pretty desert flowers clumped all around the front walkway: white oleanders, pink Mexican primrose, red and purple salvia. All of them still held their blooms this late in November.
Selena always liked this time of year best—or at least she used to. By Thanksgiving, the heat of Tucson’s endless summer finally gave way to the desert’s version of fall. She could dress in thick, fluffy clothes, wear thick wool socks around the house. It was like living somewhere north for a few months, just like Selena always dreamed of doing.
And her birthday was in November, which used to feel special, too. She was seventeen now. Finally a senior at Desert Wells High School. On track to apply to the best universities on both coasts—Stanford, CalTech, Princeton—along with her own hometown University of Arizona.
If she lived long enough to do it.
For the past month Selena had felt like a full-time science experiment rather than a student. What tests hadn’t the doctors done? Blood work, brain scans, extensive neurological work-ups—while Selena had to work harder than ever to keep up with her classes.
A lot of seniors were over school by now. They felt like coasting. Taking as few classes as possible. Just getting through it so they could get on to college or work or whatever their dreams of adulting looked like.
Selena was taking a full load, plus.
It was the plus that had her the most worried. If she couldn’t hack it in Mr. Spence’s Genius Track, then she might as well kiss all those universities goodbye.
It was why she and her mother decided to come to Dr. Parsons. To try something different, some drastic.
When her mother first pressed the doorbell embedded in the stucco wall, Selena had heard a dog bark from somewhere inside the house.
Now the bright blue door opened, and she saw the dog before she noticed the woman.
Selena knelt down, not even bothering to ask if she could pet the gorgeous yellow Labrador. Selena and dogs always understood each other. The dog tilted her head, inviting Selena to scratch her behind the offered ear.
“What’s your name?” Selena asked the dog, as if expecting the Lab to answer.
“This is Clover,” Dr. Parsons said. “She always knows who she likes.”
Selena glanced up from where she crouched. She pulled the hoodie back a little so she could see the woman standing behind the dog.
Dr. Parsons looked shorter than Selena, maybe only five-foot-three or four. She reminded Selena a little of her grandmother. Small, but sturdy. Not so skinny that you might be afraid of breaking her if you hugged too hard.
The doctor had wavy, chin-length, blondish-white hair that looked damp on the tips, as though she’d only just stepped out of the shower and toweled her hair dry.
She wore comfortable-looking, stretchy gray pants and a sky-blue T-shirt underneath an oversized green plaid flannel shirt.
From where she knelt in front of the Labrador, Selena could see the heels of Dr. Parsons’s thick gray wool socks poking out of the back of her fleece-lined slide-in shoes. They might even be slippers, although Dr. Parsons seemed too dignified to meet her guests at the door in anything other than formal shoes.
Dignified, but casual. Dr. Parsons wore no makeup. Her only jewelry was a plain gold wedding ring. She wore glasses with black plastic frames that made her look like the college professor she once was.
Behind the glasses Selena could see Dr. Parsons’s calm green eyes gazing down at her, studying her. The doctor was obviously as curious about Selena as Selena was about her.
Dr. Parsons smiled, a genuine and friendly smile.
Selena looked away, suddenly feeling shy. She went back to petting Clover.
But she could feel the tightness in her shoulders and her chest start to loosen.
She let out a quiet breath. Her heart wasn’t thumping quite so hard as it had on the drive over.
Maybe this would be all right. Maybe it would help.
They had only been with Dr. Parsons for a minute or two, but already something about the woman made Selena feel safe. Maybe it was her friendly dog, whose tongue was lolling out as she panted against Selena’s cheek.
Or maybe it was because Dr. Parsons’s smile seemed real. She didn’t look as scary or as stern as some of the other doctors.
Selena already knew from her mother before they even came here that Dr. Parsons would be different.
That might be good … or not.
“How are you both?” Dr. Parsons asked.
“A little nervous, to be honest,” Selena’s mother said.
“Understandable,” said Dr. Parsons. “Please come in.”
Selena still hadn’t said anything to Dr. Parsons. She felt more comfortable talking to the dog.
Clover the yellow Lab turned around now and trotted along the brick pathway of the courtyard inside the high wall. Selena stood up and closed the gate securely behind her before following the others.
There had been at least two security cameras in different spots at the front of the house, and Selena saw two more inside the courtyard, aimed in separate directions.
She noticed things like that. The cameras made her feel safe, too.
Some people might see them as invasions of their privacy, but Selena wouldn’t mind having a camera watching her all the time.
Something had happened to her recently—she could feel it, she knew it—but as hard as she tried to remember, she had no idea what it was.
And when she tried to tell the doctors that whatever was wrong with her had started then … once she confessed that she had no memory of it, no proof, they all acted like she was just some overdramatic teenage girl trying to pretend she had some strange disease.
Especially since none of them could find out what was wrong with her.
Even though something definitely was.
Selena lagged behind, not only to note the cameras, but also to take in the beauty of Dr. Parsons’s courtyard. Unlike the front yard, this didn’t look like the desert at all.
Trees and flowers crowded the dirt beds on both sides of the brick pathway. To the left, several lush olive trees grew tall against the wall. Beneath them bloomed masses of yellow and white daisies, red and purple pansies, and pale pink honeysuckle.
To the right of the pathway, purple sweet pea flowers climbed up a trellis set against the tan stucco house, and closer to the front door another trellis took over, where a bright magenta bougainvillea spread its arms and offered its blossoms to the sun.
Everything smelled earthy and fresh, and the flowers gave the air a light and pleasant perfume. It was spring inside the courtyard. Selena’s fingers and face felt warm. Just a few minutes ago, she thought she had been enjoying the November cold, but now she liked this better. If the others weren’t already inside the house, she would have stayed out here longer.
She hurried now to join them.
Clover was waiting at the open door, wagging her thick tail. Selena bent down again to pet her smooth yellow head. Then the dog led her onward into the cozy living room.
The floor was brick, covered by two large Asian rugs. Overhead the ceiling was made of dark wooden planks set between thick wooden beams.
The furnishings were homey: dark blues and forest greens for the couch and love seat and deep-cushioned chair across from them, knitted or crocheted throws draped over them in case someone got cold (Selena wasn’t. The temperature in here was perfect), everything made of wood or stone or fabric, nothing cold or harsh like metal and glass.
A small, cheerful fire crackled in the brick-lined fireplace at the far end of the room. Beside it, tucked into the corner, was a plush green dog bed. It looked big enough that Selena could curl up on top of it herself, and still leave room for Clover.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Dr. Parsons offered. “Coffee, water?”
Selena and her mother both said no.
But the coffee smelled delicious, coming from the adjoining open kitchen. Selena also smelled cinnamon. Maybe Dr. Parsons had been baking.
Natural light streamed into the kitchen from a window above the sink and from the skylight over the dark brown granite-topped island. The cabinets were all made of dark mesquite wood. The refrigerator, oven, and other appliances were all a shiny black. Two long oval braided wool rugs covered the worn oak floors on either side of the island.
Selena had never been inside a mountain cabin, but she could imagine it looking exactly like this. Right here in the middle of the city.
Everything felt comfortable and welcoming and clean.
Selena’s shoulders dropped another few inches.
This was nothing like the cold and angry hospital. Nothing like any of the many doctors’ offices she’d had to go to, all of their rooms so stark and loud and gritty, no matter how clean they might have looked to anyone else.
Selena had a feeling for places. She didn’t talk about it much, because people thought she was weird whenever she did. But her mother at least pretended to understand.
This place … was good. Selena could feel it in her blood.
Clover stood right up against her, leaning into Selena’s leg.
“Yes,” Selena told her mother. “We can stay.” To Dr. Parsons: “Tell me what I have to do.”
Selena pushed back the hood of her hoodie and let it fall free behind her.
“Have a seat,” said Dr. Parsons. “I’ll tell you what I see.”
2
Dr. Winifred Parsons, age sixty-eight, Winnie to those who knew her, had resisted her calling for most of her life.
She found ways around it: pursuing her PhD in Psychology, becoming Chair of her department, writing well-respected textbooks in her field of Consumer Psychology.
She did not, as someone like her might have, assume any role in the growing field of parapsychology, also known as Consciousness Studies, Psi Research, or other equally intriguing names.
The University of Arizona, where she had spent most of her esteemed career as a professor, had a well-known and highly-regarded program for studying parapsychology and consciousness-based healthcare. Students came from all over the world to learn what had been discovered so far—and what more could be discovered every single day—about the deep and mysterious workings of the human mind.
Despite the long and well-documented history of psi research conducted by scientists for over a century, some scientists still treated the topic as fringe. As mythology. As unworthy of receiving grant money and lab space and funds from the private sector or universities, when there were so many other, worthier and weightier discoveries that deserved time and money and attention.
But Winnie never felt that way. She admired her colleagues’ research. So much so, she herself was Test Subject Number 2143, a frequent visitor to the parapsychology lab and enthusiastic participant in all manner of experiments and studies.
As long as she could remain anonymous.
It was during one of those experiments that she met her husband Joe, gone now these past three years.
It was Joe’s idea that Winnie change course. Stop pretending. Finally do what she was meant to do.
Winnie had been clairvoyant ever since she remembered. Of course, in her childhood no one called it that. They said she had visions. Prophetic dreams. Spooky knowings. Or the catch-all term, that she was psychic.
But there were a wide variety of specializations within the psychic spectrum. Some people were gifted mediums who could communicate with those who had died. Others were medical intuitives who could identify abnormalities within a body as though they had X-Ray vision.
There were people like Winnie who could hear and see events taking place elsewhere as though watching them on a TV. Others could read minds. Some, using psychokinesis, could move physical objects through the power of their thoughts.
Winnie was not a medium. And despite trying, she had never developed the knack for psychokinesis. There were a lot of things she wasn’t. But there were also several things she was, besides clairvoyant.
Like other medical intuitives, she could sometimes detect disease by envisioning herself slipping past a person’s skin and into the internal structure of their body. She sometimes had flashes of visions that gave her foreknowledge of what might happen in the future.
Might, because free will was always a factor. More than once, Winnie had helped someone avert disaster simply by warning them what might come to pass.
But not everyone believed, and Winnie had to learn to accept that.
Even though at least three people had needlessly died after failing to heed her warnings. Their deaths haunted her, despite knowing in her heart that there was nothing more she could have done. Still, any loss of life was a loss to the world, and Winnie regretted it.
In addition to her other gifts, Winnie could see auras, what some people thought of as colored clouds of energy around all living things, plants and animals and people.
And this girl who had come to her this morning, Selena Martez, had one of the most damaged auras Winnie had ever seen.
People were sometimes scared to hear the truth. Winnie had to come to it slowly.
But Selena and her mother weren’t here for counseling. They hadn’t hired Dr. Winifred Parsons the psychologist.
They had come to Winnie the detective. The private investigator. Referred by someone Winnie knew, and who knew what she could do.
It was the only way she was willing to do business. Winnie maintained no website. She had no presence on social media. She didn’t print up business cards and stick them on the notice board at a popular coffee shop.
If someone contacted her, and was willing to pay her substantial fee, then Winnie would meet with them and at least give them her initial impression based on what she felt and saw.
She didn’t need the money. She and Joe had lived comfortably on their salaries, and in retirement Winnie still had plenty of wealth to see her through.
But she knew from her decades studying consumer psychology that if she didn’t charge for her services, and didn’t charge a lot, clients wouldn’t respect her. And what’s more, they wouldn’t believe her. When people pay a high price for services or products, they become invested in those services’ or products’ worth.
This car, this watch, this computer—they’re the best. Highest quality.
Otherwise people would feel foolish spending so much.
If Winnie was going to invest in someone’s troubles, she needed to know they would accept her advice. She had no use for anyone’s skepticism. She knew what she could do.
“Let’s sit down,” Winnie told the mother and daughter.
She wanted to see how they arranged themselves.
The girl had already bonded with Clover. That was good. It must be why Selena chose the longer couch rather than the smaller love seat, which someone feeling too open and vulnerable would have selected.
But Selena sat boldly in the middle of the couch and Clover jumped up beside her, stretching out to fill up the space, and rested her head in Selena’s lap. Selena’s mother, Liz, sat on the other side.
Winnie chose the dark blue chair across from them. She slid out of her fleece-lined slippers and tucked her feet under her, then settled into the deep cushioning of the chair.
“I’ll tell you what I see,” she said to Selena.
She began with the good news, or at least the features that were neutral.
She described the layers of colors she could see around various parts of Selena’s body: the bright red bands surrounding her waist and wrists—
“Is that bad?” Selena asked, worried.
“It isn’t bad or good,” Winnie assured her. “It’s just you.”
She described the sparks of pink puffing away from Selena’s right hip, the white band around her right ankle, other hues in various places.
“But I can tell you why you feel so weak,” Winnie said, finally coming to the critical information. “You’re leaking. Not only a little, but a lot.”
“Leaking,” Liz Martez repeated. “What does that mean?”
Winnie raised her hands to her own head to demonstrate. “All around here, it’s a dark charcoal gray.”
“Is that bad?” Selena asked again.
This time Winnie answered, “It isn’t good. But what’s worse—and I’m watching it right now—” She pointed to the right side of Selena’s head, the side where the dog was doing what she could by lying with her own head on Selena’s lap. “—there’s an open gap about eight inches long, and your energy is flowing out, like a big gash in a pipe.”
Tears gathered in Selena’s eyes, but through some force of will, they didn’t fall.
“I knew it,” she said softly. “Not that, but something.”
“What could cause that?” Liz asked. The color had drained from her face. She clasped Selena’s hand, maybe for her own security rather than the girl’s.
“There’s been some trauma. Psychological, rather than physical. The integrity of her mind has been breached.”
Selena’s dark eyes widened. Winnie could see the girl’s fear. But she wouldn’t try to diminish what she’d said, to talk around it as though it were normal.
It wasn’t. The danger to the girl’s psyche was real.
But Winnie could do something to try to repair it.
She had waited long enough for the girl and her mother to settle in and feel comfortable. Winnie couldn’t bear to delay any longer. Since she first laid eyes on Selena at the front gate, she had been watching the flood of energy leaving the girl.
Winnie unfolded her legs from underneath her and stood up from the chair. “Come here. Let me help.”
Selena slipped out from under Clover’s sleeping head and released her mother’s grip on her hand. She stood in front of Winnie on the thick blue and gold Asian rug between the couch and chair. Selena’s dark brown eyes looked directly into Winnie’s green.
Winnie made two claws of her hands, stiffening them into rakes.
Then beginning at Selena’s feet, she began combing through the aura, as though brushing burrs and mud out of Clover’s coat.
Comb, and flick. Flicking away the accumulated auric debris to keep her fingers clean.
Winnie took her time. This process should never be rushed. She raked inch by inch up the front of Selena’s legs, holding her fingers about six inches out from the girl’s body where the colors of the aura were most visible, then she shifted around Selena to the back and repeated the process there.
Over the years Winnie had met other clairvoyants with their own methods for clearing and repairing auras, but this way had always worked for her. She hoped it was enough to help Selena.
When the legs were cleared, Winnie moved on to Selena’s waist, chest, back, and arms.
Throughout, the girl stood calm and silent, sometimes watching Winnie work, sometimes closing her eyes briefly before snapping them open again, as though she’d accidentally fallen asleep.
The girl’s entire torso now smoothed of its ragged lines, all the way up to her shoulders, Winnie paused for a moment and stepped back. She wanted to see what progress they had made.
Dark charcoal-gray energy continued to pour from the gaping hole near Selena’s head. The energy field there looked tattered and delicate all along its edges.
Winnie would have to be careful. She didn’t want to rip the hole any wider. Instead she wanted to coax the wound closed.
She locked eyes with Selena. She could see on the girl’s face that Selena’s curiosity had given way to fear again.
“This won’t hurt,” Winnie assured her.
“I know,” said Selena. “I can already feel it. How much better it is already.”
“You can?” Liz asked, amazed. Selena nodded. From Liz’s vantage, the whole display must have seemed like nothing but theater.
Whether she believed Winnie had really done anything or not, Liz seemed relieved that at least her child felt better.
“But this…” Selena said to Winnie, lifting her hand to the right side of her head. Gray energy poured around it and between Selena’s fingers, like water coursing around the rocks in a river. “Do you really think you can fix it?”
“Not permanently,” Winnie said. All of her clients paid her for the truth. “We’ll have to find the cause first. But maybe I can slow it down for now.”
Selena drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. Winnie got back to work.
She felt like a seamstress, picking up loose tendrils of Selena’s gaping energy field and gently joining them back together. She worked slowly, methodically, pinching the tattered edges inch by inch, until she felt confident that the seams would hold. For now.
Then she returned to combing, smoothing, moving the stale, diseased charcoal energy away, hoping to encourage new life in the field, freshening it with contributions from her own.
Selena’s cranial aura was pale pink now, not as vibrant as Winnie wanted it to be, but it was an improvement. It was progress.
Selena’s breath had become shallow for a while, but now she seemed to be breathing normally again.
The girl opened her eyes. “Is it done?”
“You tell me.”
Winnie returned to her seat. Selena remained standing, breathing deeply, assessing.
“How do you feel, honey?” Liz asked.
“Better,” Selena said. “Much better. Except, here…” She pointed to her right temple. She was right: Winnie could see the spot, too.
A black dot, about the size of a quarter, hovered close to Selena’s temple, hard to see against her dark brown hair.
Winnie stood again and came closer. She reached out for the black dot, but it faded before she could touch it.
When she moved backward, the dot reappeared. She tried once again to capture it, but the spot faded out of view.
Winnie shook her head. “I can’t get it. But that isn’t necessarily bad. It might fade away on its own.”
“Does it hurt?” Liz asked her.
Selena rubbed her right temple. “A little. Yes. Like there’s a bruise here.”
She leaned over so her mother could examine it for herself. Liz gently smoothed back Selena’s hair and stared at the unblemished skin.
But Winnie could see the spot again, the same size and color.
She had never seen that after a smoothing. She didn’t know what it meant.
“That’s the first step,” she told Selena. “Now, it’s time to find out what this is all about.”
3
“I want to be—I’m going to be—an astronaut,” Selena answered Dr. Parsons’s first question.
Dr. Parsons smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Selena studied the doctor’s face. She was used to adults chuckling when she told them of her ambition. Astronaut. It sounded so impossible.
But Selena had wanted it, dreamed of it, pursued it, since she was six years old. She wasn’t joking. This wasn’t some frivolous idea, the way some of her classmates switched from wanting to be a lawyer … no, a veterinarian … an NFL player … a teacher … “I just want to be rich!”
It was all so boring.
There were steps to take. Real life, actual steps. And Selena had researched them since she was a little girl. Ever since she saw a program on PBS about women astronauts. She knew then, like you’re born with certain fingerprints and DNA. She was born to be an astronaut. Search over.
She took all the hardest math and science classes school offered. Right now she was in AP Physics, Advanced Calculus, and a robotics class offered as an elective.
Robots would be used for space travel. They already were. The University of Arizona Lunar and Planetary Sciences department was responsible for the Mars Rover, the robot currently exploring all over Mars.
It was why Selena was applying there. To be part of a program like that. When NASA was looking for new astronauts, they would look at Selena’s list of accomplishments and think wow, we want her.
Selena would be ready for the future—for herfuture. She was leaving nothing to chance.
“You know,” Dr. Parsons said, setting down her pen. She had been taking notes all along on a pastel blue legal pad. Selena liked the color. She didn’t know they came in anything but canary yellow. “When the realtor sold us this house, she said Frank Borman used to live here as a child. I don’t know if it’s true—”
“Frank Borman, the astronaut?” Selena said.
“That’s the one,” Dr. Parsons answered.
Selena looked around the living room again. It was fate. The idea of it gave her chills.
Dr. Parsons picked up her pen again. “Tell me about your classes.”
Selena described all six of them, then went on to talk about the teachers. The robotics class was taught by Ellie Nuy, a grad student from the U of A who knew all about the Mars program.
Mr. Spence was the AP Physics teacher. This was the first time Selena had been in one of his classes. He only taught seniors, and always took the best of the best.
