“Hey, hey.” Emma, nudged the guy who sat in the seat next to her. She hadn’t met him before tonight, but alcohol makes friends out of many a stranger, especially when mixed with a dinner party where you don't know anyone but the otherwise-occupied host, and so she and her new friend Rob had been sharing the wittiest of witty banter over many a glass of whatever they could get their host to pay for.
He turned to her, looking significantly less lucid than he’d been just a few moments ago, and she wondered who’d been giving him shots while she wasn’t looking. She could do with some shots, too.
Rob blinked at her blearily, but Em decided to go for the interaction anyway. It wasn’t as if she knew anyone else at this dull dinner party. No wonder most of the guests at their table were speaking and laughing just that little bit too loudly.
Her new friend looked expectant and she sighed. “You see him, over there? I bet I know which party he belongs to.”
He swung his head to look at the man in a suit who had approached the front of the restaurant. “Oh yeah?” Although his eyes were unfocused, his voice was strong and confident. “How do you know that, then?”
Emma leaned in and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m psychic. I know where he’ll sit.”
The suited man seemed to be chatting up the waitress trying to show him to a seat, and Rob glanced sideways at her with a small smile. “Go on then, impress me.”
The dining hall was large. And from where they sat near the front door, all the tables weren’t even visible. Emma didn’t need to guess though. She’d seen it. A couple of minutes in the future, the waitress would become so irritated with his game that she would go and stand by the empty seat she was meant to lead him to. She pointed to a table of smartly dressed people.
“That wasn’t difficult to work out. They’re all dressed the same.”
“Well, that’s what she thinks, too.”
The waitress had started to move in the direction of the table and the man just stood watching her, eyebrows raised.
“But he’s going to sit over there.” She inclined her head to a small table in the corner. A mixed bunch of snappy dressers and casually dressed men. The man shrugged and moved in that direction.
Rob’s eyes widened. “How did you ...?”
Emma grinned at him. “Neat trick, right? I pull it out for especially boring dinner parties.” And for entertaining easily-impressed company.
Emma was, in fact, psychic. But all her minute-into-the-future-seeing talent was good for was as a party trick. A minute wasn't much preparation. It wasn't nearly enough time to win the lotto or save someone from being murdered. It had never worked for cheating on tests or predicting the weather. The crowning moments of her power were ones exactly like these: inebriated people being impressed that she was psychic.
