Five minutes ago I felt horrible. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. Now I’m laughing like nothing was ever wrong.
When we get to the end of the line, Jason takes my lunch card. “It’s on me.” He hands our cards to the cashier. She swipes them, less than impressed.
“Big spender,” I tell him.
“I know, right?”
And then we’re just there with our trays.
“Anyway,” Jason goes.
“Well, see you later,” I say.
“Yeah.”
I have this giddy, nervous feeling. I sit down at my table.
“Hey, Lani,” Danielle says. “Did you get my note?”
“Yeah. It was hilarious.” Danielle knows I’ve been in a skank mood all day. Sometimes when she wants to cheer me up, she writes me funny notes and slips them in my locker. They usually have parts of conversations she overheard that she knows I’d like. This one was about how some senior smokes so much pot that he only has like six brain cells left. And how he’s clinging to his six brain cells.
I can’t eat anything.
Danielle’s like, “Can you even brush your teeth with only six brain cells left?”
“I don’t think you can recognize your toothbrush,” I say. I’m not really paying attention, though. I keep looking over at Jason’s table. He’s laughing with the Golden Kids every time I look.
“Oh, I finally got Good to Go on board.” Danielle and I have been working on an initiative to get delis and fast-food places to stop automatically dumping a pile of napkins and stuff in every to-go bag. We’ve already gotten a few places to agree to ask if you want anything extra.
“That’s awesome,” I say.
“Yeah, but we still have a lot of places to contact.”
When lunch is almost over, I get up to throw out my garbage. Jason gets up with his tray at the same exact time.
I’m separating my regular garbage from the things to recycle, but Jason doesn’t do that. He just tosses everything into the garbage can.
I go, “Uh, excuse me?”
“Hi.”
“What are you doing?”
“Throwing out my garbage. Unless, do you want it, or—”
“Ring ring! Clue phone!”
Jason stares at me.
“The clue phone is ringing! It’s for you!”
“Oh, right. Uh . . . hello?”
“Hi. Is Jason there?”
“Speaking.”
“Are you aware that you’re supposed to put your empty water bottle in the blue recycling bin?”
“This one?” Jason points to the bin. “Oh, sorry, I forgot you can’t see me. I’m currently pointing to the blue recycling bin.”
“You mean the one marked bottles and cans?”
“That would be the one, yes.”
I wait.
“So I guess I should take my water bottle out of the trash,” he concludes.
“That would be a start.”
Jason peers into the gross garbage can. “It has noodles on it.”
“Do you want to be responsible for completely destroying the only planet you can possibly live on?”
Jason crinkles up his nose. He slowly extends his arm down into the garbage can. He picks up the bottle and shakes some noodles off.
“See?” I go. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“It kind of was.”
“How can you not recycle?”
“Oh, I recycle.”
“Yeah? Then what about that bottle?”
“Okay. See I recycle? But just not every single thing every single time.”
“Did you know that landfills produce thirty-six percent of all methane emissions?”
“I did not know that.”
“And that methane is a major greenhouse gas? Twenty times more powerful than carbon dioxide?”
“That I knew.”
“So when you throw something in the garbage that could have been recycled and it becomes part of the landfill mass, you’re contributing to human-forced global warming and, ultimately, environmental demise.”
Jason considers this. “Tell you what. You convince me that recycling this bottle would make that much of a difference, and I’ll promise to recycle everything recyclable for the rest of the year.”
“The rest of the school year?”
“Yup.”
“But that’s only two more months.”
“Exactly!” And then he smiles like he just solved the global-warming problem all by himself.
“How about for the rest of your life?”
“Whoa. Isn’t that a little extreme?”
“Less extreme than destroying the Earth.”
“Hmm. Okay. You’re on.”
“Great.” I put my tray on the rack and head back to my table.
“Hey!”
I spin around. “Yes?”
“What about convincing me?”
“I’ll have it ready for you soon.”
“Why can’t you just tell me?”
“How lame would that be? No, I’m doing graphs and charts and whatnot. It’ll provide a much more compelling argument.”
This will be fun. Here’s a chance to show Jason what I know. And maybe even change his life.
9
Sometimes Erin and I go into town together. It’s this ritual we’ve had since forever. Our moms used to take turns driving us. Now that Erin drives us, the ritual feels completely different. It used to be like this special treat I’d look forward to. But now we can go anytime we want. I guess you could say the magic is fading.
The things we like to do in town are still the same, though:
• See if Eye’s Gallery has any new jewelry (Erin always needs more rings; I like necklaces).
• Get waffle cups at Ben & Jerry’s (Cherry Garcia for me; Imagine Whirled Peace for her).
• Check out what’s new at the pet store (aquarium toys for me; cat stuff for her).
• Attack the used bookstore (she usually walks out with a stack of books; I’m lucky to find one I like).
• Walk by the psychic’s place. When we do this, I pretend I’m not looking in.
The psychic sits at a small, round table near the window. There’s a sign hanging in the window that says PSYCHIC: READINGS & FORTUNES. I want to look in and I don’t want to look in at the same time, so I usually end up compromising by sneaking looks. I’m sure she knows what I’m doing. Since she’s psychic and all.
Sometimes I think life would be so much easier if I knew everything that was going to happen. If the Unknown could be obliterated, I wouldn’t have to be so afraid of it. I could finally know what it feels like to be fearless. But the truth could be ugly. What if something horrible is going to happen to me again? I don’t know if I’d be able to live with that information.
“Let’s go in,” I say.
“Where?” Erin says. “There?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
“I already did your reading.”
We’re not scheduled to learn about palm reading until next month, but Erin’s so fascinated by it that she’s learned the basics already. She read our palms a while ago. I don’t doubt her skills and I don’t want to offend her. But this is our chance to confirm everything she said with a professional. Maybe we can even find out more. Erin only learned about palm reading from books, not from actual experience. I think someone who’s been reading palms for a long time can see heavier things.
“I know, but wouldn’t it be cool for a psychic to do our readings?” I say. “This is tarot month. She has cards.”
We look in the window. There’s a deck of tarot cards and some candles on the table. The mismatched chairs have bright patterns. The psychic isn’t sitting at her usual place. Maybe she’s in the back, having lunch.
“She’s not even there,” Erin says.
“We could wait.”
“If she’s not back in five minutes, we’re leaving.”
“Deal.”
Erin’s like, ?
??Ooh, I forgot to tell you! Jason and I are destined to be together.”
“Like this is news?”
I’ve never seen Erin so excited about a boy. Jason is all she ever talks about. When I try talking about something else, somehow the conversation always leads back to him. Everyone at school is saying how Erin and Jason make the cutest couple and aren’t they so perfect together and why didn’t they start going out a long time ago? The Golden Circle is thrilled. The whole world is pretty much in agreement that they’re meant to be.
“I did some new stuff last night,” Erin goes. “Remember that numerology thing I showed you where you take the letters of your name and the letters of the name of the boy you like—”
“Yeah?”
“I did it with me and Jason and it shows we’re highly compatible. Then I did our star charts and they said how we’re each other’s missing piece.”
“Star charts tell you that?”
“Totally. Well, not directly. You know . . . you have to interpret the results and all, but that was the obvious message.”
The psychic suddenly appears. She’s all exotic looking, wrapped in layers of flowy fabrics.
“It’s like she knew we were here,” I whisper.
“Or her break’s over.”
The psychic smiles when she sees us. She motions for us to come in. I assumed she’d be intimidating. That’s part of the reason why I always avoided her gaze when I walked by before. But she’s not intimidating at all. She seems friendly.
“So . . . can we go in?” I say.
“Okay, fine. But you’re paying.”
“Done.”
Bells chime when we push the door open. Inside, it’s all incense and woven rugs and dried flower arrangements. There’s an entire wall covered with a mosaic of mirrors cut into diamond shapes. The diamonds are all different sizes, outlined with every kind of color.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” the psychic says. She’s still not scary. “I’m Coral.”
“I’m Lani and this is Erin.”
“Please.” Coral waves us over to the small table. It’s so weird being on the other side of the window. We go over and sit in the two chairs across from hers. “Would both of you like your fortunes read?”
“Yes, please,” I say, feeling like I’m four years old and asking for a cookie. “We’d like our palms read.”
“I do both palm and tarot readings. Ten dollars for each of you.”
I take a mental inventory of my wallet and decide I have enough to pay for both of us, plus get a waffle cup after. “Okay.”
Erin says I should go first, so Coral takes her to a waiting room and closes the door behind her. Then she sits across the table from me. She indicates that I should hold my palm out. I stretch my hand across the table to her.
Coral says, “Your heart line is strong. Bold. You will have great loves in your life.”
“More than one?” I ask. I wasn’t even sure I’d be lucky enough to have one great love.
“Yes.” She brushes her fingers over my palm. “Your health line is missing. That means good health. Your life line is long and deep. You will have a long, full life.” She looks some more. “You’ll be married. With two children.”
So crazy! I’ve always had a feeling that’s exactly how my life would turn out.
“Your head and life lines are joined here,” Coral continues. “You think more than you act.”
Which is so true again. When Erin read my palm, she told me I’d have a happy love life and live for a long time, but Coral is more specific.
“Your head line is deep. You have a good memory. You’re logical. You will have good mental abilities later in life.”
I want to ask about my overall fate, but it might be a stupid question. It’s not like I expect there to be a fate line.
Being psychic, Coral goes, “Do you have a question?”
“Is there . . . a way to know about my fate? Like, overall?”
“The fate line. It’s the line of destiny.” She bends my fingers back a little. “See this star here? Under your middle finger?”
I nod.
“This means you will find success after ten years of hard work.”
It’s amazing how you can tell all this stuff about your life just from some lines on your hand. And how everyone’s lines are so different. I have a lot of lines on my hands and most of them are deep, but Erin only has a few lines on hers.
“I see a break in the fate line,” Coral says. “In this time of your life, fate will present an immense conflict.”
“Now?”
“It’s hard to tell exactly when something will happen. We can only see parts of a lifetime. But yes, this conflict will be soon.”
Coral pushes the deck of tarot cards across the table to me. She tells me to cut the deck once. Then she flips some cards over and arranges them on the table. I’m liking her prediction about a new boy who’s going to change my life forever. Her interpretation of the other cards isn’t too shocking. Until she flips the last card over.
“You are bonded to another by a tragic event, but will be ripped apart by one more.”
I wait for Coral to explain this. She just gathers up the cards.
“Um . . . what does that mean? Exactly?”
Coral says, “Time will tell.”
Then she sends me to the waiting room to get Erin. It’s her turn now.
10
The annual kite festival is one of the best things about spring. Aside from school ending in less than two months and the weather getting warmer.
The kite festival has rules.
Not that I’ve ever paid attention to them. I usually just come to see all the amazing kites. Then I’ll borrow someone’s kite to fly after. This year I came with Erin and Jason. Jason is entering his kite in the competition. He made it himself.
That’s one of the rules, according to the brochure I’m reading for the first time ever. The kite you fly in the contest has to be one that you made or that someone else made for you. Lots of people bring their own kites to fly for fun, but unless they’re homemade you can’t enter them. Another rule is that a kite can’t weigh more than five pounds. Some of these kites are so massive that I can’t believe they’re less than five pounds.
Kites can win these awards:
• Largest kite
• Smallest kite
• Most unusual kite
• Fifty-yard dash
• Highest-angle kite
• Strongest-pulling kite
• Steadiest kite
The park is getting more crowded with contestants and their guests. Everywhere you look, kites in bright colors float in the breeze. It’s amazing how elaborate some of them are. There are dragon ones and butterfly ones and ones with lots of spirals. The whole thing is beyond impressive.
I spread a blanket out under a tree. Erin opens her cooler and hands me my water bottle. I always carry a stainless-steel water bottle because I drink a lot of water. I absolutely refuse to drink soda. Soda causes gut rot. I’m not having that.
Jason’s across the grass, looking for us. I wave to him. He smiles when he sees us and comes over. He has the contestant number 15 pinned to his shirt.
“Bummer that I’m in the adult division,” Jason goes. The brochure said that the adult division is sixteen and over. “I would have schooled those kids.”
“Everyone knows about your advanced kite skills,” Erin says. “That’s why they put you with the adults. The kids were way too scared.” She jumps up and wraps her arms around Jason. He hugs her back.
Jason’s kite looks like a giant loop with all these cool colors and shapes on it. I’d love to know how he made it.
“How did you decide what shape to make your kite?” I ask.
“Aerodynamics, mainly. And a long, boring story I won’t be telling here.”
“Hey,” Erin says. “You never told me that story.”
“That would be because it’s long and boring.”
&n
bsp; I’m like, “So which competitions are you entering?”
“I’m going for the fifty-yard dash and highest-angle kite.”
“Oh.” I nod like I know what highest-angle kite means. The brochure didn’t really say.
Jason carefully puts his kite down on the grass. Then he opens the cooler and digs around. “Is there any grape soda?”
“Sorry,” Erin says. “They didn’t have any.”
He takes out a water instead. Erin’s putting on sunblock, even though it’s only April and not that hot out. We learned about the importance of sunblock the hard way when we came to this last year. It was a day just like this—cool and partially cloudy. Erin didn’t even think about bringing sunblock. The next day at school, her arms were so red everyone was calling her Lobster Arms. She was mortified. My skin is naturally darker, kind of like I have a permanent tan. So you couldn’t really tell that I was also a little sunburned.
Jason sits with us on the blanket.
I go, “So what does ‘highest-angle kite’ mean, exactly?”
“It’s like if you’re standing in one spot? How close to being above your head the kite gets.”
“Oh! Cool.”
“So for that one, we all stand in a line and the judges look at the angle the kite is making with the horizon.”
“I remember the fifty-yard dash from last year,” Erin says. “You have to keep the kite airborne for the whole run, right?”
“Exactly.” Jason looks at me. “Were you here last year, too?”
“I come every year. I love kites.”
“Really?”
“Kites are awesome. I also love hot-air balloons.”
“Have you ever been in one?”
“No. But you know how they sometimes come down near Smoke Rise?”
“Dude. I’ve been there so many times.”
“Whenever we saw a hot-air balloon when I was little, I got in the car with my mom and we followed it. Then we’d get out to watch when it looked like it was coming down.”
“Your mom sounds cool.”
“Hey, Erin!” A boy comes running up to us. He looks like he’s in fifth or sixth grade. “I didn’t know you were coming!”