Chapter 6 Logan #2
“You don’t even have to do it,” I tell her. “We just need to know mine. I volunteer my future.”
“For both of you, I’ll give a discount,” the older man says behind me. His black hair is gelled into a comb-over, and he wears spectacles on the tip of his nose. “Fifteen dollars for two readings.”
“It’ll just be him,” Hazel says as we take seats next to each other.
The man writes something down on a notepad. “Ten for one reading.”
“You’re not going to negotiate?” Hazel asks when I agree.
“We have lottery money,” I whisper to her. “We can afford to pay full price.”
“We technically don’t have any of that money yet,” she says. “Ohhh, right. You want a good fortune. I got you. Make sure to add a generous tip.”
The man won’t give me a good fortune just because I overpay him. At least, I don’t think he’d do that.
I hand the man a twenty-dollar bill just in case and tell him to keep the change.
The fortune teller, who tells us his name is Bo, instructs me to choose which tea I want from the glass jars containing loose leaves. I select lavender mint tea, but when I go to scoop a teaspoon into my cup, I drop the spoon. Tea leaves scatter all over his table.
I try again, this time with success. Bo pours hot water from a kettle into a small, white, rounded cup with an equally tiny handle. He explains that I’ll drink the tea once it steeps, leaving just a little bit of liquid left in the cup. I blow the steam away as Hazel watches eagerly from her seat.
My gaze drifts back toward the fair. Wendy doesn’t appear to be here, and on a holiday, probably one of the busiest days for business.
“Do you know where that fortune teller with the birds went?” I ask Bo.
He shakes his head. “For a few days now, she’s had restless birds. They refused to leave the cage,” Bo replies. “I haven’t seen her since.”
Hazel gives me a pointed look.
Great. I’ve rattled Doc and Marty. I read somewhere that crows hold grudges for up to seventeen years. I hope sparrows aren’t like that.
“Do you know when she’ll be back?” I ask.
Bo shakes his head, his sparse, gelled hair staying firmly in place. “She didn’t say. Good for my business, though!”
I busy myself with the tea. It’s still hot and burns the tip of my tongue. I’m flustered enough that I swallow a few tea leaves.
“Is there a specific question you’d like answered for this reading?” Bo asks.
I cough into my sleeve. “What does my future look like?” I say, going with the same question we asked Wendy.
Bo nods. “Swirl your cup three times counterclockwise.”
I do as Bo says and then turn my cup over onto a towel he’s laid out in front of me.
With both hands, he taps my cup a few times before flipping it over. He positions the handle toward me.
“Now,” he says, smiling, “let’s see what your future holds.”
I inhale in anticipation. This was good. Bo will clear everything up. It’s just been an off week, and my luck will be back in no time. Bo pushes up his glasses and analyzes my tea leaves lining the sides and base of the cup.
Hazel scoots closer to me and presses her cheek up against my shoulder to get a good look.
I angle my head down toward her and catch an undercurrent of strawberries and sugar.
Her scent blends with the lavender mint tea, and every single sweet note intoxicates me just as it did when she kissed me outside the bodega.
When she looks up at me, our lips are inches apart. It takes every ounce of self-control not to kiss her again right here, right now. I’ve already scared away one fortune teller.
“Just trying to get a better angle,” she clarifies, immediately righting herself.
I scoot over and tug her chair closer, so she has the better view.
Bo adjusts his glasses. “Okay, let’s see here. Closest to the rim, do you see those two triangles?” he says, describing the shapes formed on the side of my teacup. “The tips are facing each other, like a tilted hourglass.”
The loose leaves don’t look like anything but a random scattering of tea. Calling that left shape a triangle feels like a stretch, but I go along with it. “Am I gaining more time?” I ask hopefully. I could really use it at work.
“No, your time is running out,” Bo states.
“His time—like his life?” Hazel cuts in.
Bo chuckles. “Oh, sorry. I can see how that sounds, though that’s not incorrect. We’re all running out of time. This one generally relates to a countdown, a timeline. Something’s coming up for you, and you’re racing against the clock.”
Hazel looks over at me, her eyebrows pinched together. She knows exactly what I’m racing toward… and all the obstacles that have blocked my path this week alone.
Bo hovers his pointer finger over the middle of my cup.
“Do you see two lines with tea leaves across, like a ladder?” He leans in closer and focuses his attention like he’s trying hard to analyze what he’s seeing.
“In a couple of weeks, you might be advancing in your job. Climbing higher. Or, climbing down. Something like that. The shape is in the leaves and the white of the cup. This could be positive.”
“Could be?” I ask. “Which means it could also be negative?”
“I’d say 50/50,” Bo confirms. “You will be going somewhere.”
Perfect. A 50/50 fortune.
Bo wavers. “It’s not very distinct. Better to avoid ladders for a while in case this isn’t so metaphorical.”
With my job, that’s not going to be easy. I try not to think about the climbing down aspect, but of course, my mind floods with all the recent events at the theater. If we don’t have the sets ready by the time previews start, I really could be climbing down from my first job as head carpenter.
I suppress this last thought and instead focus on the other 50 percent.
I’m great at concentrating on the other 50 percent.
The glass half full. If I can have the sets ready on schedule—no, ahead of schedule—that would only help my career.
But not just me. Mrs. Walker, Richie, my crew, the cast, the creatives. This show means something to all of us.
“Let’s go with positive, then,” I say, forcing a smile.
“At the bottom of your cup, we have an airplane. You have travel coming up,” Bo says with more confidence than his first two predictions. “Some kind of adventure.”
An airplane. This feels like a good direction.
I attempt a joke. “I’m visiting my family soon. That is usually an adventure.”
Bo frowns. “The shape is depicted by the leaves themselves. That’s… not the best.”
“You sure that’s not a bird?” Hazel tries. “Though we haven’t had much luck with those lately.”
Worry creeps back in. “Right, like maybe the airplane wings are actually bird wings?” I try.
“Do either of you actually know what birds look like?” Bo asks.
“This is like a Rorschach tea test,” Hazel mutters. “If we don’t see it, does that mean it won’t come true?”
“You will still have an adventure,” Bo says, “but I’d avoid flying if I were you.”
“Avoid ladders and planes? For how long?” I ask. “What else do I need to steer clear of?”
Bo collects the teacups, indicating that our session is up. “I’d give it a few months to be safe” is all he says.
Based on the half-hearted way he states this, I’m never flying again.
“That’s it! I wish you a very happy life,” Bo says, waving. “Thank you! Good night!”
And just like that, Hazel and I are back on the streets of Chinatown.
But this time, I have the bad fortunes.
I give Hazel a what did I tell you shrug. “See?”
“If that doesn’t prove that it’s all nonsense, I don’t know what will,” Hazel says, but her voice is shaky.
“What it does tell me is that I’m not reading too much into what happened this week. I feel… relieved.” What I don’t tell her I feel? Stressed and confused. Also slightly panicked.
Hazel looks confused. “You’re relieved?”
No. I feel like I just overpaid for bad news.
“Well, I at least feel like I didn’t make it all up,” I say.
There’s some truth in that. “I also…” What’s the word?
Comforting isn’t it, though for a few moments there it felt nice to believe that someone had the answers for our situation.
“I appreciated the clear guidance. Wendy didn’t give us that. ”
She lifts a brow at me. “Guidance feels generous. He loosely told you what to avoid and couldn’t even give a firm timeline.”
“If it saves me, I’ll take it,” I say. “My luck is just temporarily on hold until I can figure out how to get back on track. It’s all going to be fine. I got this.”
Hazel opens her mouth before closing it again. I can see her reworking her choice of words. “You think you can get your luck back on track?”
“I have to before previews start,” I say.
“When’s that?”
“At the end of next month. For the crew, previews are practically opening night. Lines and songs can still get cut between previews and the official opening night, but for us, the set is pretty much done. That’s when we need to be ready.”
“Okay,” Hazel says, thinking. “There’s still time. A lot can happen in a month.”
“You’re probably right, but this show’s too important to me, and especially to Mrs. Walker,” I say. “Her late husband wrote it, which is why she’s worked really hard to get it made.” Also, she changed my life. I need to make sure this show is the best it can be. I refuse to be the one who ruins it.
Hazel takes a step closer, the colors of the lanterns above us playing off her smooth skin. “Look, Logan. For what it’s worth, I still think it’s all made up,” she says. “Not even the best fortune teller in the world can get predictions one hundred percent right.”
A tired smile crosses my lips. “Maybe it’s all meaningless, but in the off chance it’s not, we can’t have my bad fortunes compromising anything.”
Hazel shakes her head. “Like what?”
I take the lottery ticket out of my wallet.
“Like this,” I say, handing her the ticket. Given everything, it’s best if she hangs on to it. “We need to get that money.”