Confidentially Yours #5

by Jo Whittemore

  “Would you like me to take your scarf?” she asked, reaching for it.

  “Um . . . I should probably keep it on,” I said in my fake voice. “I’m getting over a head cold.”

  She held up a finger. “I have a special tea for that. And we can read the leaves afterward.”

  My heart thumped faster as she poured the hot water over the leaves. Then she placed a pack of tarot cards on the table. Without waiting for her command, I started cutting the deck and then selected three of the cards.

  “I thought this was your first time,” she said with an impressed look.

  “Oh, I’m . . . I’m just guessing,” I said. “Because they’re cards, you know? What else would I do with them?” I let out a high fake laugh.

  Madame Delphi gave me a strange look but started flipping the cards I’d chosen. I barely paid attention to the first two, representing my past and my present. In my head I was chanting, Please no Nine of Swords, please no Nine of Swords.

  Madame Delphi flipped the card holding my future.

  The image was of a man lying on his stomach with ten swords sticking out of his back.

  CHAPTER

  6

  Bubble Bubble

  “That’s it! This session is over!” I picked up the card and tore it in half.

  Madame Delphi must not have had many raging clients, because she seemed to have no idea what to do. She leaned back in her chair and blinked repeatedly.

  “Your reaction is a little strong,” she said.

  “The guy had ten swords in his back!” I cried. “That’s even worse than the nine swords from last time!”

  “Nine swords? Last time?” she repeated.

  The door to her inner chamber burst open, and all three of my friends appeared.

  “Brooke! Is everything okay?” asked Heather. “We heard shouting.”

  Madame Delphi gasped and pointed at me. “You’re the redheaded girl who was here on Sunday!” She looked me up and down. “In disguise?”

  “So what if I am?” I shot back, pulling off the scarf that covered my hair. “You gave me a lousy fortune with zero good news. I’m a kid! You’re supposed to lie and say everything’s going to be all right!”

  Madame Delphi’s face took on its familiar haughty expression. “I only speak what the cards show. If you expect a lie, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

  V scoffed. “You mean the right place. I watched a TV special about people like you. You read body language and tell people what you think they want to hear.”

  Even though V was coming to my defense, I turned on her. “That’s crazy. Nobody would ever want to hear they were doomed.”

  “No,” agreed V, “but they might be willing to buy all that junk to get rid of it.” She gestured to the gift shop. Then she stepped closer to Madame Delphi. “That’s what you were trying to do, right?” She put a hand on Heather’s shoulder. “And you knew that if you gave someone who doubted you good news, she’d come back.”

  Madame Delphi’s eyes hardened like twin patches of ice, and she pointed toward the chamber door. “Out. All of you!”

  Tim held up a copy of Millionaire by Midnight and a dollar. “But I wanted to buy this.”

  Madame Delphi took the money from him and shooed us into the main room. “Leave me!”

  “The book was ninety-nine cents,” said Tim. “You owe me a—”

  The door to Madame Delphi’s inner chamber slammed shut, and my friends and I were left standing there with Heather’s grandma snoring on the couch.

  “Pretty sure you’re not getting that penny.” I patted Tim on the shoulder while Heather went to wake her grandma.

  “How was it?” Heather’s grandma asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

  “I don’t know,” said Heather. “I didn’t get to go in.”

  “Sorry,” said V, biting her lip. “I didn’t mean to ruin it for you, but I couldn’t let her keep scaring Brooke.”

  Heather smiled. “It’s okay. You were being a good friend.”

  They both looked at me and I stared back. “What? I’m still doomed.”

  “Aww.” Heather gave me a sympathetic nod, but V roared in exasperation.

  “Are you serious? Brooke, that woman is a fake!” She gestured to the closed inner chamber.

  “She predicted the same future for me twice,” I told V with a stoic expression. “And she was right.”

  “It was a lucky guess!” argued Vanessa.

  “Ha!” I pointed at her. “Lucky! See? You do believe in luck.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s an expression. There is no good luck or bad luck. Tim, back me up, please!” Vanessa elbowed him, and he glanced up from his book.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. This place definitely smells like old cheese.”

  Vanessa groaned, and Heather’s grandmother cleared her throat.

  “Maybe we should finish this conversation outside?” she asked.

  “Gladly!” V yanked her coat on and opened the front door, stepping onto the porch. Tim followed, eyes still on the book so that Heather had to guide him down the porch steps.

  “But what about my bad luck?” I asked as Heather’s grandma put my coat around my shoulders.

  She chuckled. “If you don’t want bad luck, honey, change it.”

  She followed my friends outside, but I stopped in the doorway.

  Could it be that easy?

  “Be right there! I . . . uh . . . dropped something!” I called, heading back into the cottage. I made a beeline for the gift shop and grabbed a book I’d spotted earlier: Living the Charmed Life. I put the money for it by the cash register and tucked the book into my sling.

  “Brooke?” V called from the porch.

  “Yep!” I said, hurrying over.

  “I’m sorry I snapped,” she said. “I just hate that this woman shook you up so bad.”

  “No problem,” I said. “I’m sure my luck will turn around.”

  In fact, I was going to guarantee it.

  It was almost impossible to be patient and wait to read the book. I couldn’t pull it out in the car on the way home, and if my parents saw it, they’d take it and give me another long speech about there being no such thing as luck. So I bundled it in my coat when I got home, saving it for when I could carry it to my room and learn how to change my fate.

  I felt a little guilty locking my bedroom door since I never try to keep my parents out, but it was going to be hard to explain what I was up to. Plus, I didn’t want to get squirted with a water bottle again.

  I settled on the floor with Hammie and Chelsea beside me, and, honestly, I was glad they were there. I’d bought a book on magic from a fortune-teller’s shop. At least two horror movies I’d seen started that way. Usually cats could sense evil spirits, but since Hammie was busy attacking my shoelaces and Chelsea was trying to stick her head in my glass of soda, I figured I was okay.

  I flipped to the index at the back of the book and found a listing for how to create a good-luck charm.

  “Perfect!” I said, turning to the page.

  The instructions were pretty simple. All I needed was something white to make a wishing circle, a flame in the center, and an object that I wanted to turn into the good-luck charm.

  I grabbed some white socks and arranged them in a circle on the carpet with a pumpkin-scented candle in the middle. I lit the candle with some matches my parents kept in the bathroom, and then I scanned my room for something I could carry in my pocket to give me good luck at all times. Unfortunately, this meant Hammie and Chelsea were out.

  “Sorry, guys,” I said, scratching Hammie behind the ear.

  I settled on the first note Abel had ever given me. It was flat and could fit in my pocket easily. Then I read the words in the book and wafted the paper above the flames, making sure it didn’t catch fire. I had just blown out the candle when there was a knock at my bedroom door, followed by a handle jiggle.

  “Brooke?” Mom’s voice called from the other side. “Why is this loc
ked?”

  I scooped up the socks and hid them behind my pillow. “Sorry! I was just changing for bed!”

  Shoving the note in my back pocket, I unlocked the bedroom door and pulled it open. “What’s up?”

  Mom took in my outfit. “I thought you were changing for bed.” She sniffed the air. “And what’s that smell?”

  “I lit a candle but didn’t really like the scent,” I told her. “And I was about to get ready for bed until you showed up,” I said without missing a beat.

  “Ah,” she said. “Well, I wanted to know if everything was okay. You didn’t talk much at dinner, and you left the table in a hurry.”

  “Lots of homework,” I lied.

  “What did you and the girls do?” Mom sat on my bed next to the pillow hiding my pile of socks. I walked across the room to distract her.

  “Heather wanted to go back to the fortune-teller,” I told her, “but Vanessa called Madame Delphi a fake and she kicked us out.” It wasn’t a lie; I was just leaving out my part of the story.

  Mom raised her eyebrows. “Oh my.” She shifted on the bed, and the pillow fell into her lap, along with a sock. “What . . .”

  I was ready with an explanation, like I’m making sock puppets for charity! but Mom smiled at me. “Were you folding your own socks?”

  “Uh . . . I was going to,” I said, which again wasn’t a lie. I was going to fold them later.

  Mom stood and kissed my forehead. “Look at you, showing responsibility. I’m so proud!” She headed for my bedroom door. “If you want cookies, I’m baking a batch right now. They’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” She winked. “I think you can stay up just a little later for that.”

  “Okay,” I said in bewilderment. “Thanks.”

  She walked out and I just stared after her. That had gone way differently than I expected. Especially the part about the cookies. My parents never made cookies during the week!

  I reached back and touched the note in my pocket.

  Could my good-luck charm already be working? Only one way to know for sure.

  I picked up the phone and dialed Abel’s number. He answered right away, and I said what I’d been thinking all day.

  “I know you’re upset with me, and I wish we could talk about what I did wrong, because I really don’t know. I don’t want to fight anymore.” I took a deep breath. “So could you tell me what I did wrong please?”

  My heart pounded against my chest. I wasn’t sure if Abel would push me away again or end things for good, but I took the fact that he didn’t hang up as a promising sign.

  After a moment of silence he answered.

  “It’s just . . . sometimes you only think about how things affect you,” he said. “And you can be a little bossy.”

  I was quiet for a moment. “Believe it or not, you’re not the first person to say that.”

  Abel gave an amused snort.

  “Look, you’re right,” I continued. “I am a little bossy. But only because I want what’s best for the people I care about. I’m sorry. I should trust that you know what’s best for you.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was bugging me, but it was embarrassing. You don’t exactly want people knowing that you take orders from the person you’re dating.”

  “Take orders?” I repeated.

  “Yeah, like you telling me what to eat or not letting Young Sherlocks get good press because it was bad for you, even though it would’ve been good for our club.”

  I winced. “When you put it that way, I sound like a spoiled brat.”

  “You’re not a spoiled brat,” said Abel in a softer voice. “You’re great.”

  A happy warmth spread outward from my heart. He still liked me!

  “I think you’re great too,” I said, toeing the carpet. “And Young Sherlocks does deserve to be in the paper. I just have to believe my team can write even better.”

  “No, no. I want you to win,” said Abel. “My interview can wait. I just wanted the choice to be mine.”

  I nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “From now on, this won’t be a dictatorship. It’ll be a partnership.”

  “How about a relationship?” Abel asked with a smile in his voice.

  “Deal!” I said. “And I’m sorry again. I shouldn’t have said anything to begin with. You don’t need advice from me on how to eat and exercise. You already know that stuff.”

  “And so do you,” said Abel. “I shouldn’t have said I know more than you. I just know different than you. I’m sorrier.”

  “No, I’m sorrier,” I said.

  Abel laughed. “Okay. I’m willing to let you win this one.”

  “Oh, you’re so kind,” I said with a giggle.

  I settled back on my bed, and he and I talked for a while until Mom called up that the cookies were ready.

  “So are we good?” I asked him.

  “Of course,” said Abel. “I’ll see you tomorrow before school.”

  When we hung up, I flopped back on the bed and punched the air with my good fist.

  Brooke Jacobs was back!

  I took the good-luck charm out of my pocket and kissed it.

  The next morning I got up before my alarm because Chelsea was patting my face with her paw again. I hugged her close, ignoring her mews of protest and set her gently on the floor. No claws in my hand today! I hummed a Thunder Barrel song while I got ready for school, making sure to slip my good-luck charm into the pocket of my clean jeans, and took the stairs down two at a time.

  “Somebody’s in a good mood,” commented Dad. Then he held up a hand. “Wait. I’m feeling déjà vu, and this time I’m ready to do the Heimlich.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I informed him. “Because my bad luck is gone. For good!”

  Mom gave me an amused smile. “Was it the cookies? Because I’d like to take credit for this if I can.”

  “The cookies were proof of the good luck!” I said, pouring milk into a bowl. As I carried it to the table, a little sloshed over the rim onto the floor, but instantly Hammie was there to lap it up. “See?” I pointed to the cat. “Luck!”

  After breakfast, Dad and I grabbed our things and headed out the door. More snow had fallen during the night, which I kicked to the side with my boots. Something small and shiny went flying, and I bent to pick it up.

  “What’s this key doing here?” I asked, holding it out to Dad.

  His eyes lit up, and he squished my face between his hands. “That’s the key for my safe at work! It fell off the ring Monday, and I haven’t been able to get into the safe since.”

  It looked like my good luck was working out for everyone. And at school, it continued. I met Abel in the cafeteria, where he was eating breakfast, and found a dollar someone had dropped. Then in homeroom I was able to help Vanessa with some of her design choices, and she said I had a real eye for fashion, which had definitely never happened before. In math we had a substitute teacher, so I didn’t have to learn algebra, and in English I pointed out a mistake in the textbook and earned extra-credit points.

  “I swear, you guys, a good-luck charm is the way to go,” I told my friends at lunch. “Everything’s going right, and my bad luck is a thing of the past.” I lifted my slice of pizza, but the cheese and pepperoni were so hot, they slid off the crust and onto my salad.

  “Uh-oh,” said Heather.

  “Look! I invented pizza salad!” I mixed it all together and ate it. “Delicious. Another victory for Brooke.”

  “Quit rubbing it in,” said Tim with a frown. “I haven’t been able to take a single bite.” He had a napkin tucked into the collar of his white button-up shirt and was trying to eat spaghetti without splashing any sauce on his sleeves. Every time he lifted the fork, noodles would start to slide off and he’d abandon the whole effort.

  “Why are you dressed like a businessman?” I asked.

  “Millionaire by Monday says if you want to be rich, you have to live like you already are,” he sai
d.

  Vanessa made a face. “And you think rich people wear dress shirts and ties? Have you not seen actors off set?”

  “I don’t want to be an actor; I want to be a business mogul,” Tim said. “With my own private plane.”

  “How are you living that one?” I asked. “Wait, let me guess.” I held my left arm out by my side and made a motor sound with my lips. Vanessa and Heather laughed, but Tim gave me a smarmy look.

  “Your airplane only has one good wing.” He thumped my right arm with his fingers. “It wouldn’t even get off the ground.” Then he let out an aristocratic guffaw. “A-haw-haw-haw.”

  Heather, V, and I stared at him.

  “You know, you and Berkeley can probably do free stuff together,” said Heather. “Like have snowball fights or go sledding in the park.”

  Tim held up a finger. “Or we could buy snowball slingers and shields and have epic snowball fights! But that costs money. And to make money . . .” He gestured at himself with a flourish.

  “I can’t believe you’re actually following that book’s advice,” I said.

  “How is it any different from you throwing some eye of newt in a bowl and performing voodoo in your bedroom?” Vanessa asked me.

  “There was no eye of newt and no voodoo,” I said. “It was just a candle and a lucky charm.”

  Tim grinned. “Do rich people make bad jokes about cereal? Because I really want to.”

  “What did you use for the charm?” Heather asked me.

  I held up the note from Abel. “The first note Abel ever gave me.”

  “Awww!” she and Vanessa said.

  “Ehhh,” Tim said, stretching his neck out as he tried to eat the spaghetti with his hand inches above his tray.

  “You look like a T. rex,” said Vanessa, taking his fork from him. She cut his spaghetti into little pieces.

  “So much for living the millionaire lifestyle,” I said. “Tim’s living the two-year-old lifestyle!”

  Heather and V giggled, and Tim stuck his tongue out at me. “Millionaires probably have people who cut up their food for them. And prechew it.”

  “Not a chance,” said V. When she was done prepping Lord Timothy’s meal, he gave her a grateful smile and carefully scooped some spaghetti up with his fork.