Star Shack

by Lila Castle

  “So what do we do now?” I ask.

  “Wait for customers, I guess,” she says. “I’m sure we’ll get some soon. I hung fliers around and left a pile of them in the Opera Café and Freddy’s Fabulous.”

  But after twenty minutes, it’s still just us, stilted silence, and the rain.

  “Maybe I’ll go and actually hand out some fliers,” Annabelle says. “Just to get things started.”

  She heads out into the stormy day with her whale umbrella, and I slouch down in one of the folding chairs. The chair is hard metal, and a loose screw is poking into my back. I shift, and my elbow brushes against one of her books. This one has a pie chart on the front split into twelve slices with the signs of the zodiac. I flip it open and notice that it’s worn and dog-eared. For a second, I flash on Annabelle reading it late at night, in bed, in her pj’s, her hands turning the pages, maybe brushing a curl out of her face as she reads.

  She takes this stuff seriously. Amazing.

  With a jolt, I realize that I am on the verge of looking like a complete moron. It’s a dare, but I have to play fair. We are doing this booth together. I need to at least know a little about astrology.

  I turn to the table of contents and see there is a breakdown of each of the twelve zodiac signs. Good thing I’m a fast reader. But as I start flipping through the pages, I begin to feel lost. I know I’m a Scorpio, so I look up what it says about that. There’s a man-woman breakdown, so I flash to “Scorpio Man.”

  The Scorpio Man burns with passion. But on the outside, he is calm, cool, and collected. If you’re thinking about double-crossing him, don’t. He’ll explode. When he loves, he loves forever. So if you’re the object of his fire, it will never die or fall to cinders. He is smart, emotional (though he hides it), philosophical, and a lover of life. He goes overboard when it comes to eating, drinking, and romance. If he wants to live in luxury, he will.

  Wow. That’s actually…okay, no, that’s not accurate. Who wouldn’t want to live in luxury? And yes, I’m passionate about the Red Sox and baseball and—

  I quickly look up Leo: Annabelle’s sign.

  Leo: You are full of courage and creativity, generous with love, and know your strengths. Those include (perhaps too much) self-confidence. You don’t like complications. You admire individuality and strive for it in yourself. You don’t respond well to people who don’t share your complete enthusiasm and creative spirit. Your oversensitivity to personal criticism makes you fly into a rage. You are, in a word, stubborn. You hold onto a belief or stick to a course of action through thick and thin. You are proud, outgoing, happy, kind, generous, self-expressive, intelligent, and broad minded.

  The door opens. Annabelle is back. I stuff the book under the table so she won’t know I’ve been reading it.

  “No one interested in our little business venture?” I choke out. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  She shoots me a sour look. “The rain is letting up a bit so I’m sure we’ll be mobbed in no time.”

  “Sweet!” I laugh uncomfortably, not sure if I’m mocking her or if I suddenly buy into this crap.

  “I’m gonna get some coffee,” she says. “Want a cup?”

  “Uh…”

  “I know what you want,” she says in a strange tone, and she’s off again, fliers in hand.

  I go back to my reading and hope that there is a line at Opera. If I can just get through the basics about each sign and then look up rising signs and the seventh house or whatever…I’ll be okay. Or did she say sixth house? How many houses are there? I should have Googled all this before I showed up today…

  It’s almost half an hour before she is back, and I’ve gotten through a lot of it, including a segment on what signs match up well. Scorpios and Leos are a no-no in terms of a match—in both the Leo and Scorpio sections, and for both women and men. I can’t help but feel oddly pissed off.

  Plus, there’s a section that gives advice for each sign. It’s actually sort of funny. Not intentionally, but the tips tend to read far less accurately than the sign traits. (One Scorpio horoscope: “Don’t fear love. It will come.”) Now I’m eager for my coffee. I’m enjoying my first sip when Annabelle sits down and clears her throat.

  “So how’s Sarah?” she asks. “Did she get you that beer yet?”

  “Yeah, she did.” A lie: I hate beer, and Annabelle knows it. At the party, I kept spilling, pretending I was already drunk. “We had a great time this weekend.”

  Annabelle snorts. “I’m sure it was a wild time.”

  “It was great,” I say. “Sarah is really smart, and she loves baseball.”

  “Does she now?” Annabelle asks skeptically.

  Actually she has a right to be skeptical since Sarah isn’t a real fan. It’s more like she thinks the Red Sox jersey is cute. But hey, she looks cute in it, and it’s better than a girl who likes wearing a Yankees shirt.

  “I know you buy into all the stereotypes about tattoos,” I say. “But you’re wrong about Sarah. She’s very down to earth, and we have a great time together.”

  Correction, not for Annabelle: I know we will have a great time once Sarah and I hang out a little more. She can’t always talk the whole night about how she met the lead singer of (now I can’t even remember), right? And it’s just a fluke that she hates punk. She probably just hasn’t been exposed to the good stuff.

  “Well, I’m glad,” Annabelle says.

  “Me too. It’s a relief to have normal conversation with someone,” I say, staring pointedly at the pile of astrology books.

  “You know, sometimes you…” Annabelle begins, turning in her chair to glare at me head on.

  “What? Sometimes I what? Annabelle, you have to—”

  “Um, excuse me,” a timid voice says.

  Annabelle and I both turn toward the front of the booth. It’s Daisy Lin—the very same Daisy who gave Annabelle the lease. She’s always friendly…though, as I think about it, I mostly see her by herself. She’s in her early thirties, with long black hair and a T-shirt emblazoned with I Sing for Love.

  Yikes. Maybe that’s why she’s always alone?

  “Are you guys open?” she asks.

  “Yes, absolutely,” Annabelle says, beaming and reaching out her hand to welcome our very first customer. “Are you here about the property—”

  “No. I’m here for…” She doesn’t finish.

  “Great! Just fill out this birth-date information, and we’ll give you a reading.”

  “Thanks.” She avoids Annabelle’s eyes, talking as if she’s on a job interview. “Not that I’m one of those people desperate to find a boyfriend or anything…”

  “Of course not,” Annabelle says.

  Daisy smiles. “But I’d love to find someone as perfect for me as you guys are for each other.”

  Now I want to crawl under the folding chair and die. I’ve never seen Daisy smile before. There is a very long, very awkward pause.

  “So, yeah, here’s the form,” Annabelle finally says.

  Daisy scribbles onto the form, and I read it upside down as she writes. Born June 6—that means she’s a Gemini. I quickly think through the things I read about Geminis and their matches. Daisy hands Annabelle the form with a ten-dollar bill and looks at her expectantly.

  Annabelle turns to me with a smirk. “Pete, want to kick things off for Daisy?”

  I can tell she’s planned this as a typical Annabelle-one-ups-Pete moment, and it makes me smile, because—what do you know?—I have some knowledge, and even when we are barely speaking, I can’t deny the kick in surprising her.

  “Sure,” I say, casually. “Let’s see…you’re a Gemini. That means you’re a thinker. You love ideas and making them happen. You change your mind fast, but you’re loyal when you find true love.”

  Daisy is nodding like I’ve said something incredibly insightful, which is kind of cool, actually. It makes me feel as if I wasn’t a complete idiot about what I’d just read about my own signs—or that I’m an idio
t spouting garbage about stars that seem to indicate you’re a total genius. (How else could you interpret “thinker?”)

  The shock on Annabelle’s face is too priceless. She’s gaping at me as if I’m a stranger.

  “You’re independent though, Daisy,” I continue, adding her name for personal emphasis. “So you can’t be with a sign that needs constant attention. I’m thinking maybe Libra or Aquarius. You see, they’re air signs, like you. And air signs share…what’s the term I’m looking for? Let’s say intellectual curiosity.”

  I’m pretty much reciting the book word for word, but Daisy is staring at me as if I’m an old-time Biblical prophet. I have to admit: I’m kind of liking this. I close my eyes for a second, trying to remember the advice for Gemini. The chart in the back had a breakdown of the whole year…there was something specific about summer…

  “The thing that’s keeping you from finding your match this summer is tension with the right person,” I conclude, opening my eyes and fixing her with a meaningful stare. “You need to look past your surface conflict and see the true connection.”

  Daisy jumps up. “You’re incredible!” she says, reaching over the table to hug me. “This is just what I needed,” she adds, more calmly but still beaming. “I think I knew before coming in…but hearing you tell me is a shot in the arm. And that stuff about me being independent! That’s what I’ve been doing wrong, getting with guys who were too clingy.”

  “Knowing the kinds of personality traits that suit you can make such a difference in finding a match,” Annabelle chimes in.

  “Yes,” Daisy says, nodding. “There has to be a basic compatibility there.” She leans over and pecks me on the cheek. “And thanks to you, I know exactly where to go to find it!”

  “We’re so glad we could help,” Annabelle says, glaring at me. “Remember to tell your friends about us.”

  Daisy is already out the door. “Oh, I will, believe me!” she calls.

  I lean back in the chair and fold my arms across my chest, grinning.

  “How did you do that?” Annabelle asks, in what sounds like real awe.

  I shrug. “What can I say? I’m just good.”

  Annabelle’s eyes narrow, and she gives me a hard look and then glances around the storefront. “No computer, so you didn’t get it there,” she says to herself. Then she looks at the books. “Of course. Your freakish, verging-on-photographic memory. You were reading about astrology while I was out.”

  “Please,” I scoff weakly.

  “It was just beginner’s luck,” she says. “Daisy already knew what she needed to do, but with the hard cases, you’ll just have to watch the expert in action.”

  I snort.

  She lifts an eyebrow. “Believe me, when things get tough, your little cram session will be useless.”

  “I guess we’ll see,” I say, my hackles rising. I reach out and grab another book, not caring if she sees. And all at once, I’m committed. No date with Sarah tonight. Nope, forget it. I’ll cancel. I’m going home to learn everything online I can about astrology. There’s no way Annabelle is going to one-up me in this. Seriously, if I can get a hug from Daisy with less than an hour of reading, who knows what else I can do?

  John Peterson

  Born March 12: Pisces

  Rising Sign: Libra

  Your intuition serves you when you stay grounded, but your tendency to dream can leave you detached and alone. The right person will appreciate your kindness and sensitivity and celebrate your insights to others and yourself. This summer, you need to lose the ego. Pride will be your downfall, so don’t be afraid to take the risk of saying what you truly feel.

  chapter 8

  I’ve been scowling at Pete for a while now. He is thumbing furiously through Astrology Matches for Love Everlasting. I mean, yeah, he recited stuff from the book (I knew it sounded familiar), but there’s a lot in there and he knew exactly what to tell Daisy.

  Those books all have an overflow of info in them…and for him to parse through it…and find exactly the right things to give Daisy her match advice—that’s not just memorization, that’s skill. Whether he likes it or not, Pete has a head for astrology. But I’m sure he doesn’t even realize it. He’s scamming me to win the dare.

  “Hey!” A tall, college dude ducks in the door out of the rain. I’ve seen him around, and I think his name is John. He’s got messy black hair and horn-rimmed glasses and a too-tight, button-down short-sleeved shirt. He reeks of The Daily Show and worthwhile leftist causes and obscure emo. (Maybe that’s mean, but astrologists deal in absolutes.) He has a newspaper tucked under his arm.

  “So you guys can help me find my perfect match, huh?”

  “That’s the goal,” I say, smiling and ignoring that fact that his question was half-sarcastic. Why do guys have such issues with astrology? Or just admitting that they need help in the love department, period?

  John sits down. “I’m the hardest case you’ll have this summer.” He takes a ten out of his wallet and hands it to me.

  “Why?” I ask, and I am being earnest.

  “Because I don’t believe in love,” he says.

  He seems serious. I might as well buy into it.

  “I’m not sure it exists at all,” he goes on. “I think it’s a social construct invented by our forefathers to get the human race to breed.”

  Pete is nodding, but I roll my eyes. “Please,” I say. “If you really believed that, you wouldn’t be here.”

  John laughs a little. “Okay, you’ve got me there. Maybe I do think love could exist. But I’m not sure it can exist for me.”

  “Why is that?” I ask him.

  He smiles wryly. “The usual. I got my heart handed to me on a platter by my ex-girlfriend.”

  “Well, I think we can help you make that a distant memory,” I say confidently. “Go ahead and fill out your birth-date information, and we’ll see what we can do.”

  Next to me, Pete is looking at John’s sheet, nodding as John fills out his birthday and the town where he was born: the Bronx. Home of the Yankees! I realize, and my mind suddenly clouds. I see that he was born on March 2, and for a second I blank out, trying to remember what sign that makes him…I can’t believe it. My mind is suddenly a sieve.

  Before I can get a handle on it, John is passing us the form and Pete is looking at me, a challenging expression on his face. “Annabelle, want to take this one?”

  And just like that, I’m flustered. Normally I’d just open up one of my books and start there. “Um, March second,” I say, “that would be…Aquarius?”

  As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I know it’s wrong. Pete says the word before I can: “Pisces, Annabelle. Actually, it’s Pisces.” He flashes me a brittle smile and turns to John. “Sorry, it’s our first day…you were saying?”“

  Great. Just great.

  “I’m sorry,” John says, his puzzled gaze flashing between the two of us. “Which one of you is giving me advice?”

  “I am,” I pipe up. “So, yes, Pisces…” The thing is, I’m rattled now and it’s hard to think. “You tend to dream big, which is great,” I begin.

  “Well, John, except for how those big dreams might rub some people the wrong way, which I’m thinking might have led to your past girlfriend problems,” Pete interjects.

  I shoot him a look, but John is nodding. “Yeah,” he says. “It really bugged Brenda that I’d talk about wanting to do the Peace Corps. But now I don’t want to do that anymore. Can I be serious?”

  “Of course,” Pete says, in a somber tone, so over the top that I want to gag.

  “I want to become a reporter to expose injustice in the world.”

  Pete nods as if this makes perfect sense. “See, you need a girl like you: someone who’s looking past the moment, who wants to make a difference.”

  “Exactly!” John says excitedly. “So how do I find her?”

  Pete looks at me with an expression of pure bliss—which I actually find sort of cute—and now I’m a to
tal mess. I shake my head.

  “Well, since you’re a…ah…I mean, based on your birthday and year, I think you’re ruled by Saturn, which—”

  “Actually, Annabelle, I’m not sure Pisces on that date is ruled by Saturn. I think I remember it being something else.”

  Pete grabs Astrology in Love and War, flips to a page in the middle, and squints, nodding thoughtfully. At this point, I honestly can’t even tell if he’s joking or smug or what.

  “Yes, I was right…You’re ruled by Venus, which means you have the energy and drive to make a relationship happen this summer—a relationship with someone who wants to make a change in the way that you do. A change not only for yourselves, but for the world.”

  “Great,” John says, so eagerly I’d smile if I weren’t a defeated heap sitting next to the astrological wonder that used to be Pete.

  “Your matches are going to be other water signs,” I say, hoping to get back in the game. “Think Cancer and Scorpio.”

  “You know, I wonder…” Pete scratches his chin.

  Okay, he can’t challenge me on this. Pisces is water, and water signs are the best match: period.

  “It’s true that generally water goes with water, but in your case, I’m thinking it might be different,” Pete goes on. “I mean, you have the whole save-the-world thing happening, which makes me think you’re one of those water people who will actually do better with air signs.”

  I can feel my mouth drop open because he’s spot on. John has a rising Libra, which gives him certain qualities that will match up better with an air sign.

  “I’m thinking Aquarius,” Pete concludes. “Do you agree, Annabelle?”

  “Uh…”

  “She agrees,” Pete says.

  “Wow, thanks, you guys,” John says, standing up. “I’m starting to believe maybe there is hope for me in the love department. You know, I have to admit…”

  “Let me guess,” Pete interrupts, shaking his hand. “You weren’t sure whether or not to trust in astrology. Believe me, we’ve all been there.”

  Now I realize I want to kill Pete Riley.