In the Stars

by Stacia Deutsch

  “Cool,” gushes Jennifer, as she leans closer in to get a better look at my star chart. She asks to borrow Cherise’s pointer and then, as if the document is some rare, ancient piece of parchment, gingerly touches a pencil-mark notation that Cherise has made on one side of the pizza. “What’s this?” she asks.

  “According to my mathematical calculations,” Cherise begins (and I’m wondering what Mr. Weston would say if he knew this is how his top math student is using her knowledge.) “Jupiter is moving into Scorpio at 7:03 Eastern Time tomorrow evening. Therefore, the important question will reveal itself between tomorrow night and noon on Sunday, when Jupiter will push forward into new territory.” She also explains how at the same time, coincidentally, one of Neptune’s moons will be on the rise. A specific indication that dancing is in my future.

  “Well then, it’s a done deal,” Jennifer says, standing up straight and stepping back from the chart. She hands Cherise her pointer. “Adam’s going to ask Sylvie to the prom tonight.” They’re talking excitedly as if I’m not in the room.

  “I get it.” Tanisha leans over the chart as if all the secrets of the universe are written there. “The love interest is clearly Adam. And the question will definitely be ‘Will you go to prom with me?’” With her hands on her hips, Tanisha stands up and declares, “We can triple-date to prom together! Now there’s no reason for you not to make the dresses.”

  “Oh, please,” I retort. “I’d actually like it if Adam asked me to go, but I’m not going to agree to make three dresses in the next four weeks. As of now, I have no date and no time and I’m definitely not making this commitment based on how Jupiter is cycling.”

  Cherise taps her chin with the pointer hand. “After Adam asks the important question, you will explore unexplored possibilities. Love must be that possibility because you’ve never explored it before.” Her voice becomes stronger, louder. “The chart’s meaning is obvious. By the night of the Spring Fling Prom, Sylvie will be in love.”

  We’re back to where we started the day I lost my mother’s diamond, when Cherise first predicted I’d be falling in love. I mean, dating Adam has been nice and all, but it’s not the same thing as falling in love. This isn’t some fairy tale.

  “Where are you going Saturday night?” Jennifer asks me. “It has to be a familiar place, right?” She looks to Cherise, who nods in agreement.

  “I’ve no idea yet. And anyway, Adam might choose a new restaurant. Somewhere I’ve never been before. What would that do to your prediction?” I ask Cherise.

  “He won’t,” is her reply and before I can counter again, my cell phone messaging alert goes off. I get up from my chair and skipping the crutches, hop across the room to grab my phone out of my purse.

  It’s Adam.

  I’ll pick you up at 6 for dinner. Movie after.

  I reply with lightning-fast texting skills.

  OK

  I feel Tanisha, Jennifer, and Cherise gathering around me to read over my shoulder.

  “Ask him where,” Jennifer tells me, right before I press the send button. I add:

  Where?

  I hope beyond hope that he says the name of a place I’ve never heard of. We’re all crowded around my phone’s little screen not so patiently waiting when the message is returned.

  The Krnr Cafe.

  And with that the conversation ends. I shut the phone and turn to face three high school seniors wearing identical grins.

  “The Corner Café,” Cherise says, her smile so wide her cheeks touch her ears. “Not just any familiar place.” She smiles even wider if possible. “Your favorite place!”

  “I’m sure I told him I like hanging out at the Corner Café,” I tell Cherise. “He probably picked it just to make me happy.”

  “You can believe what you want to believe, but so far, I haven’t missed a single prediction.” Cherise turns away from me to face Jennifer and Tanisha. “Now, about those costumes,” she says. “You will, of course, be choosing organic materials in colors that have not been tested on animals. Sylvie will need hemp thread and chemical-free batting.…”

  I flop back into my sewing chair and pick up the tuxedo pants I was working on. Apparently, I’m making Jennifer’s and Tanisha’s costumes after all. The three of them are so busy planning, any protest I might have would fall on deaf ears.

  As I rethread my needle and return to hemming, I consider that if the stars aren’t dictating my life, then just maybe Cherise is.

  Eight

  Identify your emotional boundaries and only then will you be able to move beyond them.

  www.astrology4stars.com

  It’s date night!

  I told my father I’d be late getting home. He didn’t sound happy about it, but he didn’t ask why either. I kind of wish he’d asked me where I was going. He probably forgot Adam asked me out and thinks I have a school thing or am going out with Cherise.

  I’d like to tell him about Adam, the star signs, and basically … I’d love to tell him everything. Really. I mean, he was young once and used go out on dates, right? He dated my mom for sure. Maybe he remembers some stuff that would be useful to me. When he met Adam the day I cut my ankle, it seemed like the two of them got along pretty well. It would be so cool to sit down with my father and have a conversation about Adam. Or school. Or college. About Mom. Anything, really.

  I’d like to walk into the tuxedo shop and say, “Hey Dad, got a minute?” but I won’t. I’ve never done anything like that before, so why would I now? I’m already seventeen. A therapist might say that I don’t think he’s interested in me (true) or that I’m afraid of rejection (also true). He might even suggest that knowing my father never wanted kids has put our relationship on uneven footing from the start, and he’d be right about that, too. For all these reasons and more, I’m not initiating a conversation with my father.

  At least I have Cherise to talk to, even if she is driving me nuts at the moment.

  The Corner Café is really close to my apartment. I wanted the independence of going out on this date without my father hovering at the front door, so I e-mailed Adam to tell him that he didn’t need to pick me up; I’d meet him at the café at six. It took the e-mail, a few strong text messages, and one long phone call to convince him I could manage getting there by myself since I’m still on crutches, but in the end, Adam agreed.

  I feel great. Happy. A little nervous. I’ve checked my teeth fifteen times to make sure there isn’t food stuck in them. I even opened my mouth really wide to check out the side and back teeth. I know it’s weird, but I hate it when food is stuck and no one tells you. Cherise usually checks for me, but since she isn’t going to be with me tonight, I have to perform my own tooth check.

  Cherise came by and did my makeup. I like the way I look. Especially the way my lips are shining. Cherise used an organic lip gloss that is supposed to make my food-free teeth look whiter. I have it in my purse.

  Feeling good, I walk, or crutch-swing, into the coffee shop, all dolled up and ready for Adam and my first official “date” (used in this instance as a noun meaning romantic appointment).

  “Sylvie.” I hear my name called from a back booth. “Over here.”

  It’s him. I secretly breathe into my hand to check my breath. Not minty fresh (I for got my gum at home), but not stinky either.

  “Hi,” I say as I head over to the booth, moving slowly. I’m not taking any chance that I might get my crutches twisted and fall. I’m wearing a new-old skirt (thrift-shop old, new to me) and I don’t want to get tangled in it as I crash to the ground. Adam is so perfect, for one night, I’d like to be fault free, too.

  Adam gets up from the booth and comes over to me. “Let me take your purse.” He places the warm palm of his hand on my hip to steady me while I slip the ornate Chilean tote off my shoulders. (You can guess who gave me the purse. The proceeds went to help rehabilitate prostitutes.)

  “Heavy,” he says. “What on earth do you have in here?” Should I tell him abou
t the rocks? Just kidding, it’s probably heavy from the all those makeup products Cherise sent along in case I need a touch-up. She didn’t just send the lip gloss. I have a whole arsenal of paraben-free cosmetics in my bag.

  “You should have told me your purse was so heavy,” Adam admonishes. “I’d have met you at your apartment and carried it for you.”

  He clearly hasn’t gotten the message that I didn’t want him at the apartment.

  “It’s okay.” I slide into the booth. “Once I found my balance, I didn’t have a problem.”

  “Nonetheless,” he insists, “next time I’ll help.” The way he says it makes me feel good, not like he’s pitying me, but like he really wants to be there for me.

  I make an immediate resolution just to have fun tonight. Not to think about the stars and whether or not Adam and I are made for each other. I’m going to relax and enjoy myself. Tonight there’s no Mars or Gemini or Jupiter. No Soul Urge number 4. No deal with Cherise to let love blossom. Tonight, I’m a girl out with a great guy she met in chem lab.

  The waitress comes over for our order. Her name is Monika, and she’s new. I don’t know her all that well yet, but I like her already. A lot. Especially since she’s smart enough not to shout out across the restaurant: “Hey, Sylvie. Is that your new boyfriend?” like every other waitress, cook, and busboy who works here. It’s so embarrassing.

  Monika, bless her, simply gives me a wink. That’s all. And one wink is plenty.

  I usually order spaghetti. Over the course of a week, it isn’t uncommon for Cherise and me to eat three or four of our major meals here in addition to whatever hunger-buster we choose when we arrive each afternoon.

  At the ripe old age of twelve, our parents let us go buy an ice-cream cone at the café all by ourselves (me, Cherise, and Tyler, of course) and the rest, as they say, is history. I often joke that my earnings from the tuxedo shop go directly into the Corner Café’s cash register.

  Spaghetti is way too messy on a first date, so I order a salad. Adam gets the spaghetti. I’m a little jealous of his order, but he clearly has a dating confidence that I’m lacking. I ask for a Coke. So does Adam. Monika returns with the drinks right away.

  “So,” Adam asks, “when are you getting off your crutches?”

  “I don’t really think I need them anymore. The doctor’s office is closed today and tomorrow. I have to wait until Monday after school.” I fiddle around with the straw in my drink. My sentences feel short, like they don’t flow into a conversation. How come I can talk to him so easily at my house and at school, but now, when it’s an actual date I’ve become tongue-tied?

  Well, I guess it doesn’t take a trained psychologist to know what my issue is: I am scared to death that he’s going to ask me to the prom over dinner. Then I’m going to have to contend with Cherise gloating at me, waving her natal chart in my face for the rest of my life. Or, he’s not going to ask me to the Spring Fling Prom and I’m going to have to live with the disappointment especially since now I’m committed to making Jennifer’s and Tanisha’s costumes.

  I’m in a conundrum. A complete mess. I’m damned if he asks me to the prom and damned if he doesn’t ask. It’s no wonder I can hardly form a sentence.

  A big part of me wishes he’d simply get his preordained “important question” in this “familiar place” out of the way, so I can enjoy the rest of our evening.

  As if on cue, Adam says, “I have a question for you.”

  It’s nearly impossible to accept that things are really about to unfold the way Cherise said they would. I think I might have to come around and accept astrology after all. I mean, if Adam asks me to prom tonight, that will mean that Cherise has hit every prediction she’s made on the head. Maybe there is something to it, after all.

  I try to look as surprised as I can, saying, “Really?”

  “Yes.” He pauses then begins. “Would you like to go to Gavin Masterson’s party with me next Saturday night?” Adam asks, then takes a long sip of his soda.

  “I—” I can’t seem to formulate words to respond. He didn’t ask me to the Spring Fling, did he? Forget what I said a second ago. Astrology is definitely nonsense and Cherise has no idea what she’s talking about. Prom! Ha! Adam didn’t ask me to prom, noooo, he asked me to go to stupid Gavin Masterson’s instead. Adam knows I hate Gavin. Everyone knows Cherise and I hate Gavin. This is not going like Cherise predicted. Not at all.

  “Sylvie?” Adam’s speaking, but my brain synapses aren’t firing. I catch a glimpse at the reflection of myself in the café window. It’s not pretty. I’m staring at Adam, jaw dropped open. Good thing my teeth look great because he’s seeing all twenty-eight of them.

  My tongue settles into form, just enough for me to manage to say, “I’m working next weekend.”

  “Please, Sylvie,” Adam is nearly begging. “Come with me after work. I know you don’t like Gavin, but maybe it’s time to put aside your differences.” I look at Adam, who is watching me with anticipation. “I really want you to go with me.” He runs a hand through his hair. “There’s a swim meet before the party and I was hoping you’d come cheer me on.”

  I sigh. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s time to forgive and forget something that happened eight years ago. I shake my head as if the physical movement will dislodge the memories of seeing Gavin shove Cherise to the ground right before he stole her lunch money. I shared my peanut butter sandwich with her that day. And every day for the next month. Gavin was relentless in his torture of Cherise, right up until winter break, when he found himself a new victim. (I think a phone call from Cherise’s dad to Mr. Masterson might have encouraged Gavin to move on.)

  It’s amazing how some things are easy to forgive and forget while others become etched in your brain forever and cannot be dislodged. Honestly, this many years later, should I still hold a grudge? The least I could do is try to move past it, right? I honestly think Cherise will understand if I go to the party. She might even support it because I’m going with “my diamond guy.”

  “Okay,” I agree. “I work at my father’s shop on Saturdays, but we close at five o’clock.” Like he didn’t know that already. I mean it is Saturday right now and we met tonight at six, for exactly that same reason.

  “Fantastic.” Adam picks up my hand off the table and holds it in his. “The meet’s at seven,” Adam tells me. “Afterward, we’ll head over to Gavin’s house.”

  For the rest of the night nothing went as well as I’d hoped, but it wasn’t terrible either. I guess my expectations for the evening were way too high. I was disappointed when Adam asked me to Gavin’s instead of the dance (totally Cherise’s fault) and I had trouble bouncing back.

  After dinner Adam took me to see the classic King Kong at the Esquire. It was nice that he remembered that I like old movies, but he fell asleep during the best part. Adam explained that he’d had an extra swim practice earlier that day, and he bought me ice cream to make up for it. After, we would have gone for a walk (or crutch-hobble) in the moonlight, but it was too cold. It was too cold to do much of anything so we decided to end our evening early.

  Adam walked me back to my apartment building. Then, in the warmth of the building’s empty lobby, between a potted fake plant and the brass-colored mailboxes, he pulled me close and kissed me.

  I don’t have a lot to compare it to, unless you count Jimmy Sanchez in the third grade.

  I felt awkward at first. Not knowing whether to close my eyes or keep them open. (I chose closed.) I tilted my head left at first, only to discover that Adam had gone left, too. (Okay, so my eyes weren’t totally closed. I was peeking though half-slits.) I quickly reversed directions and then … our lips met.

  The kiss was nice. Not an explosion of emotion, no fireworks blasting in the background the way they often do in the movies. No, it wasn’t like that at all. It was warm, comforting, and well … nice.

  The evening wasn’t all I imagined it would be, but it was just one night. Already, there’s another date
with Adam scheduled on my calendar. All things considered, the night might have been off the mark, but the guy … he’s definitely still my perfect match.

  Nine

  Your romantic side is struggling against your analytic side. Allow yourself to see all the parts that form a relationship.

  www.astrology4stars.com

  I’m back. Sitting in the same booth in the back of the Corner Café as I sat in last night. My crutches are leaning against the wall in the exact same place, too. Only this time, I’m not with Adam. I’m alone.

  It’s eleven forty-five Sunday morning. Cherise was supposed to meet me here at eleven thirty.

  Where is she? I’m starving.

  The waitress approaches for the millionth time to ask if I’m ready to order. At this time of day, the Corner Café is super busy. I’m getting the impression that if I don’t order something soon, I should leave and let someone else have the table. The waitress gives me a look that confirms my suspicions.

  “Sylvieeee?” Dotty hums my name. “You have to place an order. I know you don’t like to eat alone, but if Cherise, or that cutie-pie boyfriend of yours (wink, wink) isn’t here in three minutes, I’m going to have to free the table.”

  “She’s ready to order now,” a voice says from beneath a black cloak, near the café’s front door. It’s Tyler and he’s wearing … I have no idea what to call it. It’s definitely a cloak of some sort. He kind of looks like Darth Vader only without the helmet. Or the Grim Reaper without a scythe.

  Whipping off the cloak, Tyler hangs it on a nearby coat hook. I’ve gotta say, the look isn’t any better without it. He’s still channeling Zorro, all that’s missing is a mask. Black T-shirt. Black jeans. Black belt. Black Converse shoes. Sheesh. Tyler never has to separate colors when he does his laundry. He’s a one-load guy. (Unless he wears tightie-whities! I struggle to hold back a slight smirk at the thought of Tyler in stark-white underwear.)