Balk: A false start in which a diver makes an obvious attempt to begin the forward or backward approach but does not complete the dive, leading to a deduction in scores of up to two points per judge.
I STOP short when I catch sight of Iris, backed by the open doorway, her long dark hair loose and wavy under a twisted swath of orange and black fabric. She smiles and sways, making her multi-tiered skirt swish across the ground.
The fortune-teller of my freaking dreams.
“You look—Wow.”
Her cheeks turn pink. “Thanks. The skirt belonged to my grandmother. I figured it couldn’t hurt to represent.”
Iris unties the cord holding the flap open and I follow her inside. The canvas flap whooshes shut and we’re alone. I resist the impulse to touch her hair, wanting her to turn and face me, and she turns on her own. Saving me from balking. We stand there staring at each other underneath tiny lights strung in the highest reaches of the tent, but neither of us makes the first move. My pulse is thumping from head to toe and everywhere in between. This would be the wrong time to punk out, if I were going to, which I’m not.
“I’m really glad you showed up,” she says. “I didn’t want the guy who just left to be my last customer. It was like giving a reading to a flashing stop sign. Red, red, red intense. Those kinds of customers always give me the creeps, but this guy was extra pushy. He wouldn’t stop insisting I was holding out on him.”
“Were you?”
“Maybe a little. But sometimes that’s the right thing to do.”
I step closer, until the space that separates us is harder to keep open than closed. “Would it help if I told you I’ve been thinking about coming here all day? I even brought my normal blue skies with me to even things out.”
“Actually, I’m getting more of an orange vibe from you tonight. With a little black seeping in around the edges.”
“A Monarch can’t really change its colors.”
“You’d be surprised,” she says.
My eyes follow the curve of her lips to the pearly buttons left open at the top of her ruffled shirt. I put my breathing in sync with hers and watch our chests rise and fall in time. If there was ever a time to kiss her, it’s now. I bend my head toward hers and she places her palms flat against my chest stopping me mid-swoop before releasing a breath as long and slow as a train whistle.
“We should probably get started on your reading,” she whispers. “The teachers are watching the tents to make sure we don’t dawdle with our friends.”
Damn.
Iris gestures to a small round table covered in thick black cloth. A single white candle flickers shadows across a well-worn deck of cards waiting to spill my fate. “Have a seat.”
“No crystal ball?”
“Hardy har har.”
“Black cat? Candelabra? Stevie Nicks music?”
“The cards are all I need, Theo. I’m that good.” The way she smiles as she shuffles the deck doesn’t leave much room for doubt.
“Are those tarot cards?”
“They’re Romani fortune-telling cards. Different than tarot. They were my mother’s. She brought them with her from the old country.” Iris removes a well-worn pair of cards from a purple deck and puts them aside. “I’ll start by telling you the same thing I tell every customer. If anything I say starts to make you feel uncomfortable, we can stop.”
“Do we need a safe word?” I joke.
“Not for this.” She gives me a look that sends a rush of heat to the deepest pit in my belly.
I tip the chair back on two legs and puff out a big breath, trying to regain some control over my lower body.
“You ready?” Iris chuckles lightly and places the deck in front of me. “I want you to cut the deck and ask a silent question you’d like answered. But only one, or you’ll send a confusing vibe out.”
I think we covered confusing vibe thirty seconds ago, but I’m game.
Will I beat my biggest opponent?
“Did you think of one?”
I nod and she deals the cards faceup in a pile, counting out loud. When she gets to the number fifteen a joker appears. She stops, leaving the counted cards on the table then shuffles the remaining deck hand over hand in a triple cut.
“What was that all about?” I ask.
“When the joker lands predicts whether your question will be answered or is doubtful.”
“Which is it?”
“You have to wait and see. I’m going to keep shuffling. You tell me when to stop.”
The cards make a zipping sound as Iris riffle shuffles from two stacks, bridging them together, over and over.
“Okay. Stop.”
She picks up a card that’s been sitting to her right and places it faceup in the middle of the table. Half the card looks like a normal two of hearts, but the other half has No. 19 in one corner next to a drawing of a man in a long coat.
“This card represents you,” Iris says, anchoring the card to the table with one finger. “The man whose fortune is being read. Every male customer gets this as his grounding card. What I’m going to do next is deal two sets of cards around this one. The inner cards shape your destiny and the outer cards represent the forces surrounding you. Any card’s significance can change depending on its proximity to your grounding card, or any of the other cards I deal for you. Do you have any questions before we start?”
“No, but I really feel like I’m laying my cards on the table here, Iris, and you haven’t told me that much about yourself.”
She winks at me and deals the two groups of cards. Each one has a numbered suit in one corner and an image in the other.
“Take time to look at all the cards, then choose the one that stands out to you most. That’s where we’ll start.”
I peruse the spread, shifting my gaze a few times to see if there’s one card Iris is drawn to, but she’s not watching the deck. She’s watching me. I hold her gaze and point to the card with a Cupid in the corner.
“This one. You said the inner cards shape my destiny, right? What does Cupid have to say about that?”
Iris shifts her eyes to the table. “Amor. Interesting choice. This card means someone is looking at you with love and longing. And because it’s next to the Park, which represents new love, the meaning of both cards becomes intensified.”
“But are they doubtful?”
“Patience, grasshopper.”
I don’t realize I’m tapping the edge of my phone on the table, turning it over and over until she says, “Are you thinking about deleting my number now that you’ve seen what I do for fun?”
I laugh so hard I blow the candle out. “Not at all. Your phone number actually helped me out at the demo earlier. I was about to send you a text when I saw the last four digits of your number were 5152. In diving a 5152B is a Forward 2½ Somersault, 1 Twist, so I decided to do that dive on the spot. Up until then, I wasn’t sure what I was gonna do. I have you to thank for the inspiration.”
“Glad I could help. Coach Porter was right about you by the way. Your performance was pretty amazing.” She relights the candle from a long match and the addictive snap-whoosh it makes as it’s struck steals my attention.
“Maybe you can teach me an easier one sometime,” she says.
I narrow my eyes. “I thought you didn’t dive or do anything crazy?”
“I don’t. Not off the cliff. But I think I can handle a few midair somersaults from a diving board.”
My eyebrows shoot skyward. “Oh, really! I’d love to see you try, Iris. Challenge accepted. Anytime. Any place.”
“Ye of little faith,” she says. “There’s more to me than meets the eye, Theo. But right now this reading is all about you. Are you ready to hear more?”
“My destiny is literally in your hands. Go for it.”
She gives me a quick smile and straightens a few cards. “See here, how the Cat and the Mouse are next to each other? Because they’re beneath your grounding card it means they’re working in tandem. The Cat, being this close to you, means you might suffer a personal injury. And very soon, because when I put that card down it slid, overlapping the corner of your grounding card. Don’t take that lightly. The Cat has been the most actualizing card in my deck. The Mouse, though, adds a level of trickery. It means you either lost or will lose something through strife. Together they’re telling you to watch your back. Like that old saying, playing cat and mouse.”
“Buckle my seat belt, wear a helmet, don’t take candy from strangers. Got it.”
“Exactly.” Iris taps her fingers on her lips and studies the set. “Now this one, the Eye—my mom used to call it the Ever-Watching Eye—being this far away from your grounding card signifies that you feel suspicion or scrutiny about someone. And the Fox means an acquaintance may seek to betray you. But luckily the Dog right above that Fox means a true friend will be by your side.”
“Chip is definitely a dog,” I say. “No contest.”
“The guy with the loud muffler?” She chuckles. “That makes sense. You two are inseparable.”
“And as far as suspicion and scrutiny, I haven’t been feeling much love for Les lately.”
“That’s not good, considering he’s our project partner. Is there anything I need to know?”
“Nothing I want to talk about tonight.”
“Okay then, let’s see what the outer set of cards have to say since they represent the forces surrounding you. The people or situations you have little or no control over.”
“I’m not sure I’ll like these. Loss of control is the enemy of diving.”
“It happens to the best of us. Usually at the worst times.”
True enough.
Iris crosses her arms and leans forward on the table, examining my cards more closely, so I do the same. Our upper bodies hover above the cards at inward facing angles, forming a tighter tent. Shadows from the small flame dance across her sharp cheekbones, making her look more legit.
“The Snake.” Iris flashes her brows at me and stamps her index finger on a card with a coiled snake in the lower right corner, rising up to snatch a small orange and black bird from a branch. Just like the oriole Iris was swatting in the tree.
“When the Snake is this far away from your ground card it suggests the presence of an unresolved calamity in your past.”
I wouldn’t necessarily say I had little or no control over that revelation. I chew the side of my middle finger and pump my knee up and down to quiet the bell that started ringing in my ears the minute she said Snake.
Iris tilts her head. “That card bothers you.”
I drop a shrug. “A little.” I could tell her about my parents, the fire, even my latest flashback if I actually knew how to bring up any of those things without making her run for the hills.
“The Snake shows up whenever I do my own readings too,” she confesses. “I think the reason it makes us uncomfortable is because it forces us to think about the past when we want to be told about the future. But the past and the future aren’t mutually exclusive. You can’t have one without having survived the other. The tricky part is remembering to hold onto the present when the past and future are pulling our thoughts in opposing directions.”
Her interpretation of that card couldn’t be more accurate.
“There’s some stuff I should probably tell you.”
“Okay. Me too. You go first.”
The tent flap opens with a whoosh before I can utter another word and our heads turn like we’re synchronized to face a middle-aged man with a tight-lipped mouth stepping inside the tent. I’m about to tell him to get lost when Iris stands up fast with a gasp and her chair tips over backward.
“Dad! What are you doing here?”
Dad?
I stand and straighten my shirt.
“I came by to see if my daughter had time for one more customer.” He waves a row of Admit One tickets in the air.
“I’m with a customer,” she scolds. “You can’t just barge in while I’m in the middle of a reading.”
Her dad waves the tickets again. “We all pay, one way or another.”
I take that as a yes and reach into my pocket.
Iris touches my forearm, then turns her chair upright. “You don’t have to pay, Theo. This was my treat.”
Her dad narrows his eyes and gives me the once-over like I have kid-who-wants-to-make-out-with-your-daughter written all over my face. I was definitely thinking about it before he showed up.
“Does this customer have a name?” He asks, putting air quotes around “customer” so I know I’m under the microscope.
“Yes, he does. This is Theo Mackey. My partner for the sociology project. I told you about that, remember?”
“How could I forget?”
Iris flicks apologetic eyes to me. “Theo, this is my dad, Bert Fiorello.”
“Nice to meet you.” I extend my hand and he looks at it like it’s barbed.
I keep my arm stretched out between us like a tollbooth gate, but I’m pretty sure her dad isn’t giving me the green light.
“You’re related to Dr. Maddox.” It’s not a question.
“He’s my uncle. Sort of. It’s complicated. My dad is—was—Dr. Mackey, the sports psychologist.”
Mr. Fiorello locks onto my hand suddenly with an iron grip. His fingers are thick, bone dry, and rough. Iris must have gotten her intense blue eyes from her mother because her dad’s are the same color as the mud he’s slinging at me.
I pull my shoulders back along with my hand and try again. “Your daughter told me some interesting things in here that might change how I view people over the next few days.”
“Runs in the family,” he says. “But I’m guessing you already knew that.”
“Only what Iris told me.” The innate need to defend myself comes out stronger than I’d intended. Even if her dad’s harsh reaction to me doesn’t make sense.
“Okay then,” Iris says. “Now that everyone has met…” She pushes her dad into my vacant seat. “Stay right there and I’ll do one more reading. Just for you.” She follows me through the tent flap. “I know you have to go soon. I’ll try my best to meet you there.”
“I lied to you,” I blurt.
“About what?” She tilts her head, waiting for me to explain. And now that I’ve blurted there’s no backing out.
“The other day, when you asked if I had everything I needed for the family history project. I lied. I barely have anything. Truth is, Malone couldn’t have given you and Les a worse partner.”
“Isn’t that why he grouped people together in the first place,” she says, “so we can help each other? You’re not in this alone.”
“Sure. But don’t you think it’s weird that he put two people whose parents died in the same group? If you look at the rest of my cards you’ll probably find my influencers can’t bring much to the table.”
“No. I don’t.” Iris touches my arm and a jolt of static electricity sparks between us. “Sorry. That happens sometimes with flannel tablecloth.”
“Maybe it’s not the flannel.”
“You’ll have to wait and see about that, too, Theo Mackey. I can’t show you all my cards at once. But for the record, Mr. Malone asked how I’d feel about being in the same group with you. I’m his student TA.”
“Iris!” Her dad bellows impatiently.
“You better go, Theo. Before it gets too late. Just remember what I told you about the Cat.”
The tent whooshes shut and I stand there, staring at the flap.
An old Clash song from the eighties floats over from the Flying Bobs—“Should I Stay or Should I Go.”
Great question.
I hear Iris’s dad say, “What are you doing hanging around with that boy?” and decide to stay a few minutes longer to find out what his deal is with me.
“You know he’s my sociology partner,” Iris says.
“And you know how I feel about them?”
“Them or that boy in particular?”
“Don’t argue semantics with me. You know exactly who and what I mean. What you were doing in here wasn’t about sociology.”
There’s an unnatural pause before her dad says, “Tell me what his cards said.”
“No. That’s private. Tell me why you don’t like him.”
“Young lady, you’re playing a dangerous game.”
“It’s not a game. You know that as well as I do.”
“Anyone involved with Phillip Maddox isn’t someone to be toyed with.”
“Theo is his own person. You don’t even know him.”
“I don’t have to know him. I know enough.”
What the—
I should go. It sounds like whatever problem Mr. Fiorello has with Uncle Phil makes me guilty by association, which is weird as hell. Plus, if he doesn’t want his daughter dating me, he definitely sees me as the trouble that song is talking about and I’m not ready for whatever double might come from lurking around.