Page 3 of The Second Chance Year

I prop my fists on my hips. “Then shouldn’t you already know who I am?”

The woman folds her hands on the table. “I’m a fortune teller. Not a psychic. I need to consult the crystal ball.”

At that moment, the lustrous orb in front of her seems to glow brighter, and I blink, wondering if maybe someone slipped something into my carnival cosmo when I wasn’t looking.

“Would you like me to tell your fortune?” the woman asks.

Part of me knows this is completely bogus, but for a moment, I consider the offer anyway. What if someone had looked into a crystal ball last December and warned me about the terrible year I was about to have? Would I have done something differently?

IknowI’m outspoken and quick to react if someone offends me. What if I’d reined it in? On those nights out with Alex, when his coworker was being a jerk, maybe I could have taken a deep breath and spoken calmly instead of telling him off in front ofthe whole bar. If I had, would Alex and I still be together? What if, instead of yelling at my boss when he was being a bully, I’d tried having a reasonable conversation with him? Would I still have my job at Xavier’s and my cute studio apartment with the walk-in closet?

And would I still be on track to making my dreams a reality?

I sigh. None of this really matters. I don’t need to see the future; I need to change the past. And that’s not on the table…

Is it?

I eye the old woman’s crystal ball. “Does that thing do any other tricks?”

Her eyes drift from the crystal ball to my face. “It’s not an iPhone. You can’t use it to watch TikTok videos.”

“I know…” I sink down onto a tufted-velvet stool. “Look, the last year of my life sucked like a straw in a milkshake. I can’t help thinking if I’d known what was coming, I would have made different choices. So, while knowing my fortune is fine and all… what Ireallyneed is a do-over of the last year.”

“Ah, yes. I see.” She nods sagely. “You’re one ofthose.”

“One of those…what?”

“One of those people who want to go back and meddle with the past. It’s not a good idea. I’m telling you”—she waves a crooked finger at me—“it never ends well.”

A shiver runs up my spine, but I shake it off, keeping my eyes on the prize. “So, you’re saying you can help me?”

The woman looks me up and down. Finally, she throws her hands up in the air. “Fine. I can grant you one wish. But before I do, you must be sure you want to go through with this. It may not turn out the way you think it will.”

Goose bumps pop up on my skin, which is ridiculousbecause this whole thing is a total sham, and if I weren’t slightly tipsy and there wasn’t a clown stalking me, I’d be out of here. But for some reason, I find myself nodding anyway. “Yes. I want this.”

The old woman sighs deeply. Then she slowly pulls a wooden box out from under the table and opens it. I sit up on my stool, trying to peer over the top. “Is that where the magic happens—?”

She holds up a hand, and I stop talking. Reaching into the box, the woman pulls out a ceramic bowl and several small glass jars full of what look like dried herbs in an array of colors. She tosses a handful of red herbs into the bowl, followed by green, then a pinch of blue and a dash of orange. Smashing it all together with a pestle, she grinds the colors into a maroon-colored powder that she pours into a small cloth bag.

“Now. Go to the bar and order a shot of vodka,” she instructs me.

I wrinkle my nose. Vodka tastes like lighter fluid. “I’m really more of a tequila kind of girl. Do you think I could—”

The woman cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “Silence!”

I press my lips together, examining the bag full of powder. It occurs to me that the fortune teller might want me to pour that stuff in a shot of vodka and drink it. That’s going to have to be a hard no, and not just because I don’t like the taste of vodka. If I was worried about someone slipping something into my drink before… well. This is not a good idea. But I’ve come this far and I can’t quite make myself get up and leave.

“Order a shot ofvodka,” she repeats. “Drink it. Then close your eyes, spin around three times, make your wish, and toss this powder in the air.”

Even though the rational part of my brain is rolling around on the floor laughing at these instructions, I nod along, going over the steps in my head to make sure I have them straight. Vodka, spin, wish, powder… vodka, spin, wish, powder… Got it. “And then what happens next?”

“What do you think happens next?” She closes her eyes and shakes her head like I’m the dumbest person on the planet. “And then your wish comes true.”

I feel like that answer only raises more questions, but I’m not sure it’s appropriate to point it out when she’s gone to all this trouble to mix up a potion for me. Instead, I gather up my bag of powder, shove it in my purse, and stand up. “Well, thanks for your help.”

The fortune teller clears her throat and hitches her chin at a glass jar on the table.TIPS, the sign says. Right. I stuff a twenty I can’t really afford into the jar.

“Good luck,” she calls to me as I make my way out of the tent and back onto the dance floor.

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