The Bad Jokes #1: The Redhead

Prologue

"OK, so we hit the tilt-a-whirl, the ferris wheel and then we move to --" my cousin Gracelyn Matthewson was mapping out our evening at the fair.

"Someone explain why we're here again," my other cousin, Justice Buchanon, grumbled, not caring that she was interrupting Gracie.

"Guys," I said. "Alexander said all the guys from school are going to be here, plus some of his college friends. Major hunk potential."

Both my cousins shared a look. They knew boys had been at the forefront of my discussions lately to an obsessive degree and they knew why.

"Word has it," Grace said, "that you and Trev have a special date planned after the prom on Friday."

"Maybe we do," I said, defensively. "Maybe it's time."

"Time for what?" Justice demanded. "Why don't you spell it out for us, Rory? Because we think you're about to do something really stupid that you don't really want to do just because Stephanie Merchant has been making your life miserable by flirting with Trev. You can't do something stupid with him just to keep his attention. If you have to do that to keep him or stop him from hooking up with that skank, then he's not really much of a boyfriend."

"Maybe I want to and Stephanie has nothing to do with it."

"Stubborn and stupid," Justice tossed back at me.

"Hey, look! A fortune teller," Grace pointed at a little tent.

I stopped, compelled by something, some nameless force I couldn't explain, and then headed over to the small, striped tent.

"Oh, they always have these at fairs. Totally bogus," Justice rolled her eyes.

"I'm going," I announced.

"Madame Angelina," Grace read the sign. "I always wanted to try one of these, see if they're really psychic. I'm going with Rory."

"OK, but whatever she guesses, let's go along with it," Justice grinned. "Let's have some fun with her."

We walked into the tent and peered at the dim interior. A relatively normal-looking woman was seated at a round table, a crystal ball in front of her.

"Ah, you three look like a bad joke," she murmured as we walked toward the table. We exchanged surprised glances; my cousin Alexander, Grace's brother, always referred to us as the Bad Jokes -- you know, a blonde, a brunette and a redhead walk into a bar...I was the redhead, Grace was the blonde and Justice was the brunette. Was this a lucky guess on her part?

"Ladies, have a seat," Madame Angelina indicated the chairs in front of her table. She was backlit with a light that made it look as if she was glowing.

"Here we go," Justice murmured.

"You're not going anywhere, especially not to college, if you don't get that calculus grade up," Madame said with a pointed look at Justice.

The smug look left my cousin's mathematically challenged face, leaving her slack jawed. Grace and I exchanged a look -- if this was news to us, that meant Justice hadn't told anyone about her calc grade.

"Now," Madame said, "was there anything in particular you girls wanted to know?"

"No," Gracie said, "just maybe tell us our futures."

"Oh, that's all?" Madame said with a wry grin. "Shall I start with you, Rory? Or should I start with Grace or Justice?"

"We...we didn't tell you our names," I stammered.

With a graceful flutter of her hand, Madame Angelina gave a soft laugh. "I wouldn't be much good if I couldn't do something that basic, would I?"

She gazed into the ball, a frown marring her features. "Rory, I see you about to make a bad decision in your future with the wrong boy. What you are considering is not meant to be with him."

With an almost desperate intensity, she covered my hand with hers. "You must wait, child. You must wait for the man with the scar. He is your future, not this boy, but you must wait for him no matter how long it takes to find him, no matter what obstacles you encounter with him."

Her eyes pierced me, and, not going to lie, they were a little scary with their intensity. "You may walk out of here and think what I am telling you is all nonsense made up by some crazy old woman. But it's not. You never told anyone about almost getting hit by a car when you snuck out of the house when you were thirteen. You never told anyone about your fear of that abandoned house on Maple Street with its broken windows and blue wooden door. But I know these things, and I'm telling you to wait for the man with the scar."

Sitting back from me, she turned to Grace, and proceeded to scare the hell out of her. Once she finished terrifying Justice, all three of us walked out of the tent, quiet, shaken and wondering how this woman knew such private things about all of us -- things we hadn't even told each other, and we told each other everything. 

And somehow, despite our skepticism walking into that tent, we all believed the futures she had told us. We would all wait many years for their fulfillment, but we would also find out that Madame Angelina had not been wrong.