Free Star Shack by Lila Castle Page A

clearly not getting the hint to shut up or walk away, or both. “I wish I could afford to splurge on fattening things, but I’d be a whale if I did.”
    She runs a hand over her flat belly while eying my baggy sweats. They do have a rather whale-like quality. What is up with her? She got Pete; she wins the thinner-than-thou contest; but she’s still staring at me, trying to find some other way to rip me down. Does she have some deep-seated need to ruin the lives of every female she sets eyes on? Because it’s not like I did anything to her. Come to think of it, I’ve never even had a conversation with her before this.
    â€œIf you do ever want to lose a pound or two, I recommend the Martha’s Vineyard cleanse. It’s very holistic,” she says. “Gets rid of toxins. Pete says you’re into New Agey stuff, so I figured…” She doesn’t finish.
    And suddenly I get it. She does have something against me, something big. There’s no way she’d treat me like this if I weren’t a threat. And there’s only one way I could threaten her: In addition to telling her that I’m into “New Agey stuff” (which I’m not ; astrology doesn’t count), Pete must have done or said something to tip her off that I was more than just a casual summer friend. She is marking her territory, hoping I will back off.
    Inside, I have to admit, I am squealing with delight. But I remain calm. I take another bite of my dough and chew it slowly, then swallow. “Thanks, but I’m happy with how I look.”
    She arches an eyebrow, as if she couldn’t possibly believe it.
    â€œHave a great time at dinner,” I say, turning and walking toward home.
    For the first time since that horrible night, I feel hopeful that maybe, just maybe, Pete and I aren’t through. If Sarah is acting this ridiculous, he must still feel something for me. And if that’s the case, I’m not just going to roll over and give up. I’m going to fight. As I jog back home, my mind brimming with schemes and plans, I remember my astrology prediction…the one about business.
    It’s spot on.
    ***
    It takes me two days to develop my plan—two days of begging my parents for money (I promise to pay back the $400 with interest), getting mixed up in the Gingerbread Beach summer real estate rental market (my parents have to sign the lease), and another day to corner Pete at the Opera Café. (My parents, convinced I’ve lost my mind, are very relieved to have me out of the house.) My heart aches when I see Pete, his curls damp from the rain, as he chats with Jed at the counter.
    â€œHey,” I say.
    His eyes light up for the briefest moment when he sees me. Then they go distant and blank, but I know what I saw.
    â€œI have a proposition for you,” I continue, emboldened.
    Jed shoots Pete an indecipherable stare and then walks over to the back fridge for supplies to give us a moment alone.
    Pete nods, not quite looking at me. “What is it?”
    â€œWell, you’re convinced that astrology is junk, and I’m convinced it’s the real deal. So let’s see who’s right.”
    He almost smiles. “How are we going to do that?” he asks. I can hear just a flicker of interest in his voice.
    â€œI rented out a storefront,” I tell him. “Right on the boardwalk. You and I are going to start an astrology booth. We’ll read people’s charts for romance and see what happens. If we make a bunch of happy couples and the place gets mobbed, we know I’m right. And if it’s a complete bust, you win and I’ll never say another word about astrology.”
    Pete’s brows slowly rise and then twist into a knot. “You want…us start an astrology advice booth together? I don’t think so.”
    At that very moment, Sarah hurries through the door of the café and lowers her umbrella, looking around for