I wish she would stop speaking to me. I jab Thomas in the rib. I just want my fix. But he is busy yapping with another girl with tiny gold hoop earrings.

“What kind of jobs are you looking for?”

I see an opportunity. “Social media,” I say. “But in the meantime, I’ve been doing chart readings. I’m an astrologer.”

“Wow,” she says. “So LA.” Then she giggles as though she’s made a joke, which she hasn’t. It is such an unimaginative thing to say. Also, it is wrong. LA didn’t invent astrology. And people are into it everywhere. I know they are into it in New York, because the Precious Starlets talk about astrology all the time. Hazel is a Gemini and Camilla is a Leo—an understated Leo, a quiet Leo, the best type of Leo.

“Do you want a reading?” I ask. This girl is nice, a pushover. Probably a Libra. I assume she will feel bad for me and say yes. Libras will do anything to avoid a conflict.

“Sure, why not?” she says, then pauses. “How much do you charge?”

“Two-fifty,” I say. She lives in New York, so she is probably used to things being overpriced.

“Damn,” she says.

“I’m really good,” I say. This isn’t a lie. I’ve been told I changed people’s lives, gave them self-esteem and the insight to take control of their destinies. Mostly when I hear these things, I just feel sad.

“For two-fifty, you better be.”

I force a smile, for business purposes. “Do you know your birth time?” I ask. “I also need the year, place, and date.”

“Hmm,” she says. “I’ll have to double-check the birth time with my mom. I think I was born at three A.M., but I’m not sure. It might have been four.”

“An hour won’t change anything,” I say. This isn’t entirely true, but I want to do the reading now because I want the money. “As long as you know within a three-hour time frame.”

“Great,” she says. “October fourth.”

I smile. I am right—a Libra. Astrology is wrong, but I am always right.

“1996.”

I swallow. I can’t believe Thomas is hanging out with a twenty-three-year-old. Actually I can. He’s desperate, and these zoomers probably stroke his ego because they don’t know any better.

“Ridgewood, New Jersey.”

I stifle a giggle. The Precious Starlets often talk shit about New Jersey suburbs. They say it is very “new money” and tacky there.

“Let’s say three A.M.”

“Cool,” I say. I open my astrology app and type in the info.

“Wait,” she says. “I’m paying you hundreds of dollars to read something off an app?” She uses a polite voice, but this is a bit confrontational for a Libra. Maybe she has a Sagittarius rising.