A/N: I wrote this story about four years ago and just now found it. My writing is a little bit better but I decided to just submit what I originally wrote to see how it would be received by readers. Of course I'll edit the upcoming chapters.

Coren took me to go see a psychic a few weeks ago.

"To see what's up in store for you," she said.

Her parents were business executives and were well paid so she had enough money to see a psychic and a spiritualist twice a week. I didn't want to see or care about what was up in store for me. I only had three things to do in life: graduate from high school, get rich, and die rich.

Nothing in between.

The psychich lady looked like the typical woman you would expect. Overdone makeup, inch long eyelashes, fat lips, throaty voice, clawlike acrylic nails, pencil drawn eyebrows. It was impossible to tell her age. Her office was in a small dumpy building downtown between two business buildings. Hers was one story and had the words MADAME COLETTE hand painted on the front windows. I also noticed that the blinds were falling apart.

"This is where you go everyday?" I asked Coren.

"Twice a week," she corrected.

The inside smelled like incense. The second the bell rang as the door opened, we heard a voice from the back room.

"Coren, is that you?"

"Madame, c'est moi," she replied. She loved to impress people with her French ability. Colette wasn't French.

Before showing me into the room with the lady, Coren took my shoulders and lightly massaged them. "Now relax, 'Nessa. Don't let her scare you. She just wants to get to know you and your future."

"I thought she was gonna tell me that."

She ignored my comment and pushed me in. Madame Colette was sitting behind an old woden table smoking one of those long cigarettes, kind of like Cruella De Vil.

"Ranessa," she said, and I almost laughed.

The calendar to the left had coffee-like stains on it and read the year 2020--two years earlier. This woman was behind. She blew a smoke ring at me.

"So," she began, and came up with a huge glass ball and set it in the middle of her desk in a small clawlike contraption.

I shoved my fist in my mouth. "I thought nobody believed in psychics anymore."

"You're here aren't you?" she rasped.

I didn't have the heart to tell her that Coren had forced me to go. I admit, I did stare in wonder when Madame Colette waved her hands over the glass ball and it glowed a deep shade of purple in the dark room. She laughed when she saw my expression.

"Purple is your favorite color, is it not?" She gave a smile of triumph.

I looked around her room. The walls were painted purple, her curtains were lavendar, her carpet was lilac, her nails painted violet. I think purple was just her favorite color. Mine as well, but that had nothing to do with it.

Throughout the session, she kept bringing it up as the ball glowed different shades of the color. I got a kick out of it all but what really got to me was the dates she gave me: 2031, 2034, 2038, and 2042. The date 2034 came up twice.

She stared straight at me. Her eyes were a weird shade of orange mixed in with green. They were big and wide, almost bewildered. Wait, I think she was bewildered.

"What?" I asked. My voice matched hers, barely above a whisper.

Madame started shaking. "These dates will be very important dates for you."

I chuckled. "As in..."

"That will be up to you to find out."

"Madame--"

"It will be soon, though. Very soon."

I left, what I later found out was her bedroom, in a daze. Coren was flipping through a fashion magazine.

"Aren't you going to ask how it went?"

Coren adjusted her glasses. They were so 2004. "How did it go?"

"She said my favorite color was purple."

I summed up the rest of the corny interpretation of my future and added, "She gave me four dates and one of them was shown twice."

My friend looked delighted. She squealed. "Ooh! Those are the years you're gonna star in blockbuster movies! Orlando Bloom! Aaron Carter! Spencer Breslin! Jacob Smith!"

I slapped her across the face. She seemed to forget that acting was her dream, not mine. Her parents wanted her to do something that actually required her brain, but Coren's brain froze several years ago so acting was basically the only thing she had left. And I believed in her. All I wanted to do was make money. No television was involved.

I didn't tell my parents I'd been to Madame Colette's. I couldn't let anybody know about that. I made Coren swear to secrecy. So when my older sister Shirley asked me where I was all day, I just said Coren's house. I been there for most of my life so it was a valid excuse.

Coren raised her eyebrows. "Okay, okay. But when an agent calls your number and you find Spencer on the se-eet..."

Male celebrities didn't appealto me. If you couldn't have 'em, why pine for 'em? I preferred the guys at our school. Since most of the girls couldn't have that, my options were open, way open. I had the guys to myself. Who weren't taken, that is.

"Where were you last night?" my mother asked me Saturday morning.

Like every other Friday night, I spent it with Coren. You would think my mother would finally get it.

"I was smoking a joint with Vince and the other guys at the corner of Main and January."

My mother stopped folding the laundry. Her already big eyes went even bigger. A little after I was born she had eye surgery which stretched her face a little bit. It was supposed to make her eyes seem smaller and more almond shaped. Now all I saw were laugh lines spreading out like a spider web.

"Vincent is a good boy," she said, returning to the clothes.

I planted myself in front of my mother and gazed deep into her eyes. "What do you think will happen to me in 2031?"

"You will be twenty-five," was her answer.

"Yeah yeah, no duh. What will happen?"

She blinked. Like me, she had implanted contact lenses. You could tell by the way we blinked profusely. Like once...pause...then again and again and again. You could always tell when someone had implanted contacts by the way they blinked.

"Mmm, you will win the lottery and win a cruise to Jamaica."

I spun on my heels and went upstairs. I passed Shirley's room. Her door was slightly ajar so I found her dancing in her underwear, singing karaoke. My father had the house walls soundproofed for one reason: so we wouldn't hear Shirley sing. She was convinced she'd be the next Ali Lohan. Ali Lohan couldn't sing either.

I reached in and pulled the door shut and the noise was blocked. I threw myself on my bed. Last night, Coren was coming up with a million possibilities of what the years 2031, '34, '38, and '42 could mean. And the fact that 2034 came up twice. What in the hell did that mean?