beeps again. I thread my pack higher onto my shoulder and get a better grip of my crutch before grabbing my phone out of my pocket.
Olivia: Sorry. I was asleep. I’ll meet you at my place at 4:30?
Olivia: I have a theory.
It’s nearly four now. I brush my hand against my screen to wipe away the drops of rain that splatter and blur her words. I consider canceling. I don’t want to hang out or talk about this damn curse or accidentally tell her that I think her dad wants me to lie and possibly falsify records.
Olivia: Also, Indian food leftovers aren’t the worst.
My mind is screaming excuses as my thumb taps away at my screen.
Me: I’m on my way.
I don’t think of bad luck or the woman who cursed me, or of Coach Harris or my knee as I drive the short distance to Olivia’s—I simply imagine what it will be like to move back home. Will I get a job working with my dad? Will I move in with them until I can afford a place? Will I be able to afford to remain in North Jersey?
I knock on Olivia’s door with my thoughts still in a daze, and the realization I should have canceled as annoyance creeps into my head, surrounding every cognizant thought like a well-trained defense preparing a siege.
The door opens wide with a tug, and Olivia appears. Her hair is piled onto her head in a giant bun, and she’s wearing ripped jeans and an orange sweatshirt that says Texas on it. Surprisingly, I don’t wish to throw it out into the road to be defiled.
“Hey,” she says, waving me inside as she tracks the surrounding area. “You’ve got to be quick. The cat’s starting to dart for the door.”
I head inside, my crutches quieter against the carpet in their apartment. Once inside, I turn to face her. There’s something different about her today that I can’t quite place.
“Okay,” she says, spreading her fingers as she walks toward me.
I shake my head. “Tell me how good the Indian food was first.”
Olivia slows and does a nearly imperceptible shake of her head as she blinks heavily like she’s trying to change thoughts. A slow smile spreads on her face. “It was still better last night.”
“That’s only because you had killer company.”
She rolls her eyes but laughs. “The vegetables got all soggy. It’s a texture thing for me.”
This time I roll my eyes. “Did you have it for breakfast? It made your day better, am I right?”
Her brow lowers, and her nose scrunches. “I didn’t have breakfast. I was up all night thinking about your situation.”
“You were up all night thinking about me?” I waggle my eyebrows at her. “I had no idea you were interested. Was this you playing hard to get?”
“I started to think about what luck is, and that got my head spinning.” That same air of excitement sparks in her eyes again as she ignores my attempt to rile her up. “Okay, so walk with me.”
“How far?”
She shakes her head and waves a hand at me—even her facial expressions and movements look nothing like her father’s. “Figuratively, I want you to walk with me. What is luck?”
“Now, we’re doing a pop quiz?”
She comes to a full stop, her shoulders sagging with defeat and frustration—a look I’ve seen on the field so often that I can read it in an instant.
I grin. “Sorry. Was that too far?”
“Luck is chance, right? Or I thought it was when I started thinking about this, but it’s not exactly the same because chance is a possibility of something happening, right? An aspect of our physical universe. A coin falling as heads or tails, what we roll in a game of dice, a poker hand—it’s all chance, right?”
I nod.
“So, chance is completely objective. If you’re playing blackjack and have a queen and ask for one card and get an ace, anyone would say that was good luck. But if you had a four and were dealt the same ace, you might say it was bad luck—which had me realizing that luck is a completely subjective value.”
“Are you trying to tell me that I’m just looking at my situation through the wrong lens?”
She scratches her head. “Kind of, but not entirely. I think what we need to do is make your own luck.”
I stare at her, wondering how she went from a confident roll of explanations to a suggestion that she looks even less confident about then she sounds.