thing for me. I came to one resolute conclusion—I don’t care. I want Hudson to be the one who has a thing for me!
“Shay, I don’t even care. Keep my backpack. I’m about to fail my first test … ever.” A pathetic laugh bubbles from my lips and I’m on the verge of tearing up.
“I wrote the fortune.”
I’m not sure if her words didn’t sink in right away or if I’m just too exhausted to lose my mind, but my initial reaction is flat.
“You wrote the fortune.” I don’t know why I think repeating it will help. Maybe if I do it again?
“You wrote…”
“Yes, I wrote the damn fortune. I cut it out and swapped the real one for that one when you weren’t looking. Your real fortune was something like take solace in your health or some shit like that.” She shoves my backpack into my chest and flings her hands dismissively, frustrated that I’m not reacting. I am, though…or I’m about to. I’m just processing.
“I wanted you to just try for once!”
I laugh out pathetically at her reasoning.
“With Caleb?” I shake my head, baffled.
“Yes, and … with life! With being young! I just wanted you to see what it was like to feel something beyond your books and academic field trips.”
“I love my academic field trips!” I’m probably more fired up over her museum slur than I should be.
“Bullshit! You pretend to love them. What you really loved was that party we went to. And the dance. And you even loved the fact that you kissed someone totally unexpected. And he likes you!” Her hands have found her hips, and I’m so pumped with adrenaline, I could shove her off balance right now. Thing is though? She’s right. I did like it all.
“Shay, I messed everything up. Hudson liked me for a blip, and that blip has sailed.” My heart is pounding despite the words I’m saying. I think renewed hope is beating in my chest. Or I’m about to be sick. Either or. I can’t tell the difference anymore.
“Blips don’t sail, and like I said…all of this is kismet anyway.” She has a point on blips, but she’s still pushing the kismet thing.
“You wrote the fortune.” I shake my head and meet her stare, challenging her. “It’s not kismet if your best friend is the one writing the story for you.”
“Yeah, but Hudson? He’s not the story I wrote. You did that! You … or …”
“Kismet.” I finish for her. I don’t even say the word in the snarky tone I’ve been taking. My focus shifts to the front doors of the school, the bell just starting to ding, which means blue late slips will be coming out soon. If I run to my first hour right now, I’ll slide in right before the door closes and BS my way through an essay
Or…
My shoulders start to rise and fall with purposeful breaths, nostrils flaring like a bull. My first hour is to the right. But Hudson went left.
“It isn’t kismet, Shay. It’s not kismet at all.” The first syllable of her argument starts to pop out of her lips, but before she can speak, I skip backward on my heels and clap my hands a few times in an effort to buoy my confidence before facing the school doors. My jog turns into a sprint until I reach the entrance. Before I pull the handle, I look over my shoulder to catch my friend’s wide eyes.
“It’s carpe freaking diem!” I shout.
Without hesitation, I launch through the doorways and rip the blue slip from our hall monitor’s hand. His name’s Ethan, and he hadn’t even finished writing it yet.
“Hey!” he protests.
I hold the slip over my head and wave it at him. “I’ll mark myself tardy. I understand!”
With the crumpled note tucked in my right fist, I fly down the hallway corridors checking the windows in every door, scanning the rows of seats for familiar hair, perfect green eyes, and…exceptionally white Vans.
I find his feet four classrooms into my hunt. He’s in the front row, which is both good and bad. It means I won’t have to pass many people to get to him. But it also means that I’m about to put on a show. So be it. This show must go on.
Pulling the door open with enough force to make it quickly ricochet closed again and causing it to slam against my shoulder, I stumble into the classroom while Señor Marisol is writing out today’s date