total ploy.”
“Are you kidding?” he screeches. “The writers just wanted you to think that. And you fell for it.”
A huge grin spreads across my face.
“What?” Owen demands.
“Nothing. I’ve just missed this.”
“Missed what?”
“Us. Being us.”
He’s profoundly confused. “Were we not us yesterday?”
I bite my lip, fighting the urge to tell him the truth. I’ve done it countless times now. I know I can make him believe. I can make him an accomplice in this craziness once again.
But I hold it in.
All of it.
This isn’t his burden to bear. Not today. Today, it’s mine and mine alone. I can’t keep dragging him into something that I clearly have to figure out on my own.
“Hey,” I say, nodding toward his bag on the floor. “Have you forgotten something?”
He gives me a blank look before the realization hits. “Oh! Right!” He unzips the front pocket and pulls out the two crescent-shaped cookies. “Choose your tasty fortune!”
“You pick first this time,” I tell him.
He frowns. “But you always pick first. My fortune is always the result of your choices. That’s like the whole basis of our friendship.”
I know he’s kidding, but there’s something in his joke that rings so true, it unnerves me a bit. “I guess it’s time to do things differently.”
Owen shrugs, selects a cookie, and hands me the other one. I hold it in my lap while he breaks his open. I keep my eyes on the road, waiting for him to read the mysterious message inside.
“Huh,” he says after a moment.
I glance over at him. “What?”
“It’s empty.”
Empty?
I pull to a stop at the next red light and instantly dive for my own cookie, scrambling to get it open and completely disregarding the crumbs that fall everywhere in the process.
Owen leans in to read over my shoulder.
But there’s nothing to read.
Mine is empty, too.
“That’s so weird!” he exclaims.
“Yeah,” I murmur softly.
“Green light.” Owen points at the stoplight and I look up. It’s only now that I notice where we are. At the intersection of Providence Boulevard and Avenue de Liberation. The very spot where I’m supposed to get the ticket.
Goose bumps prickle my skin.
“What do you think this means?” Owen asks. “I once heard that it’s bad luck to have empty fortunes. Do you think it means something horrible is going to happen?”
“No,” I say, stepping on the gas. “I think it means exactly the opposite.”
Walkin’ Back to Happiness
8:42 a.m.
“Say ‘Two more years!’” the photographer trills.
“Two more years!” I trill back. She snaps the photo and I climb off the stool to check the viewfinder. I’m surprised by what I find. The girl on the little screen is so calm and relaxed. Her shoulders aren’t hunched, her posture isn’t ramrod straight, her smile doesn’t look forced.
She looks …
“You look happy,” the photographer’s assistant comments.
Yes. That’s it. I look happy.
Why has she never made that comment before? Had I really looked that miserable in the countless other photos I’ve taken this week?
9:50 a.m.
The bell rings, ending first period, and I file into the hallway with my classmates. I’m supposed to meet Tristan at my locker right now, and I can’t help feeling nervous at the thought of seeing him.
I know he won’t remember anything from the past six days. I know, for him, this day has been completely reset. But I remember. I know all the things he’s said, all the reasons he’s given me for wanting to break up, all the reactions I’ve had as a result.
Reminiscing about it all at once—like a mental collage—is twisting my stomach into knots.
He’s already at my locker when I arrive. He doesn’t see me yet so I have a few seconds to observe him. He leans against the locker banks, his guitar strapped to his back, peering down at his phone.
He sees me approach and stands up a bit straighter, pocketing his phone.
I smile and dial in the combination at my locker.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” he responds rigidly. He clears his throat. “So, that thing last night. I thought we should talk about it.”
I grab a pen from the holder, stick it into my bag, and close the door. “Yes,” I say, and turn to face him. I draw in a courageous breath. It’s taken me a week to get here. Now it’s finally time to say all the things I haven’t been able to say in the last six days.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that, too. Look, I’m tired of acting like I don’t care. I’m tired of hiding my feelings from