Page 112 of The Lucky One

I think I will break up with Michael... The girls like him but I don’t feel anything when we kiss. I hope it’s not a mistake.

“Definitely not a mistake, girl.”

Anyways, if you managed to make those #3 reasons come true that’s cool, but if not, it’s okay too! We got away, and we did that. Don’t be hard on you. We are not perfect, no matter how often Mama says that.

I bit the inside of my cheek. I knew Mama didn’t mean it to pressure me, but for some reason those loving words struck me the wrong way. Now I missed her saying it.

Oh, you better didn’t get fat! I researched and American food is apparently not healthy. I don’t want to start with sport when coming back.

I looked down at myself. I did get a bit curvier—but I actually liked it. I felt sexier, and thanks to strength training, it wasn’t all fat, but muscle too. I actually wanted to keep working out when I went back.

Have fun, and stay till the end so you will actually get this letter.

Bye!

I shook my head. Everything had happened different than how I’d planned. Sure, I’d checked off the items on my list, but they seemed less important now.

Despite it all, I realized, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I had lived a life worthy of a movie, loving intensely, diving into both the good and the bad. I would willingly go through it all again for the sake of the good parts.

Tucking the letter back into the envelope, something else caught my eye—a separate piece of paper. I took it out. My smile soared when I realized it was my plane ticket back for June 16th.

Gena padded back in the room. “How was the letter?” she asked.

“Like having a conversation with a version of myself I’ve lost touch with,” I said, tracing the date on the ticket with my fingertip. June was just around the corner.

Gena peeked over my shoulder. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find a solution, Emily,” she said quietly. I rested my head against her arm.

I sat on the bleachers, waiting for Paul to drive me home after his football practice was over. Caroline had sent me out early today. I think she was getting tired of me. “You can come back and visit your friends in the summer,” she suggested before letting me go. I almost laughed out loud; that was exactly what my old friends in Germany had said when I told them I was going off to America to be an exchange student. My answer was the same: “It’s not enough.”

Unlike in America, in Germany we only had a six-week summer vacation, but even if it was three months... it would be nine months in which all I’d be thinking about was this place. What if I came back and nothing had changed between Jon and me?

“Love Story” by Taylor Swift suddenly blasted on the speakers. I saw the entire football team lining up behind Paul, who was carrying a huge cardboard sign. He held it up. It read:

Do you want to go to prom with me?

I shot up from my spot so fast, I almost tripped over the bleacher step. Going to prom! If it wasn’t Jon making my dream come true, I would gladly go with Paul—as friends of course. I opened my mouth to scream when another “Yes!” shrieked through the air.

Kiki, running up to him, flying into his arms.

Of course. He wasn’t my Paul anymore—he was hers. They looked so happy, tears came to my eyes. My throat ached with the realization of what I’d lost. I had chosen the risky one, and he’d left me hanging.

Paul’s eyes met mine, Kiki still wrapped around him, and his smile vanished. I picked up my backpack and sprinted off. I’d just take the bus home...

I ran past the gym building but stopped in my tracks when I spotted Jon standing in a corner that was an absolute no-go for me. The smokers’ corner. I stomped toward him. His eyes widened when he saw me, but he couldn’t escape me this time.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I said, not giving a damn about the smokers sitting against the wall.

“Don’t make a scene, Little German,” he growled, and went to move past me.

“No!” I said louder, yanking him back by the elbow. “I can accept you throwing me away, but I’m not standing for you giving up on everything again!”

“I’m not taking shit,” he said. “You have no fucking idea. Stop pretending like you know me.”

Without knowing what was driving me in that moment, I put my palms on his chest and shoved him. He tumbled back, almost losing his balance. “Fuck you, Jon Henry Denson! I’m done!”

Now it wasn’t only the druggies watching us, but everyone passing by within a hundred-meter radius.

“Good!” he yelled back, glaring at me with such ferocity, I wanted another go at him.

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