Page 10 of When Fate Breaks
“Evangeline,” he repeats, eyes flicking down to the tag and then back to me. “Evangeline Jacks.”
I nod.
“Is that your real name?”
“Yeah,” I respond, looking towards the ground for a distraction. The first thing that grabs my attention is the notebook paper in his book. I reach for it, swiping it out from between the pages.
“Hey, stop!” Blake yells, trying to snatch it back out of my hands.
“Why?” I question, leaning away and unfolding the paper. “They’re just doodles, aren’t they?” My eyes fall down to the paper and I realize that the drawings are only bordering the paper, seeing a small jumble of words scrawled across the center of the page. It seems to be some sort of list.
“Try something new, Do something selfless, Prove someone wrong.” I read the list out loud. “Blake, what are these?”
Blake, having given up on trying to get the paper back, sits back down with a huff, circling his arms around his bent knees. “New Year’s resolutions,” he grumbles.
“Huh,” I say, my brow furrowing.
He turns towards me. “What?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “They’re just kinda…”
“Kinda what?” Blake pushes.
“I don’t know,” I shake my head. “...Easy?”
Catching me off guard, Blake plucks the paper right out of my hands.
“Well, what’s the point in setting goals you could never achieve, Evangeline?”
My face falls. “You don’t need to call me that,” I say. “Nobody does.”
“Why?” Blake asks, his head tilting.
“Because… I don’t know. It’s so long. And…old.”
Blake snorts.
“I’m serious. Old enough to be my great-grandmother’s name.Literally. I don’t know. I’m just,” I shrug my shoulders, “Annie. I forget that’s even my real name.”
Blake’s lips press into a line. “Well then I think at least one person should call you that,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “So you don’t forget.”
I open my mouth to fight back and then stop myself, closing it again. “Okay.”
* * *
Twelve hours later,we find ourselves crammed into Times Square, bright lights, loud noises, and questionable smells hitting us from every angle.
It’s fifteen minutes to midnight and our legs are about ready to give out. Steph is holding Dad’s hand, dozing off while still standing, leaning against his knee. Emily has her pink beanie pulled halfway down her face, rubbing her crossed arms to warm herself as she chats to Mom. Blake is currently standing on Kyle’s shoulder, trying to get a better look at Aerosmith’s pre-recorded performance playing on the big screens.
As the last song comes to an end, our entire group turns to look at each other, bodies shivering and teeth chattering. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Dad asks Kyle.
“Oh, yeah. Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Kyle responds. “How about some pizza, kids?”
Steph, suddenly resurrected, shouts, “Yeah, pizza!”
We make our way out of the sea of people and stop at the closest pizza shop we can find: some old, small, and slightly sketchy looking place called Angelo’s.
When we step inside, the space is bigger than it appeared from the street and, though the interior is definitely old and dated, several TV screens line the walls, playing the Times Square event we just left. “Score!” Kyle whisper-shouts, high-fiving Dad.
