Page 1 of The Do-Over

PROLOGUEValentine’s Day Eve

When Valentine’s Day rears its sugary-sweet, heart-shaped head, there are two types of people who receive it.

First, you have the full-on lovers of the holiday, hopeless romantics obsessed with the idea of love itself. These individuals believe in fate and soul mates and the notion that the universe sends out winged, mostly naked babies to shoot arrows into select single people, thus infecting them with true love that may cause drowsiness and a massive happily-ever-after.

Then you have the cynics, those curmudgeonly souls who call it a “Hallmark holiday” and complain that if true love exists, its proclamations should be expressed spontaneously on any random day and without the expectation of gifts.

Well, I am neither—and both—of these people.

Idobelieve that Valentine’s Day is an overcommercialized Hallmark holiday, but I also think there’s nothing wrong with enjoying the materialistic side effects of the celebration. Bringon the chocolates and flowers, and throw in a gift card to the local bookstore while you’re at it.

And yes, I believe in the existence of true love. But I strongly suspect that fate and soul mates and love at first sight are concepts created by the same people still waiting for Santa to show up with that puppy they asked for when they were seven years old.

In other words, Iabsolutelyexpect love in my life, but there is no way I’m going to sit around and wait for fate to make it happen.

Fate is for suckers.

Love is for planners.

My parents got married on Valentine’s Day after a month of dating. They fell passionately, wildly in love when they were eighteen. Immediately, and with zero consideration of real-world facts like compatibility and differing temperaments.

While this foolish behavior led to, well,me,it also led to years of disagreements and shouting matches that were the soundtrack of my childhood before their relationship devolved into a screaming breakup next to the tiny cherub fountain on our front lawn.

But their inability to use logic in the face of feelings gave me the gift of clarity, of learning from their mistakes. Instead of dating boys who make me swoon but are totally wrong for me, I only date boys who hit their marks on my pros-and-cons sheet. I only date boys who on paper (or an Excel spreadsheet) share at least five common interests with me, have a broad outline of their ten-year plan, and dress like they aren’t prone to random outbursts of basketball.

Which was why Josh was boyfriend perfection.

He X’d every single box on my pre-boyfriend checklist the very first time we met, and he’d been overperforming every day for the entire three months we’d been together.

So, as I stood in front of my closet on that Valentine’s Eve, selecting the perfect outfit for the following day, I was excited. Not about nude, armed infants or epic cosmic surprises, but about my plans. I had the entire day plotted out—the gift, the words I would say, the appropriate timing of both—and it was going to be exactly what I wanted it to be.

Perfection.

Why would I wait for fate to lend a hand, when I had two perfectly capable hands of my own?

CONFESSION #1

When I was ten, I started putting confession strips into a box in my closet so that if anything happened to me, people would know that I was more than just the quiet girl who followed the rules.

THE FIRST VALENTINE’S DAY

When my alarm went off on Valentine’s Day, I was smiling. To start with, I actually had a boyfriend, and he wasn’t just amehboyfriend, either. Josh was smart and handsome and arguably the most likely student at Hazelwood High to succeed in a big way. Every time we studied together and he put on his Ivy League tortoiseshell glasses, I swore that my heart actually folded over on itself, causing the sweet pinching feeling that shot warmth through each and every one of my nerve endings.

In hindsight, that feeling was probably some sort of atrial defect caused by my steady diet of black coffee and energy drinks. But I didn’t know that yet.

I pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed, ignoring the sound of Logan’s open-mouthed sleep-breathing from the otherside of the mattress. My three-year-old stepbrother liked to sneak into my room and sleep with me because he pretty much thought I was amazing.

And he was right. Because as I walked over to where my planner sat open on my desk, Ifeltamazing. I hummed “Lover” as I put on my glasses and consulted the day’s list.

To-Do List—February 14

Reorganize scholarship planning binder

Study for Lit test

Remind Mom to email copy of insurance card to office

Remind Dad of parent-teacher conferences and make sure he puts it on his calendar

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