Page 3 of The Do-Over

I screeched and tiny-clapped before hopping into the old Astro van that my dad insisted “had character.” “Big or small?”

“Medium,” Chris said, and then Rox chimed in with, “Which is good because too big just means a crappy stuffed animal, and too small means a coupon for free hugs. Medium is good. Medium is the dream.”

I laughed. Their enthusiasm made me happy because up until lately, they’d been anti-Josh. They said he acted like he was better than everyone else, but I knew it was only because they didn’treallyknowknow him. He was just so smart and confident that it was sometimesmisconstruedas arrogance.

Hopefully this meant that they were reconsidering their opinions.

Rox’s boyfriend, Trey, popped up in the background and waved. I waved back before I ended the call, dropped the phone, started the van, and sped toward school. Finneas crooned sweetly out of the speakers, and I sang along at full volume to every single word of “Let’s Fall in Love for the Night.”

I couldn’t wait to see Josh. He’d refused to give me a hint as to what my present was, so I had no idea what to expect. Flowers? Jewelry? Even though it’d taken two full coffee shop paychecks, I bought him the Coach band he wanted for his watch. Yes, I was broke now, but seeing his face light up when he opened it would make it worth it.

My phone buzzed on the passenger seat and at the first red light I glanced over.

Josh: Happy VD. Are you here yet? And what do you want first—poem or gift?

Poem, definitely.

I smiled, and the light turned to green. As I cruised through our suburban neighborhood, the song on the radio (my antiquated van didn’t even have Bluetooth capability) switched to something screamy and metal, so I started scanning for a tune worthy of the momentous day.

Billy Joel? Nope.

Green Day? Negative.

Adele? Hmmm… that might just work—

I glanced down at the dashboard to turn up the volume, then looked up just in time to see that the truck in front of me had stopped suddenly. I stood on the brake, but instead of stopping, my tires locked and I began sliding.Shit, shit, shit!

There was nothing I could do. I slammed into the back of the truck. Hard. I braced myself for the car behind me to hit, but it thankfully stopped in time.

Barely breathing, I looked through the windshield to see my hood was totally crumpled. But the person driving the truck was stepping out, which hopefully meant they were okay. I grabbed my phone, opened the door, and got out to see the damage.

“You were texting, weren’t you?”

“What?” I looked up, and there was Nick Stark, my Chemistry lab partner. “Of course not!”

His eyes dipped down to my hand, to my phone, and he raised an eyebrow.

What were the odds that I would’ve hit someone I knew? And not just someone I knew, but someone who’d never really seemed to like me. I mean, technically he’d never been a jerk to me, but he hadn’t ever been friendly, either.

On the first day of Chem, when I’d introduced myself, instead of sayingNice to meet youorI’m Nick,he’d just looked at me for a few seconds before saying “Okay” and going back to looking at his phone. When I’d accidentally spilled my energy drink on our lab table a few months ago, instead of sayingIt’s okaylike a normalhuman when I’d apologized, Nick Stark had stared right at me and, without smiling, said, “Maybe you should lay off the caffeine.”

The guy was kind of an enigma. I’d never seen him around outside of school, and he didn’t really have a clique or friend group that I was aware of. Even though we were juniors, I still didn’t have enough information to figure out how to classify him.

And I hated that.

“You were the one who was stopped in the middle of a busy street,” I said.

“There was a squirrel crossing,” he replied in a near-growl.

“Listen, Nick.” I took a deep breath, found my mental mantra—You are on top of this, you are on top of this—and managed, “Don’t blame—”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry. You are…?”

I crossed my arms and squintedmyeyes. “Are you serious?”

“You go to Hazelwood?”

“I’m yourlab partner.” Was he messing with me? The guy never really spoke other than the occasional one-syllable response, but still. “We’ve shared a table in Chem the entire year…? Ringing any bells here?”

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