Page 32 of The Do-Over

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. I’d been going for a terse brush-off, but for some reason, tears filled my eyes as I said, “Don’t you have anything better to do than analyze my fashion choices?”

He leaned a little closer, his eyes all over my face. “Are you crying?”

“NO,” I said loudly, but the tears betrayed me by falling from my eyes.

“Oh, fuck—no.” He swallowed and said, “No, no—I’m sorry—I was just messing with you.”

“It’s fine,” I said, sniffling. “I’m not crying.”

“Yes, you are,” he said quietly, his eyes serious for once as they stayed focused on my face. “Please, please, stop.”

“Fine, Iamcrying.” I sniffled again, trying to keep it together. “But not because of you.”

“Promise?”

I rolled my eyes and swiped at them.“Yes.”

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Inevercried. But the idea that I could be stuck in this terrible Valentine’s Day purgatory, forever, was really sinking in. Would I never get any older? Have a shot at a journalism career? See the twins grow up? It was all too much.

“How can I make it stop?” he asked, looking so uncomfortable that it was almost funny. “Seriously.”

“I’m fine.” I sniffled and ran my index fingers under my lower lashes. I took a deep breath and told myself I could fix this. “All better.”

“But—” He gave me the sweetest closed-mouth smile and said, “You sure?”

I nodded and couldn’t help but smile back. “I’m good.”

“Hallelujah.” He exhaled, like he was letting out a huge sigh of relief, and said, “Because the thought of being nice to you for the rest of Chem is a little exhausting.”

I half laughed as I shook my head. “It’s that hard?”

He shrugged. “It’s not that it’s hard, it’s just that I preferwatching you blink fast and get all offended at everything I say.”

Another repeating day, another eye lost to over-rolling in the presence of Nick Stark.

I closed out the day with another failed attempt to convince my father to stay.

This time, I pointed out that he couldn’t leave my grandmother—widowed and living by herself—and move across the country. What would she do? She’d be so alone, right? I knew he adored his mother, so surely my argument would shake his moving resolve.

But he smiled when I said that. He said, “She wants to go with us, Emmie—ask her. She’sthrilledabout warm weather and cowboys.”

“She is?”

“You’re surprised?” he asked, still smiling.

“Well, not about the cowboys.”

So not only did I fail to convince him, but I learned the worst news ever: I’d be losing Grandma Max as well. She hadn’t even mentioned that possibility when we’d talked about it on the first Valentine’s Day, but I’d also been a bawling mess, so I didn’t blame her.

I wished upon a star—again—before going to bed, but I was starting to lose hope that a freaking glowing orb in the sky had any interest in helping me at all.

After that, I became obsessed with changing the results. In any way that I could. Regarding the lost scholarship, I tried:

-Not showing up when the office called

-Showing up and begging for their mercy

-Fake-crying with an absurdly detailed fabricated story about my grandfather’s dying wish to see me in that program

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