Page 35 of The Do-Over

I unbuckled my seat belt and opened the door. “I know—that’s what’s weird.”

He set the emergency brake, pocketed his keys, and grabbed his backpack from where it sat between us. “Why is that weird? I’ve never insulted you.”

Now, he’d insulted me handfuls of times in that very truck, but so far, that day, he was a freaking delight. So I said, “Well, no,” and got out.

He came around to my side and we walked into school together. He didn’t say anything else, nor did I, but his scent was in my nose and I was feeling warm and tingly as the snow squeaked under our shoes.

When we got inside, and I pointed south because I had to turn down the first hallway to go find Chris, he stopped. He lookeddown into my eyes with hisridiculouslyblue ones and said, “I don’t know what the terrible thing is that you’re dealing with and can’t talk about, but when all else fails, I say fuck ’em.”

I swallowed and forgot how to talk, because blue eyes were pointed directly at me in a shivery way, and I noticed how nice his mouth was. I fumbled for words and managed, “I, um, really don’t—”

He reached out a hand, tugged lightly on the piece of hair that had come out of my ponytail, and he said, “Fuck ’em, Emilie.”

And then he walked away.

I went through the motions, and when they called me down to the office like they did every day, I actually showed up and spoke the truth. I looked at Mrs. Bowen and said, “Can I be honest? This is devastating to my plans; I was counting on this for scholarship applications. Is there an alternate program that might have an opening?”

I expected my daily rejection, but she tilted her head and pursed her lips instead. She started talking to Mr. Kessler about a program I was unaware of, and then she left the room to make a call.

I asked Mr. Kessler, “Do you know this program?”

He nodded. “I do. It’s very, very good and would look great on an application.”

“Do you think I have a shot?” A feeling that was something like hope bubbled up inside of me.

He shrugged and gave me an encouraging dad-smile. “Anything’s possible.”

Mrs. Bowen came back then, but she hadn’t been able to reach the person she’d hoped to speak with. She said she would “do some checking” and get back to me, and I could tell she meant it.

When she was leaving, she apologized again, only this time she added, “We will find a way to make this right, Emilie. You have my word.”

Things were lining up in a way that had me optimistic about my February 15 chances.

After class, I made the adult decision to not even go near the hallway-exit parking lot where I’d repeatedly seen Josh step out with Macy. Hopefully the universe that was working for me so far that day would keep them from kissing, but at least this way, I wouldn’t have to see it if they did.

It’d be the whole tree-falling-in-the-forest thing; if I wasn’t there to see it, did it really ever happen?

I mean, yes, when I let myself picture it—picture them—my stomach still hurt and I felt like a fool, but I needed to put that out of my mind and nail my perfect day if I ever wanted life to return to normal.

I was meticulous with my intentions, doing my best to be extra nice to everyone and extra attentive in class. I even smiled when I passed Lauren, Lallie, and Nicole in the hallway.

When I got to Chemistry, Nick was already at our table. I took a deep breath, nervous for some reason that I didn’t choose to explore, and walked over to my spot.

He glanced up when I set my bag on the floor and said, “Hey.” Smiled. “It’s you.”

I sat down and said, “Itisme.”

My cheeks were hot as we exchanged some kind of a hey-I-know-you-from-this-morning look. His eyes trailed over my face before he said, “Thanks again for helping me this morning.”

I shrugged. “Thanks again for the ride.”

“Listen up,” Mr. Bong said as he walked into the classroom, his eyes on the phone in his hand as he walked over to his desk. “It’s pop-quiz time, so I need everyone who sits on the right side of their lab table to move to the seat directly behind them.”

Bong always made us switch seats for exams because he seemed to think we were cheating collusionists with our lab partners. Since I was on the right side, I grabbed my bag.

“Wait.” Nick picked up his phone from where it was resting on top of the table and said, “Give me your number and I’ll text you.”

I felt my mouth drop open and I tried being cool, but Nick was asking me for my phone number.What was happening?Nick Stark was asking for my number, and I kind of wanted to give it to him. I gave a half-laugh, suddenly nervous, and said, “Why would I do that, exactly?”

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