Page 8 of The Do-Over

Josh was the It boy of the educational excellence crowd.

Not only was he a ringer for that swoony actor whose name was spelled Timothee with two Es, but he had his life together. Debate, DECA, Mock Trial—he wasn’t justinthose activities, he was the best at them.

And he knew it.

Josh had the confident swagger of one who was wholly positive that he knew more than everyone else in the room. He casually referenced Shakespeare and Steinbeck while discussing daily nothings, he could often be found conversing with teachers in empty classrooms during passing periods, and he dressed like he was already a college professor, right down to the good leather accessories.

I’d been sucked in by his smile, but it was his ability to thoroughly analyzeTitus Andronicusthat made me fall for him. Most people hadn’t read my favorite (and most brutal) Shakespearian play, but it was his favorite as well. We bantered for a solid twenty minutes about Titus and Tamorah and the hellscape that’d been patriarchal Rome, and he’d been so perfectly perfect for me that I’d gone for it. I’d smiled and asked him if he wanted to study with me after school at Starbucks.

I’d had to call in sick to work in order to make it happen for us, but I’d known it would be worth it. Because, in every way, Josh was the perfect guy for me.

I was moping my way to my locker when I had an idea. What if I left Josh’s gift on the front seat of his car? Mr. Carson usually let him ditch study hall to go on a coffee run next period, so this way I wouldn’t have to stand there feeling awkward while he opened it because I wouldn’t be there. And once he saw my amazing present for him, he would rush to find me and give me mine.

I snuck out the side door and headed for his car, a 1959 MG coupe that he’d restored with his dad and loved more than life itself. Made him feel very James Bond. Only when I got close, close enough to touch the hood ornament, I saw—

What?I squinted into the bright February sun and looked through his windshield. Josh was in his car, sitting behind the steering wheel. But he wasn’t alone.

He was facing someone on the passenger seat. All I could see through the windowed reflection was long blond hair. Which happened to be the defining feature of Macy Goldman, the stunningly beautiful girl he’d gone out with before me. The engine turned on and made me literally jump as I stood there staring.

My stomach felt heavy, even as I told myself they were just friends. He was going on a coffee run, and she probably wanted coffee too, and was riding along to help him bring it all back.

I was about to walk over and knock on the window when it happened. I was standing there with that box in my hand, that box wrapped up in bright red heart wrapping paper, when she leaned closer to him and brought her hands up to his face.

Frozen, I watched as she held his cheeks in her palms, and then kissed him. My breath stopped in my chest as the moment held—Push her away, push her away, please, Josh—and then.

Then.

As I stood there in the freezing parking lot, gripping Josh’s present, he kissed Macy back.

“NO!”

I hadn’t realized I’d said it out loud until their heads jerked apart and they both looked at me. Josh immediately threw open his door, but I wasn’t sticking around to talk. I turned and headed back toward the building.

“Em, wait!”

I could hear his footsteps, and then his hand was on my arm, stopping me. He turned me around, and I blinked back tears and managed to say,“What?”

Josh ran a hand through his hair, looking confused. “Shekissedme, Em!” His breath puffed in front of his face as he spoke quickly. “I’m sure it looked awful, but I swear on my life.Shekissedme.”

He had tears in his eyes, too, and I wanted to punch him in the mouth. I was supposed to be saying I love you, yetherlip gloss was onhismouth.

“You have to believe me, Em.”

“Get away from me,” I said through gritted teeth, turning and leaving him behind in the parking lot.

CONFESSION #4

I once stuck a flyswatter into a neighbor’s oscillating fan, just to see what would happen. It blew apart.

It wasn’t until after I pretended I was about to vomit—complete with the covering of the mouth and the running for the bathroom—that I convinced the nurse to sign a pass to let me go home.

And it wasn’t until after I had the pass that I remembered I no longer had a car.

So on top of everything else, I had to walk home. It was twenty-three degrees outside and there was snow on the ground, yet I was going to be trudging through drifts in ankle booties and a shirtdress.

Nick Stark had been right. I was dressed ridiculously.

I shoved the pass into my backpack and was about to exit the building when I heard, “Emilie!”

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