Page 7 of Getting Lucky Number Seven

He took my hand and squeezed it, calming the worries rising up to tell me that I’d never be able to even fake that much confidence. “Thanks again for being so cool. I’ll catch you later.” His gaze remained on me as he backed away from the dressing room. “And I found us a party to go to, so start your preparations, because I know you’ve got some kind of checklist typed up.”

“I don’t.” Yet. That was tonight’s activity. “Is there anything I should put on there, though? If I decide to make one?”

Beck gave me an I-knew-it grin. “Don’t overanalyze, and don’t stress. Buy yourself that outfit, and I’ll take care of everything else.”

He nearly bumped into the attendant who’d come in, only he somehow sensed her right before contact, confirming my suspicion that he might be part ninja. She beamed at him and batted her eyes.

The fact that he didn’t bother stopping to deliver a flirty line meant he truly did have an emergency situation to get to. In the past I’d gotten a little hurt that he didn’t tell me much about his personal life when I constantly divulged too much. I also sent him way too many pictures of my cat doing funny things, but what can I say? Einstein’s freaking adorable.

But I digress.

I now knew that being tight-lipped about himself was just part of who Beck was, and that was okay. Still, I couldn’t help but worry. Occasionally he got this faraway look that said he had a lot on his mind, more than hockey and classes. Or maybe I was overanalyzing—as he pointed out—I tended to do that sometimes.

Which was why I was going to buy the clothes I thought were far too revealing. I’d get a couple of pairs of jeans, too. It’s not like I never wore pants, but after my life-long fight with jeans that were too long, not to mention the struggle to find ones that also fit my hips, it was just easier to go with dresses, skirts, or funky leggings.

Suddenly it hit me that what I wore was more function and styles being pushed on me for the sake of not “showing off too much” than items I’d picked out myself. I’d just gotten used to them. Used to not rocking the boat. I looked at myself in the mirror, studying the outfit I was wearing. Did I evenlikemy style?

Guess it doesn’t matter, since I’m trying out a whole new look anyway.

After I browsed through several more stores and racked up enough purchases to make me fear the day my credit card bill arrived, I hesitated in front of the salon. I had a few pictures on my phone, and I figured I could ask one of the hairdressers for help choosing the exact cut and style. I’d considered short and choppy, but I wasn’t quite ready to lose a few feet of hair—I was planning on wearing it down more, but I still needed bun capabilities. It drove me crazy when it was in my face as I studied, and there were plenty of bold choices that didn’t require me going short.

Luckily, one of the hairdressers had an opening. She ushered me into a chair, I showed her a picture, and then explained that I also wanted to do a bright, edgy color, but I couldn’t decide between really blond or really dark.

She pursed her lips as she studied my hair and then my face, and then my hair again. “Blond is so harsh and hard to keep up, and with your pale skin tone, I think dark might look Gothic.” She glanced over my clothes. “Which doesn’t really seem like you.”

“No, not the look I’m going for. But I also want edgier than my current style—I’m looking for a more modern upgrade all around.”

She picked up a strand of my hair, studied it for a couple of seconds, and then asked, “Have you ever thought about going red?”

…

Einstein jumped onto my lap as I typed the list items I had into a document. He curled into a fluffy ball and purred as I scratched under his chin and ran my hand down his back. Even though I was a hardcore chemistry nerd, I occasionally dabbled in physics, and when I saw my new kitty, his long gray and white hair sticking out at all angles, I knew Einstein was his name, no question about it.

I saved what I’d written so far as “College Bucket List,” and then added a number four to the bottom.

So, what else should I add?In general, I was trying to be bolder and not have too many rules, but I knew myself well enough to know that I’d need certain goals to check off—I worked best that way. Little goals got me to big goals, and anything I took the time to put on paper got done. Plus, it’d keep me on schedule so I could accomplish the list by the end of this semester and go home an entirely new, more-fun and less-scared person.

I do need to make sure to keep my grades up, despite going out more.

But that didn’t belong on my bucket list. Just in general life goals, and it wasn’t something I’d accidentally forget to do. To get more ideas, I pulled up Google, typed “college bucket list,” and started scrolling through the resulting links.

Yikes. There were a lot of things I didn’t want to do. Skydive, bungee jump. Get into a bar fight, and then get thrown out. Considering my non-existent fighting skills, I’d have to be carried out on a stretcher. No thanks.

Streaking—yeah, I’d never be able to do that one. The risqué wardrobe choices I’d made earlier in the mall were enough to give me heart palpitations. Not to mention a big part of the reason I’d chosen to live in an apartment instead of the dorms was having my own private shower and bathroom—well, a bathroom with a locking door that I only had to share with one other girl—so that I didn’t have to risk ever being even semi-naked in front of people I didn’t know.

The other reason was Einstein. Dorms didn’t allow cats, and I didn’t trust my parents enough to leave him behind. Not that they wouldn’t havetriedto take care of him, but with Mom’s job as a flight attendant constantly taking her away from home and Dad working all day at the coffee shop he owned in Utica, New York, no one would be there to make sure my kitty got enough love and attention—and a full food bowl.

I scratched Einstein behind his ears. I would’ve missed him like crazy, too. Whenever I was having a lonely day, he made me feel loved, even if only for my ability to get him food and make him comfy.

Let’s see. What other suggestions do they have?I skimmed down the page to the next item.Skip a class to have sex.

I stared at that one. Sounded kind of exciting. Then again, why couldn’t you just have sex at a normal time and not skip class? I’d never be able to focus, and wouldn’t everyone else be in class around that time? Except for slacker guys, who’d never been my type.

Plus, here’s the thing about sex: I didn’t really get the big allure. It’s not awful, but it’s just okay for me. Nothing worth skipping class for and then stressing out about how to make up the work. But maybe that was me not being bold or edgy enough, and it was something I should work on.

Deciding I’d chosen a list that might be over my head—and noticing most of the items were geared toward guys, what with the “get a chick to eat a banana during a wet T-shirt contest,” which was definitely against my feminist values—I clicked back and went to one of the other search options.

“Thank your favorite professor? Really?” Talk about the opposite of bold. That was just common courtesy. Then again, at least I was unknowingly doing something right already.

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