Lucky Girl by Jamie Pacton (novels for beginners txt) 📕

Always from Wanda’s, and I was even in there on the day the ticket was bought.”

“Same,” says Bea. “The cards were reading really well for luck on Wednesday, so I dropped a hundred dollars on tickets.”

Eeesh. I only spent one dollar on my ticket and its randomly generated numbers. It truly was a gift from the universe, the gods of chance, and circumstance. I wonder how close in time my ticket buying was from Bea’s and Cheryl’s.

“So, I guess that covers most of my other questions,” I say, glancing at the list. I circle back to my original question, which they’d still not really answered. “Are you comfortable saying what you’d do with the money?”

Cheryl shrugs. “Well, I don’t rightly know what I’d do. I think I’d be overwhelmed at first.”

“It’s a lot of money,” adds Bea. “Entirely life changing, and I’m not sure I’d be ready for that kind of change all at once.”

I find myself nodding in agreement, and it’s all I can do not to burst out with my secret. Gah. Maybe I should ask Cheryl and Bea to cash the ticket for me.

Ridiculous, of course. I don’t even know them.

Bea continues, “But I think we’d find a way to make it work. We’ve always wanted to travel, and neither of us were able to have kids. We’ve talked about adopting, but it’s expensive.”

A sad look passes over her face, and Cheryl wraps an arm around her wife. Good grief, maybe I really should ask them to cash the ticket. How would they take it? Would they actually give me some of the money and keep my secret? Could I trust them? This could help them achieve their dreams. But if I go around granting the wishes of every stranger I meet, I’d be broke before the day was out.

At that moment, a loud crowd of kids and some frazzled-looking parents step into the tent, interrupting my thoughts and wrenching Bea’s and Cheryl’s attention away from me.

“I want rainbow flavor!” yells one kid, pushing past me to snatch a bag of kettle corn off the table in front of me.

“I’m sorry,” says the child’s mom, pulling the kid back. She sets the bag on the table.

With a smile at Bea and Cheryl, I step aside. “It’s okay. I’m done. Thank you both for talking with me.”

Cheryl waves at me as she starts handing out samples to the kids, and Bea shoots me a wink. “You keep looking. I’m sure that lotto winner is around here somewhere.”

“I bet you’re right,” I say as I take one of their business cards and slip out of the tent.

AN HOUR LATER, I’VE EATEN THE ENTIRE BAG OF KETTLE CORN, A toffee apple, and three street tacos from a food truck. My stomach aches, and I’m slumped against an oak tree near the bandstand, scrolling through a list of quotes from unhappy lotto winners on my phone:

Billie (Bob) Harrell, Jr., who won $31 million and later shot himself in the head: “The lottery is the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

Sandra Hayes, who split a pot of $224 million with her coworkers: “I had to endure the greed and the need that people have … That caused a lot of emotional pain. These are people who you’ve loved … and they’re turning into vampires trying to suck the life out of me.”

Or Donna Mikkin, who won $34.5 million: She called herself “a happy person” before she won, but later said, “My life was hijacked by the lottery.”

None of these quotes are encouraging, and I close my eyes for a moment to shut out the voices of the lotto winners in my head. The band starts up, and the crowd by the bandstand cheers its approval. What would knowledge of my win do to the people I know? Would they be cool with it, or would it turn them into vampires and emotional remoras? How many of the people at this festival would attack me if they knew I had the ticket tucked away at home?

“You okay, Jane?” says a familiar voice. Bran. He’s always walking up to me when I’m spaced out like a weirdo these days. Sigh. Gotta get my shit together.

I snap my eyes open and quickly dismiss the window I was reading on my phone. “I’m fine. My stomach hurts a bit. What did you find out?”

Bran lets out a long breath and sits down beside me. “Well, everybody has lots of ideas about what they’d do with the money. But nobody seems to have any clue who actually won.”

“That’s pretty much what I found out too,” I say, not adding that I didn’t interview anyone besides Bea and Cheryl. “Most people were distracted by the festival, though I think a lot did buy tickets from Wanda’s that day.”

Bran picks at his fingernails, which he always does when he’s thinking.

“So, what’s the plan?” I ask. “Want to keep interviewing people?”

Bran doesn’t get a chance to reply, because a loud scream cuts through the music. We jump to our feet and spin around.

At a craft booth a few feet away from us, two white women, one in a pink camouflage jacket and the other in orange leggings and a pumpkin sweatshirt, pull fiercely at a wreath. The wreath is actually a toilet seat that’s covered in doll’s heads, and it has to the be worst small-town craft I’ve ever seen. But that’s not stopping these women.

“I saw it first!” yells Pink Camo. She jerks the toilet seat toward her body.

“It’s mine,” Orange Pumpkin shouts. “It’s just like you to make a fuss about this. You KNOW I saw it first.”

Bran meets my eye, and I nod. We are definitely getting closer to this action. We hurry toward the women, who seem oblivious to the crowd growing around the vendor’s tent.

The seller, a young blond woman in a blue apron, tries to separate the other women, but they keep fighting over the toilet-seat wreath. I’m not even kidding.