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

“You can’t have it!” shouts Pink Camo. “This is just like that lotto-ticket winner. You’re being selfish and keeping it to yourself.”

“If I had the lotto ticket, I would keep it to myself!” Orange Pumpkin gives a mighty tug.

What happens next is the stuff of comedy routines and movie hijinks.

Orange Pumpkin lady pulls so hard on the toilet-seat wreath that Pink Camo loses her grip. But Orange Pumpkin has momentum, and she flies backward with a loud screech. The band stops playing and everyone turns as she smashes into a table covered in more wreaths (made from all sorts of household junk) and other quirky crafts. Glass shatters, and the table collapses under her weight, and then she rolls into one of the canopy poles holding up the tent. Bran and I step back as a gust of wind sends the entire canopy flying. It slams into the stall next to it, making that one crumple and sending shoppers scrambling.

My hand covers my mouth to stop the laugh that threatens to burst out of me, and the crowd takes a step back as Pink Camo strides over to the other woman and snatches the wreath from her hands.

“Selfish jerk,” she shouts. “You’re not getting this, and I wouldn’t give you the lotto money, either! Even if I had won it!”

Pink Camo throws a twenty-dollar bill (twenty bucks! For a toilet-seat wreath!) at the seller and then storms away, still muttering to herself.

“What exactly happened there?” Bran asks as we start to pick up spilled crafts.

“Put that down,” the seller snaps. “I can’t have you kids stealing something on top of all this.

“We weren’t going to steal—” Bran starts to say.

“Forget it,” I say. “This lotto ticket is making people lose their shit. Let’s go.”

Leaving the seller, who’s now arguing with the lady in the pumpkin sweatshirt, we move toward where Bran’s car is parked.

“You want to stick around?” I ask. The band is playing again, but everyone seems shaken. “Maybe people will actually come to blows over the lotto ticket yet. Could be exciting.”

Bran shakes his head. “I’m going to head home. I’m Skyping with Sofie soon, and I need to rethink my investigation protocol.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open.”

Bran side-eyes me. “Or you’ll go to the lake with Holden.”

“Or I can do that. Clearly I’m a masochist, because this is a bad idea, right?”

Bran adjusts his fedora. “It’s a terrible idea. But it’s your life and your heart. You don’t need my permission to do with it what you will.”

I know that, of course. But after all the time Bran spent helping me get over Holden, I feel like I owe him an explanation, at least. “He’s being cool, Bran. Maybe he’s changed and really wants to get back together?”

Bran shrugs. “Just be careful. It hasn’t been very long since you broke up. Make sure this isn’t a rebound or something.”

Can you rebound with the person who broke up with you? Is that bouncing back or falling down?

I have no idea. Which seems to be my operative state these days. Fuck. I have to figure out some of the mess that is my life. And quickly.

Silence that’s not actually silence, because it’s filled with the cheers of the crowd as the first riffs of a Bruce Springsteen song rise from the bandstand stage, stretches between Bran and me.

“I’ll call you later,” I promise. “And here, take this. Please.” I hand the pink-and-blue fedora back to him.

Bran gives me a hug that I want to lean into because it feels like the only safe space in this town full of people whom I know so well, but whom I suspect would tear me apart for my money if they knew about the unsigned ticket in my bedroom.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE SUN IS SETTING BY THE TIME HOLDEN PULLS AN OLD silver-and-maroon pontoon boat up to the public dock. It took me half an hour to walk to this side of the lake from downtown and another fifteen minutes to summon the courage to text Holden. I’ve been sitting on the dock, letting my sneakers skim the water, as I wait for him. I’m both nervous and excited as the boat bumps up, and I jump to my feet.

“I didn’t think you were going to come,” Holden calls out.

He’s wearing jeans and a zip-up sweatshirt. Behind him, the sunset reflects on the water, breaking apart in the waves from the boat. The storm clouds from earlier are thunderheads above us now, but it’s still not raining.

“I almost didn’t,” I say, taking the hand he offers me as I step onto the boat.

It’s a familiar space, since I spent a lot of the last two years here, reading, swimming, and making out with Holden, but I haven’t been on the boat since before Holden went to camp last summer. It feels good to be back on the lake. Some people are only steady on land, but for me, I’m most myself when I’m on the water. It’s like some core component of me slots into place with the waves.

“I’m so glad you did,” says Holden. I almost believe he means it.

My hand lingers in his, and I take a step forward. Right at that moment, the boat bobs to the left, tilting my body into Holden’s. His arm slides around my back to steady me.

“Hi,” he says softly, as his arm tightens around the curve of my hip.

“Hi,” I reply, my lips an inch from his.

“Have I told you yet how much I like your short hair?”

I inhale sharply as his head tilts down toward mine. I move the smallest bit closer, and then we’re kissing, just like old times. Holden’s lips are slightly chapped, and as mine press into his, a rush of heat fills me.

I wish I could say it’s terrible. But it’s really not. And I don’t hate it. But still, I wrench myself away.

“Shit. Sorry.” I take a step back. “I didn’t mean