CHAPTER1
A Smile
Dear Diary,
Did you know it’s considered bad luck to put your purse on the floor? I read somewhere it means you’re disrespecting the bag that holds your money and your wealth along with it.
A purse on the floor is money out the door.
Of course, I had to test it myself.
I’m already a broke college student on scholarship, so it’s not like there’s any risk involved. Secretly, I hoped it had the opposite effect on people with no money.
The setup was easy enough, since all I had to do was put my money in my backpack and leave it on the floor. I even dragged it around campus to summer courses and coffeehouses.
After two weeks, I haven’t had a single stroke of bad luck. My measly wad of bills still happily fuels my daily coffee runs.
Teresa called the whole experiment a waste of time on a baseless superstition, which only put her at risk of losing the Best College Roommate in the World award.
Can you believe she said she didn’t care about “that stupid award”? Her words, not mine.
But maybe I should stop putting so much weight on superstitions.
Sweet Dreams,
Emma
* * *
It all started with a smile.
Monday began with room temperature coffee and underwear that paid homage to Hello Kitty since I’d deferred anything laundry-related over the weekend. During my two months on campus for college prep courses, I’d probably done laundry a total of three times.
Fine, two.
But I was a college girl now, which was both exhilarating and terrifying. I’d finally traded in my puppeteering parents in Kansas for the warm, welcoming sun of Southern California. One could only hope it was far enough away.
My Music Theory class was set to start any minute, and my sole focus was on avoiding Charlie Davenport’s gaze from a few desks over. It wasn’t that he was creepy—no, he definitely bordered on something more akin to adorable—but a girl could only take so many cow eyes before she caved. We’d gone on what I’d dubbed “the Date from Hell” this past weekend, and I was convinced the only thing that could’ve made it more awkward was if I’d discovered we were brother and sister.
From the goodnight kiss alone, I would’ve believed we were at least cousins.
Now we were stuck in the same class of forty students for four months, and I considered how pathetic it would be to drop a class because of a guy I’d been on a few tepid dates with over the summer. Music Theory wasn’t exactly high on my list of preferred classes this semester, but it was a necessary sacrifice to major in Westcroft University’s competitive piano program.
If only the class wasn’t slated first thing on a Monday morning.
Breakfast was regretfully skipped, my only hygiene for the day consisted of freshly brushed molars, and I gave Sleepy Susan in the back row a run for her money on who could yawn the most before 8:00 a.m.
Yet, I’d still shown up ten minutes before class started for fear of getting lost, which would’ve been more than enough time to stop at the coffee cart by the quad to get something that didn’t screaminstant-mud-water.
In fact, if I left now and took the stairs, I could make it back with about a minute to spare.
“Is this seat taken?”
If the stairwell was empty, I could slide down the railings. That’d shave off another thirty seconds or so.
“Hey, is someone sitting here?”
My mouth watered in anticipation of a caramel macchiato, and my heart thumped at a quickened rate—much too fast for the simple joy a freshly brewed coffee would bring.
