Page 58 of With a Little Luck

She doesn’t say it, but the words are there, clear as the moon in the starless sky.

Was I going to kiss her?

Yes. Yes, that had definitely been the idea.

“Just thought I’d … hold the door open for you,” I say, coughing. “Gentleman … type … stuff. It was a misguided attempt.”

“Oh.” She chuckles weakly. “That was an accident.”

“I know. I’m fine. Uh … drive safe, okay?”

She nods. “Good night, Jude.”

“Night.”

I stand in the driveway and watch until her brake lights vanish around the corner, then I head back into the house. In the bathroom, I tear off my T-shirt to inspect the damage, but despite a small red mark, it doesn’t look nearly as bad as it felt. The embarrassment is lingering longer than the wound.

What was I thinking, leaning in to kiss her like that?

I go down to my bedroom and pull out my sketch pad, but I don’t draw anything. I just flip mindlessly through the pages, while my brain replays the most memorable moments of the campaign. All of my friends joking around, reminiscing about all the dumb things Brawndo had done during former campaigns. And Kyle insisting that they pause the entire quest so he could stop and help a family of snails safely across the road, which drove César absolutely mad—especially when the snails turned out to be magical and gifted Kyle with a tiny bottle of healing elixir. Then there was the time when Noah and Maya went off on a tangent about spineless mercenaries, until they were both laughing so hard that Maya was wiping away literal tears. Eventually Russell cleared his throat and reminded them that they were going to be devoured by a dire wolf if they didn’t do something.151

The whole night surpassed every expectation.

So why do I feel like something went catastrophically wrong?

It doesn’t make any sense.

I need to ask her out again, I decide. Just like Pru said. A real second date.

Which would be … what, exactly? We could rent scooters on the boardwalk, or … I don’t know. A picnic on the beach?

Nothing I think of seems right. I try to picture me and Maya on these excursions. I try to picture myself being charismatic and charming. I try to picture her laughing at my jokes. But no matter how hard I try, even in those fantasies, I can’t get her to laugh as hard as she did with Noah tonight.

I’m imagining things. I’m overreacting. I’m just being my normal self, full of self-doubt. Nothing new to see here.

Things are going great. They couldn’t be better. This magic that’s come inexplicably into my life is infallible.

I can win Maya’s heart. It will just take a little luck.

And I have all the luck in the world.

152

Chapter Twenty

“Jude.Stop goofing off,” says Pru. “We’re here to work!”

“Sorry, I know,” I say hurriedly, not taking my eyes from the screen or my hands from the controls. “But I’ve never gotten this far before. I can’t stop now!”

Ari’s house has a lot of cool things, things that definitely make it the preferred hangout spot when we can’t spend any more money on nachos at Encanto or ice cream cones at the Salty Cow. For starters, Ari is an only child, so the very fact that she doesn’t have three younger sisters vying for control over the TV, phone chargers, snacks, and general living space is a bonus. She also has an in-ground pool in her backyard that is far superior to the blow-up pools my parents still buy—and replace—every year. And her den is top-notch, with a wall-to-wall record collection (many purchased at Ventures, of course), a big-screen TV, two vintage arcade games, and a pinball machine.

I could spend hours killing time at Ari’s house. Ihavespent hours killing time at Ari’s house. Full afternoons reading a book on her patio while she and Pru laze around on floaties in the pool. Entire days locked in a head-to-head pinball competition. (Ari always wins. But then, she doesownthe machine, so I figure she probably gets more practice than we do.) Entire evenings studying and writing papers, while Ari picks out different records neither of us have heard before, and Abuela keeps us energized with a seemingly never-ending supply of fresh fruit dusted with Tajín, lime, and chamoy sauce. (Which is too spicy for me because153I’m a wimp, but I’ve learned to search for the slices of mango and watermelon with the least amount of sauce on them, whereas Ari likes to drink the juice left at the bottom of the bowl like it’s a rare delicacy, no matter how many times we’ve had it.)

Sometimes I almost feel more comfortable at Ari’s house than mine. I love my family, but there’s just something about the quiet comfort here that I rarely get at home.

Right now, though, I’m less concerned with quiet and comfort, and more focused on maintaining my streak in this Pac-Man game.

“Oh wow,” says Quint, looking over my shoulder. “I think you’ve beat EZ’s highest score.”

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