Page 65 of With a Little Luck

Finally, I gather my thoughts enough to say, “The things we like are169only a part of who we are. This doesn’t change you. Just like hanging out with me doesn’t change who you are, either.”

Her smile is faint. “Thanks, Jude. And thanks for inviting me out tonight. I do like hanging out with you.”

My heart leaps. I return her smile, and for a second, I feel it. This gravitational pull between us. We’re close enough in the booth that I could lean toward her, tilt my head down, close the space between us, and—

Panic tightens my chest and I break eye contact first. Clearing my throat, I reach for my drink and take a few long gulps.

When I dare to look back at Maya, she’s digging through her small purse for something, and I sense that maybe she feels as awkward and uncertain as I do. Did shewantme to kiss her? I wish there was an easy way to tell. All the movies make it look so easy, like you’ll just know when the time is right.

But all I know is that this booth, with just the two of us in it, feels suddenly crowded.

And Maya still isn’t meeting my eye.

“You know,” she says suddenly, “I bet there’s some alternate universe where I did go to that movie night. And in that universe, I think you and I are probably really good friends.”

The words expand between us. Taking up all the air. Pushing against my chest.

Really.

Good.

Friends.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice strained. “I bet you’re right.”

170

Chapter Twenty-Three

The house is inordinately quiet when I get home, and it takesme a minute to remember that Mom and Dad were taking Penny and Ellie to see the newest Marvel movie. (Withoutme? I know.)

I’m not really hungry, but I go into the kitchen anyway and take the Nutella jar from the cabinet. Nothing like a little bit of post-date stress-eating when you have absolutely no idea if you just royally botched another chance to kiss the girl of your dreams.

I unscrew the Nutella lid, then lean against the counter and scoop out one huge spoonful. I eat it slowly, because a mouthful of Nutella is far less enjoyable than one might think.

I barely taste it.

What iswrongwith me?

With a groan, I put the Nutella away and reach for my phone.

I briefly consider texting her, but I don’t know what I could say that wouldn’t make me sound desperate. Instead, I open my emails.

My heart jumps into my throat.

Jude,

Your art submission will be published in the July issue of theDungeon. You will receive payment in the form of a check within the next seven to ten days.

I really admire your unique style and171perspective, and would love to see more work from you for future consideration. Please feel free to submit additional work to this email directly.

Best regards,

Ralph Tigmont

Art Director, theDungeon

“Holy crap,” I mutter, reading the email for a second and then a third time. This is happening, for real. I’m going to get paid for my drawing. And the art director—an actual art director—wants to see more of my work. He gave me his direct email. That seems … important.

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