Page 3 of Getting Lucky Number Seven

She looked at me, that deadly look on her face, and I held up my hands. “Fine. You wanna get drunk and puke, I’m not gonna stop you.”

“But I want to do, like, more than just drinking.” Her brow furrowed and I could practically see the wheels in her brain spinning. “I should make a list and outline a plan.”

I was going to point out that list-making wasn’t the best way to let loose, but I decided to let it go.

She leaned forward and glanced around. “Don’t you have any other pens or pencils?”

“I’m surprised I had the one you put in your hair. If you really need something to write with, I can grab a pen from the kitchen.”

“And a piece of paper?”

As if she’d ever use just one—another thing I’d learned when we’d shared a class. So instead of the kitchen, I headed into my bedroom, grabbed a mostly blank notebook and pen, and handed them over. She tapped the pen to her lips. “I’m thinking I start with a new look—like one of those extreme makeovers. It’ll get me in a new mind frame, so I can be a whole new me. What do you think? Would I look okay super blond? Or should I go dark? Or maybe streaky highlights?” Her eyebrows arched as she looked up from the blank paper.

Girls loved these kinds of trick questions, and I’d learned to tread carefully whenever they came up. “I think you look fine the way you are.”

She tilted her head and sighed. “But what did you think when you first met me? You can be honest. I’m sure you were a little disappointed when you found out I was your assigned chem partner.”

“Well, yeah,” I said, “but that was because with how damn cute you were, I was sure you’d be stupid, and that meant I was going to end up doing all the work.” She rolled her eyes, and I smiled, unable to keep from adding, “Then I caught your scent, and your blood smelled so good, I was afraid I’d kill you and eat you. That’s why I was all broody and denting the table the first day.”

Lyla laughed and shoved my arm. “You’re stupid.”

“I am. I let you talk me into thatTwilightmarathon last Sunday. Clearly a mistake.”

“Hey, I watched that dumb prank movie with the gross bathroom humor. And we still have twoTwilightmovies to go. Now, be serious.”

“Okay. Serious.” I draped my arm behind the couch and met her gaze. “Changing your look because of what some asshole said is stupid.” I wasn’t lying when I said she was damn cute—she had a sweet, innocent look about her, and I’d always liked that she was unique. “And doesn’t it go against your feminist values?”

Her lips turned into a pouty frown. “It’s not against feminism to look my best. And I’m not changing it forhim. I’m changing it for me.” She put a hand over her heart. “Iwant to try new things. I spent high school playing things safe. Being the perfect girl with perfect grades that my parents wanted me to be so I could get into a great college. But here I finally am, and I don’t want to be the nice girl anymore. I want to be the hot girl. I want to be bolder. Do something completely crazy. Dangerous, even.”

The glint in her eyes was definitely dangerous, and there were alarm bells going off in my head. “I don’t want to look back and have all these regrets,” she said, her voice firm and louder than usual. “And if I don’t do it this semester, before my classes get even more difficult and I’m totally set in my boring patterns, it’ll be that much harder.” She pulled one corner of her bottom lip between her teeth, looking vulnerable again. “But I’ll admit I’m completely out of my league here. In order to do this, I need your help.”

I stared into her hazel eyes, so full of hope and determination, and my heart tugged. One day we’d been partners for chem lab, and then before I knew it, she was the girl who talked me into watching chick flicks and interrupted make-out sessions with no repercussions. She’d looked so harmless, too, with her hippie style and messy bun with a pen or pencil forever stabbed through it.

“Please,” she added, putting her hands up in prayer position.

If it was what she really wanted, of course I was going to help her. After all, what were friends for?

Chapter Three

Lyla

A sense of desperation filled me as Beck just stared, his mouth set in a firm line. Suddenly I felt suffocated by everything I hadn’t done yet—I was sick of playing it safe, of being the quiet one who never tried anything and kept from rocking the boat at all costs. I didn’t want to be boring, and I didn’t want to be afraid. I wanted to jump into the fog, not knowing where it was going to lead me. I wanted to forget about who I was in high school, shake off my gloom over mymutualbreakup with Miles, and have the adventurous college experience that other people my age were having.

But I wasn’t delusional enough to think I could pull it off by myself—that was like the blind leading the blind. Or whatever it was when there was just one struggling clueless person without a life preserver to fall back on.

Beck sighed and said, “Okay. I’ll help however I can.”

A squeal escaped my lips as I hugged him. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

“Uh-huh.” Beck liked to act tough, and I’ll admit when I first met him, I was totally intimidated by the height and muscles and natural charm. My knees actually wobbled a little the first time he aimed his smile at me, despite my previous assertions that I’d never understood the attraction to cocky jocks.

Funnily enough, when I’d been assigned as his lab partner I’d also thought I was going to have to do most of the work—not that I bought for a second Beck had actually thought that. He was smarter than I expected, not to mention friendlier, and after a couple weeks of doing experiments and homework together, I was less focused on the muscles and perfectly messy golden hair, and more focused on how well we worked together. He was so clearly out of my league on every level, I was surprised at how easily we became friends.

When I had a bad day, he knew how to joke it away, and when Miles and I broke up, Beck had helped take my mind off it. Movie and ice cream Sundays had become one of our traditions, and after a long week of studying, it was the perfect way to unwind. I knew that most of his other days and nights were filled with hockey and girls, and sometimes I still marveled that he set apart an evening for us to hang out and fight over which movie to watch next.

“Okay, mister a-year-older-and-wiser, what are the things I need to experience to make this whole college experience complete?” I pulled the notebook closer to me, and wrote the one I already knew I desperately needed:

1. New edgier look

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