Page 10 of Lucky
I tag her handle—@WinnieTheNotWild—and post it before I can second-guess myself.
Atlas whistles low between his teeth.“I cannot believe you just signed up for internet humiliation and possible heartbreak.”
I shrug and toss my phone onto the bench beside me.“Guess we’ll find out.”
CHAPTER 4
Winnie
Iwake upto the sound of Buttermilk chewing on something and that’s never good.
“Please don’t be the charger,” I mumble, rolling out of bed in a panic.
It’s the charger.My favorite pink, braided, extra-long lightning cable has been gnawed to a frayed mess, and my phone is sitting at three percent on the nightstand.
“Buttermilk,” I groan, scooping him off the floor.He squirms, unimpressed and defiant as if he’s saying, “I have the right to chew these things, peasant.”
“You’ve got a whole pile of hay, a chew toy shaped like a banana, and this is what you go for?”I chastise as I set him down on the kitchen floor.
He thumps once, which I assume is rabbit for you were late feeding me last night and I’m still pissed about it.
The clock on the oven says seven forty-two a.m.
“Oh no.No, no, no.”
I’m supposed to be at school by eight fifteen, so I mentally run down all the things I normally do to prep for a workday.I still haven’t packed my lunch or my school tote or figured out if I’ve already worn the same sweater three days in a row.
I fly around the house in a panic, like a toddler on a sugar rush—brushing my teeth with one hand, pulling my hair into a ponytail with the other.I throw on a cardigan that at least doesn’t smell like Chinese takeout and jam half a protein bar in my mouth.Shoving my phone in my coat pocket, I grab my keys and jet out the door.
I make it to Bloomfield Elementary with three minutes to spare and a headache thumping behind my eyes because I didn’t get my morning cup of coffee.
At least my phone partially charged in the car.The morning drop-off rush is in full swing, kids waving to teachers, parents rolling down windows with last-minute reminders.My favorite part of carpool is watching all the littles hiking up their backpacks filled with books and snacks over their shoulder and looking like they’re about to tip over as they earnestly make their way inside.
I’m halfway up the sidewalk when I pull out my phone to check the time, and the notifications flood in.
Group Chat: Teachers’ Lounge Terrors
OMG!
Are you alive??
LUCKY BRANSON, WINNIE.
How did you do that??
I’m crying.Like, full-body goose bumps.
“What in the hell?”I mutter, forehead creased in abject confusion.
I flip to a message from my mom.Call me ASAP.Who is this man and why is he flirting with you on the internet?
I stop walking and blink in confusion.I glance around, seeking eye contact from someone who can reassure me that I’m not going crazy, because I don’t understand what’s going on.
And there she is… Kelsey—another kindergarten teacher, my school ride-or-die, and sometimes enabler of my poor dating decisions—running my way.I can’t help but smile as her jaunty fuchsia scarf trails behind her like a cape of super-powered excitement.
She practically skids to a stop beside me, her chest heaving.“You haven’t seen it, have you?”She sucks in a breath and blows it out.“Of course you haven’t.You didn’t respond to my texts.I sent like ten of them.”
“Seen what?”I ask, starting to feel like everyone has gone crazy.Even when my first video went viral, I didn’t receive this level of reaction, and I know inherently this has to do with my video from last night.
