If I’m always reaching for temporary fixes, I can never make long-lasting ones. I’m keeping myself in a feedback loop. It’s a loop where I’ll never be truly happy.
Before anything solidifies deeper in my brain, it blows away on a much lighter breeze. No liftoff today.
“When we do this,” Logan says, his voice low and unhurried, “I want it to be mind-blowing, not mind-numbing.”
My mind only hearswhen. After all that, Logan still wants to be with me.
“And not in a highly trafficked bathroom,” I contribute.
“You have no idea what you were asking,” Logan says. “By this time in the day, that bathroom is a disaster.”
Despite everything feeling uncontrollable, I do the one thing I can control. I smile. And then I kiss him. “Mind-blowing, not mind-numbing,” I repeat like a promise.
I scan the horizon. Dad’s only in the next state over, though Atlantic City might as well be a world away. It’s like we’re existing on totally different planets. He’s probably in his lucky red shirt, using whatever auspicious number he saw multiples of today. He’sdefinitely got his lucky penny in his pocket and Mom’s wedding band on a chain around his neck.
Then it hits me. Maybe I’ve been acting too much like Dad. Logan and I need to try something different. What we’ve been doing isn’t going to work.
I glance back up at Logan. The soft, purple light of dusk makes his sharp angles softer. I commit to memory the planes of his face as he looks out at the city. Our city.
At least for now.
“Thank you,” I say, my breath falling in rhythm with his heartbeat.
He gives my shoulder a light squeeze. “You’re not alone in this.”
Chapter 13
LOGAN
What if our luck didn’t actually flip, but we both got bad fortunes?” Hazel asks first thing on Monday morning when we meet at our spot in the now-gone Good Fortune Fair. “Logan?”
I snap out of my daze. “Sorry, I was distracted by—” I point at her shirt, which looks more like something I’d wear. “Are you… Do you realize you’re wearing a very colorful, very floral Hawaiian shirt?”
Hazel smooths out the front of her tropical pink and yellow short-sleeve button-down. “We do live on an island, haven’t you heard?” she teases. “I know. I look like someone who presses her luck.”
“Hey, if you got it, press it,” I say. “This style suits you. I like it.”
“Yeah. I forgot I liked these shirts, too.” She refocuses and hands me a bag of gummy numbers. In return, I hand her one of the two cinnamon lattes that I picked up on the way here. “You don’t have to give me something just because I bring you something,” she comments.
“But it’s our thing,” I say.
Hazel smiles at this and says, “You’re right. It is.” Then she takes a long sip.
I take one, too. At this point, I’m so caffeinated from the all-nighters I’ve pulled trying to sort out the set pieces. We finallyfigured it out at 2:00 a.m. After this morning and a nap, I’ll go back to the theater and keep working.
“But seriously,” she says. “We need to try something different. Charms and symbolic food, they’re nothing but false hope.”
“The money tree you sent me grew another leaf, so that feels promising. I’m usually only good with plants once they’re dead.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I remember what happened this morning. “But the arm of the lucky cat fell off, so maybe let’s not read into the charms.”
Hazel gives me a look like,see what I mean?“What we’re doing, it isn’t working.”
“There’s still more we can try,” I tell her between sips. “What does your tracker say?”
“The data’s inconclusive.”
We take the subway to Brooklyn, drinking our lattes in silence, walking the rest of the way to Empire Fulton Ferry Lawn in Brooklyn Bridge Park.
“What do you do with the candy I bring you?” she asks.
