The infancy of my bad luck manifested the second I was born and I wasn't the little boy my mother and father had been promised for the last nine months. Not long after, luck decided I wasn't worth the risk and made a break for it-and seventeen years later had yet to make a very warranted reappearance.

My parents call me overdramatic- they claim I pick at the smallest inconvenience in my daily life and immediately blame it on my unfortunate lack of luck. Mom, being a Theoretical Physicist, always had some long, scientific spiel on how it was entirely impossible to blame all that happened on something as insignificant as luck. Dad, number one child psychologist in the state, liked to take a kinder approach, and on days he had an opening, decided he wanted to try and dive into unresolved trauma that could be the root cause of inability to be normal.

I'd have given anything to be able to absorb all my mom's science jargon and take all of Dad's advice and be fine and dandy. Unfortunately, I'd tried every approach imaginable, and no matter how hard I tried, I quite literally couldn't fight whatever vendetta luck had against me.

I was the walking epitome of Murphy's Law, whether Mom and Dad were willing to accept that or not-that's an entirely different story.

As I shifted in the hard plastic chair now, momentarily blinded by strobe lights at the DJ stand Riley Brewer was perched behind, I felt sweat starting to stick my thighs together. Being in the back of this packed, stuffy auditorium was proving to not only be depressing, but an inconvenience too. My bodies overexertion of fluids was one of the many reasons I'd decided to stray from any sport. I wouldn't be caught dead sweating through a cheer uniform. It was also one of the reasons I'd despised the very idea of wearing such a short dress. As I pressed my fingers into my temple, I came to the very obvious conclusion, without even a smidge of doubt in my mind, the situation was going to be a hell of a lot worse when the back of my bare legs stuck to the chair-and possibly even leave a giant spot on the back of my peach colored dress.

Why I'd allowed my best friend, Alexandra, to talk me into third wheeling with her and her boyfriend of five years to Homecoming, I had to blame on a lost bet. Why I'd somehow let her talk me into this dress? The blame was solely on me. I wasn't really a dress girl-not in reality anyway. I preferred to read about beautiful princesses in far away, mythical kingdoms waiting for their morally gray Knight in Shining Armor to show up on a dragon and promise his hand to her. These school functions weren't really my scene, but my best friend hadn't given me the choice to deny the invite.

I was temporarily distracted by my sticky butt situation when I heard a familiar laugh pierce through the beautiful love ballad.I recognized it-how could I not? If I, along with the rest of the neighborhood, weren't stirred awake in the earliest hours of the morning by his ridiculously loud motorcycle, it was by that obnoxious laugh.

Then, as if my patience were being tested, the heathen himself broke through the crowd and headed straight for me.

I hadn't always wanted to hit Carson James Reed with my car repeatedly. The urge gradually increased with every second we were forced to breathe the same air.

The beginning of our standoff started in first grade after he'd been sure to grab the last slice of pizza just before winter break knowing very well it'd leave me as the only kid in class without anything. I would have gotten over it, let it go, if he hadn't spent Valentine's Day a couple months later spending the night prior making goodie bags for everyone in class-except for me. I spent the rest of elementary school being sure to emit him from anything and everything I did. Unfortunately, as record shows, luck has never once been on my side, and he just so happened to announce my period to our middle-aged beast of a Coach during P.E in sixth grade. By the time high school had rolled around, my irritation and ire for the insufferable boy was at an all-time high and it became a nasty, intense game of chess that we still carefully and strategically moved our pieces around to.

"Cameron." the hoarse rasp surprised me, not enough to give him any of my attention, but enough to catch me off guard and bring me back to the present. His voice was typically a deep baritone, but the laughing and shouting for the last two hours must have killed his vocal chords.

Good. Maybe that meant he'd keep his mouth shut for once.

"Hey, Ford." a scarred, tan hand covered papercuts shot into my line of sight and waved back and forth, fully showcasing the fresh bruises along his knuckles. "You still with the living?"

I finally lifted my head and stared at him, unamused by the comment. "Can I help you?"

"Your hot friend sent me to find you." he shrugged a shoulder carelessly, and much to my disgust, lowered himself into the chair opposite me at the table.

Carson was, sadly, as attractive as he was infuriating; not that I'd ever admit that aloud. I wasn't blind to his looks, but his attitude and mouth had always been such a quick turn off I didn't bother to stick around and get a good look at him. Given that he was sitting directly in front of me with his back to all our peers on the dance floor, I was forced to have to stare at him and was a tad bit disappointed in myself when I couldn't find it in me to deny he looked good.

Carson wasn't a suit and tie guy, more an oil, dirt, and soot from head to toe at home-and leather jackets, too-tight jeans, and hundred-dollar shoes at school kind of guy. Now, he sat in a royal blue suit, that even from this distance, I could see brought out the different hues of blues and green in his eyes. The matching tie sat askew around his neck, cuffs of the sleeves of the jacket rolled up, and the top three buttons on the white undershirt undone, allowing for eyes to travel from his collarbone down into the crevices of his toned chest.

"Her name is Alexandra." I reminded, averting my gaze before he could catch me staring too long. "She'd appreciate the compliment though."

He flashed me a perfect, toothy smile and I cringed. We'd been in braces at the same time; from eleven to fourteen. But where his braces had done their job, mine hadn't, of course, and a few of my teeth were still crooked and I still had to wear a retainer at night.

"I still don't understand how you are friends with her."

I felt my top lip curl slightly. "I still don't understand how you're unable to keep your mouth shut."

"Why are you even here if you're going to sit and wallow in your self-pity?"

I straightened and flipped him off as I brushed my dark bangs from my eyes. "Go away."

"Nah."

"Carson, I don't have the patience for you tonight."

He eyed me as if he were trying to get a good reading why I was, as he said, wallowing in my own self-pity. I'd bury myself alive before I'd let him know I'd been stood up by my date tonight.

"Get up and go dance." he made a gesture with his arm behind him. "Stop killing the vibe sitting all alone over here."

"I don't know why it bothers you so much." I snapped but found myself shifting. "But whatever. I'd rather go find my friends than lose brain cells talking to you."

He snapped his fingers with a quiet laugh. "I love you too, Ford."

I would place bets on Xan and her boyfriend, Tony, having wondered when my luck was going to take a turn for the worst tonight, as I'd made sure not to ruin my best friend's night by telling her I'd been ghosted. If I ignored the entire reason I was here alone, I suppose I could have said it started with Carson deciding to sit his annoying ass down at my table. But really, it was the few minutes following that would forever be permanently engrained in my mind and took the cake for my worst luck to date.

As I forced myself up, a loud squeal from my chair against the tile sent heads in our direction. Then as if it couldn't possibly get any worse, my butt made a sound as I tore it from the seat and Carson started laughing so hard he fell into a coughing fit.

I desperately prayed for the humiliation to stop there.

If it wasn't already obvious, it did not.

I knew I wasn't going to be graced with a great Homecoming, though I know I'd remember it for years to come. Because the second I stood up, my eyes shot to the white chair, and it suddenly made sense why my thighs had been sticking together more than usual and why the idiot in front of me was getting under my skin more than he typically did.

Crimson had pooled in a small puddle right where I had been sitting for the last forty-five minutes-and Carson freaking Reed was staring at the spot as if he were bearing witness to a murder.

I waited for him to start with that obnoxious laugh or to call all attention to me, but he just stared at the chair for a few seconds before turning the petrified look on me.

"Oh my God." I breathed, squeezing my eyes shut. "Nope. This is it. I'm going to die."

Carson, finally having recollected himself, rose to his feet in total silence and started to shrug out of the jacket of his suit.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked, confusion momentarily overpowering my embarrassment.

He eyed our surroundings with a quick scan of the room before closing the distance between us. I immediately jerked away from his touch, but he caught my shoulder roughly the second time and shook his head. "The entire bottom of your dress is covered in blood. So unless you want most likely to get her period at the worst time under your yearbook photo, I suggest you take my jacket and get the hell out of here."

I could feel my eyes starting to sting with tears of frustration and embarrassment as I hesitantly took the jacket from Carson. I tied it around my waist and tried to move past him, but he caught my forearm. It wouldn't have been a Carson Reed gesture if he didn't snide, "You're welcome."

I made a face and shook him off, continuing my trek to the doors. Unfortunately, I was intercepted by my best friend as soon as an end was in sight.

"There you are!" she squealed, yanking me into a bone crushing hug. "I've been looking for you since we got here!"

"Xan." I said as I pulled a few strands of her black hair from my mouth and took her by the shoulders. "I need to get out of here."

"What?" she stared in confusion, hazel eyes raking my own. "Why? I just found you! We—"

I shifted, but in doing so the jacket fell from my waist. I tried to crouch down to grab it but heard a chorus of ewws spread through the crowd to my back and I shot to my feet with the jacket in my left hand, kicked my heels off and raced out of the room.

I made it to the bathroom before I collapsed against the counter and let out the cry of embarrassment that had been lounged in my throat since I'd stood up. I rifled through my purse for a pad or tampon, and came up empty handed, of course. Fortunately, a few seconds later Xan walked in with wide eyes and set a folded shirt and a pad in my hand.

"I'm so sorry." she whispered, but she didn't elaborate further and though I desperately wished for her to stay and console me, she just threw one last sympathetic look over her shoulder and let the door swing shut behind her. I hurriedly sent my mom a text and moved to the stall beside me to stuff the pad in the dirty underwear, tears finally flooding my cheeks and smearing my makeup. It wasn't until I'd unfolded the white shirt that I realized it was a men's and not one of Alexandra's.

In fact, breathing in the outdoorsy spicey scent lingering heavily on it-this was no doubt the shirt Carson had been wearing when he'd sent me away less than five minutes ago. Disgusted and confused, I just sat in the stall, staring at the shirt between my hands and the bloody mess my dress was on the floor between my feet. If I didn't want to humiliate myself further by rushing out of the building in my bra and blood-soaked underwear, I better suck up my resentment and put the shirt on.

By the time my mother sent me a text letting me know she was outside, my makeup was a mess and I'd started to wipe it off with a wet paper towel. I checked the hall for anyone trying to catch a photo, then stepped out and broke out in a sprint for the front doors of the building.

Because I wasn't graced with my father's height or my mother's athleticism, I folded as soon as I was outside the doors, my hands against my knees.

"Ford!" I felt another sob ease its way into my throat hearing the voice.

"Please leave me alone." I pleaded with the little energy I had.

Carson slowed to a stop in front of me, sporting a football jersey one of the players must have handed off to him after he so graciously donated the top half of his suit to the needy. "Are you okay?"

"Like you care!" I snapped, but choked on half the sentence and averted my gaze. "You probably took pictures and are going to come up with some stupid nickname like you did in sixth grade."

Irritation flickered in his eyes for a second before they become unreadable. "Whatever, Ford."

"Do you need your shirt back?" I reached for the top button. "Because if you do—"

"Just leave it alone." he sounded as exhausted as I felt. "If the shirt is still in acceptable condition just drop it off tomorrow. Mom will wash it."

I knew I needed to thank him but given our history the words were hard to force out, and by some once in a lifetime flicker of luck, I heard my mother's horn sound from behind me and spun on the heel of my bare foot and jogged the rest of the way to her Nissan along the curb.

She immediately took in my attire with a confused look. "Whose shirt is that?"

"Carson's." I answered, pulling my seatbelt over my chest. "Can we please just go home, Mom?"

She eyed me with the same sympathetic look Xan had, but obliged and started the car, pulling away from the school-and temporarily relieving me of my embarrassment.

*

Once I'd finished cleaning myself up, I had Mom wash Carson's shirt and sat down at my computer desk. Terrified to check my phone or social media, I opened my laptop to my essay for English 12 and started typing. My eyes drifted from the words on the screen to my bookshelf a few feet away within seconds, or more specifically, the row of books at eye level.

All books I'd lost myself in multiple times, all books with characters who got to live a normal, albeit a little fantastical, life.

I pushed away from my desk and moved so I was standing in front of my shelf. My hands brushed the covers of all my favorite romance novels, and I pulled one free from the row and stared at the cover.

It was one of my favorites, a cute young adult romance about a football player and a nerd who must tutor him. I'd read it freshman year-when I'd been head over heels in love with Beckham Young, our school's starting quarterback.

I'd hoped, even if only for a couple days, that it could possibly be a reality. I knew in my heart that it was no more than a book-things like a jock noticing the quiet nerd don't happen in real life.

Squeezing the book back into the gap, I sat back down in front of my laptop and breathed out shakily. Monday was sure to be hell; I'd be the laughingstock of the school until graduation, and possibly after. If Carson had any say about it, he'd find a way to torment me for the rest of my life.

Nights like tonight I wished that my life could be like the protagonist of my books. I wanted to be able to just skip over the next few months of my life and pretend this never happened, all while having Beckham throw a dashing smile in my direction before he continued his jog on to the field.

But this was reality. A reality that surely had it out for me, and I wouldn't ever know what it was like to be just your average girl. After tonight, if given the wish, that's what I'd ask for. To be normal, to have luck on my side, just for once in my life.

As I threw a look over my shoulder at my name hung over my bed with fairy lights draping from them, I couldn't help but think how different life would have been for my parents if they had a child that didn't cause them so many problems. A child who didn't completely ruin a two-hundred-dollar dress because she had irregular periods. Days like today I truly wished, even if it were only for their sake, I was the boy my parents had so desperately wanted and hoped for.