"Luck is not chance, it's toil; fortune's expensive smile is earned." – Emily Dickinson

Note: Check out this gorgeous cover designed by -delicateheart! Thank you for taking the time to make this graphic <3

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There was no better way to greet a morning than gazing listlessly at a whiteboard.

My hand robotically rose to rub my eyes. I barely got a wink of sleep last night, tossing and turning whilst tangling my bedsheets more than my charger cords. The reflection of that black cat I saw in the laptop screen flashed behind my eyelids every time I closed them, and I would rather have shrivelled, desiccated eyes than think about what Wyatt Taylor had told me eighteen hours ago.

My parents took the news about my bridge incident with surprising calmness, though both squeezed the life out of me in a hug and reprimanded me about being careful. Earlier this morning, I was unceremoniously yanked out of bed and taken to the police station, where I filed a report. The detectives promised they would find the suspect, but I was past the point of caring when the only thing I could think about was bad omens.

That left me tapping my foot against the carpet of the biology classroom, barely keeping my head propped up. Suddenly, my ears perked up at a soft creak near the back of the room. With one brief glance to the teacher, I twisted around in my seat. My eyes flickered upwards to meet steel gray.

Wyatt was trying to enter unnoticed, but the old facilities of Necmire High betrayed him. The door creaked ominously when he pushed it. Once he shuffled in, he noticed my stare and pressed a finger to his lips, darting to a seat diagonally behind mine. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes, as if he'd been punched, but Wyatt wasn't the type to get into a brawl. His hunched posture and the way he kept rubbing his eyes, however, lead me to believe that he got as much sleep as I did last night.

I wondered what he had been doing up. Surely his and my encounter had given him something to think about. Maybe the adrenalin of catching me right before I plummeted to my death had kept him up, or maybe he was still researching that bad luck spiel he kept going on about yesterday.

At any rate, he was leaning his head on his palm, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the whiteboard. So, I tore off a piece of notepad paper, scrunched it up under my desk, took aim, and launched it at him.

The paper ball hit him square in his forehead. Wyatt lifted his head and his eyes flicked right towards me, confusion flecked among the dark specks in his eyes. The bags under his eyes creased as he mouthed, "what?"

I jerked my head towards the teacher, who was tapping a diagram on the board. "Who can tell me what a mitochondrion is?" She cast her gaze around the room and her eyes landed on him. "How about you, Wyatt?"

Wyatt made a soft, intelligible noise after a second of delay. "Hmm?"

The bewilderment cast across his expression was replaced with a tinge of panic. His eyes darted towards me for only a millisecond, but I took the hint. "I'll answer it," I offered, and every pair of eyes slid towards me. "It's the powerhouse of the cell."

The teacher raised an eyebrow, glancing back and forth between the two of us, but she took the solution without further question. "Good, Zoey, but wait your turn next time."

With that, she began prowling elsewhere to pick on her next student victim. Wyatt gave me a nod of gratitude and flipped open his textbook, but before he could get to work, I blurted out, "why were you late?"

"Why do you think?" Wyatt whispered back, which I took as confirmation that he had been researching his theory. I scrunched my face at him, but he seemed unfazed that I was skeptical. Instead, he scribbled notes from the whiteboard while I shifted to face the front of the room, gears turning in my mind.

I raised my head, pretending to write down biology terms while scrawling a note to Wyatt. When the shrill bell pierced the air, I gathered up my belongings and dumped them in my messenger bag. I was already out of my seat while Wyatt was lagging behind, grumbling under his breath as he spun a single blue pen around his thumb.

As I picked past the rows of desks and chairs which littered the carpet, I dropped my folded note on his table and swept past him, faking a cool demeanor while I left the classroom.

Once I was out of his sight, however, I peeked around the doorframe and watched him pick up the note, unfold it, and murmur the three words out loud. "Now we're even."

With a satisfied nod, I retreated from the doorframe before Wyatt could turn around and see me, pressing myself against the hallway walls as crowds of students swept past, chattering about new assignments or gossiping about people outside their social circles. Twice, I tried to join the flood of students sweeping down the corridor, but decided I would rather find somewhere nearby to hide out and let the crowds clear away before I tried to go anywhere.

My glance caught the bathroom opposite me, which was perfect for a hideout. Of course, I did run the occasional risk of interrupting a dramatic argument, or having to comfort a crying girl whose heart had been broken, but I would rather take that risk than be swept off to who knows where. Plus, Wyatt would be leaving the biology classroom any second now, and I wasn't in the headspace to listen to his spiel about bad omens again.

Once I spotted an opening in the crowd, I charged forward and battered my way into the bathroom. The area was mercifully empty, sans a few locked stalls. I leaned against a wall, inhaling flowery perfume. The door proved to be an effective sound barricade, so whatever was happening in the hallway was stifled. That gave me an opportunity to think about the note I gave Wyatt. I knew I was far from paying my debt, but nonetheless, there was something badass about saving his hide and telling him we were even.

"Jess?" A voice cut through my thoughts. I pushed myself off the wall, glancing around for somewhere to hide as though I had committed a crime. A pale, freckled girl entered the bathroom, copper curls tumbling down her back. She glanced around and noticed me. "Have you seen my friend?"

"No, you were the first person who came in after me," I answered, clearing my throat. "Maybe she's in one of the stalls."

"Oh, okay. Thanks anyway." The girl stepped forward, but she skidded on a puddle of water. "Whoa!" She stumbled, arms flailing to grasp the nearest solid object, which happened to be me, but she ended up shoving me instead. That sent me toppling toward the mirror, so I met my own panicked expression before my shoulder sent a crack through the glass, splitting my reflection in two.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" she gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. A flash of pain ripped through my shoulder, and I hissed. When I placed my fingers on the wound, the throbbing amplified tenfold.

"It's fine," I grunted, lifting myself away from the broken mirror. The girl approached me, but when she reached out a hand to inspect my shoulder, I twisted away. "No, don't touch it. It hurts when I do that. I'll take care of it."

Her bright blue eyes shone with apprehension. "Is it broken?"

I tentatively shifted my shoulder, rolling it backwards and forwards. The pain spiked, but fact that I could still move it was a good sign. I carefully peeled the sleeve of my shirt away from my skin. With a grim nod, I noted that a bruise was beginning to form. "No, I think it's just bruised. It'll heal, it's no big deal."

It felt strange to be taking charge, since my shoulder was the one which currently looked like an eggplant, but my nonchalance seemed to be calming the girl down too. She pointed to the thin cracks that split the mirror. "What should we do about that?"

"Oh, right." My gaze rested upon the mirror while I formulated a solution. "Well, we should tell everyone to watch their step around here. Let the janitors know and explain that it was an accident. If they blame you, tell them it was my fault." When her eyes widened, I cut her off before she could protest. "It's fine, I'll take the blow. Maybe I can use this injury to get out of trouble."

The younger girl agreed, albeit reluctantly. I used my good shoulder to give her a small wave, before exiting the bathroom. From there, I drew a slow breath, wondering whether my injury was serious enough that I needed to see the nurse. The Necmire High nurse was a bitter, elderly lady who would probably just plaster a bandaid on my wound and send me off, so I was reluctant to go that route, but painkillers would be helpful.

Before I could decide what to do, golden hair suddenly obscured my vision. A cheerful voice interrupted my debate. "There you are!"

I hurriedly backed away from the presence before me, before I got a good gawk at who was speaking and paused. "Alyssa?"

There she was, a blonde sheet of hair resting on unbruised shoulders, caramel eyes twinkling with a peppy attitude that only she could pull off during school hours. You see, Alyssa Cort had an irresistible charm to her. It was difficult to pinpoint which aspect of her personality somehow let her get along with everyone, but she had lots of sway among the staff, being the daughter of the mayor.

Mayor Cort was coincidentally one of the first people I bumped into when I moved here, and since I offhandedly mentioned that the friends I had in Necmire were few and far between, he introduced me to Alyssa. Though we had our fair share of differences, we were attached at the hip once school began.

"Zoey? You still with me?" She waved a hand in front of my face.

I snapped back to the present. "Yeah, sorry. Spaced out for a second."

"I was wondering where you were. You said you would meet me outside the chemistry lab, but you never showed. I figured you got held up after class, but I heard this loud crash and came to investigate." Alyssa tended to speak at a rapid fire pace, and it was a sport in of itself to keep up with her words.

"Hm?" I asked, struggling to understand her word jumble. "Oh, right, a crash." Out of habit, I lifted my left arm to sweep stray hairs away from my eyes, but a stabbing pain shot through my upper arm and I let out a wince.

She trailed off as she caught sight of my shoulder, which was still exposed to the wide corridor. Most students had cleared away by now, but a few stragglers were making their way past. I picked up a vague scent of cigarette smoke, wondering which brave soul dared to smoke on school grounds.

"Whoa, what happened to you?" Alyssa asked. She craned her head, trying to catch a glimpse of the purplish bruise.

I tried to cover up the injury with my sleeve, but she swiftly peeled it back, her mouth dropping open at the broken blood vessels beneath my skin. "It's not a big deal," I insisted, at which she looked up at me with disbelief, gesturing wordlessly to the huge bruise. "Alright, fine. I slipped on a puddle and cracked the bathroom mirror. My shoulder's not broken, but it took a hit."

"That's an understatement," Alyssa breathed, her fingers tracing over the bruise. I squeezed my eyes shut at the pain that washed over me, but I refrained from groaning. "Should we see the nurse?" I opened my eyes, shooting her a skeptical glance, and she seemed to regret the suggestion once it left her mouth. "Right, she's an old bat. Hold on." She swung the bag off her shoulder and rummaged through it, retrieving a pack of Advil. "Two pills. Take them with water. Do you have any on you?"

I unzipped my own bag and drew out a bottle. She handed me the pills and I took them one at a time, gulping down extra water as if it alone could wash away the pain. "Thanks," I told her as she stashed the Advil in her bag.

"Of course," Alyssa reassured me. "How about we grab something to eat? Break ends soon and you need some kind of pick me up."

"Sounds good," I replied, slinging my bag over my good shoulder.

No sooner than we had entered the cafeteria, however, did a waterfall engulf me. The noise that came out of my mouth was somewhere between a shriek and a yell. The sugary aroma told me it was chocolate milk trickling down the front of my blouse. Gasps peppered the air as I wiped a few drops from my eyes.

A guy standing before me clutched his tray with white-knuckled fingers, a guilty expression playing on his face. "Oh, geez, sorry about that."

I sighed, trying to brush the milk off my shirt. "It's fine, it's whatever."

Alyssa shot him a glare. "Great job. You managed to screw up an already shitty day. Come on, the least you can do is grab some napkins." She dragged him off to the napkin dispenser while everyone else turned back to their groups, resuming conversation.

While I was making a futile attempt to wipe away the stain, I glanced up and caught Wyatt strolling across the cafeteria, a sandwich clutched in hand. My breath hitched as he looked over and did a double take, skidding to a halt. His eyes honed in on the patchy stain down my front, before sliding towards the exposed bruise on my shoulder.

Wyatt began to weave through the tables, making a beeline towards me. Though he was the last person I wanted to deal with, his concern was sweet nonetheless. I offered a small smile to let him know I was fine, but when my mind wandered back to the broken mirror, wondering whether the redhead girl had told the janitor about the accident yet, the smile melted off my face.

A broken mirror.

That was supposed to be a bad omen. And sure enough, after I broke the mirror, some guy spilt chocolate milk over me. After the bridge incident, I was hyperaware of cause and effect. Fear gripped my stomach. If Wyatt was right about the bridge, then he was dead on about this too. But no, there was no way. They were coincidences, not some freak theory about bad omens, and Wyatt Taylor was not about to convince me otherwise.

Once he reached me, he gestured to my injury. "What happened to your shoulder?"

"Bruised it," I answered shortly, reluctant to give details, but his stare evoked more explanation before I could stop myself. "Fine, I broke a mirror and now I've got chocolate milk down my front. Whatever you're going to say, I don't want to hear it."

Wyatt looked taken aback, which made guilt prick my gut. "I was going to ask if you're okay, but if you're going to bring up what we discussed yesterday, be my guest."

"There's nothing to bring up!" I exclaimed, but quickly lowered my voice to a hush. "Seriously, Wyatt. Save it. It's not bad luck."

"I never said it was," Wyatt responded, offering one last amused smirk before walking off. My eyes were fixed on his retreating back, staring at him with an intensity that could burn a hole in his spine, and it took me a second to realise that he'd slipped a note into my palm. It was stained with chocolate milk, but I unfurled my fingers and opened it nonetheless.

It's definitely bad luck.

I turned the note over, and my lips twitched upwards despite myself.

You never said I couldn't write it down.

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A/N: Oof, this chapter was quite short. I ended up cutting out a large chunk because I realised how pointless a lot of it was. It feels like every chapter I write is a filler. I don't know what I can do to make it more interesting :(

What do you think of Alyssa so far? If you've forgotten (which I don't blame you, it's been too long) she's also a part of the main cast. I'm also loving the interactions between Zoey and Wyatt. Side note, using the name Jess in this chapter was a nod to New Girl, a show I started bingeing a few days ago. I'm on Season 3 and loving it so far.

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think by leaving votes and comments <3

~ Yilei