It Would Have Been You
Chapter 1
Chapter one
FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH
Just once, I’d like to go an entire day without having to watch my back. To breathe normally, unclench my jaw, and not have to peek around every corner for threats.
Today will not be that day, though, and if I’m being honest with myself, tomorrow probably won’t be any good either.
Still, my shoulders drop at least three inches as I lock the door behind the sweet family that were my last customers of the day at the Book why would they? They are just a normal family, having a normal day, in their normal life. If I weren’t so annoyed at their leisurely pace to get to their car, I might envy them.
With the sun hidden and the rain starting to fall, the temperature inside the bookstore drops five degrees, and I pull my cardigan tighter around my body to fight the chill that sweeps across the back of my neck.
I am about to reach for the cord that turns off the neon Open sign when the youngest child, a girl, challenges her brother to a race.
Good, I think to myself. Maybe that will encourage the rest of the family to hurry up too.
My hand stops midair as the couple does not speed up, though, and instead, does the exact opposite.
They choose to pause on the sidewalk and lean in for a kiss that lingers far longer than it should for being in public, while their daughter barrels towards the busy street with her brother following closely behind.
With less than a second to react, I do the first thing that comes to mind to get their attention and bang my hand on the glass. Terrible idea, because instead of them looking toward their children, both parents turn back to look at me instead.
I point frantically towards the street from behind the glass, but by the time they register what I am saying, it’s too late. Their little girl is fast, despite being so small, and is on a direct collision course with the utility truck that just came around the corner.
From there, everything happens in slow motion.
The screech of tires, the bounce of the girl’s pigtails as she launches herself off the curb, and the swing of her bag of picture books she will never get a chance to read, all under the rapidly darkening sky that gives the scene an even more nightmarish quality.
Even though I’ll never make it in time, I push against the front door as if I can race out there and stop it, completely willing to sacrifice myself if the bad luck gods would accept me in the little girl’s place, but the door just rattles defiantly, holding me back from any attempt to try to fix this.
Right, because I locked the door as fast as I could the second the family stepped over the threshold.
This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have stuck around and watched them. Not when the bad luck I harbor all year long expands around me like a five-foot force field on this specific date, tainting anyone who comes too close.
Just as the scream in my chest reaches my mouth in anticipation of being a witness to the impact, her brother steps forward like a knight in shining armor and grabs the back of her overalls.
He yanks her backwards, hard, and not a second too soon, saving her from making this yet another Friday the thirteenth in my life that is marked by tragedy.
The little girl may have been spared this time, but her momentum is transferred to her bag of books, making them fly through the air.
They land in the street, disappearing under the screeching tires of the utility truck as a reminder of what my curse is capable of.
The parents lunge forward to wrap both kids in a protective hug, allowing air to finally rush back into my lungs. I watch for only a moment to confirm that they are all safe and hustle to the back of the store.
“Monika!” I yell as I weave through the displays of books and wine glasses to get to the children’s section.
My boss, the owner of the Book Lord knows she has witnessed more than her fair share of it firsthand, so for her to call me this morning and beg me to cover the shift meant she was really in a bind.
If I weren’t forever indebted to her for taking a chance on me in the first place, I wouldn’t have even answered her phone call.
My bad luck is cruel. It often hurts others to hurt me, but I am also tormented by it. Hoping for the best but expecting the worst has become the tagline of my life as a result, because no matter how hard I try to get ahead of it, misfortune always manages to find me.
Case in point, I was audited last February when I decided to submit my taxes early, despite making barely above minimum wage.
I was summoned for jury duty the week after I graduated high school and was chosen as juror number one for what turned out to be a three-month-long trial. I missed out on my entire summer with my friends before we went our separate ways to college.
When I was little, I couldn’t care less about candy or treats.
All I wanted were those cute clementine oranges.
I would eat them morning, noon, and night.
I even had a clementine-themed tenth birthday party, only to find out after becoming violently ill, and having to leave my own birthday party to go to the emergency room, that I had spontaneously developed a citrus allergy.
Straighten my wavy hair? It’ll rain that day.
Going on vacation? Well. Let’s just say I stopped going on vacation a long time ago.
Forget the superstition of the black cat; people should fear me crossing their path.
So the fact that I was called into work on the day that I requested off months ago because none of the eleven other employees were available to work the shift? Not unexpected. It’s just my luck. My mistake was agreeing to come, and the poor little girl and her family almost had to pay the price.
The timer finally goes off, and I push off the floor to gather the rest of my belongings and loop my cross-body bag over my head.
Although if someone decided to steal my purse on my way out the door, I’d probably just give it to them at this point.
With how today is going, if I tried to stop them from taking it, I’d end up in jail for causing them unintentional bodily harm.
The front of the store is almost completely dark when I reemerge, with the storm clouds holding their worst for my exit. Monika must have finished my closing tasks, too, because all the lamps and flameless candles are turned off.
I tiptoe along the wall opposite the register in the shadows and peek over to see my boss’s face illuminated by the vintage green bank light she uses to count the money by.
If I stay quiet enough, she might not notice my exit, and I can avoid the lecture I am sure she already has ready to go about the little girl.
I make it farther than I expect, but when I duck behind the romantasy section, I trip on a rogue bat-boy-scented candle, and it collides with the wooden shelves with a loud thud.
I hold my breath, praying that the events of the day will be enough to quench my curse’s thirst, but when I take the last few steps to the door, Monika calls out from the back of the store.
“Drew. Come back here, please.”