Lucky You Read online

“I’m Zoe! Hi! I’ll be helping you out today!”

  Just by looking at her, you could tell Zoe was a hugger. I, unfortunately, was not. Instead I offered her a formal handshake and a forced smile.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I told her.

  “Likewise!” She looked down at the clipboard in her hand. A little purple and gold icon sat on the top left corner of the page, showing the NYU logo. “You’re in building sixty-eight. That’s right around the corner.”

  “I’m really late to class, aren’t I?” I asked.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I had Professor Michaels last year, and he was always late. I think you’ll be fine.”

  I hoped she was right, because there was no way I was sneaking in late to my first ever college class without drawing some attention to myself. Yet another unconsidered flaw when we had scheduled today’s therapy session.

  “Thanks again for helping me out,” I said to Zoe as we walked.

  “That’s no problem,” she replied pleasantly. “Everyone needs a hand sometimes.”

  “Does everyone get their own personal helper?”

  Zoe flashed me an awkward smile. “Um, no. I mean, we have orientation. But I guess they wanted you to have VIP treatment.”

  Right. Of course. For a second there I had forgotten I wasn’t some ordinary freshman trying to navigate their way to class. I was literally the exact same thing but with a more expensive handbag.

  “Great,” I said. “Cool. Fab.”

  “I hope you don’t mind me bringing this up,” she began cautiously. I immediately knew what was coming next. “But that . . . thing that happened to you? It really sucked.”

  Well that was the understatement of the century. Two minutes into a conversation and it had already been brought up. That may be a new record.

  “Yeah,” I mumbled, desperately hoping the ground would swallow me whole. “It did.”

  “I mean, when I first saw something about it on Facebook, I was like, there is no way that is happening. But then when I read about everything in the news the day after the Golden Globes, I totally freaked.”

  Yes, Zoe. I, too, freaked. In fact, I hadn’t stopped being freaked by it yet. I decided to ignore her comment and instead motioned toward the wide, brick building ahead. Two purple flags hung from each corner, a flamed torch printed on each one.

  “So . . . is that it?” I asked, stopping in front of a wide staircase.

  “That’s the one,” she said with a nod. “I know NYU can be confusing because everything’s spread out, but you’ll get the hang of it eventually. You just have to go up the stairs. Your class is in the third room on the right.”

  I looked down at my watch with a grimace. The needle moved to 12:07. “Got it,” I said. “Thanks again, Zoe.”

  “If you need any other help, here’s my number.” She unclipped a small piece of paper from her clipboard, a number neatly written on it. “VIP treatment, remember?”

  I slipped the paper into my jeans pocket. “Right. How could I forget?”

  “Okay then,” Zoe said. She smiled at me silently, clearly working out a dilemma in her head. She finally took a step toward me and pulled me into a hug. “It’s going to be okay! You’ll have a great time!”

  I just knew she was a hugger. I patted her back awkwardly. She was crushing my neck a little, but it didn’t feel right to push her off.

  “Um, thank you.”

  Zoe pulled away, nodding as if she were reconfirming she had done the right thing. I did some more polite thanking and watched her walk away, butterflies floating around my stomach. Okay, so it was just college. This wasn’t rocket science. Unless of course you were studying rocket science, which I’m not even sure is an actual degree. It’s not like I had been home schooled my whole life and now my parents had thrown me into a pool of perky blonde sharks. I could do this!

  “You are Gia Winters!” I whispered to myself as I fiercely climbed the stairs. “You’re a baller!”

  Truthfully, I don’t even know what I was hoping to achieve by repeating this to myself a million times as I walked into the building. But whatever it was, it seemed to be working, because by the time I reached the lecture hall door, I was actually eager to open it.

  “You are Gia freakin’ Winters,” I told myself again, pushing the door open. “You got this, Babygirl!”

  Apparently my warrior ferocity went a little overboard because the door opened with such intensity that it slammed against the wall inside, causing everyone to look up at me as I walked inside the room. I well and truly did not have this, Babygirl.

  The quiet chatter ceased as everyone’s eyes fixated on me. There were easily two hundred people in the room, and I was sure some of them were already trying to figure out why I looked familiar. The door swung closed behind me with a loud thud, causing me to wince. On the plus side, Zoe was right. Professor Michaels clearly shared my lack of punctuality.

  I headed for the staircase closest to me, keeping my gaze low. It looked as though every seat in the room had already been filled, but I was bound to find one near the back. The only problem was, everyone’s eyes were following me as I walked up the stairs, and it was proving impossible to avoid their stares. There was no way in hell I was even considering the seats in the middle aisles; tripping over people’s bags and giving them awkward apologies was not my idea of a good time. The clicking of my heels was echoing so loudly off the walls that I was considering just pulling them off and walking the rest of the way barefoot. This was not exactly how I wanted to start off my first class.

  After what seemed like three years of painful searching, I managed to find a seat in the third to last row in the room. The row was almost completely filled, except for two seats at the end. Perfect. It was close to an exit. If all else failed I could fake a terminal illness and run out. I took a seat, and the chair let out a comically loud squeak as I sat down. There was one free seat next to me, right on the aisle, but I had left it empty just in case some other poor sucker walked in late and was as desperate as I was.

  Hushed whispers broke out amongst the crowd, and I could see people stealing glances at me. Okay then. Clearly subtlety wasn’t a valued trait here at NYU. The girl sitting next to me pulled out her phone and was Googling my name. I really should have saved her the trouble and just confirmed it myself, but that would have involved me actually talking. I was contemplating yelling out, “LOOK! IT’S BRADLEY COOPER,” just to divert some of the attention away from me. But luckily, the lecture hall door swung open and a man ran inside, looking almost frantic.

  “Sorry, folks!” he exclaimed, placing a small briefcase down on the table at the front of the room. “Got a little caught up. Are we all ready to start?”

  Professor Michaels was probably in his mid-fifties, but his energetic demeanor gave off a much younger vibe. He was dressed in a casual brown suit and was rifling through his papers while muttering to himself. He was exactly what I imagined a college professor to look like. I hoped he was nice. After a few minutes, he put them down on the table and scanned the room with a smile.

  “Gia Winters?” he said, and my heart stopped beating for a second. “Gia? Are you in here, Gia?”

  Oh. Sweet. Jesus. This was actually a nightmare. Any minute now I was going to look down and shriek at my naked body before realizing it was all just a horrible dream, and then Dr. Norton would force me to talk about it next session. Unfortunately, the hundreds of people sitting before me were very real.

  “No Gia? Ah! There you are!” Professor Michaels followed the trail of gazes and finally found me. I sunk lower into my seat. “I was told we would have our very own celebrity!”

  I tried not to groan out loud, but I think it happened anyway. There was no way a discreet exit was possible now. If he was going to ask me to stand and bow for everyone, I was going to sue him for emotional trauma.

  “Hi,” I said quietly, offering everyone a meek w
ave.

  “It is such a pleasure to have you with us, Miss Winters!” Professor Michaels exclaimed. He was practically bouncing on his heels. “I’m a huge fan of your father’s work.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll let him know.”

  I would not let him know. He wouldn’t care.

  Professor Michaels stood with both hands and stuck out his chest as if he were Superman. “Sorry, Captain,” he said in a low, intense voice. “The skies wait for no one!!”

  The whole room was silent. A few people were exchanging questioning looks while others were trying to hide their laughter. I may have actually whimpered. He was quoting one of Dad’s movies, Skies Above. Dad had played a brave, young pilot forced to save a plane when Russian spies took over. The movie, despite having a pretty poorly executed plot, was a huge success and ignited a lot of pilot fantasies within women around the world. I know because I had helped Mom throw away a ton of extremely scarring fan letters.

  I forced a smile, although I’m sure it looked more like a grimace. “That’s . . . great. You nailed it!”

  Professor Michaels beamed with pride and said, “I’ve had years of practice for that one!”

  I heard a guy a few seats away cough awkwardly, clearly trying to control his laughter. I could see him digging his chin into his gray hoodie, his hand covering his mouth in amusement. Nice to know one of us was having a good time.

  “Well anyway, I think it’s time we started on our class today! Welcome to week two!” Professor Michaels exclaimed, and I exhaled. Everyone was turning their attention back to him and away from me. “Quick reminder that this is Introduction to Psychology. If any of you believe you’re in the wrong class, you can take this as an opportunity to leave now. A few years ago, I had a young man realize his mistake three weeks before the end of the semester. Needless to say, he did not excel in this unit.”

  A ripple of laughter went through the crowd. I even caught myself joining a little. “As I mentioned last week,” Professor Michaels continued, “your major assignment for this subject is a group task. Each group is to choose one psychologist and construct a portfolio of their work. Be warned that this is not a simple copy-and-paste from Wikipedia job. Your portfolios will be judged not just on your understandings of theory, but also on how well you can apply these theories to modern psychological and social concepts.”

  Professor Michaels continued to explain the assessment as he set up his PowerPoint slides. A white slide popped up on the projector that read, “Week 2: Foundations of Psychology.” I leaned down and pulled a notebook out from my tote. The gray hoodie guy sitting two seats away caught my eye, gave me an unimpressed look, and then turned his attention back to the front. Well, gee. Did I insult this guy’s whole ancestral line by pulling out pen and paper? Like, at least get to know me before you start the judgy stares.

  Professor Michaels was on a roll, flipping through the slides with the same gusto you would expect from a nightclub DJ. I wrote down whatever was on the screen hurriedly, trying to keep up with him as he practically bounced around the room. But my mind wasn’t paying any attention. None of the words were really sinking in, and I kept checking the time, desperately hoping the minutes would tick by faster than usual. They didn’t.

  I examined the audience sitting in front of me. Most of the students were busy typing notes on their laptops or furiously scribbling in their notebooks. Others were discreetly texting their friends or scrolling through Facebook. Four rows down there was a guy who was clearly asleep. Everybody else was sneaking glances at me, whispering to their friends with excitement. If every class was going to be this painful every day, I was dropping out. I didn’t even need a degree. What was the point of having rich parents if I still had to do homework? That is some next-level injustice.

  After what seemed like twenty years of slow torture, the PowerPoint slides finally disappeared off the projector.

  “Before we all rush off today,” Professor Michaels said, “I’d like everyone to find four people sitting next to them. Left or right, it doesn’t matter. We just need a total of five.”

  There was nobody in the aisle seat, so I looked to my left. The blonde girl sitting next to me whispered something to her friend, and they giggled. Then there was Gray Hoodie Guy, who was talking to someone on his left.

  “Congratulations.” Professor Michaels smiled. “You’ve just met your partners for your group assignment. I strongly recommend getting to know each other a little better. You’ll be working closely together for the rest of this semester.”

  Professor Michaels snapped his briefcase shut, signifying that class had officially ended. Some people had already begun speaking to their group members, but mine didn’t seem interested at all. Fine by me. I was considering never even coming back. I gathered my things, roughly shoved them into my bag, and headed for the back door.

  “Hey!” I heard a girl call from behind me. “Um, Gia?”

  I stopped, four stairs up. Apparently this clean break wasn’t going to be so clean after all. I wheeled around, allowing people to push past me on the stairs.

  “Yeah?” I said.

  The blonde girl, her friend, Gray Hoodie Guy, and another guy wearing glasses were all staring at me expectantly.

  “Um,” the guy with glasses said. “I just thought we could introduce ourselves.” The two girls nodded. Gray Hoodie Guy seemed even more unimpressed now.

  “Right!” I said. “For sure. Introductions.” I walked down toward my new group members, who were now exchanging weary glances. We were just about the only people left in the lecture room now, except for a few others at the front of the room, probably doing their own introductions. We stood in an awkward circle, silently waiting for another person to start. It sure as hell wasn’t going to be me.

  “So, I guess I’ll go first then,” the guy with the glasses said cheerfully. “I’m Kyle!”

  I was half-expecting everyone to reply with a unified “Hello Kyle,” as if we were sitting at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Instead, the blonde girl spoke.

  “I’m Hannah,” she said simply, pushing her shoulder-length hair out of her face.

  “I’m Michelle,” the girl next to her said, her jet-black hair pulled neatly into a braid.

  “Jamie,” Gray Hoodie Guy said simply. He pushed his sleeve up on his arm a little, and the edges of a tattoo peeked out from underneath.

  “I’m G—”

  “Gia Winters,” Jamie said with a smirk. “Yeah, we know.”

  “I don’t think you really need an introduction,” Hannah added. “Everyone knows who you are.” Kyle and Michelle laughed politely, but there was nothing really funny about the way she had said it.

  “So,” I said, ignoring the anxiety gnawing at my insides. “Do you guys all know each other?”

  “Hannah and I went to high school together,” Michelle said. “But I think everyone else is new.”

  “Coolio!” Oh my god. Did I just say coolio? When was someone going to put me out of my misery? I was never great at awkward social situations before this, but moving states had removed any little abilities I had possessed before. Next class, I’d just pretend I had lost my voice in a freak accident and it was never coming back.

  “I love your shoes!” Michelle said. “They’re amazing.”

  Shoes. Now there was something I could actually talk about normally. “Oh, thank you! Valentino gave them to me.”

  “You mean someone gave you a pair of heels from Valentino, right?” Hannah asked, although she already knew that wasn’t what I meant.

  “Um, no,” I replied, suddenly embarrassed at how flippant I had been. “Valentino gifted them to me on my sixteenth birthday. He’s sort of friends with my parents.”

  “Oh my gosh!” Michelle’s eyes widened with awe. “You are so lucky! I would die if that ever happened to me.”

  I snuck a look at Hannah, who was eyeing my shoes with a look of disdain.

  “So any
way,” Kyle piped up, clearly sensing that the Valentino topic wasn’t getting us anywhere. “I guess we have a couple more weeks before we need to worry about the assignment, but if anyone has any theories or psychologists they really want to focus on, feel free to suggest them. It doesn’t hurt to get a head start.”

  “What about Freud?” Michelle said. “I know he’s an obvious choice, but his theory will give us a lot to work with.”

  I nodded. I had a fear at the back of my mind that they would be throwing around names and I’d be standing there blankly. I had spent half of class discreetly googling psychologists every time Professor Michaels had mentioned them in class. What the hell did I know about psychology? That was the whole point of taking the introductory unit! Professor Michaels had said that we’d be studying the theories in detail over the coming weeks, but nobody seemed as lost as me. Freud, luckily, I knew about. Creepy things about loving your parents in a sexual way and something about an iceberg. Things were looking up already.

  “I don’t know,” Kyle replied. “Lots of groups might choose him thinking that he’s an easy option, and then we won’t stand out.”

  “I agree.” Jamie added. “Freud is too easy.”

  Hannah nodded enthusiastically in agreement. It didn’t matter that her friend’s suggestion had just been majorly shot down. It was practically written on her forehead that she was into Jamie. Unfortunately for me, that meant I had officially run out of psychological knowledge.

  “Any other ideas?” Kyle asked.

  “What about something a little different?” Hannah said. “Like, Slavoj Zizek?”

  Um, who?! Surely this was just a joke and they were testing to see if I would pick up on it. I glanced around the group. Everyone else seemed to be evaluating her suggestion as if they knew who she was talking about. I nodded thoughtfully, hoping that the panic inside my chest wasn’t showing on my face.

  “Isn’t he a philosopher?” Kyle finally said. “I don’t know if he counts as a psychologist.”

  “Well, technically speaking, yeah, he’s a philosopher.” Hannah replied. “But he did contribute a lot to psychology. And plus, his work is really relevant to modern society. We’d have a lot of modern examples to apply to his theories.”