Chapter 3

The next afternoon, I took the bus to Nontown Road.

The June sun bleached the pavement white. The bus was packed, the air thick with the smell of sweat, hot food in plastic bags, and the driver's coffee. It was so stuffy that it made my stomach churn.

I gripped the handrail, my phone tucked deep in my pocket.

Ryan had changed his number three times that morning.

I didn't answer any of them.

Mom slammed the door at home. Dad sat at the dining table, smoking, half the ash fallen off. He said, "Chloe, since you can't change your application now, leave it. But don't make things ugly. We still have to deal with the Goodwin family."

I asked, "Deal with them? Why?"

He didn't look at me. "It's grown-up business. Stay out of it."

I grabbed my bag and walked out.

Mom called after me, "Where are you going?"

I said, "To buy stationery."

She said, "Take Ethan with you."

I glanced back at Ethan Linwood, sprawled on the couch, playing games.

He didn't look up. "It's too hot. I'm not going."

Mom immediately changed her tone. "Then come back early."

The bus pulled up to the stop, and I got off.

Nontown Road was the old part of town. Low shops lined both sides, their signs faded. Steam rose from the pot of a food vendor, and the sharp smell of glue from the shoe repair stall hung in the air.

The lottery station was wedged between a liquor store and a hardware store, a banner hanging at the entrance.

I glanced at the time.

It was 3:22 PM.

My future self said 3:27 PM.

I walked in. There were only three people inside. A man was staring at the lottery chart, a woman was sitting on a plastic stool fanning herself, and the owner was looking down at his phone.

The eighth machine was at the very back.

I stood in front of it, my finger hovering over the button, but I stopped.

There were five quick picks. The third one would win.

I had over 100 dollars on me, prize money from competitions.

Buying a lottery ticket was legal, but I couldn't let my family know.

The owner looked up. "What can I get you, miss?"

I said, "Five quick picks."

He glanced at me. "Are you eighteen?"

I handed him my passport.

I'd had my birthday yesterday.

He glanced at it, didn't ask any more questions, and printed the tickets.

The machine made a soft rustle as the white tickets slid out. I stared at the numbers on the third ticket, my heart pounding harder with each beat.

The owner handed me the tickets. "3 dollars."

I paid and tucked the tickets into my book.

As I stepped outside, my phone rang.

This time, it was Sophie.

I was about to hang up, but my finger froze before touching the screen.

I answered, but didn't say a word.

Her voice was syrupy sweet. "Chloe, why did you block me? I didn't sleep at all last night."

I stood at the entrance of the lottery station, the sunlight stinging my eyes. "Just say it."

She sniffled. "Did someone say something to you? Ryan and I are really friends. I was at his place yesterday because his mom wanted me to help with his application."

I looked down at the cracked cement at my feet, a blade of grass poking through. "Helen wanted you in his room at midnight to help with his application?"

She paused.

Then she laughed. "Chloe, you're really hurting me."

Whenever she said that, I used to soften.

This time, I asked, "Oh? How exactly did I hurt you?"

There was silence on the other end.

I continued, "Did it hurt your little innocent act sitting next to Ryan?"

Sophie's breathing hitched. "Chloe, you're crossing the line."

She dropped the act.

I heard a cup clatter on the table next to her.

Ryan took the phone. "Chloe, what do you want?"

I said, "Let's break up."

He laughed, like it was a joke. "We were never together, were we?"

My fingers tightened.

An electric scooter honked on the street, the sharp sound scraping my eardrums.

He continued, "Don't take those high school pep talks seriously. I never called you my girlfriend."

I laughed.

So he'd had that line ready for a long time.

"Fine. Then there's nothing to break up," I said.

Ryan's voice dropped. "You applied to Kingsburg to make me admit we're a thing? Chloe, stop with the drama."

I gripped the lottery ticket tighter. "Ryan, hear me out. I'm not forcing you. I'm done with you."

Right before the call cut, I heard Sophie let out a soft laugh. That laugh felt like a needle in my ear.

I didn't cry. I blocked their number, walked straight into the bank next door, and locked the lottery ticket and my passport in a brand-new safe-deposit box.

The teller said minors couldn't do some things alone. I handed over my passport; she checked the date, nodded, and I signed.

As I walked out of the bank, my uncle called.

My uncle, Michael Reed, was Mom's younger brother. He wasn't close to the family. Ever since Grandma left me the house on Anwina Road, Mom had thrown a fit about it.

His voice was low. "Chloe, your mom called me. She said you went crazy with your application."

I gripped my phone, standing in the shade. "Uncle Michael, I need your help."

"Go ahead."

"Do you have the documents for the house on Anwina Road?"

"Yeah, I'm keeping it safe for you."

My shoulders relaxed a little. "No matter who comes asking, don't hand it over."

There was a brief pause on the other end. "Did your parents reach out to you?"

"They'll come looking for me," I said.

He didn't press further. "Got it."

I felt my nose sting with emotion.

The whole world wasn't completely rotten after all.

At least there was still someone out there who understood.

The lottery results were announced that night.

I locked my door, turned my phone brightness all the way down, and refreshed the official website three times.

When the winning numbers came out, I kept my eyes on my third entry.

I went through the numbers one by one.

They all matched.

I sat on the edge of my bed, listening to the kids chasing each other outside, their shouts echoing through the neighborhood. The smell of cooking oil drifted up from downstairs, making my eyes sting.

I'd won the lottery jackpot.

After taxes, it was several million dollars.

I rested my hands on my knees, slowly clenching them into fists.

Outside my door, my mom was on the phone with Ryan's mom, Helen Goodwin. "She's being a kid. She'll get over it in a few days. Ryan's such a good guy. She won't really let him go."

As I listened to them talking outside, I opened my texts.

Ryan had messaged me again, this time from a new number. [If you say sorry now, you can still fix things.]

I stared at those words and burst out laughing.

The glow from my phone screen washed over my face.

Ryan was the one who should apologize.