She’s quiet, and I think maybe it was a horrible idea to bring this up after one evening hanging out together. But all I can think about is ArtPrize, and how I need to get there. And Olivia’s fun to hang out with—she keeps things interesting; I wouldn’t mind being trapped in a car with her for a few hours. I’m actually kind of excited at the idea of getting to check out everything at ArtPrize with her.

“What if we started with a trial run? Would you want to go to ArtPrize with me this weekend? You can test-drive my car, and I can test my theories about your artistic eye.”

We’ve finally reached the truck, and I take a few steps back, inching my hands up the body of the canoe. “You can let go.” Olivia moves aside, and I hoist the metal body up onto the braces, next to the others.

Olivia slips her hand into her bag and pulls a coin out. It’s a penny, and she has some trouble balancing it on her thumb. It flips into the air, and comes back down with a soft skitter on the gravel. “Crap,” she mutters.

I turn my phone’s flashlight on, and we squat down, looking for the coin. “This may be a sign,” she says.

“Found it!” I spot the copper next to a back tire, and Olivia follows my flashlight and squats down to examine it. I can’t make out what it is.

“You’re in luck,” she says. “I have zero plans this weekend, and I’ve always heard ArtPrize is pretty cool.” She picks up the penny. “And our friend Abe—I mean President Lincoln,” she adds in a reverent tone, “says I’m going.”

I laugh at her last-minute show of respect for her penny, and a wave of calm comes over me as I tackle this one problem. Maybe she won’t go for my idea all summer, but at least I’ll have this one weekend. Despite everything, maybe the summer fates are on my side. Maybe I have that one thing going for me.

OLIVIA

Aunt Sarah’s official stance on the whole lottery fiasco is that she didn’t know about it. I texted her after work yesterday, and she said we’d talk about it last night and figure everything out. I don’t know what everything is, but last night I left before she got home, and this morning she had left for work by the time I got up. So when I get home from work, and her car is in the driveway earlier than usual, I know it’s because we have to talk.