Lucky Me by Saba Kapur Page B

on the table closest to me, tucking my hair behind my ear.
    I was starting to regret those drinks I had conveniently downed out of spite and anxiety. I suddenly remembered I hadn’t eaten anything since the afternoon, which probably hadn’t helped. Jack raised his eyebrow at me, and I shifted from one foot to another nervously. I couldn’t help it. His cologne was freaking amazing!
    â€œWhere is beef boy anyway?” Jack asked, rising from the bed.
    â€œKitchen. I don’t know. I should go check.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you?” Jack said, looking at me suspiciously. “I’ve called Brendan ‘beef boy’ twice and you haven’t said anything.”
    I fiddled with the ends of my hair and looked at the ground, reminding myself to breathe normally.
    â€œUh, hello? Are you listening to me?” Jack said.
    Oh lord. I was going off the rails, and there was no coming back. Abort plan. Abort plan!
    â€œUh, mother must be calling us for tea and crumpets! I should check the parlour and find out.”
    Oh crap. I slapped a hand across my mouth and gave Jack a horrified look. His smile widened and he stifled a laugh.
    â€œUm, do I want to know what that was?”
    I continued to stare at him with my hand stopping me from saying anything else that would make me look appalling stupid. That’s it. I had reached the peak of embarrassment. There was no coming down from that. Ever.
    â€œGia?”
    â€œI just—it’s nothing.”
    Okay that was a lie. When I was in fifth grade, there was a British guy in my class called David. He was my first crush, besides Nick Carter of course, and I was convinced I was going to marry him. Things didn’t go down too well for that plan though. I only ever spoke to him twice, and the first time all I said was a meek “hello.” The second time, we were paired to do an assignment and I was so terrified that I barely said anything to him at all for three lessons. Finally, when he was getting kind of weirded out by me, I rambled on for twenty minutes about things I liked about England in an atrocious British accent. I talked about everything from telephone booths to the Queen, all in a ridiculous accent. It turned out he was Irish, and the only Queen he liked was the band.
    He ended up requesting another partner, and eventually moved schools in the next year, hopefully not because of me. But ever since then, I automatically put on a British accent and-slash-or talk about English things every time I get overwhelmingly nervous.
    â€œEarth to Gia?”
    I snapped out of my flashback and lowered my hand, still gaping at Jack. The British accent hadn’t come out in a while, but it had returned with a bang.
    â€œYeah, sorry. I just go a little British when I’m nervous. It’s a long story.”
    Jack stared at me blankly for a few seconds, biting his bottom lip. He looked like he was doing some internal reasoning, but wasn’t winning the battle. Jack finally began laughing, unable to keep it in any longer. He was laughing so hard; he had to put one hand on the bed to support him.
    â€œBritish!” He managed to say in between laughs.
    â€œWhat!” I cried. “Stop laughing at me!”
    I had intended for it come off a lot angrier, but watching Jack laugh made me want to laugh too. I only managed a smile and a little giggle, before Jack began composing himself and I forced the happiness off my face.
    â€œOh my gosh,” Jack groaned, wiping a tear from under his eye. “You’re unbelievable.”
    â€œIt’s not a big deal!” I argued. “Sometimes when I’m just a little nervous it pops out! Whatever!”
    â€œWait!” Jack cocked his head to one side, his smile turning to a thoughtful look. “So I make you nervous?”
    It was the perfect opportunity to smash a fantastic comeback in his face, and remind him how unimportant he really was. Instead, I gulped