HELENA’S MIND FELT numb. She’d been trying to paint a blue sky for nearly an hour now. At first, she thought she’d used too much white for the clouds, but when she tried to correct with gray, the scene took on a stormy appearance. She lightened up the blue around the clouds for contrast, but that made the scene look fake. Every correction she made worsened the situation.

  She blamed her lack of focus on Nadia. Her girlfriend had spent the night after they’d gone to a Halloween party together. But instead of taking the bus home after breakfast like usual, she’d washed up in Helena’s shower and parked herself on the couch. She was currently in jeans and a black turtleneck, playing some puzzle game on her phone. Both their witch costumes sat in a pile under the craft table by Helena’s feet.

  Helena had been planning to paint today, and Nadia had claimed to be fine with waiting, but she could sense Nadia looking her way every commercial break. She felt as if she were back in college doing a timed exam. An exam she was apparently failing.

  “You’re still working on the clouds?”

  “They’re giving me some trouble, yes.”

  “Why don’t you paint the rest of it and come back to them?”

  “I have to know what the sky will look like before I decide what the subject of my painting is.” She’d planned to paint a family enjoying a picnic, but since the clouds were turning out to be such a hot mess, she would need to paint something smaller, less ambitious.

  “You haven’t even picked what to paint yet?”

  Helena slapped a brushful of blue onto the horizon. “I’m having artist’s block, okay?”

  “Well, maybe you need some inspiration.” Nadia’s phone began to play impressively loud piano music. Helena realized it was “This Is Not a Real Love Song,” one of the first pieces Nadia ever shared with her.

  Back on their first date, Helena had been entranced by the ever-shifting rhythms of the song. Now the cascading notes only riled her up. She tried to ignore the music, but the song snatched away her attention every time it switched keys. The clouds on her canvas stopped looking like clouds and more like a mess of brushstrokes.

  How did such an irritating song get 150,000 likes? It had no direction, no pattern. It was simply a jumble of nice chords. Anyone could do that. How did Nadia make hundreds of dollars on her casual experiments while Helena—classically trained, practices-every-week Helena—had nothing?

  After the hissing outro, Nadia asked, “Do you want me to play this one again or move to another track?”

  “Neither.” Helena’s brush slipped. Great, now one of her clouds was blue.

  Nadia paused the next song mid-chord. “Okaaay…what’s wrong?”

  Helena erased the cloud entirely by smothering it in blue. “What’s wrong is I need to focus. I’m having a hard enough time without you rubbing your successes in my face. Leave me alone and go back to whatever game you were playing.”

  “I was just trying to help,” Nadia murmured. Helena could feel Nadia watching as she touched up another cloud. Her girlfriend coughed. “Maybe you should call it a day. This painting isn’t worth giving yourself an aneurysm over.”

  Helena’s brush slipped again. “You shouldn’t judge what a painting is worth until it’s done.”

  “I didn’t say it was bad! I just think you should take a break from it.”

  Helena thrust her paintbrush in the water jar and turned to face her girlfriend. “This is like the cake incident, isn’t it? You’re telling me what I want to hear while judging me in your head.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  Nadia let out a long, frustrated sigh. “No. I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Nadia finally sat up. “Okay, you want to know what I’m really thinking?”

  Helena locked eyes with her girlfriend. To be honest, she didn’t want to know. She much preferred the empty praise. But it was too late to back out now, so she nodded.

  “I think you’re stalling. You’re going over the same ground over and over again because you don’t have a clue what to do next.”

  “I don’t—” Helena’s face flushed, not with excitement or embarrassment but with sharp indignation. “Excuse you! Who has the art degree here?”

  “Your art degree’s not going to solve your problem.” Nadia pointed to the stack of reject paintings by Helena’s feet. “You have an entire gallery’s worth of paintings, but you’re too afraid to sell a single one.”

  “Well, forgive me if I want to rely on my own skills instead of relying on cheap luck!”

  Nadia leaned back into the couch, shocked into silence. Her mouth hung open slightly. It took her a few seconds to collect herself. When she next spoke, she kept her voice perfectly level. “I wasn’t telling you to use your luck line.”

  “It sounded like you were. Even after you promised to let it be my decision.”

  Nadia pushed herself off the couch. “And what would be wrong with that?” She spread her arms out, revealing her naked skin. “It’s not a crime to spend your luck line.”

  Helena strode forward until she and Nadia were standing face-to-face. “No, but you shouldn’t pretend it’s so easy to be a self-made artist when you took a shortcut.”

  “A shortcut? What are you—” Understanding dawned on Nadia’s face. “You think I spent my line on my website?”

  “How else would you have gotten a hundred thousand views for one song?”

  “Maybe because it’s a good song. I don’t need luck to get people to appreciate my work.”

  “But you think I do?”

  Nadia didn’t answer right away. When she did, her words rolled out even flatter and slower than before, as if she were translating a simple concept to a small child. “No. You’ve never needed luck. Because you’ve always had help. You could afford to go to art school and study under professionals. Your family had networking contacts to help you get the job at KismetCorp. You didn’t even get this apartment by yourself.

  “Do you know how utterly frustrating it is”—Nadia squeezed two fingers together and sharply poked Helena’s breastbone—“to watch you wallow in self-pity because you haven’t sold any paintings yet? When you have every resource available to make it happen—”

  “I’m not wasting my luck line to prove to you that I’m committed!” Helena prodded her girlfriend back. “Just because I’m rich doesn’t mean I don’t have problems. You don’t know what it’s like when people expect you to excel at every little thing—”

  “And you don’t know what it’s like when everyone expects you to fail!” Nadia’s composure broke into a shout. “My parents dumped me on Grandma because they assumed I wasn’t worth raising. My teachers ignored me because they assumed poor kids were troublemakers. Your friends in the marketing department accused me of sleeping my way into a job because they couldn’t imagine someone like me being competent.

  “Every time I beat the odds, every time I win, everyone trips over themselves to explain why I don’t deserve it. I must have cheated. I must have used a shortcut. Because if I didn’t need money or luck or connections to succeed, then you all would have to start asking yourselves why you did!”

  Nadia stomped the hardwood floor. The floorboard shuddered, and Helena’s easel tumbled to the floor. She turned around and saw her painting facedown on the ground. It had landed on their discarded Halloween costumes under the table.

  When Helena lifted the canvas, one of Nadia’s ghost-themed stockings clung to the paint, awkwardly suspended in the air like a cheap nylon cloud. She groaned. “Nice going, Nadia.”

  “It’s not my fault you put your precious painting on that flimsy tripod thing! You can’t blame me for all your problems.”

  “No, but I do blame you for throwing a tantrum. If you think you’re so much better than me, why are you still here?”

  Nadia’s face showed a flicker of surprised hurt, followed by cold anger. “I really don’t know anymore.” She grabbed her purse off the couch.

  Helena’s breath caught. “What are you doing?”

  “Leaving, obviously.” Nadia crossed the room to put on her shoes.

  Helena’s instincts told her to apologize. She was mad, but not end-the-relationship mad. But Nadia wasn’t even looking at her.

  Helena peeled Nadia’s stocking off the canvas. It was heavy with dripping blue paint. She was sorely tempted to ball it up and hurl it at her now ex-girlfriend, but she resisted. Instead, she said, “You’re not even going to clean up your mess?”

  “It’s more your mess than mine.” Nadia opened the door. Before stepping outside, she added, “Throw it all in the trash where it belongs.” She slammed the door behind her so hard that it rebounded open.

  Helena waited until she could no longer hear footsteps before getting up. She peeked outside and into the hall. Her door was the only one open, so if her neighbors had heard their argument, they didn’t care enough to check on her. Helena closed the door, firmly this time, so it would stay shut for good.

  THEY DIDN’T TALK after Nadia walked out.

  Not that Helena wanted to talk. Even if neither of them explicitly said, “It’s over,” they’d very clearly had a breakup argument. If the two of them spoke again, it would ruin their sense of closure.

  Looking was a bit harder to resist. Nadia and Helena still worked across the hall from each other, so they crossed paths at least once a day. Whenever they were in the same room, Helena’s eyes would instinctively turn her ex’s way before her sense of pride could stop them.

  Nadia had stopped wearing her thistle necklace. She’d started wearing her hair down more often too. But, other than some minor wardrobe changes, she seemed infuriatingly unfazed by the whole ordeal. Right now, she was chatting with that goblin Dylan over lunch, laughing without a care in the world.

  “You’re staring again,” Tanner chided.

  Helena turned her focus back to the lunch table, where her friends were all looking at her with pity. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  Juan patted her shoulder. “It’s only been a couple days. Nobody can blame you for being upset.”

  “No, I’m fine. I got distracted, that’s all.”

  Grace shifted her body to physically block Nadia from view. “Hey, don’t even waste a thought on her. She’s not worth it. You could do so much better than some moody, antisocial programmer—”

  Juan stopped Grace’s speech with a hand. “Hey, we can build up Helena without tearing Nadia down. Remember what happened last time we gossiped about her during lunch?”

  Grace quickly checked to see if Nadia was listening, then whirled back around to glare at Juan. “I didn’t even mention the luck line thing!” she hissed.

  “Why not?” Tanner asked between bites of pasta. “Now that she’s Helena’s ex, I think anything’s fair game.”

  “It’s really not,” said Juan. “Dylan told me and Grace what she burned her line for, and—”

  “Wait, how did Dylan know?” asked Helena. She was supposed to be the only one Nadia had shared her VibeFinder account with. Had that been another lie to soothe Helena’s ego?

  Grace shrugged. “It seems like they’re good friends. He probably just asked her.”

  Tanner asked Helena, “Was I right? Did she use it to get this job?”

  “Of course not! She…well…” Helena stalled. She had no way of knowing how much detail Dylan had shared. If she revealed too much about Nadia’s musical side gig, KismetCorp might dole out consequences. As obnoxious as Nadia had been over the weekend, Helena wouldn’t get any pleasure from seeing her ex suffer.

  Juan spared Helena the ethical dilemma of answering Tanner’s curiosity. “She used it on her grandma.”

  Helena schooled her expression to avoid showing any surprise. Nadia’s grandma was long dead by the time she’d set up her VibeFinder account. Was Juan lying for Nadia’s sake, or had Dylan spread a false rumor?

  Tanner laughed. “What do you mean, used it on her grandma? Did her nana have a bingo habit or something?”

  “No, you idiot!” Grace snapped. “Her grandma had renal cancer. Nadia burned all her luck to get a replacement kidney.”

  “Seriously?” Tanner turned to stare at Nadia. He let out an impressed whistle. “So, she saved her grandma’s life.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Helena insisted. “Nadia’s grandma died right before her eighteenth birthday.” That was why she kept the same keyboard for over a dozen years. That was why she wore her thistle necklace everywhere. If she had burned all her luck to find her grandma an organ donor, that would mean—

  “She only got to be with her grandma for one extra year.” Juan cringed. “She spent it all for nothing.”

  “Wait, don’t kidney transplants usually last ten years?” Tanner asked.

  Juan nodded. “But if the cancer had already spread to other parts of the body…even a luck line can’t fix that.”

  Grace reached across the table to grab her hand. “Helena, I swear to you, if I had known the truth from the start, I would have never accused her of having impulse problems. I know I can be catty sometimes, but I’m not that nasty.”

  Helena absently patted her friend’s hand back. “I believe you. You barely talk to her, so you wouldn’t have had any way of knowing…” Memories of Nadia’s voice echoed in her mind.

  “Grandma bought this at the hospital gift shop. She had gotten a new kidney, you see…”

  “I’m not really the gambling type…”

  “You think I spent my line on my website?”

  What if it was true? What if Helena’s deduction about Nadia’s channel had merely been an assumption? That would mean Helena had accused her girlfriend of cheating her way into the music business for no reason. Like her teammates had claimed Nadia must have slept her way into KismetCorp.

  Grace moved her head, revealing Nadia’s sharp eyes glaring at their table. The déjà vu was so strong Helena began to feel nauseous. This really was like when she and Nadia had first met. Except this time Helena couldn’t pretend she was any more open-minded than her gossiping friends. She had demolished the best relationship in her life because of her own ugly assumptions.

  SATURDAY, ONE FULL week after their breakup, Helena was trying her best to resist texting her ex. She’d already succumbed to temptation twice before. Immediately after Thursday’s lunch, she had broken down and sent Nadia a message.

  Nadia, I know u heard us and I’m sorry.

  Seriously though, why didn’t you tell me about your grandma?

  The read receipts showed Nadia had seen the texts right away. She never responded though. So, late Friday night, Helena texted again:

  I miss you. I want you back.

  That time there weren’t even read receipts.

  Clearly Nadia wasn’t in the mood to forgive her yet, and Helena didn’t blame her. Pressing the issue would only make the situation more awkward. She could survive one Saturday without using her phone.

  As Helena swept her apartment floor, her broom caught against one of Nadia’s stockings. Dry paint flakes trailed off the stocking as she dragged it across the ground. She unhooked the stocking from the broom, and a flurry of blue flakes snowed over her luck line.

  She should have cleaned up that laundry pile a week ago. She’d been too upset at the time and promised herself to clean up the mess tomorrow. But “tomorrow” had turned into Monday, which turned into Tuesday, and so on. Now their Halloween costumes were fused together in a sticky blue mess.

  Helena should have tossed the stocking in the trash, but instead she returned it to the pile. Her heart hurt at the thought of throwing away her last good memory with Nadia. She didn’t want to admit defeat.

  If only they could talk. Helena could fix their relationship if Nadia gave her a chance.

  Helena wiped off the paint on her arm with a nearby rag. Once she could see the red on her arm again, a wonderful, terrifying thought presented itself to her. If Nadia wouldn’t give her a second chance…what if Helena gave it to herself? All she wanted was a phone call from her ex. That would only take an inch or two of luck.

  Her line was twenty inches long. If she burned a little bit, who would notice? Well, Nadia would, but it wasn’t like Helena was brainwashing her. All she needed was a chance to apologize, and Nadia would take her back of her own free will.

  Helena texted her ex one last time.

  Nadia, please call me as soon as you read this.

  Her index finger shook as it pressed into her skin. Keeping her left arm still, Helena traced the red line down to her elbow without breaking contact. As she moved down her forearm, the skin under her line grew warm. The luck line was ready to use.

  Helena took a slow, deep breath. Part of her brain was screaming at her to wait, but the more time she let pass, the harder it would be to get Nadia’s attention. She needed to do this now, before she lost her nerve.

  She pushed her finger up the line. The skin she passed over tingled with an unpleasant heat. The pain wasn’t terrible, but it was called “burning” your luck line for a reason.

  Helena paused after two inches. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears—whether from anticipation or fear, she couldn’t tell. A luck line’s effects were usually quite prompt, weren’t they? If the phone wasn’t ringing yet, maybe she needed to burn a little more.

  Her finger crept up another inch. The phone remained silent. Helena bit her lip. Nadia should have responded by now. Maybe she was taking a nap. Or perhaps she was in the shower?

  Helena considered pausing, but the longer she kept the luck line active, the worse the burning sensation felt. She’d already ruined her perfect line. She might as well spend a little more.

  After six inches, “Read at 11:11 A.M.” appeared under her text. Helena squealed with joy. She positioned herself to answer the phone as soon as it rang.

  One minute passed, then two. Helena frowned. The heat of her luck line was getting painful. Her finger wouldn’t be able to stay on her skin much longer.

  Was Nadia making her wait on purpose? Well, two could play at that game. Helena kept pushing her finger down the line. She already had Nadia’s attention. She simply needed a little extra luck to tip the scales in her favor.