I wake up feeling drowsy. My forehead is sweaty so my hair that’s just a little too long is plastered to my face. My mouth is dry and my voice is hoarse. Despite desperately wanting to bury my face in my pillow and go back to sleep, I can’t.

I reach across my bed to grab my phone that’s lying on my nightstand. My eyes take a few seconds to adjust before seeing that the time reads 7:13 AM. Great. This day is going to be a disaster. 

My room is messy, but that isn't exactly unusual. Clothes are strewn across the floor and a thin layer of dust coats everything. Everything except my various plants. Those bring color and life to what is otherwise a dull room.

I pull the covers off of me and stumble out of bed. My brother decided to drag me to a party last night. I didn’t drink anything, but I stayed much later than I should have. I’m still feeling the effects of it now. 

At least I woke up in time to get to my class. Fate isn’t always so kind. Today I’ll have to be grateful about the little things. 

I brush my teeth and run my fingers through my dark hair in an attempt to tame it. I definitely need a haircut. I tie it in a loose ponytail in the back and decide that’s good enough. I don’t need to look handsome, I just need to look not homeless. 

After throwing on the closest pair of jeans and a random shirt from my closet, I enter the kitchen to prepare breakfast: a hot pocket. 

While the microwave is going, I gather all the papers and textbooks I need for the 8:00 biology class I have today. 

My plants need water, so I go to the sink and fill a pitcher. I glance at the microwave to see if my breakfast is almost ready. Thirteen seconds left. Yup. Today is definitely not a good day. 

Each of the plants are doing well. Even the various plants I collected from my brother’s apartment. The ones he was killing. Some people are not made to have houseplants. They’re the only reason I attended his party, so I could sneak them out without noticing. In comparison to how they were looking yesterday, they’re already doing much better. 

The microwave beeps angrily at me, telling me to grab the hot pocket. I finish watering the last plant and oblige to its incessant demands. My bag is sitting on the table all ready to go, so I grab that too and leave my apartment, making sure to lock the door on the way out. 

The university is farther from my apartment than I would have liked. But this place was cheap, and the dorm rooms and apartments surrounding the building were definitely not. All I have to do is take the bus to the stop nearest the university. Then walk from there. Sure, it's a little longer and takes more effort but I don't have the money to spend on frivolous things like a nice apartment. So taking the bus it is. 

I wait at the bus stop for my usual bus. It's cloudy but the weather said it wasn't likely to rain. So that much is good.

I hear the creaking stop of the bus before me and stand up from the bench. Except the bus before me isn't my usual bus, number 42. No, the numbers printed on the side of this bus are a one and a three. Because of course they would be. 

"Yes, thank you," I grumble to myself. "I got the message. You can stop now."

It wouldn't, of course. I know that. Fate rarely listened to the likes of me. 

“What happened to the usual bus?” I ask the driver on my way in. 

“One the tires gave out,” she says, voice raspy and low. “So they gave me good old number thirteen. How great is that?” She laughs. At least one of us finds this situation amusing.

“So great,” I mutter and turn to make my way down the aisle. 

“Wait,” the driver calls. I turn around and look at her, raising a brow. “You’re the first person to notice that. You super observant like Sherlock or something?”

I pause for a moment before answering. “I guess you could say I pay special attention to numbers.”

I turn around and make my way through the bus. I hear the driver mutter ‘superstitious’ and chuckle to myself. The chuckle quickly turns into a frown when I see all the seats in my usual row, six, are occupied. Actually, almost every seat in every row is occupied. Every row except thirteen. Because of course it is. I sit down on one of the aisle seats and bury my head into my bag, groaning. 

“Uh, you okay?” says a voice to my right. A girl about my age is sitting across from me, a concerned expression on her face. 

“I’m fine,” I say, staring at the seat in front of me. “I just know today is going to be a bad day.” I give her an annoyed look that implies that I’m mostly kidding. Most people are uncomfortable when confronted with strangers displaying negative emotions. 

She laughs at my expression. Her features look nice when she’s smiling. Her hair is dyed a royal blue color, black roots just barely poking out of her scalp. She looks Asian in heritage and has thick eyeliner surrounding her hazel eyes. 

“Sorry about that,” she says after her laughter subsides. “I suppose it doesn’t help that we’re sitting in the thirteenth row?” She gestures to the number pasted on the wall above my seat. 

“No, it does not,” I say and she laughs again. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t exactly excited about sitting here either,” she says. “There were no other seats open. I suppose people are still superstitious about the number thirteen.”

“It’s bad luck,” I say without thinking. Great. Now she’s going to think I’m a myth-believing weirdo.

“Right?” She responds excitedly, surprising me. “I swear every time I see the number thirteen something bad happens!”

Nevermind. I guess there are still some people in this world that are a bit irrational. The thought is both touching and worrying. 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” I say and offer her my hand. I suppose now is as good a time as any to introduce myself. “I’m Noah.” 

“Ethel, but everyone calls me Etty,” she says, taking my hand. 

“I can see why. Who would name their kid Ethel?”

“My parents, that’s who,” Etty says, rolling her eyes. “I’m convinced they did it as a joke, even though they swear it was with good intentions.”

“No one names their child ‘Ethel’ with good intentions,” I say.

“That’s what I said!” She exclaims and we both dissolve into laughter. 

The bus shutter to a stop, groaning and hissing gas. I stand and grab my bag.

“I’m afraid this is my stop,” I say. There’s a hint of sadness in my voice, but this time it isn’t something I have to fake. Usually, I leave conversations feeling grateful; most people are difficult to talk to. This time, however, I’m genuinely sad. Etty seems nice to talk to. I don’t have to put in as much effort to say or do the right thing. 

“That’s funny because this is my stop too,” she says, standing up. “After you.”

I walk down the aisle toward the doors on the bus and Etty follows suit. We both exit the bus and the unlucky vehicle rolls away. 

The two of us walk in awkward silence for a moment, apparently headed in the same direction. Neither of us are sure what to say next or where to take the conversation.

“Where are you headed?” She eventually asks and I let out a small sigh of relief.

“The university, just up ahead. You?”

She gasps almost dramatically. “Me too!”

“Really?” I say as we approach a crossing. I press the button before continuing the conversation. “What are you studying?”

“Business. Kind of standard but it’ll make me a lot of money, you know? What about you?”

“Biology. I’m planning on going into… um…”

I trail off at the sight of the walk sign. It’s just illuminated and begun displaying numbers. But instead of counting down, it displays two blinking red digits.

Thirteen.

“Yeah, it’s been bugging out all day,” says a voice behind me. I turn to see two men in construction hard hats and vests.

“The rest of it works fine, right? It’s just the count down that’s being weird?” 

“Yeah, the rest of it’s fine. Pretty weird that it’s stuck on thirteen, though. Maybe it’s a sign,” he says with a chuckle.

“Noah! Come on!” Etty yells. She’s partway through the crosswalk and walking backwards, gesturing for me to follow. 

And above her, blinking at a now rapid pace is the red thirteen. 

“Wait, no,” I say but more to myself than her.

This is it. This is what the thirteens are for. I can’t feel it.

There are a bunch of cars around the crossing, but none of them look out of the ordinary. Most are parked, unmoving, not dangerous. I scan the area again, thinking there’s something I must be missing, when I spot it. About a block away is a large truck, traveling at high speeds, and it doesn't appear to be stopping. At this rate it’s going to hit Etty, and she won’t even see it coming. 

“Etty!” I scream, louder than I’ve ever screamed before.

“What?!” She yells back, continuing to walk backwards. Oblivious to what is coming. 

It’ll take too long to communicate to her what will happen, so I run. Run towards her with everything I’ve got, which isn’t a lot considering how unathletic I am.

I reach Etty and grab her wrist, pulling her the rest of the way. The two of us stumble onto the sidewalk just as the truck rushes past us, right where Etty had been standing. 

Etty seems to realize this because she gasps, taking a few steps back. Her eyes are wide with terror.

“That could have hit me,” she says, breathless. We both are. Running and near death experiences aren’t exactly the best combination.

“Yup,” I say. I’m bent over with my hands on my knees, practically panting. “You should pay more attention to your surroundings.”

“I should, yeah,” she says. 

Etty gives me a morbid stare that lasts a few seconds before we both break into laughter, holding onto each other for support. 

“Oh God. I was going to die by being hit by a truck,” she says between laughs. “That’s such a sad way to die.”

“It really is,” I say, wheezing. 

I look up at the crosswalk sign directly above us. Now, in red digital numbers, it’s counting down from eight. No more flashing thirteen. That was it then. 

“We should probably get to class, huh?”

“Yeah, probably,” I say and nod. 

The two of us take another moment to breathe and regain our composure before walking toward the campus, luckily, unharmed.

I guess Fate was on her side.