The day started with my alarm going off exactly one minute before I was supposed to wake up. That sounds annoying, but it wasn’t. It was serendipitous. Because one minute was just enough time to stretch, smile at the ceiling like I was starring in a coming-of-age drama, and not hate the world. I even caught my blanket mid-fall when it tried to slip off the bed like it usually does. Not today, gravity. Not today.

I slid into my bunny slippers. I know that’s a cliché, but they’re soft, they’re pink, and they make me feel powerful. And when I say “powerful,” I mean like… I could absolutely destroy a math test or win a staring contest with a teacher. (And I have.)

In the kitchen, the toaster didn’t burn my bread. Again, I know that’s a low bar. But you don’t understand. My toaster has attitude. It’s burnt enough toast to form its own emo band. Today, though? Golden brown perfection. And just as I was about to pour myself a regular glass of orange juice, I found a leftover mango one behind the milk. Mango. The queen of juices. The superior sibling of orange.

I got dressed. Outfit? Cute. First try. No outfit crisis, no last-minute leggings switch, no collapsing dramatically on the floor whispering “I have nothing to wear” like I’m in a tragic musical. I walked past the mirror and I swear my hair looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial. I gave myself a wink. No one saw, thankfully. Except me. And that’s enough.

When I got outside, a ladybug landed on my hoodie. A ladybug. The bug of luck itself. Not a spider. Not a bee. A literal red dot of destiny.

The bus? Showed up exactly when I got to the stop. And guess what—no one had taken my usual seat. Not even Marcus with the football-shaped head who thinks backpacks belong in the aisle. I sat down, put in one earbud (only one because ✨safety✨), and “Lucky Girl” by Carlita Faye started playing on shuffle. I didn’t even queue it. It just happened.

I know, I know. It’s annoying.
Even I’d be annoyed at me if I wasn’t me.
But here’s the thing—
It’s not like I ask the world to hand me these things on a glitter-covered silver tray. It just… does. It always has.

At school, someone complimented my hair. Twice. I forgot we had a pop quiz in history—still got full marks. The vending machine spat out an extra bag of chips. My crush walked past and actually smiled at me. A real smile, not the “I don’t know if I should recognize you in the hallway” twitch. No, this one had teeth. Possibly dimples. Definitely potential.

By the time lunch came around, I was already feeling like the president of the Lucky People Club. Not to brag, but I might’ve been its only member. I sat with Moka and Iroha, told them about the mango juice and the Carlita Faye song and Marcus not being a seat-stealer today.

Moka rolled her eyes and said, “You’re literally a wizard or something.”
Iroha shrugged and stole my chips. Balance, I guess.

And I thought to myself—
Dang, I really am living the dream, huh?
Like, what could possibly go wrong?

Spoiler alert: I’d find out soon enough.

But that morning? That walk down the hallway with the sun hitting the windows just right and my shoes not squeaking and everything still perfect? That was the last time things felt that easy.

And I didn’t even know it.