Magic
I used to be one of those people that things just happened for. It was part of the innocent charm I was born with: without even realizing I was doing it, I simply believed good things would happen for me, and they did. I’ve mentioned before that I was a person who ambled through life wearing rose-colored glasses, stopping to smell every flower. I didn’t think about failure. I didn’t really think about anything. I walked blissfully through life, letting good things befall me because I didn’t question that they would. And they always did. My friends both marveled at it and hated me for it. Senior year of high school, I had no doubt that I would be voted homecoming queen. So when the assistant principal’s voice crackled through the intercom and she started announcing the ten girls who had been chosen by their peers to be on homecoming court, I sat back in my chair and waited patiently. I knew I would hear my name. I wasn’t even stressed when she got to the ninth name
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