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Chapter two

Dreams & Fairytales

Karma

A light gray haze fills our cramped apartment, its skunky scent blending with the chill lofi beats streaming from my laptop. As I kick back on our well-worn couch, I breathe out a cloud of smoke. Yaas. 5 o’clock in Marijuanaville.

“Latest hookup.” Evie holds out her hand.

“Jackie.” I pass her the joint.

It’s our weekly ritual—a game we call Crime or Time . It’s like our own version of Truth or Dare . Y’know, ‘ confess the crime or do the time’ ? Trust me, there’s no better way to wind down at the end of a busy week.

“Jackie Thorson from your Applied Finance class?” She raises her eyebrows before taking a hit. A curl of smoke escapes from her nose and drifts toward the ceiling.

“Oh my god. Not even.” I laugh as the first hint of a buzz washes over me. “I mean, she’s beautiful—don’t get me wrong. But she’s so serious. Like, CEO-serious. Not my vibe at all.”

Evie nods. She gets me. “Then, Jackie who?”

“Just some guy I met. Cute. Funny.” What is there to say, really?

She makes a frustrated sound. “Details, por favor . Did he sweep you off your feet? Did you sweep him ? Give me some romance, mi carnal .“ She curls her bare feet underneath her as she settles into a corner of the couch. The dreamy look on her face says she’s hoping for a Happily Ever After .

So, there’s a few things that you should know about Evie. On a physical scale from 1-10, she’s 82.5. Her mind is sharp, her tongue is sharper—and when it comes to dancing, my bestie is a beast . But if Evangeline Delarosa has one fatal flaw, it’s that she’s incurably, hopelessly romantic.

Just like I used to be.

“Sorry, no fairytales to tell this week.” I give her a lazy half-shrug. “What about you, Sis? Did you hook up with any Prince Charmings?”

She rolls her eyes, sneaking another hit before passing the joint back to me. “Princes don’t hook up, Karma—at least not any I would date.”

Evie has standards, just so you know.

“OK, then. If you could have hooked up with anyone this week, who would it have been?”

“Hmmm, now that’s a good question.” She stretches like a cat, a far-off look in her eyes. “Maybe Jason Momoa. Or Tom Holland. No—Jason Momoa and Tom Holland.”

“Kinky.” I blow out another cloud of smoke.

Evie grabs a piece of popcorn from a bowl on the coffee table and throws it at me. “That’s not what I meant! What I’m saying is, I would choose someone who’s hot but also… y’know, sweet . Sexy but also a gentleman.”

“I think you chose Tom Holland because he can dance,” I tease.

“It doesn’t hurt.” She grins. “OK, my turn again. If you could have chosen a Prince or Princess Charming this week, who would it have been? And no hookups or Hollywood crushes. Tell me about a real-life person, someone you’d have a relationship with.”

Ooh, that’s a tough one. Just because I’m pansexual doesn’t mean I’m not picky. Besides, who’s got time for anything serious? Between studying for an MBA and working part-time at the café—not to mention volunteering at the student writing center—I’m kinda tapped out. Hooking up is way easier.

It’s time to bluff.

“I think romance is overrated,” I say. Evie loves a good debate, and if it distracts her from the question? Bonus points for me.

“What the fuck? Are you high? “ My roommate grabs the joint out of my hand and snuffs it in a ceramic dish. “What could be better than romance, especially for a writer?”

“I’m in business school now,” I remind her. My shoulder-length hair suddenly feels in the way. I pull it up into a messy bun, wrapping it with an elastic band I had around my wrist. “If I’ve learned anything over this past year, it’s that you’ve got to be practical. Work hard. Romance is just a distraction.”

Evie stares at me like I’m a stranger. One that stepped in dog poop. “Is writing a distraction, too? Don’t tell me you’ve given up on your dream, carnal , now that you’re ‘ in business school’. “ Her snarky tone tells me what she actually thinks about my MBA program.

Here’s the thing—dreams are great, but you need cash to make them come true, right? Unless you want to be a starving artist, and that I definitely do not . My dream of becoming a best-selling novelist needs to be funded somehow. A practical plan to pay the bills while I write my sweeping fantasy saga. Hence, business school.

I know, I know. It’s not exactly a logical step, but hear me out. The idea started a couple of years ago when I went home for winter break. My sister, Emerson, is a culinary artist who dreams of having her own bakery. My brother, Henry David… Well, Hank’s a botanical artist. You know how a wine expert is sometimes called a sommelier? He’s that, but for marijuana. Not only can he tell you all about the latest strains, but he grows his own amazing varieties. Anyway, we had this fantastic idea: ‘ why don’t we go into business together’? A smoke shop for Hank, a bakery for Em, and a laidback barista gig for me—a job that could pay the bills while I funnel all of my creative energy into writing. A ‘Dutch Coffeeshop’, like they have in Amsterdam, but in our hometown outside of Berkeley, California.

Brilliant, right? I can help my siblings’ dreams come true while I work on becoming a novelist. It’s the perfect plan—only, someone needs to learn how to run a shop, and since Spartacus University offered me a graduate studies scholarship….

Hence, business school.

“I’m not giving up on my writing, Sis. I’m just adding another goal.” I pick up the snuffed-out joint, then put it back down without lighting it. “Same difference with dating. Why settle for one dream when you can have two or three?”

Evie gives me the side-eye. “Since when did you become a player?”

Ouch, harsh. That’s one thing my bestie won’t tolerate. In her book, dating a player is like kissing a frog. Some people say ‘you need to kiss a lot of frogs to find a prince’. Evie isn’t one of them.

“Hey, not fair! It’s not like I’m dishonest about it. Lots of people hook up, y’know.”

My roommate tosses her dark hair over one shoulder. “All I’m saying is, I think you should put in a little effort. Ask someone on a date. Hold hands, for god’s sake. Get to know them before you go to bed with them. When’s the last time you did any of that?”

I think back over the past semester. Nope , and not the one before that, either. It’s been a rough year, and I’ve still got another one to go before I finish my master’s. “I wrote my number on a customer’s to-go cup a few weeks ago.” Not that he ever called me.

She looks up at the ceiling and shakes her head. “If you’re gonna use your imaginatIon for a living, you’ve gotta be more creative than that.”

“What do you suggest?” I snort.

Evie’s eyes light up.

Uh oh.

My best friend uncurls from her corner of the couch, a plan written across her face. She’s obviously been waiting for this moment. “Step One: you’ve gotta stop with the casual hookups. Pick someone—any one person—who really lights your fire. Someone who makes your heart race when you think about them. Who would you choose, Karma?”

And now we’re back to the original question: which real-life Prince or Princess Charming would I pick? I tell you, Evie’s relentless.

My messy bun suddenly feels too tight. I untie the elastic and let my hair fall, then put the band back around my wrist. “What happens after Step One?”

“Step Two, pendejo. Make that person feel special. Pursue them—not in a creepy stalker-ish way, but… you know, woo them. If they like music, take them to a concert. If they’re a foodie, then learn how to cook. You feel me?”

I’m feeling something. Maybe it’s heartburn. “Tell me what comes after that.”

“Step Three is to commit.” She scoots closer, caging me in. “Now, don’t get all twitchy on me—I’m not asking you to put a ring on it. All I’m saying is, give it some time. Slow down. See if there’s any magic between you. What’s a couple of months gonna cost you compared to the potential payoff?”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” I grumble.

Evie grabs my shoulder and shakes it. “You’ve got one life, Karma. Do you really want to waste it on hookups? What if your dream partner—your soulmate —is out there, right now, looking for you? Are you willing to miss out on the love of your life?”

Arghh. I hate it when she pokes at my FOMO. This convo is getting a little too real. I reach for the snuffed-out joint again.

My best friend slaps my hand away. “Think about your favorite novels, carnal , the ones you read over and over again. Imagine having an adventure like that! A life like that! Not just a story you read—or even write—but one that you actually live . Wouldn’t any amount of work be worth it?”

Adventure and romance? My heart gives a thud in my chest. I remember when that’s all that I dreamed about, when I was sure that my dreams would come true. Now, buried beneath a mountain of textbooks and homework, I’m not certain of anything anymore.

Evie whispers, “Think about it, Karma. You deserve to live that kind of life. I deserve it.”

Maybe she’s right. “But how do we get it?” I ask.

A smile slowly stretches across her face. “That’s easy. Crime or Time.”

Wait, what? I’d been so caught up in our talk that I’d forgotten about the game. It always ends with one of us calling…

“Crime or Time, Karma,” Evie says in a sing-song voice. “Either confess to me your dream partner’s name right now or you gotta do the freakin’ time . ”

“Oh my god, you cheated!” I laugh. “You knew I wasn’t ready. This time, I was gonna get you .”

She leans against the back of the couch, smugness radiating from every pore. “Rules are rules, and I called it first. ‘Fess up or pay the penalty.”

Arghh. If only she hadn’t asked me this question. Evie’s my best friend and all, and I usually tell her everything. But giving her the name of my real-life fantasy? It makes me feel naked in a way that I don’t get with hookups. The thing that I haven’t told her is, I have been trying to chat up my dream guy. Every chance I get, for months . He won’t say two words to me. Not gonna lie—the rejection sucks.

“Time,” I mutter.

She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re choosing Time over Crime? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” A few weeks of dishes or laundry-duty is a small price to pay for my pride.

Evie folds her arms across her chest. “Fine. I hereby sentence you to three months.”

“Three months?” I sputter.

“Yes, three months.” She pokes a finger into my chest. “I’m gonna need at least that long.”

Holy shit! “For what?”

“Three months for Three Steps. What did you think we were talking about?”

Ohhh.

Oh, nooo.

“Don’t start trippin’,” Evie says. “I’ll be there to help you every step of the way.”

Shit. “And how do you propose to do that?”

“Simple. What does every fairytale romance need? A Fairy Godmother.” She picks up the smashed, discarded joint and waves it through the air like a wand. “That’s where I come in.”

“To do what ?”

“Magic,” she says, “if that’s what it takes. Saddle up your white stallion, Karma. We’ve got three months to turn you into a prince.”