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think. Never see fucking Josh Morgan again . I could drive right past the IU/Bloomington exit right now—take the first road west and stay on it until I hit the Rockies, where I’m always happy. Up in the mountains, skiing, I feel lean and quick and pure. I could rent a little cabin near Steamboat Springs, be just like that girl in my favorite poster, riding my horse through knee-deep snow, carrying my skis balanced on one shoulder. Boys might even be different in a place like that. They might like a girl who can beat them racing, someone who can take care of herself and won’t nag them about stupid shit all the time.
    Then a nagging voice inside my head reminds me that I didn’t win LOTTO CASH. The money belongs to my parents. And if you start something, finish it , the voice adds for good measure.
    Get a grip, I tell myself. Money or no money, I can’t just quit in the middle of the semester. Mom and Dad are never going to let me get away with that. Plus, it’s an idiotic idea to run away to Colorado just so I won’t have to see Josh. Like that would make me forget him. So I exit with a sigh, drive to my dorm, and drag myself up three flights of stairs, carrying the two shopping bags full of all the stuff I bought at the mall.

Four
    I’m so tired by the time I get to the top of the steps that I feel like lying down right there and taking a nap. The only thing that keeps me going is the smell of pizza, which seems to be coming from my room.
    I can hear Jules’ voice in my head, the sisterly warning she gave me before I left for school in August about not gaining the “freshman fifteen.” Well, I’ve gained that and more. I’ve been living on junk food. Plus, I haven’t run or gone to the gym since summer. Getting back in shape is definitely something to put on the list of goals for my new life—whenever I manage to get one. And, being rich, I can hire a hot, buff personal trainer and pay him whatever it takes to kick my butt, keep me on task. Meanwhile, why should I starve myself?
    “Emma!” Tiffany screams when I open the door. “My God, are you all right? I’ve been absolutely worried to death about you. I heard your mom came yesterday and you left in a rush, and I said to Matt, oh no, did something awful happen? Didn’t I, Matt? Wasn’t I worried to death?”
    “We were kind of worried,” Matt says. “Is everything okay?”
    I start laughing hysterically.
    “Emma?” Tiffany says.
    “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t even think about calling you. But—well, let’s just say things are definitely okay. In fact, you guys aren’t going to believe what happened.”
    “What?” Tiffany thrusts the pizza box toward me. “Here. Want some?”
    I take a piece, take a huge bite. I get a Coke out of our little refrigerator.
    “ Emma !” Tiffany says. She and Matt are staring at me, waiting for me to speak. “Where were you? What happened?”
    “Okay. Are you ready for this? My dad won LOTTO CASH. Fifty. Million. Dollars. No shit! That’s why they came to get me. So I could go with them when they cashed in the ticket this morning.”
    “Oh, my God ,” Tiffany says.
    Matt says, “Emma, are you serious?”
    “Totally,” I say. “I know. I thought it was a joke when they told me. But it wasn’t! He won—and because of me ! Well, because of Freud. You know, my psychology goose.”
    “That hideous goose from your psych class?” Tiffany scrunches up her face, like she’s actually smelling Freud’s rank odeur .
    “Yep. The goose you guys may remember you made fun of me for rescuing.”
    “Emma, exactly how does a goose win LOTTO CASH?” Matt asks.
    I explain the G-O-L-D-E-N thing, which leaves him looking only slightly less skeptical. “Anyhow,” I babble on, “my sister flew in from New York yesterday so we could go shopping. Then my dad bought me this Jeep.” I go to the window and pull the curtain back. “Look, you can see it in the parking lot. Way back there, under