Girl Like You: A Nice

He stepped toward a canvas covered in a black sheet and pulled it back. It wasn't a painting; it was a mirror, but the reflection wasn't beige. The Lucy in the glass wore a deep emerald coat. She was laughing. She was standing on a pier in a city Lucy didn’t recognize, holding a ticket to somewhere far beyond Oakhaven.

"Is that what you want to be?" Julian asked. "Or is that just the easiest thing to be?" A Nice Girl Like You

The man, whose nameplate read Julian , didn't take the box. "We don't make mistakes, Lucy. That journal belongs to a version of you that hasn't happened yet." He stepped toward a canvas covered in a

A neighbor passed by and smiled. "Evening, Lucy! Such a nice girl." She was laughing

Being a "nice girl," Lucy didn’t open the journal. She spent three hours researching the address. She discovered that Wickham Lane had been a hidden alleyway behind the old clock tower, sealed off since the 1920s. Against every logical instinct she possessed, Lucy didn’t call the post office. She took the brass key and walked toward the clock tower.

Lucy laughed, the sound brittle in the quiet room. "I don’t do 'versions.' I do spreadsheets. I’m a nice, predictable girl."

"That's the 'Not-So-Nice' Lucy," Julian whispered. "The one who speaks her mind. The one who takes the promotion in London. The one who stops apologizing for taking up space."