From the author of Words on Bathroom Walls— now a major motion picture—comes a romance in the spirit of Dear Evan Hansen about overcoming anxiety—and about finding love and friendship in unlikely places. ★  "A masterpiece"   —Kirkus,  starred review "Bad luck follows lies." That was the first rule for life that Leo's Greek grandmother, Yia Yia, gave him before she died. But Leo's anxiety just caused a fight at school, and though he didn't lie, he wasn't exactly honest about how it all went down . . . how he went down. Now Leo's father thinks a self-defense class is exactly what his son needs to "man up." "Leave the Paros family alone." That was Yia Yia's second rule for life. But who does Leo see sitting at the front desk of the local gym? Evey Paros, whose family supposedly cursed Leo's with bad luck. Seeing that Leo is desperate to enroll in anything but self-defense class, Evey cuts him a deal: she'll secretly enroll him in hot yoga instead—for a price. But what could the brilliant, ruthless, forbidden Evey Paros want from Leo? Sharp, honest, and compulsively readable, Just Our Luck is as funny as it is heartwarming. "A feel-good story, with shades of  Holes  and  The Karate Kid " — Bulletin " A feel-good story , with shades of Holes and The Karate Kid , useful for readers who appreciate tales of an awkward outsider-turned-hero with acknowledged weaknesses and unexpected strengths." — Bulletin "Walton’s personal story focuses on the internal life of Leo, whose voice and character prove to be completely endearing . . . . [A] character-driven exploration of mental health through friendship, family, and art." — Booklist " A heartwarming story  about masculinity and finding yourself." — Bitch Media   "Leo is a relatable character. . . . Readers will root for Leo as he finds his place in the world." — School Library Journal JULIA WALTON is the author of the award-winning Words on Bathroom Walls . She received an MFA in creative writing from Chapman University and BA in History from UC Irvine. Julia lives with her husband and children in Huntington Beach, California. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram at @JWaltonwrites and visit her website JuliaWalton.com. 1 I didn’t lie. Not really.  I just didn’t provide all the details.  Yia Yia would have said that’s lying too because you can feel it in your stomach when you’re holding something back.  Not holding back was the problem, though, because I lunged at him first. I just didn’t tell anybody that.  And I should have known better. It was rule number one of the two rules that Yia Yia drilled into my head before she died.  Rule Number 1: “Bad luck follows lies, agapi mou.”  Rule Number 2: “Leave the Paros family alone.”  Yes, he hit me. But that’s not the full story, and it would be lying to say that it wasn’t just a little bit my fault.  The thing with anxiety is that people think it makes you run from a fight, but that’s not always true. At least not for me.  Sometimes it makes you defensive.  What happens for me is that when that hot, panicky feeling rises up, I just need to get it out of my system, and sometimes the easiest way to do that is to be a jerk. Lash out as quickly as possible to get that instant relief of setting the bad thing free. Just as long as it leaves me alone--as long as it’s not gnawing on the hardware in my brain--I’m cool.  Anyway, it’s actually the school’s fault this happened. Service hours are required, and I’ve always signed up for the jobs that are mostly solitary, like reshelving library books. But this time they assigned us jobs, and someone thought it would be a good idea for me to sell candy at the Snack Shack.  It was the first day back from winter break, so of course the place was swarming with people holding their sweaty money from the holidays, trying to elbow their way to the cash register. And I was behind the counter, responsible for giving them the sugar to keep this orgy of energy going. Jesus Christ. What had I done to deserve this?  I kept telling myself it was only for today, but as more people filled the room, I started to hear a loud buzzing in my ears.  All the Sour Patch Kids went first. Then the fresh cookies. Then the Starbursts.  One guy, Jordan Swansea, gave me forty dollars for three big containers of Red Vines and told me to keep the change as he walked out and distributed them in handfuls to the rest of his impossibly tall group of jock friends.  Overpaying for Red Vines in the Snack Shack just so you can drop money on the counter in front of everyone and walk away is a classic symbol of douchebaggery. That’s probably unfair, but he has that kind of vibe. Maybe it’s not such a big deal for rich people. I wouldn’t know. My high school sits in the middle of a lot of wealthy neighborhoods, so even though my family has always been solidly middle-class, that almost translates to poor here. That’s what I was thinking when Drake Gibbons, the second douchebag of the day, got to the