Hello! I've been toying with this idea, and I'm not sure how long this story will be, but I wanted to put it out here. Please enjoy!

Disclaimer: The plot is my idea, the characters are borrowed from Shonda Rhimes.

Callie was utterly exhausted.

There was simply no other way of laying it out – being a twenty-two year old struggling in New York to make it on Broadway just didn't pay the bills. So, like the other hundreds – thousands – of talented, young twenty-somethings trying to make it in the big city, she moonlit as a waitress.

A waitress who had to pay her half of the rent for the New York apartment she was living in, and to do so, was regularly pulling double shifts, as well as attending as many open casting calls as she possibly could.

At the current time, she was coming off of one of those overnight double shift, and she had one of those auditions in just over an hour. An audition for a new, up-and-coming off-Broadway musical, open to cast newcomers as leads roles. Since she'd already stopped by her bank to deposit her cash tips into her account – meaning that the check she was going to cut for her roommate wouldn't bounce – all she had to think about for the day was said audition.

She tried to focus on that rather than the fact that after that check went through, it would leave her with a measly three dollars in her pocket until her next shift.

Feet dragging down the sidewalk, she held in a yawn, yelling at herself to wake up. It shouldn't have been difficult to wake up, one would think, because it was November in New York and it was cold enough for someone who was a native Floridian like herself to already be layering jackets.

And – perfect – it was starting to rain.

Squinting up ahead, she spotted the small used bookstore she passed many times on her journeys through this neighborhood, and jogged to it. She'd never been inside, and her plan had been to make it to the Starbucks down the street. But the new plan was to stay out of the rain for as long as she could. As she stepped inside, the little bell above her jingled, signaling her entry to whoever else was lurking here.

The smell of books hit her immediately, and the comfort Callie felt seemed to melt into her through her bone-deep fatigue. Being widely unpopular in her teenage years meant that her only solace in her private school, was hiding herself among the many shelves full of books in the library during all free periods and lunch periods.

And it wasn't a smell that any regular bookstore could replicate – it was the perfect smell of well-read books.

She lifted her fingers up to slide along the cracked spines of the books she passed as she made her way farther into the aisles. And when she turned a corner, she had to lift a hand to her tired eyes and rub them just to check that she wasn't hallucinating.

Because there were chairs – comfortable looking, cushy chairs. And after working sixteen hours, her feet were aching, and this was an even better place to curl up with her songbook and prepare for her audition than any Starbucks.

The soft groan that escaped her mouth as she sank into the well-worn chair was almost indecent, and she pulled her binder full of her songs into her lap. Leaning her head back, dark eyes wandered over all of the books, before drifting to close.

Callie resolved to look over her songbook… after she just rested her eyes for a moment. Just a moment.

And what felt like just a moment later, there was an angry voice that felt like a punch to the stomach, yelling at her, "You young people these days! Well, I have news for you, you little vagabond, you can't just come in here and think you're going to sleep on my furniture and leave. This is a business!"

Everything seemed bleary, and she was still trying to pull herself into consciousness. Trying to wrap her brain around the words being yelled at her, she blinked up at the old man looming above her, "Vagabond?"

And the old man nodded vigorously, "Vagabond! Vagrant! Hobo! Well, you can't sleep it off here. You can buy a book and get out. You've been sleeping here for an hour, and I won't stand for it anymore!"

God, her head was pounding, and her eyelids felt so heavy, they just wanted to close again to sleep. But then his words really registered, and it was as though a lightning bolt struck through her body, "Did you just say I've been here for an hour?!"

He stood up straight, crossing his arms over his thin chest, as he looked down his nose at her and scoffed, "As if you didn't know."

She jumped up, nearly bumping into him, as she quickly started to redo the buttons up on her jacket, and her words were jumbled because they were trying to compete to come out of her mouth so fast, "No – I didn't mean to sleep. I just… my songbook," she muttered, looking around to where she saw it laying on the floor.

Before she could bend down to take it, she was stopped by the man holding his hands in front of her, "I am the owner of this establishment, and with print media going out of business because of you kids and the digital age, I refuse to let you simply storm out of here after using my chairs to sleep on without any payment in kind."

Shaking her head, her eyes found the clock on the wall above his head, noting that there was less than ten minutes for her to make it to the casting call, before she shook her head at him, ludicrously, "You want me to pay you? For sitting on your chair?"

"For sleeping in my chair!"

God, she didn't have any time to argue. Spotting the small sign that read Used Books – $3.00 to her left, she reached out and grabbed a small book, not bothering to read what it was, as she dug into her jeans pocket to pull out the crumpled bills.

Handing the money to the man, she bent to pick up her songbook and forced her new used book into the deep pocket in her jacket. With one last glare over her shoulder, she jogged back through the aisles of books and ran back out into the rain.

Her last three dollars that she'd wanted to use to buy a coffee with were gone, and she had to literally run through the rain to try to make it to her audition on time.

As Callie was the kind of girl who believed in luck, she realized that today… well, today she was supremely unlucky.

God. If someone had told her that her feet were in fact not made out of lead, she didn't know if she would have believed them.

Trudging into the kitchen area, Callie hung her coat over the back of a chair before making her way into the open door immediately to the left, into the sanctuary of her bedroom. The thrilling buzz of her audition had replaced her exhaustion for the majority of her walk home, but now… now all she wanted was to sleep.

For days, maybe.

Collapsing on top of her comforter, she'd barely closed her eyes when the sound of the door to the apartment opened, then slammed shut.

Not bothering to move, her voice muffled by her pillow, she shouted, "The rent check is in my coat pocket!"

Her roommate, Cristina, responded with a grunt before Callie heard her shuffling around, and she called back, "Are you intending on paying the rent with an old book?"

Confused, she rolled over onto her back to prop herself onto her elbows and look out into the kitchen, "What?"

Because if the rent check she'd written earlier had escaped her pocket and was floating around somewhere in the city, then this really would go down in history as one of her worst days since she'd arrived in New York.

A surprised yelp escaped her as she ducked just in time to avoid getting hit in the face with the softcover book that she'd forgotten about from earlier. Cristina had chucked it at her, before she had continued to dig in the pocket, before muttering, "Oh, the check is in here, too."

Relieved, she settled onto her back once more, resting her hands on top of her stomach before calling out, "Well, if you want, you can give me back the check and you can keep the book?" she raised her voice as she spoke, as Cristina made her way to her own room, shutting the door behind her.

Traditionally speaking, Cristina wasn't the most amazing roommate. She spent most of her days at her university, and for the majority of the time that she was hanging around at their apartment, she was hardcore studying to ensure that she graduated at the top of her class. Not typically talkative or friendly, either, but those were two qualities that Callie understood, related to, and enjoyed living with on many days.

Most of the time, it was like living alone. Which, again, she didn't entirely mind.

But sometimes it would be nice to have someone to talk to. It was on days like this that she wished she had someone to talk to. Someone who just wanted to hear about her day.

She missed her friends from when she was in college, the ones that she hadn't intended on falling out of touch with after she'd dropped out. But then as the weeks and months went on, contact lessoned.

And now, after living here for a year, she didn't talk to any of them anymore. Excepting an occasional Facebook message. But none of them were extremely interested in hearing about her auditions anyway.

Sighing, she settled onto her back, keeping her eyes open on the ceiling. Her voice was conversational, "My audition went well today, thanks for asking. Then again, I've thought my auditions have gone well a lot in the past, and the amount of call-backs I've gotten mirror the amount of Tony awards I have. That is to say, none."

It was the way she laughed at her own awful joke that she knew she was overtired. Rolling her eyes at herself, she turned onto her side, looking down at where the book had landed.

As her attention was brought back to it, for the first time she noted the title. To Kill a Mockingbird.

She vaguely remembered reading the novel in high school, and she reached down to pick it up. The light weight of the book in her hands gave her a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Not unpleasantly, either.

The spine was cracked and re-cracked, so much that it was hard to read the title, and the pages were a little crinkled, even as the book was closed. It told her that this book had been well-loved and well-read, many times, and she liked that.

Callie quickly flipped through the pages, immediately seeing how there were notes scribbled on many of the margins. Arrows and highlighted passages. Her guess was that a literature student had owned this at some point in the book's life.

Finally, she arrived at the front cover. And there was handwriting there that was different from the writing that was all over the book, inscribing it with:

You little nerd, you really did it. I, of course, never had any doubt in you.
Kick ass. Take names. And never forget the little people.

Tim

And below that, printed in the same cursive writing as the notes marking the pages, was written, Property of A. Robbins.

Well. Clearly, whoever A. Robbins was, he knew what he was talking about when it came to this book. He? She? They? Whatever.

All of the highlights and comments – maybe one day she would read them. It had been so long since she'd actually sat down to read for pleasure. Not read lines or read casting calls for plays and musicals she never got a call-back for.

But that day was not today.

Reaching over, she put the book down on her bedside table, turning off the light as she muttered, "Thanks for accompanying me to my audition today, A. Robbins. It's been a pleasure."

Almost a week later, Callie was walking the extremely familiar course from the restaurant back to her apartment when fate rang.

Or, more specifically, an unknown number that she answered, while trying to balance her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she managed to pour sweetener into the cup of coffee she'd just bought, "Hello?"

"Hello, is this Callie Torres?" The voice on the other end asked.

Pausing – outside of the bookshop that she'd vowed never to return to – she tried to think if she was late on any bill payments… "Yes, this is she. Who's this?"

"Hi, Ms. Torres, I'm Richard Webber. One of the producers for the play you tried out for last week," he told her, and she recalled the older man who had been the one to dismiss her with a curt, Thank you.

Her heart started to beat wildly in her chest, as her hand tightened on the cell phone, "Yes?"

"And we liked what we saw. Would you be free to come in for a second audition? Tomorrow?"

Oh god. It was happening. She was getting a callback for a leading role. Her whole body felt numb and the coffee cup in her hand slipped and spilled all over the sidewalk. It didn't matter; her face lit up in a beaming smile, "I would. I absolutely would, yes. Thank you so much."

He hung up the phone after a quick confirmation, and then the squeal she'd been holding back emerged, and so did her victory dance.

Only to be cut short when the door to the bookstore swung open next to her, the pleasant jingle of the bell interrupted by the angry voice that would give her nightmares, "You again! Now you're littering outside of my business place? I'll call the police!"

She was momentarily confused, before she remembered her coffee cup, "Oh. No, no, I'm not – I'm going to pick it up. I just –"

"Littering is illegal, no matter what the reason," he snapped, before shutting the door.

And she was in too good of a mood to even try to tell him off, because she just got a call-back. This was it. Her foot was in the door, and she wouldn't go back.

Then it hit her – the bookstore was the difference that day. She wasn't an idiot. She knew that it had been her talent that got her the callback. The fact that this was her passion and she knew she was skilled, that was the reason for the second audition. Not luck.

But damn it, she was going to be a Broadway performer, and she wasn't going to take any chances with luck.

And the one thing that was different on that particular day than on any other day that she'd auditioned for any other role was this bookstore and A. Robbins.

Quickly, she bent down to pick up the coffee cup she'd dropped, and tossed it in the trash, before opening the door to the shop and running after the owner. When he didn't spare a look over his shoulder, she called out, "Excuse me!"

And then she was positive that he simply walked faster toward the back room he was heading to, to try to get away from her.

"Wait a second!"

He simply turned a corner and disappeared in a room behind the checkout counter, shouting over his shoulder, "No customers allowed beyond the counter."

Huffing in exasperation, she called after him, "If you don't stop, I'm going to litter outside of your shop again!"

Within seconds he was back, glaring at her, "What do you want?"

Rocking back and forth on her feet, she asked, "When I was in here last week, I bought a book, and I was wondering if you keep any records of where they come from." Shaking her head at herself, she backpedaled, "I swear, I'm not a stalker or anything."

In the end, it turned out that he didn't care whether or not she was a stalker at all. What he cared about was getting ten dollars from her for the divulging of information pertinent to his business. And in return for that ten dollars, she got that books in the area of the store that she'd gotten To Kill a Mockingbird from were donations from college students.

… For another five dollars, she received the information that the books catalogued from that exact section were from the University of Pennsylvania.

"A. Robbins from University of Pennsylvania," she whispered with a grin.

The next day, as she was heading out the door on the way to her audition, she hesitated in front of the blue mailbox on the corner of her street. Yesterday, in the haze of her callback, this had seemed like a good idea.

Now… well, now she felt somewhat like a stalker.

On the one hand, she could just tuck the letter back into her pocket and go onward with her life. Cristina had called her ridiculously creepy and, after congratulating her on her audition, told her she was being an idiot, and that she owed nothing to A. Robbins and that nothing was about luck. Logically, she knew that was right.

But that was logic, and logic wasn't what had led her here. Logic wasn't what had prompted her to drop out of pursuing a degree in business, as her father had pressured her into, after two years. Logic didn't have her chasing her Broadway dreams.

And Broadway was full of superstition. Before she could change her mind again, she reached out and dropped the letter into the box.

Besides, just because she was mailing the letter, it didn't even mean that A. Robbins was going to even get it. The envelope was simply addressed to an A. Robbins at the University of Pennsylvania. And even if A. Robbins did get her letter, it didn't mean he/she/they would read it. And it definitely didn't mean that they would write back.

A. Robbins,

You don't know me, so this might seem very weird. Or creepy, as some people might say. But on the same day that I bought your copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, my life – hopefully! – has changed for the better.

I don't know if you believe in fate (?), and I don't really even know if I do. But the fact that on the very morning that I randomly purchased your book from a random bookstore, was the same morning that things might be turning around for me… well, I don't want to take my chances, and spit in the face of Possible Fate.

The way I see it, I have to thank you for giving me the good karma. Your book was a good luck charm, and hopefully you'll get something good after I send you this.

So… thank you!
Callie

It all happened a lot faster than she ever thought it would. The second audition came and went, and even though her stomach felt like it was so full of butterflies it was going to fly away, her voice was steady.

And they had called her the very same day to come in for one more audition, with more people from the musical that would be in attendance, and even though she'd told herself not to get her hopes up… they were up.

Thankfully, she wasn't let down.

Bursting through the door to her apartment, she was excited to see Cristina sitting at the kitchen table, eating her dinner of cereal. Thrilled as she was, she ran up to her roommate, and wrapped her arms around her from behind.

Immediately, Cristina stiffened in her arms, "What are you doing?"

Pulling back, she dropped her arms, "I was hugging you, but I think there's a reason we don't hug." All she got in response was a raised eyebrow, which prompted her to let out a little dance, "I did it! I got the part! Rehearsals start next week."

The biggest smile she'd ever received from her roommate graced her features for a few moments, "Congrats." Before she reached over and picked up an envelope that had clearly been thrown onto the table earlier, "Also, this came in the mail for you. Guess your penpal didn't think you were as big of a freak as I thought you were."

Her eyebrows knit together in confusion for a few moments as she took the envelope from her, noting that this was simply addressed to Callie, before flickering up to the corner and seeing that the letter was in fact from A. Robbins.

She tore it open as she walked into her room, and for some reason, she felt that she was irrationally excited because of hearing back from her "penpal."

Callie –

I will admit that I was a little creeped out when I got your letter in the mail. It's not every day that I receive a letter from a complete stranger who has tracked me down.

Thankfully.

To answer your question, no. I don't believe in fate, but I am glad that your life is going well. If I were you, I wouldn't attribute that to the novel. It doesn't bring luck, trust me.

I wasn't planning on writing back, but I can't help but wonder what exactly changed in your life that was so monumental that you found it necessary to write a stranger and share the news rather than risk upsetting PF (Possible Fate).

Sincerely hoping you aren't a stalker,
A. Robbins

She didn't know what it said about her that she wrote back in less than an hour, and mailed it the next day. And if Callie was being honest with herself, she didn't particularly care what it said about her. The only thing she cared about was that A. Robbins was the only person who was genuinely interested in hearing about her day in over a year.

To the mysteriously named "A. Robbins,"

I'm not a stalker, I promise. Then again, if I was a stalker, I suppose I would say the same thing, wouldn't I?

That probably didn't make you feel any better.

What made me write to you (a stranger) in regards to PF, was that I got my first ever callback for a second audition for an off-Broadway show. And want to know what is even stranger? The day I received your answering letter was the same day that I got officially cast in the part.

I don't think that it's Possible Fate anymore, simply Fate.

Trading a story for a story – can I ask what makes you say that the novel doesn't bring luck?

Wondering what good news I'll receive when (if?) you answer,
Callie

Any feedback is extremely welcome and encouraged. Please let me know what you think, and thank you for reading!