Lucky

by Marissa Stapley

  “Got myself another job,” her father told her later as he counted his tips and Lucky sat on the boat’s deck, munching on slightly soggy fried clams from a takeout container.

  “That awful woman who came in today?”

  “What was so awful about her?”

  Lucky shrugged. “I dunno. Thought she was kind of rude.”

  “Her name is Priscilla Lachaise. She was with her associate, Marisol Reyes.”

  “Associate? I thought it was her daughter.”

  “Nah, they work together.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Some sort of call center. Sounds like a good business, a lot of opportunity for growth.”

  “Is it legit?”

  He didn’t answer the question. “They need a manager. Good money, too. High commission.”

  Weeks passed, and her father started spending a great deal of time with Priscilla and Marisol—whom he called Reyes and treated like a kid sister, or a second daughter. He didn’t like to talk about whatever it was Priscilla had him doing at a rented office that he would only tell her vaguely was “downtown.” Once Lucky and her dad had been partners. Now it often felt like they were strangers. She spent her days alone on the boat studying, or sitting on the beach, her nose buried in her books.

  One day in early March, John returned home with papers for her: a birth certificate, a passport, and a social security card, all under the name of Alaina Cadence.

  “This is really you now, kiddo. Alaina Cadence. Nice, right? You can use these to sign up for your high school equivalency, to take your SAT—and to apply to college. What do you think?”

  “How did you get these?”

  “Priscilla. She’s a real gem.”

  Lucky examined the birth certificate and thumbed through the passport. The possibilities dizzied her: not just school, not just college—but travel. She could go anywhere, do anything, with these papers. “Dad, I… don’t know what to say.”

  “Ah, just start with thank you.”

  “Thank you,” she said. But she also wanted to ask questions. What do you do for her, over there at the “call center”? Why do you tell me I need to make myself scarce when she comes here for your “meetings”? Why won’t Reyes ever look me in the eye?

  She never asked any of this. And one day, she would come to regret it.

  * * *

  Lucky passed the high school equivalency test, and then started studying for the SAT. It was getting warmer, which to Lucky meant her time was running out: she had to take the test and apply to colleges within a month. She pilfered a bikini from a stall near their boat, and often brought her books and a towel onto the sand with her. Her skin turned golden in the California sunshine; her red hair turned paler, kissed with streaks. It tumbled down her back, almost to her waist.

  “Reyes says you’re getting a lot of attention out there on the beach,” her father said to her one night.

  “What, is Reyes spying on me?”

  “I asked her to keep an eye out for you. She’s street smart, knows what to look out for around here. Lucky, you should be nicer to her. Pay her a little bit of attention.”

  “Pay her attention when? I never see her. You’re either working with her, and you don’t want me around, or having your meetings with her and Priscilla, and you don’t want me around. Do you even work at the restaurant anymore?”

  “I do two shifts a week.”

  “I barely know you anymore, Dad. Reyes probably knows you better than I do.”

  Her father sighed. “Don’t be jealous.”

  “Why would I be jealous?”

  “She’s not a bad kid. She’s just had a rough life. You and Reyes would be great friends, I think, if you’d just give her a chance.”

  Lucky had never had a true friend—not since Steph, and that hadn’t been real. She told herself she was waiting for college. Alaina Cadence was going to have tons of friends in college.

  “I need to go, kiddo. Back to work for me. How’s the studying?”

  “Going great,” Lucky said, staring down at her book.

  Lucky got a perfect 1600 on her SAT. She finished her college applications just in time. “With that score, you can go to college wherever you want,” her father said—but he sounded nervous now. There was money in the lockbox, but not enough, not yet. “Where do you want to go?”

  “We should probably stay here, live here,” Lucky said. “It’s more practical.” She looked away from her father’s obvious relief and tried not to think of all the colleges she wanted to apply to. “The University of San Francisco is only half an hour away by bus, and they have an accounting program in the management school. That’s what I want to do.”

  “An accountant? But you love books, you love reading, you could do anything you wanted, anything in the world. That, really? It’s such a…” He trailed off.

  “Boring job? Boring life path? Has it ever occurred to you that boring and safe is exactly what I want? Also, I love numbers. I love their… predictability.”

  “I didn’t know this about you.”

  “We don’t talk much, lately.”

  Doing these normal things—applying to college, getting accepted, making the preparations to go there—gave Lucky a deep and calming sense of satisfaction she had never experienced before. She began to see a map laid out before her, much like the one they had consulted throughout her childhood, trying to decide which town to hit up next. But now, it felt like a path she was controlling herself. College, the certificates she needed to become an accountant, her own business or a job at a large firm—she had a plan, and for once, it didn’t include cheating.

  * * *

  It was June. Lucky put on her bikini, took out her Discman and popped her earbuds in her ears. Bikini Kill started screaming about liars. She shoved a twenty-dollar bill in the pocket of her denim shorts, grabbed a book, left the boat, and walked down to the pier. This was becoming her daily routine on the days she wasn’t hostessing at the restaurant. She didn’t have to study anymore and had nothing else to do.

  Today, as she sat reading, a group of teens caught her eye. There were many small crowds of friends who frequented the pier, and some of them were growing familiar to her. One group in particular always drew her eye. She tried not to feel jealous of their expensive-looking clothes and the gadgets and accessories they seemed to take for granted.

  There was a cute boy in the group with a good tan and brown hair streaked with California blond. She had walked by him and his crew of six, sometimes seven, a mix of boys and girls, almost every day that early summer. He was the only one who ever looked her way. When he watched her, she understood what it meant to say your heart had skipped a beat.

  Today, he smiled at her and she felt shy; she ducked her face back behind the collection of Lucia Berlin short stories she was reading, and she regretted her shyness immediately. What would it be like to be one of those girls in his group?

  But she wasn’t. For one thing, they were all petite, and she was tall. They were blond; her hair was sun-bleached now but still red, and too curly. They were pert-faced and smiling; she almost never smiled. The only feature she liked were her emerald-green eyes, a color she had never seen on anyone else. Everything else about her felt too big. Nose too prominent, lips too wide, too tall in general, feet too large and awkward.

  The girls in his group wore white, pastel, or fluorescent tank tops; neatly trimmed denim shorts and Keds with no socks, all in the same varying colors as their tops. Lucky wore ripped cutoffs made from old pairs of jeans over her bathing suit, and thrift shop T-shirts.

  There was something about the boy that was different, too. She couldn’t put her finger on it. He probably lived in some beautiful home in The Hill with a perfect family, a mom and dad and plenty of siblings. But still, she felt a strange kinship with him.

  Later, she walked past him and his group again on her way back from the restrooms. He was holding an ice cream cone now. Lucky watched from behind her sunglasses, now
ambling slowly, as one of the girls took a swipe at it with her tongue and he pulled it away, laughing. Lucky averted her eyes and kept walking by, but at the last second, she veered right into the ice cream shop because, for once, Lappert’s didn’t have a line.

  Inside, she puzzled over the flavors: Hawaiian Sea Salt Caramel, Hana Road, Manila Mango. The clerk behind the counter asked what she wanted.

  “Um…”

  Then the boy was standing beside her. He was smiling. She found herself saying, “Just an iced coffee, please.”

  “Iced coffee? Really?” he asked. “I see you walk by here every day, but you never go in, even though you want to, I can tell. And then you finally come in here and you get iced coffee?”

  “Well, I don’t really—”

  “Kauai Pie,” he said to the clerk. “That’s the one she wants.”

  “I don’t like coconut,” Lucky said.

  “The Kona Mocha Chip, then. It’s got coffee in it.” He ordered another cone for himself, too, and paid for both of them. Then he held the cones aloft, leading her outside.

  The smile on the face of the girl who had swiped at his ice cream cone disappeared when she saw him leading Lucky out, but the rest of the group watched her with interest.

  “Thank you,” Lucky mumbled as he handed her the cone.

  “You’re most welcome…” He trailed off, expectant. She realized she was supposed to say her name.

  “Lu—” She stopped herself. “Alaina,” she finished lamely, embarrassed.

  “You’re most welcome, Lu-alaina,” the boy said, grinning a lopsided grin and taking a bite of his ice cream. “I’m Alex.”

  “You finally talked to her,” said a boy with a navy cap pulled low over his face, and Lucky started to blush.

  “Just Alaina,” she said, her cheeks now officially flaming.

  “What are you doing tonight, Alaina?”

  Lucky saw the dismay on the girl’s face deepen. She looked away from her and back at the handsome boy who had just bought her an ice cream, wiped her fingers with a napkin, shrugged as casually as she could.

  “Not sure,” she said.

  “There’s a bonfire down at the cliffs. Meet us there later?”

  * * *

  Lucky wasn’t sure what time she was meant to go to the bonfire. She didn’t want to be too early, so she read until after nine and then scrawled a note for her father, who was working at the restaurant that night, saying she’d made some friends and was meeting them on the beach.

  She headed back the way she had come earlier that day. In the darkness, she could hear the sound of someone strumming a guitar, and a soft voice singing a song about how everything was made to be broken. The fire came into focus, and the cliffs behind it loomed large in the light. Lucky stepped into the area of sand and surf lit up by the bonfire’s flames, and Alex jumped up from where he had been sitting on a low rock wall. He had been the one strumming the guitar and singing.

  He leaned his guitar against the wall and came forward to greet her. He had a red cup in his hand. “Hey. You came.” His smile lit up the night more than any bonfire could. “Here, try some of this. Catch up to the rest of us.” The group from earlier that day was there; they smiled and nodded but kept their distance.

  “What is it?”

  He shrugged. “No clue.” He looked older in the darkness. She wondered how old he was, and if he was going to think seventeen was too young. She took the cup from him and had a sip, trying not to sputter and cough. It tasted like paint thinner smelled. There was grape juice mixed in, but it didn’t help. They sat in silence, staring at the bonfire for a while. When they had passed the cup back and forth between them so many times it was empty, Alex asked her if she wanted to go for a walk on the beach.

  “Sure,” she said, but when she stood she felt light-headed, while he didn’t seem affected by the alcohol in the cup. She’d never been drunk, or even close to buzzed. Most teens her age had had many experiences like this one, but this was her first party. She often felt out of place, but tonight the sensation was even more acute. Everyone else was dancing to the same beat, and she was out of step.

  Alex didn’t seem to notice, though. “Are you here on vacation?” he asked her. “I always see you on the beach, but never with anyone. And you seem to have been here for a while.”

  Had he been watching her? She felt flattered, and nervous. “Oh. Um. Yeah. I’m here with my dad. We live on a sailboat in the bay.”

  He glanced at her sidelong. “Oh, yeah? Cool. Do you like it?”

  “It’s different.”

  “Different from…”

  “Anywhere else I’ve lived.”

  “Where else have you lived?”

  “A bunch of places,” she said. “My dad… worked in sales. We’re staying here awhile. I’ll be going to SFU in the fall.”

  “Cool! That’s a great school.”

  “Do you go to college?”

  “Taking some time off right now.”

  His hand reached for hers in the darkness as they walked. His palm was warm and dry, and she was afraid that her nervousness had caused hers to become hot and damp. “What program are you going into at SFU?” he asked.

  “Business management. Accounting,” she said, suddenly self-conscious of how vanilla that sounded.

  But he squeezed her hand and said, “I love numbers.”

  She found herself squeezing back. “You can always count on numbers,” she said, then laughed. “God, I sound like such a nerd.”

  “Maybe I like nerds,” he said. “Especially beautiful, mysterious nerds. I like numbers a lot, Alaina. I like how predictable they are—when so many things in life aren’t.”

  She felt seen for the first time, and the pleasure of it made her feel like she was floating. They moved forward, hand in hand. The emotional intensity in the simple act of linking hands with another person, of becoming one in such an easy, wordless way, surprised her. He’d probably held hands with dozens of girls, but all of this was a revelation for her.

  Soon they were approaching the bay, and the restaurant. The warm, happy feeling dissipated. Lucky tugged on Alex’s hand to stop him walking. She didn’t want to run into her father. This was her moment and hers alone—and her dad would ask her so many questions she wouldn’t be able to answer and didn’t want to. Who is he, where does he come from, how do you know you can trust him?

  “Maybe we should go back,” she said. Alex was looking down at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

  “Maybe,” he said, pulling her off the path and into the shadows, staring into her eyes, lifting a hand to cradle her cheek like her face was a precious, delicate thing. He leaned closer and closer until the only thing to do was—

  Their lips met in the darkness and it didn’t matter anymore that she had never had a friend to talk to about what a first kiss was like, what to do, how to tilt your head. After the first few seconds, none of it mattered. It felt like something she had been doing her whole life. There were things about him she didn’t know, but she would learn them all. She felt like a character in one of her books. He was her John Thornton, he was her Henry Tilney, he was her Gabriel Oak. And her life was about to change.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lucky stood in a pay phone booth just outside the Seattle Greyhound station. Her hair was blond now; she had bleached it in a bathroom and cut it even shorter. She called directory assistance and asked for the phone number for Devereaux Camp in New York. She wrote it down on her hand, then fed quarters into the telephone and dialed the number, adrenaline coursing through her body. After several rings, a gravelly-voiced man answered. “Devereaux Camp, help ya?”

  Lucky didn’t speak.

  “Hello? Hello?”

  “Is Gloria available?” she managed.

  “Just a sec.”

  The phone was put down and there was some muffled talking, some fumbling, and then the man shouted, “Gloria! Phone’s for you!”

  It had started to rain. Th
e world outside was like a painting in varying shades of gray, with only the odd flash of color: the purple and gold of the Seattle city buses, the green of a tree, the navy trench coat on a woman rushing by, the red of her umbrella.

  “Hello? What can I do for you?”

  Lucky couldn’t speak.

  “Helloooo?”

  Lucky had the receiver pressed against her ear so hard it hurt—so when Gloria slammed down the phone, that hurt, too. Lucky winced, then replaced the receiver on its cradle and left the phone booth. She stood in the rain, waiting for inspiration to strike. If she wasn’t ready to talk to her mother yet, what next, where now?

  She walked for a while, then ducked into a coffee shop. Two police officers were sitting at a table in the corner, near the window. One of them caught her eye as she walked in and she forced a quick smile, rather than a guilty look away that could draw attention.

  She got in line, bought a small coffee, and left the café. The officers didn’t look up as she exited, and her panic receded. She was getting used to living in a constant state of fear. Outside, as she walked, she could feel the lottery ticket against her body, taped to the inside of her rain-damp sweatshirt. The ticket helped. It anchored her to an alternate future. She stopped again when she saw a sign for a used book store, ducked in the door on impulse—and as soon as she did, the familiar aroma of dusty endpapers and shelves filled with books hit her. The volumes she saw felt like companions she had lost along the way.

  In the fiction section, she traced a finger along familiar spines, then moved along to French Literature. She swept her eyes along the spines: Camus. Colette. Duras. Hugo—Les Misérables. She eased it off the shelf. She had started reading it as a child, then left it behind when she and her dad had moved in with Steph and Darla. This one was a hardcover, and it cost ten dollars, which was more than she could really afford. And she could have tucked it under her sweater: the proprietor of the store was in another aisle, shelving books. But she didn’t steal it. She walked up to the cash register, she rang the little bell, and she paid for it. She cradled it against her body, under her sweater, as she walked back to the bus station.