Lucky Me

by Saba Kapur

  “What?”

  “I’ll explain when you get to my house,” I told him.

  “Wait, you know he was at the Coco Club?” Milo repeated, as if he was still processing that fact.

  “I wasn’t . . . entirely honest with you the other day.”

  My phone began beeping, cutting into our conversation and indicating I had another call waiting.

  “Gia w—”

  “Sorry! I’m sorry! Look, I’ll explain soon. I’ll see you at my house. Okay bye, thanks!”

  “Wai—”

  I cut the phone before he could ask more questions and I could make even more of a fool of myself.

  “Hello?” I said, answering the second call, not bothering to even check who was calling.

  “Gia. It’s been a while.”

  “Hello?”

  Oh shoot. Dr. D.

  “Sorry I haven’t been in contact. Did you miss me?”

  Gee, let me think about that one. Nope! I covered my free ear with my hand, trying to block out the sound of a car that was parking nearby. Dr. D had clearly decided his Darth Vader voice was more effective at scaring me than his auto-tune, and he was absolutely right.

  “You were at the Coco Club the other day,” I said, asking more than declaring a fact.

  My voice was shaking and I kept looking over at the school, but Jack was nowhere in sight.

  “I was,” came the reply, and I pressed my phone tighter against my ear, straining to clearly make out what he was saying. “I’m glad you received my message.”

  Sixty seconds was all I needed to nail his location, and I knew Milo would be listening closely.

  “Thanks for the drink by the way,” I said.

  “You barely had any of it.”

  “I’m not much of a drinker,” I replied, desperately trying to keep the fear out of my voice.

  It had barely been fifteen seconds. I needed to keep him on for longer, but honestly what were we supposed to talk about? Hair products and Taylor Swift’s new boyfriend? Yeah. I doubt it.

  “Neither am I,” Dr. D replied. “But I hope you can make it to my after party.”

  “After party?”

  Still no sign of Jack, and my heart was pretty much threatening to burst out of my chest from anxiety.

  “Yes. It should be quite spectacular.”

  Something about the way he said “spectacular” with his creepy voice sent a chill down my spine. Suddenly it hit me that in a tiny amount of time, the most important day of my life so far would involve me coming face to face with a person who had been watching me for lord knows how long. If the pressure of not falling flat on my face or looking like a whale in my dress wasn’t bad enough, I also had to deal with the possibility that I may get kidnapped. Or die. Or rip my dress. Shoot I didn’t even have a dress yet! I paced around Jack’s car, fidgety and quite possibly suffering from some kind of an anxiety attack.

  “What does the napkin say?” I demanded, transforming my panic over the lack of a gown into what I hoped was confidence and power.

  “You’re a smart girl Gia. Except, of course, when it comes to your math homework. You can figure out what it says.”

  “Hey!” I cried, putting my free hand to my chest. “I’m trying my best, okay? You try being me for one day! I had to deal with Meghan Adams ruining my life this morning, I don’t have a gown yet for the Golden Globes, the guy I really like is moving away and I really don’t need this from you right now!”

  Okay, so I wasn’t particularly using my brain. Yelling at my potential murderer was probably not the best idea. A low, grumbling laughter came from the other end of the line and I looked up at the sky in frustration. Where the hell was Jack? What, was he cutting a new car key or something? And why was there a random group of people standing way on the other side of the parking lot holding massive cameras, looking all lost?

  “I’ve got my tux ready,” he said, in an almost patronizing way, and I turned my attention away from the group of photographers. “I’m looking forward to the night.”

  “Wait!” I cried. I pulled the phone away from my ear to check how long we had been speaking for—fifty-one seconds. “What does the napkin say?” I practically yelled into my iPhone.

  “In the meantime,” Dr. D continued in his Star Wars voice, “Smile for the cameras.”

  “Wait, what?”

  Fifty-six seconds. He had managed to slip away again.

  “GIA!” I heard a girl call my name out, and I spun around, coming face to face with a camera flashing in my face. “Is it true you’ve been receiving threats from a mysterious caller?” she asked.

  “How does your dad feel about this?” A man beside her asked, resting a bulky video camera on his shoulders, the lens pointed at me.

  “Where did you even hear that?” I mumbled, backing away toward the car.

  There were about eight or ten of them, some had tape recorders, and the others had cameras. They were all swarmed around me, eyes widened as they expectantly waited for me to reply to their questions.

  “Is it true that your father is planning on moving you to live with your mother in New York?”

  “Have the police been notified?”

  “Any comments on who you think this person is?”

  All the questions were coming at me with speed I couldn’t handle. I felt like I was being backed into the corner of some weird experiment, poked and prodded at by evil scientists.

  “I—I really can’t comment,” I told them, spinning on my heel and pulling on the car door even though I knew it was locked.

  How did they even know all of this? And who decided it was a good idea to ambush a girl in her school parking lot? I felt like yelling but I didn’t know why. I felt like crying but that didn’t make any sense either. And stupid Jack, who had completely vanished, had the car keys!

  “Gia! Just one more question!”

  I could hear their footsteps hurrying behind me, flashes of cameras bouncing off my back. Maybe I should call someone. Who, though? If my own bodyguard wasn’t around when I needed him then why would any else be? I pulled on the car door handle again, just in case Baby J decided now would be a good time to grant me a miracle and have it magically unlock. Nope. No miracles for me today.

  “Oh!” I called out in a completely animated voice. “I am just taking my car keys out of my bag. So I can drive away now. I have car keys in my bag.”

  The reporters stopped throwing questions at me for a second, giving me strange looks. Great. Even the paparazzi thought I was weird.

  “Gia!”

  I snapped my head up, along with my eight new companions, and watched Jack jog toward the car with a confused look on his face.

  “What the hell is going on?” he asked.

  My eyes slid back to the momentarily silent reporters standing in front of me. Three. Two. One.

  “Gia, is this your new boyfriend?”

  “Does he know anything about the stalking?”

  “What about your relationship with Brendan Miller?”

  Jack grabbed my hand and tugged me toward him protectively. Bodyguard mode had been switched on.

  “Gia is not answering any questions. Excuse us,” he said in a voice so formal, I wanted to laugh.

  Jack put his hand on the small of my back, leading me closer to the passenger’s seat. He unlocked the car door, and I yanked it open, struggling to fight off the questions and camera flashes that were being hurled my way. Jack had his hand in front of my face, shielding me from whatever he could long enough for me to slide myself inside the car, pulling the door shut behind me.

  I sat in the car with my hand replacing where Jack’s had been over my face as I waited for him to come around the other side of the car. Tape recorders and video cameras were pressed against my window, and I told myself to do some breathing. My
heart was thumping against my chest and I kept looking at my lap and shaking my head with disbelief. Being the daughter of Harry Winters, I had definitely had some encounters with the paparazzi. But never before had they sprung out of nowhere in my school parking lot. The driver’s door opened and the sound of the reporters’ questions filled the car.

  “Let’s move,” Jack said calmly, the car door shutting with a light thud.

  “I don’t even—”

  “Don’t worry,” Jack said, clicking his seatbelt into place. “You’re safe now.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  When I was in sixth grade, we had a “Secret Santa” thing in class for Christmas. It was around the time of the birth of my fake British accent, and I was used to doing some pretty heavy breathing in class. You can only imagine the damage my lungs incurred when I pulled Colin’s name out of the glass bowl filled with roughly folded pieces of lined paper. Remember him? The reason I now live with the mortifying fake accent every time I get nervous? Yeah. That guy.

  Needless to say his eyes widened with fear and I had to be sent to the nurse because I was sweating an abnormal amount. The poor guy thought I had probably rigged the whole thing just to get close to him. Which I didn’t, I promise. But after the project when he had requested another partner, I really should have rigged it just to spite him. I decided that was my moment to make amends. Colin was going to love me and give up that restraining order his parents were probably considering. So naturally, I did what any twelve-year old would have done, and stole my dad’s favorite Cartier watch and gave it to Colin. In glittery, pink wrapping paper.

  Dad found out pretty much the next day and almost had a heart attack. He had this bug-eyed look on his face and he kept yelling that I was absolutely insane. Which I clearly was. But I was also a woman in love, which has to count for something. And I was like twelve, so he was also being little harsh. In the end the situation kind of worked itself out because Colin’s parents mailed the watch back with a frosty thank you, but leave us alone letter. Colin moved schools about a month after, and my parents got divorced. Yeah, it was probably karma.

  That was the one time I had seen my dad at his angriest. Not even during his arguments with Mom did I ever see him as red-faced as he was that day. That is, until I told him about the reporters at school.

  “MAYBE YOU SHOULD JUST LET PRISON INMATES WALK AROUND YOUR CLASSES WHILE YOU’RE AT IT.”

  Dad had been yelling at our poor school principal for twenty minutes, threatening to take legal action if the lack of safety wasn’t explained. I mean, he kind of had a point. With a school like ours, reporters shouldn’t just be allowed to walk in and out whenever they please. But even still, it was totally embarrassing the way he was going on and on.

  “Can’t you get him to stop?” I whispered to Tori, Dad’s assistant.

  “Unlikely,” she replied.

  “I think it’s good,” Jack said, and I scowled.

  We were all listening to the shouting coming from the TV room across the hall. Tori, whom I liked to consider my thirty-year-old “sister,” had been on leave for the past three months, so I hadn’t seen much of her in a while. What a day for her to come back. Al was somewhere else in the house too, speaking to news channel and magazine editors, trying to figure out who sent the reporters and why.

  If things hadn’t already hit the fan enough, Milo, Detective Reynolds and some guy called Officer Donovan were standing in the front hall, talking quietly amongst themselves. Every little while though, Milo would flick his eyes in my direction and I’d have to remind myself to breathe. Jack’s phone buzzed and he picked it up off the counter, checking the screen.

  “Mike and Chris are on their way back from school,” he informed us, placing his phone back down and casually reaching over to grab an apple from the fruit bowl.

  “Great!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands in the air in frustration. “We’re back to the house arrest.”

  “G, I reckon it’s probably better this way,” Tori said, placing a hand on my thigh comfortingly. “This guy is clearly off his rocker. You’re safer in the house.”

  I knew she was right, and let’s face it, worse things could happen than staying at home with a full supply of wifi and Anya’s baked goods. But I would have liked to open a damn window without an invisible ankle monitor sending alarm sounds to my dad’s brain.

  “Where’s Kenny?” Jack asked, swallowing a bite of the apple.

  I shrugged, fixing my eyes on Milo. He looked up and I diverted my gaze to the ceiling. Good one, Gia.

  “No clue,” I mumbled.

  Jack leaned against the fridge, taking another bite of the apple. “Maybe he’s with Anya.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him as if he were insane. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked him.

  He gave a light shrug in return, tilting his lips up in a half-smile. “Nothing. They just get along, that’s all.”

  Okay, I had seen a lot of crazy in the last few months. Enough to last me a lifetime, in fact. But an Anya and Kenny romance wasn’t something I was ready to stomach.

  “That’s . . .” I began, failing to find the right words. Jack raised his eyebrows expectantly, and Tori gave a quiet laugh. “Just, not okay.”

  “Gia,” I heard Milo say, and we all turned to look at him standing in the doorframe, looking all adorable in his uniform. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  I froze on the spot, glancing at Jack. I couldn’t go talk to Milo by myself! I’d blurt out the truth about the Coco Club and then Dad would find out and his hair would probably start falling out from anger or something. Is that even possible? Who knows, it’s a weird world. On the other hand, I kind of needed to tell Milo about the Coco Club or else he’d continue to think Jack was somehow involved with Dr. D. Besides, I would be covered by police officer-client privilege, which I’m about eighty percent sure is a real thing.

  “Gia?” Milo repeated, and I snapped out of my thoughts.

  “Yeah, sorry! S—sure. Give me a sec.”

  Milo nodded and gave me a tiny smile, disappearing back into the front hall. I turned to Jack, who had temporarily given up on the apple in his hand and was watching me thoughtfully.

  “I need to tell him, Jack,” I whispered.

  “Ooo, tell him what?” Tori said, leaning in closely. “By the way, he is gorgeous.”

  “Yeah, just swell,” Jack said under his breath.

  “Sorry?” Tori asked, looking up.

  “Nothing,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Gia, tell him what you want. Honestly, it’s not a big deal.”

  There he went again with his infuriating disinterest in anything that concerned Milo. One of these days, when I wasn’t being stalked by a psycho or the paparazzi, I was going to sit the two of them down and have a mediation session. Maybe. Probably not. I took a deep breath and walked out of kitchen. I was suddenly craving chocolate cake, and not just because it was almost my time of month. The way I was going, I was going to end up with no boyfriend and forty extra pounds.

  “Did you want to go somewhere private?” Milo asked almost immediately as I approached him.

  “Sure. We can go to the study.”

  “OH YEAH?” Dad was shouting, and I cringed with embarrassment. “WELL SAME TO YOU, BUDDY.”

  I led the way down the hall as quickly as I could, giving Detective Reynolds, who was also on the phone, an embarrassingly childish wave.

  “So how’s it goi—” I began, attempting to make light conversation.

  “We really need to talk,” Milo interrupted, as I swung the study door open.

  Okay then. No time for pleasantries. No place for hello, hi, how are you, let’s get married. Milo looked around the room, seemingly impressed. I never went to the study, but it was private enough for the conversation we were about to have. Plus, the burgundy leather couch was super shiny and the room l
ooked like something out of a Sherlock Holmes novel, which only seemed fitting. I closed the door behind us, but left it the tiniest bit ajar.

  “Listen, about the phone call . . .” I said.

  “You need to stay away from Jack,” Milo cut in. He said it so simply, as if I had asked him the time.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Look,” Milo told me, his voice softening just a little. “I’m not really supposed to be telling you this stuff, but I want you to be careful. He’s not who you think he is.”

  “Milo, I know he was at the Coco Club,” I said, shaking my head at how messy this whole situation had become. “I was there too!”

  “No you weren’t,” he said, as if he knew the events of the night better than I did.

  I let out a little sigh. “Yeah I was.”

  “But you weren’t on the security footage.”

  “You know the blonde girl talking to Claudia?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “That would be me.”

  Milo’s eyes widened in surprise and his gaze moved to my hair.

  “But you’re not blonde” he said, and I nodded at him like he had just discovered the cure for cancer.

  “It was a wig,” I explained. “And then we went and asked Claudia some questions about Dr. D, and she told us pretty much everything she told you.”

  Milo took a minute to process this silently, and I bit my lip. Hopefully he thought I made a hot blonde and wasn’t concentrating on the totally insane plan.

  “You’re underage,” he said finally, and I was sure there was a question in there somewhere.

  “Yeah, I don’t think you want to hear those details.”

  Milo shook his head at me and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger in frustration. Poor guy. I was seriously pushing some boundaries here.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, snapping his head back into attention. “The napkin. Claudia said there was a napkin she gave to the blonde girl. Which is you, I guess.”

  “I still have it,” I assured him. “It’s in my room. I have a photo of it on my phone if you want to see.”