A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  With barely a glance in my direction, Josh leads me down a hall, around a corner, and to my first-period class.

  He leaves me at the door, and I walk myself in. My already-queasy stomach twists itself into a pretzel knot.

  The teacher stops her back-to-school spiel at the front of the room, eyes me, checks her watch, then motions me in.

  I hand her my schedule and pray I washed off all the stink.

  “Take a seat right over there, please.”

  Aware of everyone’s stare, I follow the direction of her pointing finger, then stop.

  Budge.

  Right behind the empty seat.

  “Um . . .” My voice is a croaking whisper. I check my schedule again, hoping I’m really supposed to be in another room. No such luck.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Lady, we don’t have time to get into all my problems.

  My eyes take in Budge, who regards me with nothing less than bored disgust. I limp down the aisle, every blister on my foot tempting me to scream, and settle into the desk.

  “Nice walk?” Budge whispers behind me.

  “Perfectly enjoyable. I was glad to catch some fresh air.” I also caught some bugs in my teeth on that last two miles, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of those details.

  Fifteen minutes later the bell rings, and I pull the schedule from my purse to check my next destination.

  “Can I help you find your class?” I look up from my seat and find a blond guy from two rows over standing near. “I’m Jared Campbell.”

  I smile, suddenly aware that any lip gloss I had on was probably slobbered off by cow tongue. “I’m Bella. And I would love some help.”

  His dark eyes glance at my schedule. “Right this way.” And we walk down the crowded hall.

  “Where are you from?” he asks.

  “New York.” I feel the ever-present pang of homesickness. “I guess you’re a hometown boy?”

  He laughs. “Nah, a lot of us are transplants. Many of us have parents who work in Tulsa but don’t necessarily want to live there, so here we are. I’m originally from Chicago.”

  I sidestep a boy wearing saggy pants and a nose ring. “Do you ever get used to it? Is this ever home?”

  Jared pats me on the shoulder. “Sure. It takes awhile. I’ve been here three years, I guess. ”

  We come to an abrupt halt at room 202.

  “Thanks, Jared. I appreciate the help.” My first kind soul at Truman High. Well, besides the secretary wielding the baby wipes.

  “Why don’t you eat lunch with me and my friends? We sit in the corner of the cafeteria next to the vending machines. I’ll be looking for you.”

  A pound or two of weight dissolves from my burdened mind. I have someone to eat lunch with—a total new-kid score.

  I leave my second-period art class completely high on paint fumes. Stepping into the ladies’ room afterwards, I find a stall and text my mom the location of the truck.

  Taking a deep breath, I open the small door and work my way through the crowd of girls, all of us waiting to look at ourselves in the row of bathroom mirrors.

  The girl beside me gasps. “Oh my gosh. Max Azria, right?”

  I turn to see she’s staring at me.

  “Your skirt—Max Azria.”

  I smile in relief. She’s speaking my language. “Yeah. I love his stuff.” Though my outfit is now a total wrinkled, wilted mess. “I’ve had kind of a bad morning. I’m not exactly at my best.”

  “I’m Emma Daltry. I’m a junior.”

  “Me too!” I pull out some gloss, finding a spot at a mirror. “I’m new—Bella Kirkwood.”

  “You must sit with me at lunch. We can talk clothes.”

  “Oh, I’d love to. But I already have a lunch commitment. Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Definitely. I’ll see you around.” Emma tosses a limp good-bye and flounces out. I guess it was wrong of me to assume everyone here would be wearing Wranglers and cowboy boots.

  After chemistry, I move on to something I’m fairly decent at—math. In AP Calculus I’m given a textbook that probably weighs more than Robbie. Mr. Monotone teaches that class, forcing me to count the seconds until the blessed lunch bell finally sounds.

  Following the herd, I locate the cafeteria. I wait ten minutes in line for a shriveled-up burrito, then maneuver through the crowd to Jared’s table.

  “Hey, Bella!”

  I smile at the small gift that he remembers my name.

  “This is Bella, everybody.” Jared proceeds to introduce me to his friends. “And finally, this is Brittany Taylor.” The girl beside him gives me the most pitiful excuse for a smile. She totally needs a French kiss from a cow.

  “Well, hey.” Emma, the girl from the bathroom, grabs a seat and sets down her tray. “Bella, right?”

  “Yeah. Jared and I have AP English together, so he invited me to join you guys.” I’m on the verge of babbling. There’s an undercurrent here I can’t quite put my finger on. My eyes drift to Brittany again. She stares at me like I still smell of barnyard. Maybe the powder-fresh scent of the baby wipes has worn off.

  “So what do you think of your first day so far?” Emma pops a fry in her mouth and leans in.

  Oh, how to put this tactfully? “It’s fine.” Like eating nails is fine.

  “Bella’s from New York.” A murmur of appreciation goes round the table at Jared’s announcement.

  I fill them in on a brief synopsis of my life.

  “You went to an all-girls school?” Brittany asks this in the same tone one would say, “You pick your nose?”

  I smile. “Yes.” Sister, you do not want to knock my life as a Hilliard Girl. I will recite our pledge, yodel our fight song, and break out the secret handshake if necessary.

  “Has to be a lonely place without any guys around, eh?”

  I laugh at Jared. “Not exactly. There’s a nearby private school for boys.” I feel a pang of guilt for not mentioning Hunter. But these people don’t need to know my entire life story yet. “What do you guys do for fun around here?”

  Emma sighs prettily. “Not much, I’m afraid. I’m originally from Seattle, and I have yet to adapt to the total lack of things to do in Truman. We go into Tulsa a lot. Shop, eat, hit some hot spots.”

  I watch the cafeteria crowd as my table enters into a conversation about kids I have yet to meet. I’m living a fashion nightmare. Jeans of every color and style. Shoes that do not match outfits. A blatant disregard for root maintenance. Is this what I’ll look like in a year? You will not suck me in, Truman!

  “So . . . Brittany . . .” Girl who is still staring me down like a rabid schnauzer. “How long have you lived in Truman? Where are you from?”

  Emma giggles. “Oh, our Brit’s not a transplant. She’s an original.”

  “But we let her hang out with us anyway.” Jared nudges Brittany with an elbow. Her face breaks into a reluctant smile.

  “Maybe you can help me learn my way around here, then.”

  Brittany steals a fry off Jared’s tray. “Right. Hey, Emma, are we still going shopping Wednesday night?”

  “I know! Bella can go shopping with us, right, Brit?” Emma doesn’t wait for her answer. “We’ll show you Tulsa, then top off the evening at our favorite burger place.”

  My spirits lift at the magical, therapeutic mention of shopping. “I would love that.” Thank You, God, for giving me friends on day one. Especially friends who appreciate a night out with the credit cards.

  We rush through the rest of lunch, and the gang fills me in on local gossip, pointing out the troublemakers, the shady characters, and the wannabes in the room. I laugh at all their stories and file away the information.

  Things learned at Truman High so far:

  One, do not get on this group’s bad side.

  Two, avoid the burritos.

  chapter seven

  How was school?” Mom closes her book, Parenting a Teen Without Being Mean, when I open the car door.

&n
bsp; I shut myself in the Tahoe and dissolve into the seat, tired but grateful to be alone with my mother without the Finley men.

  “I arrived a sweaty mess. The school secretary wouldn’t let me into my classes until I passed a smell test, and I have English with Budge.” I sigh and rest my head on the door. “I’m just a fish out of water here. A Jimmy Choo in a sea of Payless BOGOs.”

  “We both have to adapt. You think I’m not struggling?” She holds up her book. “I haven’t had a six-year-old in the house in a long time. And when I did, I had help.”

  “I miss Luisa.” My nanny would listen to my sad Oklahoma stories, fix me a cup of homemade hot chocolate, and tell me everything would get better. My mom used to be so busy with working out, charity events, and a collection of other random hobbies that I only saw her an hour or so a day. This new version of Mom is kinda freaking me out.

  She drives us to the crumbling Victorian I am now forced to call home. The farm truck sits in the front yard, hoisted up on blocks. Two legs stick out from beneath it.

  I reach for the door handle. “The day a toilet seat appears on the front porch, I am so gone.”

  “Give this a chance.”

  “Hey, guys!” Robbie tears out of the house, barefoot and wearing his usual cape. “Look what I did in school today. Guess what it is.”

  He holds up a finger-painted blob of red, white, and blue.

  “Oh . . .” My mother frowns, clearly searching for words. “Is it a . . . ball?”

  “Nope.” Strike one for Mom.

  “A puppy?”

  “Get real, lady.”

  “A self-portrait?”

  “It’s a symbolic representation of my patriotic feelings.”

  I can only nod.

  “I watch a lot of CNN.” And Robbie pivots on his bare heel and runs back into the house.

  “You probably ought to order some more of those books, Mom.”

  Jake slides himself out from under the rusted blue heap, wipes his sweating head with a handkerchief, and moseys our way. He wraps his trunk-sized arms around my mom and plants one right on her lips.

  Ew.

  “Did your day get any better, Bella?”

  I give him my best plastic smile. “It was lovely. Can’t wait to do it again tomorrow.”

  The screen door opens and smacks shut again, with Robbie squealing and running. “Oh, Daddy! Oh no, Daddy!” He tornadoes in our direction, running right into his dad. “She’s gone!” His eyes are huge and serious, his breathing ragged.

  “Who’s gone, Son?”

  “Betsy. She’s run away. After all we’ve been through, she left me.”

  “Who’s Betsy?” Mom asks.

  “His cow.”

  My stomach does a strange flop. “What does Betsy look like?”

  Robbie raises his head and pins his eyes on mine. “Like a cow.”

  “I’m sure she’s there. Let’s go grab her a little snack, and we’ll find her.”

  Jake and his hysterical son disappear behind the house.

  “Don’t worry, Bel. This is just part of farm life.” Mom wraps her arm around my shoulders and guides me inside. “Why don’t you come and talk to me while I start dinner.”

  “You don’t cook, Mom.”

  “I do now.”

  An hour later, I’m peeling carrots for Mom’s secret recipe when Jake and Robbie return, followed by Budge. Jake hangs his ball cap on a peg in the kitchen, Robbie runs upstairs like his pants are on fire, and Budge lurks in the doorway, his face drawn.

  “Did you find Betsy?” Mom stirs at the stove, reading from her cut-out recipe.

  “No.” Jake’s gray eyes land on me. “Did you shut the gate when you drove the truck out this morning?”

  I swallow. “No.”

  Budge sneers. “Didn’t you see the cow?”

  “Yes, Budge, I did. Not only did I see it, I was totally violated by it, in case anybody cares. I could’ve been seriously hurt.”

  My stepbrother laughs and shakes his head. “Afraid she’d lick you to death? That cow wouldn’t step on an ant, let alone bother you.”

  I jerk the peeler over a carrot. “Like I’d know that!” I turn my attention to Jake. “I’m sorry. I was late for school and . . . stressed.” And nobody gave a crap. “And then the cow wouldn’t leave me alone. I’ve never even touched a cow before, and then he, er, she, was all up in my business, and—”

  “She’s Robbie’s pet. He got her from his mama’s parents when he was born.” The room silences at Jake’s statement.

  I stare at the pile of orange in the bowl. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. But there was that cattle guard thingy, and—”

  Budge smirks. “Cows can jump that.”

  “How could I know your magic cow could hurdle something made to keep her in? Does that make any sense? I mean, what is the purpose of having a cattle guard if it doesn’t guard the cattle?”

  “That’s enough,” Jake says.

  “Your son leaves me stranded here this morning, and I’m the one in trouble?”

  Jake holds up a hand the size of a tractor wheel. “Nobody said you were in trouble. I’m just trying to piece this all together. If she’s been out since this morning . . . well, we’ll have to widen our area of search.”

  Budge looks at me like I have peas for brains. “He means we might not find her. She could be caught in something and hurt by now. Good job.”

  My cat takes that moment to appear at my ankle and curls herself around it, purring.

  Budge sneezes and wipes his eyes. “Get that cat out.”

  “She can’t go outside. She doesn’t have any claws.” I pick Moxie up and pull her close.

  Budge sneezes again and pinches the bridge of his nose.

  “Hon, maybe you could take her out of the kitchen.” Mom shoots me a warning glance. “Please.”

  Clutching my cat, my only piece of home, I stomp up the stairs and slam my bedroom door.

  I put my iPod earbuds in, fire up my laptop, and log on to the Ask Miss Hilliard blog. I need to touch base with normal. Reconnect with real.

  Dear Sisters of Hilliard,

  Greetings from the heartland!

  Miss Hilliard texted me today and said she has been getting lots of queries as to my situation. I am so humbled by your concern. What true friends you all are. And believe me, I could use the support.

  I will spare you most of the details, but this morning I was expected to ride to school in a hearse. I refused, of course. Then I was accosted by a wild animal in a field. This beast clearly could’ve used a session of Mrs. Harbinger’s Manners 101.

  Next I was forced to drive an old, unreliable truck to school, but of course, it left me stranded on the side of the road, forcing me to walk for miles and practically ruin my heels. And it’s not like I can just run downtown and replace them, right? In fact, if these people have a place to shop in this city, I have yet to see it. Unless you need a part for your John Deere.

  Ta-ta for now, ladies. I appreciate the thoughts and prayers passed my way. I need them. These are troubled times we live in—the crisis in the Middle East, the decaying environment, and me stuck in cow town.

  Inhale some smog for me,

  Your former Ask Miss Hilliard

  Forty-five minutes later, after passing on Mom’s attempt at cooking, I throw on my oldest pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a cute pair of retro rain boots. I hear the “family” in the living room watching Wheel of Fortune, so I ease out the back door and walk toward the field.

  I make sure to shut the heavy gate behind me this time. “Bet-sy!” My voice scatters some birds. “Bet-sy! Here, cow!”

  I continue walking and yelling until my feet and throat are both sore.

  Sometime later, I find myself near a pond. And there’s Betsy, her black-and-white fur shining as the sun starts to set behind her. She looks up, her dark eyes totally unimpressed with my presence. She continues to drink from the pond.

  “Hey, girl.” I smile, relieved tha
t I have not single-handedly killed Robbie’s pet after all. “Come here.” The cow continues to ignore me, as if she is having a private, meditative moment with nature.

  “Where’ve you been?” And for that matter, where am I? I glance around at the landscape. Nothing looks familiar.

  As I close the distance, I see stickers and prickly things in the cow’s tail. “Somebody’s been for a walk, eh?” I get close enough to touch her face. “Well, I certainly can’t blame you, but time’s up. You have to come back with me. I can certainly understand wanting to leave, but if anybody’s running away from this place, it’s me.”

  I hold out my hand like I expect her to follow. “Here we go . . .

  This way. Be a good cow, now.” Robbie’s pet returns to slurping from the green water. “Bets, can I talk to you—girl to girl? I pretty much made a little boy cry today, and if I don’t redeem myself, then I’m in big trouble.” I move some distance away and sit down on the bank.

  “But maybe today was God’s way of getting my attention. The Finleys think I’m just some spoiled society brat. Well, you know what, Bets?” I stand and dust off my jeans. “I’ll show them. I will just show them what Bella Kirkwood is made of. And it ain’t just Macy’s and Prada bags.” I totally just said “ain’t.”

  “Now . . . how to get us home?” I turn a full circle, eyeing the sun, the trees, some rock piles.

  I am so lost.

  I sit for what must be hours, hungry, tired, and mad that no one has bothered to come and find me. They probably think I want some alone time. Well, wrong!

  The sun is almost tucked away when Betsy gets up, moos to the darkening sky, and walks herself past me.

  I lift my head from my knees and watch her tail swing in a happy little rhythm. She stops some distance ahead and turns around, as if she’s waiting for me.

  What do I have to lose?

  I stand up, pick off a few leaves . . . then follow a cow all the way home.

  “I found your cow.” I shuck off my boots and walk into the living room, where Robbie sits in my mom’s lap.

  “You did? Where was she?”

  “Just hanging out.” Did anyone even realize I was gone?

  “I think you’re really mean for letting her out.”

  “Robbie, Bella didn’t mean to.” Mother smoothes back his red hair. “She and I come from a very big city. We barely even had a yard.”