A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  If looks could wound, I wouldn’t be the only one moaning in agony here.

  With trembling hands, I reach for my cat. I hold her close and listen to her rhythmic purr one more time. Through it all, she’s been my constant. Not my boyfriend, not my parents, but a stinkin’ cat.

  I whisper words to her—mumblings of good-bye, fragments of apologies.

  “It’s time to give her up.” Mom holds out her arms. “Let me have her.”

  My throat tightens and burns. “You can’t change her name. She knows it.”

  “I won’t, dear,” the old woman says, her own eyes pooling.

  “And she runs into walls. She’ll need extra pets when that happens.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “And she has a toy mouse that she likes. She likes you to throw it, but”—I sniff loudly—“she won’t bring it back to you. And she falls off the bed on a regular basis, so maybe pad the floor with pillows.

  She’s hit her head a lot.”

  “I promise to take good care of her.” The woman stands up from the couch. “I tend to run into walls myself.”

  That does not comfort me.

  “Let her go, Bella.” Mom pulls the cat out of my arms just as a car pulls into the drive. Matt and Lindy. I fully release Moxie. Look at her one last time.

  Then run out the door.

  chapter twenty-four

  Snot and parties do not go together.

  I blow my nose one last time as Matt shifts his truck into park.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Lindy asks for the fifth time.

  I just nod my head. Every time I open my mouth, pitiful squeaking sounds are all I can manage.

  “We don’t have to go tonight.” Matt watches the dirt road as headlights approach.

  “No.” I daub at my eyes. “Let’s do this.” And then I’ll go back home and look for my beating heart somewhere in the yard, where I’m sure I dropped it.

  I jump at the knock on Matt’s window. He rolls it down.

  “Tickets, please.” A football player I recognize from the field house sticks his hand into the truck and takes our purple passes. “We need you to get out of the vehicle, and my boy Adam here is going to blindfold you.”

  Um, excuse me? I know my makeup looks pretty bad right now, but no need to cover up my face.

  “We’ll help you to our cars then drive you to the secret party location.”

  Lindy leans over Matt. “I’m not wearing a blindfold, Dante.”

  “Then this meeting is over. That’s the rules.” He slaps the hood.

  “Have a nice night.”

  “No! Wait! We’ll do it.” I unbuckle my seat belt and open the door. “Come on, Lindy. Be brave.”

  She scoots across the seat. “I don’t know about this, Bella. We’ll be stuck out there with no car, no way home until they bring us back.”

  “You both know all these guys. I’m sure we can get a ride if we need one. Let’s just go and have some fun.” I think I deserve fun right now. And a cat.

  “Fine,” Lindy huffs, then swings her pointing finger between me and Matt. “But if there’s any funny business, we are out of there.

  We walk if we have to. No kegs, no drugs, no streaking.”

  “No streaking? You could’ve mentioned that before I took the time to shave my legs.” I pull her toward Dante and Adam. “Kidding.

  I’m kidding.”

  I feel a moment’s panic as a black handkerchief falls over my eyes and is tied behind my head.

  Dante gently guides me toward a car. “The two girls will ride with me. And Matt will ride with Adam.”

  Second frisson of panic. We’re being separated?

  When the football player opens his car door, I hear the voices of other girls but don’t really recognize them. But I breathe easier that they’re giggling and apparently not concerned with their safety.

  Lindy goes in first. Then me.

  Fifteen minutes later my stomach is in my throat as we’ve weaved through winding roads and whiplash curves. The girl on the other side of Lindy has made choking noises the last five minutes, and if she blows chunks on me tonight, I am going to rip off this blindfold and hurt somebody.

  I hear the music before we even stop.

  “Here we are, ladies. Party central.”

  A warm breeze hits me as the door is opened. Dante pulls me out by the hand and uncovers my eyes.

  I struggle to focus before finally making out an old cabin. “Are we at the lake?”

  Dante reaches for Lindy. “I can’t tell you anything.” He lowers his voice, his dark eyes intense on mine. “If you want to stay, you can’t ask any questions.”

  The car carrying Matt pulls up behind us, and a minute later he joins Lindy and me in the yard.

  We follow the pulsing music inside to a large but outdated living room. Outdated as in early nineties. Not as in total antique like the Finleys’ taste in décor.

  “Hey, Matt! Lindy!” Jared Campbell pushes his way through to us, holding a cup in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. His face dims when he spots me. “Oh . . . hi.”

  I smile anyway.

  He returns his attention to Lindy and Matt. “Grab some food. There’re some Cokes and stuff in the kitchen in a cooler. Some harder stuff on the back porch.”

  “We’ll just be sticking with the easy stuff tonight.”

  Jared pounds his knuckles to Matt’s. “I know, dude. Just thought I’d offer.”

  After grazing in the kitchen for a while, the three of us walk single file back into the living room. The music rattles the windows and shakes the rustic wood paneling.

  “You girls want to dance?”

  Lindy pales, but I nod. “Yeah. Lead the way.”

  As Matt clears us a path through our fellow students, I grab Lindy. “This is your chance to show him you can dance.”

  “I can’t dance!”

  “Yes, you can. Just remember what Colton taught you in New York.” Not that one lesson is enough, but it’s a start. Couldn’t get any worse than her old way of sliding from foot to foot and snapping her fingers. “Come on, I’ll help you. Just follow my lead.”

  Though I receive a few rude stares from some Truman Tigers who have yet to forgive and forget, most people are too caught up in the music and dancing to care about my past transgressions.

  My arms go over my head, and I let the music take over.

  Lindy starts out with some basic moves, her arms stiff as broomsticks. But by the end of the second song, she’s got it. Well, minus a few obnoxious head bobs.

  An hour and a half later, the speakers pour out a slow song.

  The floor clears a little.

  “Do you want to dance?” Matt asks me, nothing but friendship reflecting in those eyes.

  “Um . . .” I can nearly taste Lindy’s disappointment. “I think I’m going to get another Sprite. But, Lindy, this is your favorite song, isn’t it?” I lightly push Matt toward her. “You two should totally dance.” I sidestep them and make my way through the swaying masses.

  Ten feet away from the kitchen door, I turn back to look at Lindy’s progress.

  And bump into a solid wall of boy.

  “Oh! I’m so—”

  Jared glares down at me.

  “—sorry.” I move to get out of his way, but he steps in front of me and blocks my escape.

  “Wait . . . Bella. I . . . um . . . wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

  I lift a questioning brow as a couple bumps into me, totally oblivious to anything but each other and the song. He takes a step out of their way. We both smile.

  Jared reaches for my hand. “Come on. We’re going to get mowed down if we stand still.”

  And before I can say, “Let me count the ways my boyfriend Hunter is the best guy in the whole wide world,” my arms wrap around his neck, his slide to my waist, and we’re moving in perfect tempo.

  We dance in silence for a few moments before I am compelled to speak. “So . . . whose
house did you say this was?”

  He frowns. “I didn’t.”

  “Oh.” That usually works on TV. “Then whose is it?”

  He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Are we still in Truman?”

  “Just shut up and dance.”

  “Wow, if you talk all romantic like that all the time, no wonder you have Brittany falling all over you.”

  “What?”

  He’s absolutely clueless. “Um, nothing.”

  “Bella . . . I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for the way you were treated after . . . um . . .”

  “The nuclear fallout from my blog going public?”

  “Yeah. That. What you said about us wasn’t cool, but I don’t think anybody wanted you dropped to total pariah status or anything.”

  My eyes travel the room and land on Brittany Taylor, who looks as if she’s trying to wish me away with mind power. “I’m not so sure about that.” Her eyes are slits, like those of a snake about to strike.

  “I know the girls can be mean. But they’ll get over it in time. I’d love for you to hang out with us again.”

  “I . . .” What does that mean? Like a friend or as in he’s interested in me? Why are boys so hard to read? “I think it’s going to be awhile before Emma and Brittany are ready to talk to me. But I can use all the friends I can get.” I tune out the weight of Brittany’s stare.

  “I really appreciate your breaking away from the pack and talking to me.”

  He opens his mouth to say something just as a large football player appears beside him. Jared and I step apart as the intruder leans down and mumbles low.

  At Jared’s nod his friend retreats.

  “I better go.”

  “Trouble?” My nosiness kicks into overdrive.

  “Nothing serious. Just need to make a sweep of the grounds and make sure nobody’s got a lamp shade on their head or is peeing on the petunias. But I meant what I said—or what I was trying to say. I would like to be friends.”

  I smile broadly. “Friends it is, Jared Campbell.” I shoo him away with my hands. “Better go check for lamp shade violations.”

  Joy flutters in my heart at the sight of Matt and Lindy still dancing, though both look fairly uncomfortable. But we can work with uncomfortable.

  Left with no one to hang out with, I decide to return to the kitchen, where I reunite with the Fritos and graze like a grass-starved cow.

  Fifteen chips and another Sprite later, my mind drifts back to Moxie. God, life is so unfair! What could possibly be the purpose of taking away my cat? Punishment? What did I do?

  “I’m onto you, you know.”

  I freeze mid-bite. Mid-prayer.

  Brittany Taylor advances on me like a vulture.

  “Hello to you, too, Brittany.” There’s no way she could know I’m here to sniff out a story.

  “You think you can come in here and just move straight to the A-list? It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t when I have people like you trying to sabotage any efforts at making friends.” She flinches. “I know it was you who leaked it to Tiger TV about my Ask Miss Hilliard blog.”

  Her pink lip curls. “So?”

  “I don’t care anymore. The stuff I said was wrong, and I probably needed that little slap in the face to wake me up. Besides . . . I’ve been at the top of the popularity chain all my life. I didn’t realize I had grown bored with it.” I pop another chip in my mouth. “Thanks for helping me branch out.”

  Clutching my can, I flounce past her, onto the back porch and into the darkening night.

  Two kegs stand at attention on the deck, but surprisingly nobody is around. Which is odd. Because if there’s a spot that never gets lonely at a party, it’s next to the keg. Not that I drink. Because I don’t. But I’ve been around it enough.

  My mood takes another nosedive as I think of my cat and my boyfriend. I texted him a million times to talk to him about tonight’s party. It just makes a girl feel good to have her man care where she is—and to at least give her the chance to assure him she only has eyes for him no matter how many tall, buff guys she’ll be mingling with. But Hunter never called me, and not only did I not get the privilege of answering twenty questions about the party, all I did get was a text that said “okay.” Okay? I tell him I’m going to an event at which there will be alcohol, dancing, and most of the Truman football team, and all he has to say is okay? I think part of me wanted him to ask me not to go. Or at least a “Call me when you get back so you can tell me how you didn’t make out with anyone.” I’ve already lost Moxie. Am I losing Hunter too? What next, the apocalypse?

  My eyes cloud over with tears for the millionth time tonight.

  I’m like a leaky faucet, and I can’t seem to turn it off. Inhaling deeply, I swipe at my face.

  Then freeze.

  Three shadowed figures at the edge of the property run into the surrounding woods.

  Two more follow.

  They move silently, stealthily.

  Where did they come from?

  And where are they going?

  Setting my can on the wooden railing, I watch them for another few seconds then descend the steps of the deck and walk toward the woods, following the disappearing shadows.

  chapter twenty-five

  My heart pounding and my ears peeled like a dog on point, I slow down my steps, careful not to make a sound that the disappearing partygoers can hear. I follow the path of their voices, hanging far behind. We walk deep into the trees, and every ten paces I can’t help but sneak a look behind me. I’m officially weirded out.

  Just as I’m about to give up because of my really poor shoe choice, they stop.

  I’m still too far away to make out the words of their conversation, so I inch forward and move off to their left, seeking cover behind a pair of trees. The moonlight shines down upon them, but I cannot distinguish their faces.

  “What’s this about, guys?”

  Matt! That’s Matt Sparks.

  “Do you trust us?”

  “Dante, just say what you have to say.” Matt’s voice is weary, cautious.

  “You were invited here tonight to become one of us.”

  “If you’re asking me if I think we should all get matching tattoos, the answer is no.”

  Somebody laughs. “Matt, over ten years ago, a group of football players met after practice. They decided they were sick of losing.”

  “And?”

  “And those players made a pact that they would do whatever it took to see the Tigers become the strongest team in the state. They became more than teammates—they became brothers. And the tighter the team became, the better they played. They were unstoppable.”

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  Good question, Matt. Keep ’em coming.

  “Aren’t you sick of losing? Don’t you want to see us have a winning streak again? Take the state championship?” I recognize one of the voices from the Dumpster.

  “Of course I’d like to win, but I’m not following any of this.”

  “Let’s just say that since last year we’ve been working on our team-building skills. The Brotherhood lives again—with us. Whatever it takes to get to those glory days—that’s what we do.”

  “We think the stronger our bond, the stronger our team becomes. And with strength must come fearlessness. Fear draws us closer. These guys here”—a shoulder is slapped—“these guys are my brothers. I’d die for them. I’d step through fire for them. That’s what a real team is.”

  “What is it you want from me, Dante?”

  Get me another name, Matt.

  “First of all, what we tell you tonight is private. You discuss it with no one. Do you promise?”

  “I don’t know. I guess.”

  One of the football players does not appreciate Matt’s casual attitude. “Tonight we are introducing you to the Truman Brotherhood, man. It’s all about risking everything—to win. It’s about a dare
we hope you can’t refuse. Because your skills could take us to state this year. Your skills, combined with ours, could get us all a full ride to any college in the state. But we need our strongest players united on this.”

  “And the coaches are behind this?”

  “Oh, Coach knows all about the Brotherhood—and he definitely wants the legacy to continue. The legacy of winning. But we need to know we have your full loyalty, Sparks.”

  “I don’t have to drink any goat’s blood or dance naked in the moonlight here, right?”

  “This is serious,” snaps Dante. “Are you ready to be a warrior?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Care to prove that?”

  “How?” Matt asks.

  Above me a bird coos in the night. I shiver, even though the air is sticky hot.

  “Do you like any extreme sports?”

  “Yeah, I like to dirt bike and skateboard. So?”

  “Then you’re gonna like our idea of an initiation. Are you with us?”

  Coo! Coo!

  My head jerks up as a bird barrels straight down, its wings mere feet from my face.

  I cover my head, open my mouth, and prepare to squeal— Until a hand closes over my lips.

  “What was that?” one of the guys yells.

  “Don’t move a muscle, Kirkwood,” a voice hisses near my ear.

  “See if somebody’s over there.” Someone stomps our way.

  I tremble as Luke Sullivan plasters his body to mine. His breath waves over my neck, and his hand still covers my mouth.

  Then he cups his free hand and calls into it, making the most perfect shrill cry of a wild bird. He does it again. I hear the footsteps stop.

  And as if inspired by God, the bird returns and makes two swoops around the tree, its distressed sounds almost matching Luke’s.

  “It was just a bird,” Matt says.

  “We better get back. We’ve been gone too long. Sparks, you and Dante will go to the house first. The rest of us will follow in a minute.”

  “We have more to discuss, but we’ll be contacting you.” My ears perk at a new voice. This one familiar, but too low to really distinguish. “Remember, you know nothing. If any of this leaks, there are consequences. You support the team, or . . . we make sure you get off the team.”