A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  Matt’s response is muffled by shoes crunching on the ground as he and Dante leave, pointing their flashlights on the path.

  Satisfied that there’s enough noise to move, I turn in Luke’s arms and find we’re nose to nose. He shakes his head and places his finger on my lips.

  Yeah, like I was going to talk at a time like this.

  Well, okay, I was. But I was going to be really quiet about it.

  I can’t make out much of his face, but I can feel his heart beating as spastically as mine.

  Finally the rest of the team leaves, but not before shining flashlights near our area of the woods. Luke pulls my head to his chest and covers me with his arms.

  The players walk on, their beams hitting trees and bouncing off of Luke’s dark clothes.

  “You’re in pink, for crying out loud,” he barks when we’re safely alone. “You come out here to spy and you weren’t even smart enough to dress inconspicuously.”

  I rear my head back. “Oh yeah, because wearing camo to the party wouldn’t have been conspicuous?”

  “What were you thinking coming out here by yourself? Do you have any idea what could happen to you?”

  “A bird could attack me? My editor could body-slam me into a tree?”

  “I saved you. I saved your ungrateful neck.”

  “I was doing just fine out here on my own. I don’t need you or your help.”

  “Should I review the last five minutes for you? Because I seem to remember saving your completely blown cover.”

  “You’re a pompous, arrogant jerk.”

  “You’re a spoiled, ungrateful prima donna.”

  “I can’t stand you.”

  “I don’t care.”

  My ragged breathing mingles with his. I feel his biceps bunch under the hands that I’ve placed on his arms at some point. “Luke?” I whisper.

  His head lowers until his mouth rests near my ear. “Yes?”

  “Let go of me.”

  He pushes me away like I’m strapped down with explosives and begins to pace. “You really could’ve been hurt out here. Those guys are up to something.”

  “You think?” I lean into the tree and take some deep yoga breaths. “I’ve been trying to tell you that. I told you I heard some sort of conspiracy that day at the Dumpster.”

  “Yeah, but you also inhaled a lot of old burritos that afternoon too.”

  “Something’s up, Luke. Something with the, uh, starting lineup.

  And now Matt Sparks is getting involved.”

  “I know. I heard.” He clicks on a small flashlight, and I can see the contours of his face.

  “How long were you standing there?”

  I make out a faint smirk. “The entire time. I followed you from the house. Anybody could’ve seen you leave, by the way. Remind me to lecture you about discretion later.”

  “I’m writing myself a note right now.” I roll my eyes in the dark.

  “I didn’t know you got an invitation to the party.”

  “I didn’t. I overhead you talking to your friends about it.”

  “And you followed me? Could you get any more pervy?”

  The ground crunches as he pivots, and he plants himself in front of me. “You deliberately went against my orders to stay out of this situation. You have a story. This situation is none of your concern.”

  I jab my finger in his shirt. “You came out here to get information so you could get this story, didn’t you? Now you’re a perv and a story stealer. I can’t believe you, Luke.”

  He wraps his hand around my finger. “Keep your voice down,” he hisses. “That is not true and you know it. I just crashed the party to see if there could be anything to your hunch. I figured I’d be here less then ten minutes—just long enough to ascertain that there was nothing to your idea.”

  Ascertain? I need a dork dictionary just to keep up with this conversation.

  “And just as I was about to leave, I saw you walking into the woods—by yourself.” Luke looks at his fist closed over my hand and drops it. “You can’t just go walking into a situation—especially at night. In the dark. Alone. Like an idiot.”

  “Idiot?” I hiss. “This idiot has found proof that there’s something brewing with the athletes. This idiot tried to tell you from the beginning that I had overheard something significant. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to go off by myself had you believed me in the first place.” The bird coos again overhead. “Nice bird distraction, by the way. Somebody’s obviously spent a lot of time researching mating calls.”

  Despite my hot tone, he smiles. “I watch a lot of Animal Planet. Look, Bella . . . I’m sorry.”

  “Do you acknowledge that there’s a story here?”

  He sighs. “Yes.”

  “And I can put aside the stupid trash article and work on it?”

  “No.” He holds up his hands to fend off my verbal attack. “The article is still due first thing. We don’t drop one assignment just to work on another. You wrap up your current deadline, and we’ll discuss the football situation.”

  Good enough.

  “Bella, this could be huge.”

  I grin like I’ve hit the keg a few times myself. “I know.”

  “What I mean is, you’re not experienced. I can’t let you work this story. We have a hierarchy at the paper.”

  “What? No!” I punch his arm. “I’m already neck-deep in it. I let Dante blindfold me and stuff me in a car to be here. I deserve this story, Luke.”

  He runs a hand through his wavy hair. “On one condition.”

  “I won’t share my story with the rest of your staff, Chief.”

  “Okay. You won’t share it with them.” He nods then walks away. “You’ll share it with me.”

  chapter twenty-six

  What time did you get in last night?”

  As I pour Cheerios into a bowl, I catch the warning in my mom’s voice, like she’s asking a question she already knows the answer to. “I don’t know . . . around midnight.”

  “You know your curfew is eleven on school nights.”

  I pull out a chair and sit down. “Sorry. I guess I was so distraught over you giving away my cat that I lost track of time.”

  Mom puts down her book, Parenthood Is a Battleground. “You’re grounded.”

  “What? I said I was sorry.”

  “That’s not good enough, Bella. We have boundaries here— rules.”

  “Since when do you care about my curfew?” The words fly off my tongue like rocks from a slingshot.

  Mom pins on her Sugar’s nametag. “I know I’ve been an absent parent.”

  Really? And which book did you read that in?

  “And I know that I relied on the nanny to do what I should’ve done myself. And I realize that I spent too much time away from home, taking care of things that might’ve been important, but weren’t as important as my family.”

  I study my lap and wonder if we could perhaps channel her guilt into the return of my cat.

  “But, Bella, if I say be home at eleven, then that’s what I mean. I am your parent and you will obey me. Now the book I read last week said to start out with small doses of punishment . . .” Mom thinks on this. “So I believe you can forget about going to the game tonight.”

  “I have to be there for school—an assignment for the paper. I’m not going for the joy of stale popcorn.”

  She considers this. “Fine. Then cancel whatever you have going on Saturday night. You can babysit Robbie while Jake and I are at a wrestling match in Tulsa.”

  I swallow a bite of cereal and the ten jokes that immediately pop into my head. I cannot believe she is actually supporting this guy’s wrestling dream. How can she not be suspicious of any grown man wanting to wear tights?

  My phone rings on my way to school. Hunter.

  “Hey.” My tone could freeze an Oklahoman pond.

  “How’s my girl?”

  I laugh bitterly. “Your girl hasn’t heard from you in days.”

  “I�
��m sorry. I’ve been busy.”

  “With who?”

  “Aw, now that’s not fair. You know I only have eyes for you.”

  “Do I?” I swerve past the neighbor’s old cow, who seems to spend most of her time in the middle of the dirt road. “You don’t return my calls. You ignore my texts. Remember when we said that we’d go above and beyond to make this work? Remember when you said distance wouldn’t matter?”

  “Hey, back off. I said I had things to do. Do you even care?”

  “Of course I—”

  “Because every time you do call, it’s all about you, you, you. Your world is ending, your cat got taken away. Your stepdad’s a wrestler. I have problems too. But do you even think to ask me about them?”

  “Move it!” I blast my horn. “Stupid pile of feathers.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “No, not you. There’s a chicken in the road. Hunter, I’m sorry. I know you have a lot going on. And I apologize if I’ve been self-absorbed. Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on with you?”

  “You don’t really want to listen.”

  “Yes, I do.” Was he always this difficult to have a conversation with?

  “Well . . . there is this one thing that’s been eating at me. Like I can’t sleep and I think about it all the time. It’s like I can’t get out from under the dark cloud.”

  “I so relate. Go on.”

  “We’re already working on the Autumn Ball with Hilliard, and they want a Victorian theme while we want to totally do the sixties.

  As president of the student social committee, do you realize what kind of pressure this puts me under? It affects every detail. If we go Victorian, the punch will need to be pink, but if we have a sixties theme . . .”

  I halfheartedly listen to my boyfriend drone on and on about cucumber sandwiches and the recently established napkin selection committee.

  “So you can see it’s not just you who’s under a lot of stress.”

  “No,” I say, turning into the school parking lot. “I guess my problems barely compare to yours.”

  “Forget it. You’re obviously not in the mood to have a conversation. I remember a time when you used to enjoy listening to me.”

  Do I really find this part of his life interesting? I worry about my stepbrother smothering me with a pillow in the middle of the night. He worries about whether to leave the crusts on the sandwiches or not.

  “Hunter, I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight. I know you’re stressed.”

  “Bella . . . you know as activities coordinator, I have to escort a Hilliard girl to the dance. It’s a tradition.”

  “I know.” I swing open the door of the Bug and climb out, my skirt waving in the summer breeze. “I wish I could be there for it.”

  “I don’t know who to ask. It has to be someone who will know that it means nothing. Somebody who knows that I’m seeing you.”

  My pulse quickens at the sight of Dante walking with Matt Sparks into the building. “What did you say? Oh yeah, um, why don’t you just ask Mia? You guys will be hanging out anyway.”

  “Are you sure? That would work out perfectly.”

  “Yeah, you should call her about that. And tell her to call me. I haven’t talked to her in days. Hey, Hunter, I gotta go. Call me later.” I drop my phone in my purse and power-walk up the steps and through the doors.

  When I’m about three people away from Dante and Matt, I take out my phone again like I have a call. I stick it to my ear and act totally engrossed in a riveting conversation. I’ll just imagine Hunter’s discussing a balloon and streamer dilemma.

  “Dude, I just don’t know,” Matt says, his voice barely audible.

  Dante looks around, and I avert my gaze, as if I’m oblivious to everything but the call.

  “I need to know soon. People are counting on us.”

  “Like what people?”

  “Just people, okay? There’s nothing more to tell you until—”

  I can’t hear them. I move closer, my ears straining to— “Hey!” Suddenly I’m pulled out of the flow and into a classroom. “Luke! What are you doing?”

  He grabs my phone, presses it to his ear. “Yeah, Bella’s going to have to continue her pathetically fake call later.” And snaps it shut.

  “Could you get any more amateur?”

  “Could you get any more obnoxious?” We’re nose to nose.

  “You could blow this whole story.”

  “Oh, the story that wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for amateur me?”

  “You do nothing unless it’s cleared through me. You got it, Bella?”

  “I know what I’m doing. You’re like a rabid bulldog.”

  “You need to slow this down and follow my lead.”

  “You need to . . . jump off a cliff.” I huff past him, but he catches my arm, blocking my exit. My cheek is inches from his.

  I feel his chest rumble with laughter. “Is that really the best you could do?”

  “I know. It was weak.” I bite my lip on a smile. “I’m just not on my game today. I’ll try to have some better insults by second hour.”

  Something besides contempt glows in his eyes. It holds me in place, and I can’t seem to look away.

  “Big news,” he says, and I struggle to focus. “Reggie Lee got escorted out of early morning football practice—by the police.”

  “What?”

  Luke nods. “They found drugs in his locker at the field. He’s been suspended.”

  Pieces of conversation from that day at the Dumpster float back to me. It has to be connected.

  “Bella . . . I have something else I want to tell you.” He leans closer.

  “Yes?” I breathe.

  “I need you to . . .” He pauses, the eyes behind his tortoise frames still fused to mine.

  Like there’s a magnet pulling me in, I lean closer.

  “I need you to be a water girl for the football team.”

  I blink. Spell broken. “What?”

  “Keep it down.” He takes a comfortable step away from me. “I thought about it last night. We have to get you on the inside with the football players. Your friend Lindy is a water girl, so have her pull some strings and see if you can’t help pass out water or towels or whatever it is you might do.”

  “That is a dumb idea.”

  “It beats chasing after some guys into a dark forest.”

  “Have you ever seen a football player up close? They’re . . .” I search my brain for a visual. “Hot and sweaty and they spit a lot.”

  “I thought you girls liked hot and sweaty.”

  “From a distance!” Duh.

  “If you want this story, you have to be willing to do a little undercover reporting—my way.”

  I blow out a frustrated breath. “I’m about ready to tell you where you can stick your way.”

  “It’s my paper.”

  “Seriously, are you five?”

  Instead of giving a snappy retort, he laughs again and guides me back into the crowded hallway. These flashes of a kinder, gentler

  Luke are totally throwing me off. Maybe he really isn’t a tool of Satan.

  Could it be I won his respect last night?

  “Talk to Lindy. I’ll see you at the game.” And with his hands in his pockets, he saunters down the science hall, confident I’ll do his bidding.

  “You want to do what?” Lindy fills the water bottles at halftime. I can barely hear her over the marching band’s version of “Hang On, Sloopy.”

  “I said I want to do this.” I gesture to the stacks of towels and the coolers. “I want to be a water girl. You know, help the team. And why are you wearing a ball cap tonight? Didn’t we agree in New York no more hats and no more ponytails?”

  “I’m working, Bella.” She heaves a tray of water bottles onto a bench and begins to fill another set.

  “Looking hot is a twenty-four-hour job.”

  She looks up from the cooler. “Wow, that would make a great tattoo. Right on y
our—”

  “I’m serious. You said you wanted help looking more feminine.

  I don’t think I’ll find a Tigers t-shirt, a pair of basketball shorts, and a dirty hat in my latest issue of Teen Vogue.”

  “And look where your doll clothes have gotten me—nowhere. Do you know what he said to me at the party when we were dancing?”

  “That you’re the sun he wants to orbit for all his days?”

  She wipes her own sweat with a towel. “He asked me when this phase of mine would be over. He said it’s like hanging out with Malibu Barbie.” She laughs ruefully.

  “She did always have good shoes.” I plod on as Lindy rolls her big eyes. “Don’t give up yet. Okay, so maybe we change our strategy. If I’m here on the sidelines with you, then I can help out your cause even more.”

  She focuses on the remaining minutes of the scoreboard, only halfway listening to me. “How?”

  “I can see Matt up close, you know. See what really makes him tick. Notice how he interacts with you in this setting.”

  “And what do you get out of it?”

  “I . . . um . . . get to write an article for the paper. Yeah, I want to write an article on the team’s season. You know, their bid for state and all.” I would throw in some football jargon here, but I don’t know any. I am so gonna have to start watching SportsCenter like my stepdad. “See how they score with their fumbles and do that thing with the flags.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?”

  “That’s why I need you! You can teach me what I need to know about the game, and I’ll help you down here with the water . . . and with Matt. Perfect!” I hug her close. “Thanks, Lindy!” And though I can’t see her face, I know she’s rolling her eyes again.

  She steps back and shoves a set of towels in my arms. “Here. You can start tonight.”

  “What?” I gesture to my skirt and patent leather flats. “But I’m not dressed for it. How about next week?”

  The football boys trot onto the field and head our way. It would be nice to have a bird’s-eye view of their interaction with the coaches. I think at least one of them could be involved in this Brotherhood business. See, this is what happens when you stick a bunch of guys in too-tight pants. It cuts off the oxygen to their brains, and next thing you know they’re calling themselves a brotherhood, slapping each other on the butt, and meeting secretly in the woods.