A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  “I am so tired of my life being everyone else’s business. What’s wrong with keeping one thing to myself?”

  He reaches out like he’s going to touch me, then drops his hand.

  “Because the thought of anything happening to you makes me want to tear someone apart.”

  I swallow.

  “Just tell me your solo days are over. And you won’t be anywhere by yourself. We’re working together. It’s you. And me.”

  I fumble for the doorknob, unable to take my eyes off him. “I . . .

  I have an article to finish.” And I run for the safety of my computer.

  When I arrive at lunch ten minutes late, I get a good look at our table and realize we’ve become quite a motley crew. We have Ruthie, the biker chick. Me, the Manhattan transplant. Anna, the ever-enthusiastic cheerleader. Lindy, the stressed-out class president.

  And Matt, the jock who just sits there and eats his sub sandwich and chips.

  “Lindy, are you okay?” My friend is facedown on the table, her salad shoved to the side.

  “I was not meant to be a leader. What’s Donald Trump’s secret?”

  I pluck a tomato off her tray. “Bad hair?”

  She sits up. “First the banquet hall at Truman Inn. And now . . .”

  “Acid rain?”

  “It’s not funny, Bella. I just got a call from the Truman Inn.

  They wanted to let me know that when we cancelled the reservation for prom, we lost the five-hundred-dollar deposit.”

  I open the wrapping on my sandwich. “When was this reservation cancelled?”

  “About five minutes ago.” Lindy holds up her hand to stop my next question. “It was a female who called them. The person pretended to be me. Again.”

  Matt bites down on a chip. “Did you tell them you still wanted the banquet hall?”

  Lindy stares at Matt with her you idiot face. “They had a waiting list. So now the Truman Men’s Association is having Pedicures and Polish Sausage Night there.”

  We all take a moment to think about that one.

  Ruthie stretches out her arms and then cracks her knuckles. “Well, that makes me want to hit something. Some idiot is ruining my prom.”

  “I’ll be back.” Leaving my lunch, I grab my purse and head through the double doors to the courtyard. I call information. “Truman Inn, please.”

  “Please tell me you aren’t making reservations for a romantic getaway.”

  I swivel around. “Luke.” I smile into the winter sun. “I was just checking on something for a friend.”

  He crosses his arms. “We said we were going to work together. And you’re not to be anywhere alone.”

  “I don’t recall ever agreeing to that.” I press my ear to the phone and jot down the number.

  Luke’s hand wraps around my arm. The other reaches for the phone. “I’d be happy to dial.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine.” And I fill him in on the latest cancellation.

  Luke calls the Truman Inn and works his magic. Charm oozes out of his every word. “Write this down.” And he reads off a telephone number to me.

  When he calls the new number he smiles. “Voice mail.”

  “Whose?”

  “One of your prom queen candidates—Callie Drake.”

  “Let’s go get her.” I step forward, only to be snatched back.

  “Not so fast. Doesn’t this seem wrong to you?”

  I stare at Luke’s hand on mine. “Oh, I don’t know. Doesn’t seem too bad. Kinda nice and tingly actually.”

  “I’m talking about Callie.”

  Oh. Me too. “I don’t even know who she is.”

  Luke drops my hand. “Before we run to the principal with this, let’s do a little surveillance. Unless you have to work after school, that is?”

  “Um . . . work? I guess I could squeeze you in.”

  I meet Luke at his 4Runner after school.

  “I don’t have a lot of surveillance experience,” he says.

  “Me neither. Wait here.” I run across the street and through some bushes. I find two of the Pile Driver of Dreams camera guys. “I need to follow someone. Gimme some tips.” For two minutes I take mental notes of everything they say.

  “Good luck!” one yells as I walk back to Luke.

  “Well?” He starts the SUV.

  “Larry said to park a half a block away and get a good pair of binoculars. Doug said to bring lots of snacks.”

  “Where are we going to get binoculars?”

  I fish through my purse and hold up a small pink pair.

  Luke shakes his head. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Nosiness.” I smile. “It’s my spiritual gift.”

  “I asked around today, and Callie has a boyfriend. There’s a good chance she’s at his house. She doesn’t work.” He hangs a right.

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  With one hand on the wheel, Luke reaches around his seat and picks up a yearbook. He hands it to me. “Page forty-two. You’ll see her picture.”

  I flip to the page. She’s cute. In a natural sort of way. Long hair, no makeup. I thumb through the pages as he drives. “Hey, here’s a layout on the Miss Truman High competition. Lookie here.” I hold up the spread. “ ‘Girls protest beauty pageant,’” I read. “And there’s Callie front and center. Says the protesters claimed it devalued women.”

  Luke points at the contestants in bathing suits. “I see all sorts of valuables there.”

  We both laugh, and I smack him with the book. “Maybe our girl Callie wants to be prom queen so she can bring it down. Probably wants to expose it for the ridiculous popularity contest it is.”

  “Obviously she’s working with someone,” Luke says as he stares at a house we drive by. “She can’t be doing it all alone—running us off the road, magically transferring money, sending untraceable e-mails, harassing you.” He pulls onto Main Street. “That was her boyfriend’s house. Nobody there.”

  “Let’s move on to her house.”

  An hour later I’ve got a crick in my neck, I’ve eaten all the mints at the bottom of my purse, including the fuzzy ones, and all we’ve done is watch Callie’s silver Focus.

  “Let’s just talk to her about the call, Luke. I’m tired.”

  “I’m going to get out and look at her car. Make sure there’s no scuff marks on it—in case she’s the one who sideswiped us.”

  I press a button and my chair reclines. “Okay. See you in a bit.”

  “I need you.”

  My hand jerks, and my chair sits straight up. “What?”

  “I need you to distract Callie while I go check.” He opens the car door. “You drive. Pull right up next to her car.”

  We swap places, and I cruise us to her house. “What will I say?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll think of something.”

  “Well, it’s not like we can talk makeup.” I say a little prayer as I hop out of the SUV. Dear God, please give me guidance in my moment of deceit.

  I look back with dread and Luke motions me on. With a shaky hand, I knock on her front door. Yippy dogs go off like obnoxious, fuzzy alarms.

  “Yes?” Callie answers the door.

  “Um, Callie? I’m—”

  “I know who you are. I’ve seen you on TV and in the Enquirer.”

  “Oh.” I’ve seen your picture too. “I, uh, am working on a piece for the Truman High Tribune and wanted to talk to you about”—Don’t say anything that will tip her off—“the rumor that they will soon be enforcing a dress code at school.”

  “They will?”

  “Yes.” I am so uncreative today. “I’m getting some quotes from departing seniors.”

  “What’s the dress code going to be?”

  “Er . . .” I watch a kid in a wife-beater sail by on his bike. “Tank tops and skirts. School colors.”

  “How short are these skirts?”

  “Short?” It comes out as a question. “Yes, very short.” I point to a spot way above my
knee. “They said it will be good for . . . circulation.” I look over my shoulder toward her car. I see the faintest hint of a coat. Hurry up, Luke!

  “Well, we have an all-male school board. What do you expect?”

  “Huh?” I turn back around. “Right! What do you expect?”

  “My boyfriend would never allow me to wear skimpy clothes. He thinks it takes the focus off my brain and character.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “In fact, he’d probably beat up anyone who even glanced at my legs.”

  This snaps me to attention. “Oh, is he the jealous sort?”

  She smiles like this is cool. “Very. We both just believe in shining with our inner lights and not being judged by outward appearances.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Lights. Shining. So then how does he feel about your being a contender for prom queen?”

  She sighs heavily. “He’s not happy. At all. We fight about it a lot.” Her voice drops. “But all principles and values aside, sometimes a girl just wants to be the one wearing the tiara, you know? Just once in my life, I want a tiara moment. Does that make sense?”

  I smile. “Yeah, it does. I hope your boyfriend comes around.”

  “I don’t know if that’s going to happen.” Her face darkens. “My friend Felicity Weeks told me that he’s been going around encouraging people not to vote for me.”

  “Felicity’s one of the other queen candidates, right?”

  “Yeah, we’re totally BFFs. Joshua—my boyfriend—he doesn’t like Felicity much. He says I need to find some new friends. I just think he’s jealous of any time I spend away from him.”

  I have to ask. “Callie, why are you dating this boy?”

  Her brown eyes go all dreamy. “He truly is a great guy. He just has these . . . triggers. But he really does want the best for me.”

  “Yeah, that sounds really encouraging.”

  “Looks like your boyfriend is ready to go.”

  I glance back at the 4Runner, and Luke waves from the passenger side. “Uh, thanks for the quotes. And good luck on your run for the tiara.”

  “Luck?” Callie laughs. “If I get queen, it won’t be because of luck.”

  I say good-bye and hop in the SUV. “Did you find anything on her car?”

  “Nothing but a few door dings.” Luke stretches and rests his fingers on the top of my headrest.

  “Whoever ran us off the road has had plenty of time to repair her vehicle.” I tell him everything Callie said.

  Luke’s brow furrows. “If she wins, it won’t be because of luck?

  At this point, I don’t know whether that’s inspirational or ominous.

  Hey, where are you going?”

  I pull into the Dairy Barn drive-thru. “I need to talk to the ice cream lady. Last time I was here, she looked very suspicious.”

  Luke laughs. “I respect your commitment to the job, Kirkwood.

  You do go above and beyond.”

  chapter twenty

  So since this Thursday is Valentine’s Day”—Lindy shuts her locker and sneaks a glance at Matt—“we’re passing out the Match-and-Catch results today at lunch.”

  Ruthie bites into a Pop-Tart as the first bell rings. “So I can find out who’s the best guy in the school for me?”

  “Did you fill one out, Matt?”

  He looks away from Lindy and shrugs. “Yeah, I mean I guess so. It was for a good cause and all.”

  “Aren’t you the least bit curious who it paired you up with?” she asks.

  “I gotta go to science class.” He waves absently and joins the downstream flow of the hall.

  Callie Drake and her boyfriend walk by. He’s got his arm anchored around her neck, and the two are laughing. I zip up my backpack and fall in behind the couple.

  “You’re going prom dress shopping again?” her boyfriend says. “What’s the big deal? Pick one out and be done with it.”

  “I did pick one out—with Felicity. You said it was too revealing. I’m having a hard time finding one with a turtleneck.”

  I bite my lip on a smile.

  “And I don’t want you going over to Felicity’s anymore. Not while her little boyfriend’s there.” His voice is angry.

  “Him? Are you jealous of him? You are so ridiculous, Joshua.

  This is out of control.”

  “I’m not jealous, Callie. He’s . . . weird. I don’t like him. Why can’t you hang out with some new friends?”

  I inch up closer, straining to hear.

  “There’s nothing wrong with—”

  “Kirkwood!”

  Ugh! I slow down as Ruthie catches up with me.

  “What are you doing?”

  I bite back a sigh. “Eavesdropping, if you must know.”

  “You got someone you want me to bug? I can totally set you up.

  Say the word.”

  “No!” Tempting though. “No bugs.”

  “Hey, um, will you tell Budge that my computer has a thingie, and I need him to take a look at it?”

  “You got another bad e-mail?”

  “No.”

  “It has a thingie?”

  She averts her eyes. “Yeah. On the dooma-flachie. It’s broken.

  It’s making it hard to—”

  “Print do-hickies and send dealie-whoppers?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Sounds serious. I’ll pass that on. But you know, you could talk to him like he’s just another boy. He could be interested in you as more than just a computer to fix.”

  She stiffens. “I didn’t say I liked him.”

  “Right. Okay, I’ll pass on the urgent computer request.” Sometimes I think she’s had one too many piercings.

  At lunch I’m called into the office and find I have a huge floral arrangement. I open the card, half expecting to see another scary note.

  New York is less without you. But my life is more with your friendship.

  See you soon,

  Hunter

  Aw. Isn’t that sweet? I smell the roses and lilies and grin. Plucking one of the blooms, I leave to find Lindy so I can help her pass out the Match-and-Catch forms. She hands me a single envelope.

  “What is this? I’m not getting one.” I don’t have ten extra bucks.

  Lindy refuses to take it back. “It’s on the house. You’ve been helping me with all of this, so consider it a thank-you.”

  “Oh.” My fingers tingle to open it. But I can’t. I don’t want to know. Oh, yes, I do.

  “Looks like you don’t need Cupid’s help.”

  I set all my stuff on the ground and look up to find Luke. “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you paid to get matched. That probably wouldn’t thrill your girlfriend.”

  He lifts and lowers a brow. “Lindy asked me to come and help.”

  “Oh. Right.” I’m an idiot. Why do I always come off sounding like a jealous harpy? I’m not. I’m totally not. I’m sure if his Harvard girl and I got to know each other, I’d love her and want to be her very best friend. We’d probably wear each other’s clothes and do each other’s hair.

  No, actually I want to rip her hair out. She’s so stinkin’ smart!

  And pretty! And— “Luke, here’s your Match-and-Catch results.” Lindy passes him an envelope.

  He stares at it like it’s a tarantula. “Um, you can just keep it. I’m really not interested.”

  “Suit yourself.” With a shrug Lindy returns to handing out envelopes and collecting money. “It’s in appreciation of the articles you did in the paper on the fund-raiser. It’s helped a lot.”

  “Just take it,” I say. “I won’t tell Taylor.” Oh! There I go again.

  God, what is wrong with me? I’ve been watching too much Gossip Girl. Reading too many snarky books. Maybe I should listen to a bunch of Christian music or watch some Hannah Montana with Budge. I know, I’ll view VeggieTales until the evil is purged out of me, and all that comes out of my mouth is goodness, light, and songs about cucumbers.

  Luke just smile
s and grabs some Match-and-Catch results to hand out.

  “Lindy!” Felicity Weeks shoves her way through the crowd, her blonde curls jiving all over her head. “Guess what! My dad found us a place for prom.”

  The entire crowd stops and cheers. Two girls burst into tears.

  Luke and I lock gazes and share an eye roll.

  Felicity high-fives a senior. “My dad’s rented some huge event canopies. We can have it outside at our house.”

  “She has a huge home.” Luke whispers near my ear. “We could probably have prom in her living room.”

  Lindy resumes her work. “We can’t pay for that. Except for the wad in my hand, we have no money. Zero. Nada.”

  “But that’s the best part. It’s free! Daddy’s footing the bill. He wants to help us.”

  More woo-hoos from our growing audience.

  “Felicity, that’s awesome.” Lindy looks at me. She’s beaming, and I can see a load of stress has been relieved.

  “Gimme my results.” Anna Deason holds out her hand, and I dig through my stack. “This better be good. I want to see if my man’s name is on here. Plus, if things don’t work out, I’ll know who the alternates are.”

  “Did you hear we have a prom location now?” I ask.

  She sniffs. “Whatever. I could’ve found us another location. I don’t know what everyone is so excited about. It’s not like she donated a kidney.”

  Before I can respond, something catches my eye. “Luke, look.”

  Mr. Sutter stands across the hall with Callie. She’s agitated. Red-faced. Her hands move at warp speed.

  “Let’s take a walk.” His hand moves to my back as we migrate to a spot within hearing distance of the principal.

  “—but I didn’t call the Truman Inn. Why would I do that? I’m a senior, for crying out loud. Of course I want prom.”

  “Miss Drake, the inn gave us your phone number. That’s where the call came from. They have a record of it.”

  “Well, they’re wrong. Someone probably got into my purse at lunch. I’m in the running for prom queen, Mr. Sutter. Think about it. Why would I do such a thing?”

  He crosses his arms. “Last year’s Miss Truman High comes to mind.”

  “Hey, I protested peacefully. I’m not the one who brought the eggs and the squirt guns.”