A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  “Unless you can prove someone used your phone, I have no choice but to suspend you for a week.”

  Mr. Sutter escorts Callie down the hall, and I turn to Luke.

  “When did you tell the principal?”

  “This morning. I talked to some people, and the Miss Truman

  High wasn’t the first pageant Callie protested. I think she’s our girl, but we still need to find out who’s working with her.”

  “The boyfriend?”

  He nods. “It’s definitely something to pursue.”

  An odd silence falls between us. Like neither one of us wants to move.

  “So do you have your prom date?” Luke asks.

  I pull a ponytail holder out of my pocket and make a loose knot.

  “I’m keeping my options open.”

  Luke tucks a rogue piece of hair behind my ear. “Hunter?”

  I struggle to focus beyond the chills on my neck. “What if I do bring Hunter?”

  “What if you do?” His face is impassive. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

  “He’s changing, Luke. I can tell. He’s just . . . different.”

  “How convenient.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? What’s with all these cryptic comments about Hunter?”

  “I just think you should be cautious is all. It wasn’t so long ago that you thought he was a total snake.”

  The crowd around Lindy grows, nudging me and Luke closer.

  “Like I said, I’ve forgiven him.”

  “Forgiveness doesn’t have to mean blind trust.”

  “Look—” Someone bumps my shoulder, and Luke reaches out to steady me. I stare back into his piercing eyes.

  What was I saying?

  “Yes?”

  “Um . . .” He has a girlfriend. He has a girlfriend. “How about you take care of your relationship, and I’ll take care of mine.”

  “I’m just concerned. I would hope by now you consider me a friend.”

  “I don’t get in fights with my friends. My friends don’t boss me around.”

  An arrogant smile tugs at his mouth. “Then what am I?”

  I can’t read his signal here. Is there an innuendo? A current of something? Is my brain malfunctioning due to lack of lunch?

  Luke removes his hands and checks his silver watch. “I have to meet a senior for an interview. Think about what I said.”

  “Which part?”

  But my voice gets lost in the roar of students as he walks away.

  When I rejoin Lindy, a cloud of gloom hangs over her brown head. “Hey, why the sad face, madam president? You have one less thing to worry about with Felicity’s dad coming through for us.”

  She hands a classmate the last envelope, then drags her hound dog eyes back to me. “What did your results say?”

  “Um, haven’t read it yet.” Not sure I want to.

  “I opened mine. Matt Sparks and I are a match.”

  “Lindy, that’s so totally cool. Do you think he’s read his yet?”

  “Yeah. Read it and laughed about it. He said, ‘Can you believe this thing says we’d be perfect together?’”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  She throws hers in the trash can next to her. “I give up, Bella.

  I’m done. It’s time to start looking for a prom date instead of just hoping Matt will wise up. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Um . . . Budge has this brainy friend named Newton.”

  She nods once. “I’ll take him.”

  chapter twenty-one

  I can hear it now.

  “How did you spend your Valentine’s Day, Bella?”

  “At Mickey Patrick’s gym with thirty grown men and a roomful of Lycra, watching my stepdad pound someone into the ground. Gosh, who needs a date?”

  “Isn’t Mason the sweetest thing?” Mom holds Dolly’s sleeping son in her arms. “Robbie, can you believe you used to be this small?”

  My stepbrother sits between us and nods his head absently.

  “How’s my little guy doing?” Dolly stops by for the hundredth time in five minutes. “Are you sure you don’t mind holding him, Jillian? I’ve got to bring in ten more cheesecakes, then I can take him.”

  “I’ll help you, Dolly.”

  The room goes into a shocked silence as Mickey stands by the door.

  Dolly lifts her chin a notch. “Fine. They’re in the Jeep.”

  They return carrying handfuls of food, but neither says a word. A few minutes later Pile Driver of Dreams starts.

  “It’s down to five wrestlers, America. Your vote tonight will put one more down for the count. This week we begin announcing the elimination at the weekly wrestling matches. So cast your votes this evening, and tune back in tomorrow night as we announce who’s getting a permanent body-slam.”

  The show begins to highlight the remaining lady wrestler, and some of us get up to fill our plates. Not surprisingly, most of the men stay planted in front of the TV as they show pieces of Cinnamon’s life. Especially those pieces in the leather bustier. Her boobs are like weapons barely contained in her top. Who needs wrestling moves when you could knock someone out with those?

  As a favor to Mom, Dolly agreed to cater the event. She has tables set up with a Mexican food theme. Honestly, I haven’t so much as touched a nacho since my last night at Pancho’s Mexican Villa.

  “Just put the cheesecake there.” Dolly points to the few empty spots on the tables.

  Across the room little Mason whimpers. Then it crescendos into a full-scale wail. Mom stands up and pats his back. “I’ve tried the bottle. I checked his diaper.” Mason’s tiny arms flail, and his shaky cry even gets the attention of the guys watching Cinnamon.

  Mom brings him over to Dolly and places the baby in her arms.

  “He’s been so fussy all week, and I haven’t slept in days. I think he has colic.” Dolly says sweet things to Mason in hushed tones.

  “Can I try?”

  My eyes bug at Mickey’s hesitant request.

  Dolly starts to wave him off, but the baby doubles his volume.

  “I guess. But be gentle with him.”

  “I know, Dolly.”

  “Well, it’s been a long time since either one of us has had a baby to hold.” She sucks in her lips like she wants to stop any more words from escaping.

  Mickey extends his sinewy arm and places the baby on it like a cradle. He gently rocks Mason, singing a lullaby so low I can’t make out the words. The baby peers up at Mickey but continues to yell.

  “Maybe you should give him back to me.” Dolly holds out her arms.

  “No.” Mickey continues to rock. “He just wants a different song, don’t you, Mason?”

  Mickey starts a new tune, and though I still can’t hear it, I’m mesmerized by his expressive face. And so is Mason. The baby’s volume descends until it’s just a whimper. Then nothing. We all stand there and watch as Mickey rocks and sings Mason to sleep within minutes.

  “Thank you.” Dolly studies Mickey’s face for a brief moment, then returns to gazing at her son.

  “What was the lullaby you were singing?” I ask as Mickey continues to rock.

  “AC/DC.”

  A cold blast of air filters though the room as I see Lindy, Matt, and Ruthie come through the door. Budge glances their way, then does a double take. He jumps up to the food tables and butts in next to me.

  “Did you invite her?”

  I ladle out some queso. “Who?”

  “Ruthie, that’s who.” His face burns barn red.

  “You invited your friends, and I invited mine.” I glance at his posse of gamer geeks, who are all but drooling at Cinnamon on the screen. Newt’s drink is spilling onto his shirt, and he hasn’t even noticed.

  “You could’ve at least warned me.” Budge runs a hand over his stubbly face. “I didn’t even shave.”

  I sniff. “You don’t smell. Nothing’s hanging out of your nose. I’d say that’s a pretty good day for you.”

>   Budge looks to Ruthie, who’s chatting with my mom. He looks back to me. “I—I . . . Bella, this may come as a huge surprise, but as much as I talk about chicks, I’m actually not very, um, good with them.”

  “No?”

  “Yeah, I know. I really haven’t had all that much experience.”

  “Shocking.” I throw on some jalapeños. “Well, here’s a tip.

  Girls do not find talk of vortexes and bump-mapping the least bit romantic.”

  He shakes his head. “You and your kind are like from another planet. What do I talk about?”

  “You’ve been to her house a few times. What did you talk about then?”

  “She did all the talking. I just worked on the computer.”

  “Talk to her about her bike. Her church. Her . . . addiction to hair products. Just be yourself. Look what you have in common— school, um . . . and school.” I wave at Lindy and Matt. “Hey, Budge, does Newt need a date for prom?”

  “I guess. Newt said he was waiting for this girl to be his date, but I don’t know that it worked out. I do know he’s not going without a date.”

  “Send him over to the food table.”

  Across the room my mom calls out a greeting as my editor slides through the entryway. “Luke!”

  “Your boss is here.” Budge snorts and walks back to Newt and his friends.

  Luke high-fives and fist-pounds all the guys. He’s become a regular, and I can’t figure out if I like that or not.

  As he walks toward me, I can’t help but admire his slightly faded jeans and the steel gray Henley that lightly clings to the muscles beneath.

  I mentally shake myself. Focus on the fajitas.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he deadpans.

  “Yeah, sorry you’re here.” I hand him a plate. “And not at a candlelit dinner for two.”

  “This is exactly where I want to be.” His frown is slight. “I wouldn’t want to miss this.”

  I feel like our conversation just forked in two different directions. In lieu of a response, I move on down the food table.

  Newt chooses that moment to stomp over, his Vans heavy on the concrete. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yeah, Newt, I was wondering if you’d be interested in escorting my friend Lindy to prom.” I point in her direction.

  “Is she the one in the pink sparkles and mustache?”

  “No, he’s Betty the Bulldozer.”

  Newt squints behind his glasses. “Does he wrestle in those heels?”

  I grab Newt’s chin and angle his head toward Lindy.

  “Ohh.” He nods. “Uh-huh.”

  That’s his only response? How about, thank you. She’s so much hotter than any other girl I could get on my own. “Are you interested?”

  “I don’t know. I do want to go to prom . . .”

  “What’s not to know? Do you already have a prom date?”

  “I might have an option.”

  “Prom’s in six weeks. Do you have a date yet or not?”

  He scuffs the toe of his shoe. “I guess not.”

  “Do you have transportation?”

  “I should by then. I gotta get my mom’s car fixed.”

  “Tux?”

  “I’ll get one.”

  “Lindy has a strict no-hands, no-alochol policy. Can you adhere to that? Raise your right hand and repeat after me: no kissy, no drinkie.”

  “I got it, Bella.”

  “And don’t you get anywhere near her vortex.”

  With a glowing blush, Newt all but races back to his seat.

  Luke coughs to cover a laugh. “What was that about? He looked like he was about to cry.”

  “Just business.”

  “Want to go to the basketball game with me on Saturday?”

  I drop the ice tongs. “Game? Go? Together?” Dear God, please anoint me with the power of complete sentences.

  “Yeah, Anna Deason said she tried to call you tonight. She got some threatening e-mails.”

  I was on the phone with Hunter after school. “E-mails like Ruthie’s? Doctored pictures?”

  “No, as in telling her that if she doesn’t drop out of the prom queen race, she’ll be sorry. Two nights ago she was at a game and her shoes got stolen. Could be just coincidence, but I thought we’d go to the game and watch her cheer. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

  One of the ever-present camera guys darts across the room and trains his lens on me. These guys are like roaches. They’re everywhere and impossible to get rid of. I turn around and give him my back. Which puts me right up in Luke’s space.

  “Yeah, I’d love to go with you. Er, I mean, love to go to the game. But I kind of need a ride.”

  “Still don’t have an alternator?”

  “My mom’s making me pay for it myself.” I see his lips twitch.

  “Summer Fresh is looking for part-time help.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t you just love for me to be elbow deep in panty liners. Well, no thanks. There is nothing that will make me work there.”

  chapter twenty-two

  You’re not going to buy me a prom dress?” I clutch my phone with both hands.

  “No, honey. Your mother and I both think you need to learn the value of money.”

  “But Dad, I do value money. A lot.”

  I hear him laughing. “Get another job, Bella. And save your money. Besides, you have tons of formals from your Hilliard school days.”

  “Both those are so last year, and I have to pay to get my car fixed.”

  “Christina and Marisol said to tell you hello.”

  Ugh! Is he even listening to me? Does he even care that I’m wearing last year’s dress and riding to school in a funeral hearse?

  “Christina wants to know how you feel about a summer wedding?”

  “Remember how I felt when I got food poisoning and yakked all over dinner? That’s how I feel.”

  “Yes, sweetie, your cookies are excellent.” He laughs into the phone. “Sorry, Bella, I was talking to Marisol. She made me peanut butter cookies. Isn’t that adorable? Now what were you saying?”

  “Nothing.” Like it would matter to you and sweetie. “I have to get ready for the wrestling match in Tulsa. I’ll see you soon, Dad. Love you.” God, I seriously need some help dealing with my dad’s new life. This is not going well. And I thoroughly dislike that cookie-making little girl.

  I grab my purse and coat and head down the hall. When I hear noises from Budge and Robbie’s room, I decide to backtrack and peek in.

  Robbie’s cape is gone and he’s in regular clothes. A flannel shirt replaces a superhero t-shirt. He pushes a button on a remote and a kung-fu guy repeats a move on TV. Robbie attempts a karate chop, then plays it again.

  “Whatcha doing, buddy?”

  Robbie jumps, hands ready to chop.

  “Whoa, don’t hurt me.” I hold up my arms in surrender.

  “I wouldn’t hurt you, Bella.” He bows like a sensei. “I know these hands can be lethal weapons.”

  I take a seat on his bed. What happened to the Spider-Man sheets? “Where’s your cape, Robbie?”

  “It’s in my closet.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs and turns his attention back to the TV. “Maybe I want to be a superhero in disguise.”

  “Why are you watching martial arts movies?”

  “Because Dad wouldn’t teach me any of his moves.”

  “And you have to know how to hurt someone because . . . ? Robbie, look at me.”

  He pivots back around but stares a hole in the shaggy carpet.

  “Superman and Spider-Man know how to defend themselves. It’s part of the job.”

  “Says who?”

  He lifts his head. “Because I—” He shakes his carrot-top head as if erasing the sentence on his tongue. “Because that’s what happens in the movies, of course.”

  I drop to my knees and get eye level. “You’d tell me if anyone was picking on you, right?”

  Jake chooses that
moment to stick his head in the doorway.

  “Let’s go, guys.” He winks at his son. “Daddy’s itching to gut-wrench someone tonight.”

  Used cars. Why can’t he sell used cars?

  “Are you nervous, Daddy?” Robbie asks, totally disconnecting on our conversation.

  “Nah. If I win tonight, I win. If not, that’s in God’s hands too. It’s been a great ride being on the reality show, eh?”

  “Oh, it’s been a blast.” I force a smile. “The camera guys are just like family now.” A family of rodents.

  Four hours later I’ve had popcorn, a burger, a candy bar, an extra large Sprite, and six trips to the bathroom. Jake did a great job this evening, and I hope at least for his sake that it’s not his last week on Pile Driver of Dreams.

  “Laaaaddddies and gentlemennnn!” The announcer moves to the center of the ring. “Tonight we have Oklahoma’s own Cap-tain!

  Iron! Jack!”

  The entire crowd squints an eye and growls, “Arrrgh.”

  “Many of you have watched. Many of you have even voted.”

  The screens around the arena change to satellite feeds of the four other contestants in their own venues. “I have the distinct privilege of sharing the results. Will Captain Iron Jack be returning next week to Pile Driver of Dreams or is he down for the final count?”

  Mom and I scream with the rest of the fans. There has to be at least a couple thousand here.

  “The remaining contestants will be in Nevada next Friday night as we move the semifinals to Las Vegas! Our wrestlers will meet and compete for the first time!”

  “Go Captain Iron Jack!” Budge yells. “Sin City, here I come!”

  “Are you ready, Tulsa?” The announcer opens an envelope.

  Jake stands in the middle of the ring next to the announcer. Mickey stands below, his hands clasped like he’s praying.

  “Captain Iron Jack”—the announcer wraps his arm around Jake’s shoulders—“I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

  Groans ricochet all over the arena. My heart plummets.

  “The bad news is Vegas ain’t Oklahoma, but Captain Iron Jack, that’s exactly where you’re headed! You’re going to Vegas, baby!”

  The crowd erupts and the four of us jump up and down, screaming. He did it! Jake really did it.

  I reach into my purse and grab my phone. “Luke? Jake made it. He’s going on to the next round.”