A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  He eyes the candy bar. “You gave me the smaller part.”

  What? I didn’t say I was a saint.

  My heart stays lodged in my throat during the entire flight. At one point I reach for my phone again, intent on sending Lindy a text.

  “You don’t want to do a thing like that.” The pilot walks toward the wet bar and grabs some pretzels.

  “No. I was just . . . um . . . er . . .” Oh, I give up. I toss the phone into my purse.

  “Maybe you should do some of that prayer stuff or something.”

  Budge waves a hand around like he’s trying to conjure some Jesus.

  “You could do it, too, you know.”

  He turns to look out the window. “I have.”

  I pray and pray as the plane seems to move at turtle speed.

  Please keep Lindy safe. Please let me get in touch with her. Please let Newton split his pants and have to go home.

  For the rest of the way, I divide my time between pleading, praying, and watching the seconds tick. I’m about ready to promise the Lord I’ll never say a snarky thing to Budge again when the pilot announces we’re landing. Eight fifteen local time. Everyone is at prom by now. What if Newton’s hurt Lindy? Or Felicity? Or gone postal on every girl there?

  I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until the wheels make contact with the runway. When we stop, the pilot lifts a lever and the door whooshes open.

  “Thank you. Great flight. You’re the best.” I heave my suitcase, letting it thunk down every step as I pull it behind. “Let’s go, Budge!”

  I sprint like someone’s holding a blowtorch to my butt. My body aches from last night’s beating, but I push through it. Budge struggles to keep up. My lungs are burning when we reach the Tahoe. Budge fumbles for the keys.

  “Open the car!”

  “I’m trying!” he yells. “I can’t take this pressure!” His hands shake. His fingers become tangled with one another.

  I run to him and latch onto his shoulders. “Pull yourself together, man!”

  “I’ve got them!” Budge holds up the keys like he’s found the Holy Grail. “I’ve got them!”

  As he screeches out of the parking lot, I furiously dial Lindy. Straight to voice mail! I try Luke. Same thing! I leave desperate messages.

  They’re all doing the cha-cha slide, meanwhile there’s a lunatic among them!

  I try one last number.

  “You have reached Hunter Penbrook. I can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave . . .”

  “Hunter, it’s me. Call me when you get this. You remember Lindy, right? She’s possibly in danger. You have to find her and tell her to stay away from Newt Phillips. Call me!”

  Budge drives like a maniac. I check my phone every five seconds. Why isn’t Hunter checking his? Shouldn’t he be waiting for my call anyway?

  “Ruthie’s going to kill me when she sees me dressed like this.”

  Budge swats at some chip grease on his jeans.

  And my totally amazing dress from Hunter. Wasted. I’m going to my prom wearing my cutoff Abercrombie sweats and hoodie!

  Can’t wait to see those pictures.

  I hit redial a million times as the miles fly by. I want to shout when I see the Truman city limits sign.

  The tires squall as Budge navigates the turns. Felicity’s driveway is longer than any street in town. Fancy landscaping lines either side of the path.

  Finally I see lights. Cars. Tons of them. Limos. “Park at the front,” I say, even though it will block people in.

  My head pounding and my side hollow with a dull pain, we run the rest of the way. Through a gate. Straight to the large canopy.

  Budge breathes like a rhino. “I’ll get Newt.”

  “And I’ll find Lindy.”

  We throw open the canvas doors and step inside, splitting into two directions. I blink to adjust my eyes to the dim lights. I walk toward the pulsing music.

  A hand covers my eyes.

  Arms grab my middle.

  And I scream.

  chapter thirty-six

  Bella, it’s me!”

  My eyes struggle to focus. “Hunter?” I lower my fists and bend at the waist, my bruised ribs begging for rest. As I breathe in and out in my jogging togs, he stands there regal and flawless in his tux.

  “Always a trendsetter, aren’t you? I think I’m overdressed.” He smiles.

  “I’ll explain later.”

  “Hey, how are you?” He steps closer, his fingers reaching toward my face. “Let me see what that idiot wrestler did.”

  I shoo his hand away. “I’m fine.” Okay, I’m not. I’m tired, I’m sore, and I really need an ice cream fix. “Hunter, I have to take care of something, but I’ll find you in a little bit. We need to talk.”

  He reaches for my hand. “We definitely need to talk. Bella, I—”

  “Not now.” I walk backward. “Eat some quiche! Have some punch! Do the Worm!” I put some speed into my steps, my eyes scanning for my friend. “Have you seen Lindy?” Empty, clueless faces stare back at me.

  I move to the dance area and weave through the maze of classmates. “Lindy! Lindy! Anyone seen Lindy Miller?”

  This is bad. Very bad.

  “Bella?”

  I pivot at the deep voice. “Luke!”

  His eyes flash fire as he reaches out, his hand sweeping across my cheek much like Hunter’s. Yet so not like Hunter’s touch. Goose bumps skitter across my skin.

  “It looks worse than it is.”

  His fingers still on my jawbone. “I’d like to tear that man apart.”

  Oh, any other time I would totally appreciate his macho-protectiveness. But not now! “Luke, I need to find Lindy—or Newt Phillips. We were wrong about Joshua Day. Newt was the mastermind behind all of this. We’ve got to get Lindy away from him. Help me find her.”

  He doesn’t even question me. “Let’s go.”

  “No, we need to split up.” I point to the other side. “I’ll go that way. Call me when you find either one of them.”

  “Bella, when this is over, we need to talk.”

  “Yeah, yeah, get in line.” I shoot through a swaying couple and continue my urgent search.

  A few minutes later I stand at the back exit of the canopy. No Lindy. No Newt. And I would kill for some ibuprofen.

  Three girls walk by in a cloud of perfume and giggles. “Don’t worry about your lipstick. We’ll fix it in the bathroom.”

  “Wait!” I grab one by her tiny dress strap. “Where are the bathrooms?”

  She looks at me like I showed up to prom in sweats or something. “Um . . . in the house. Just follow the Chinese lanterns to the back door.”

  I butt my way in front of them and zoom out the exit. The path takes me past the pool and some couples making out. I step into the house and into a kitchen the size of our yard.

  “Lindy?” I yell her name. Moving down the hall, I find a bathroom and set my fist to the door.

  “Just a minute!”

  Was that her? “I need to talk to you!” I bang some more. “Hurry up.”

  The door wrenches open. Ruthie stands there in a pink frothy dress, accented with a black leather spiky belt and dog collar.

  Combat boots rise to meet her calf-length hem. I sag against the wall and consider giving into hysterics.

  “What?” she asks. “Is it my hair? It’s too pink tonight, isn’t it?”

  She pats her size XXL updo that’s somewhere in the color range of Pepto and Hello Kitty.

  With as few words as possible, I fill her in. “Go find Lindy. I’m going to search the house.” Ruthie doesn’t budge an inch.

  I roll my eyes and give her a shove. “Yes, your hair looks fabulous.”

  With a nod, she disappears.

  The kitchen begins to fill with people mingling. Unnoticed, I pass through and follow the gleaming wood floor into a massive living room. Hideous pieces of art hang on every wall. A life-size portrait of Felicity holding a poodle looms above the fire
place.

  “Lindy?” I call as I search the first floor. “Lindy Miller!” God, please-oh-please let me find her.

  Peeking over my shoulder, I make sure I’m alone. Then I open every door I find. Nothing. No one. I climb up the grand staircase, my ribs throbbing with every step.

  On rubbery legs, I reach the top and open a door and find a sparsely decorated guest bedroom. Double-checking the closets, I move on to a bathroom that could swallow our living room. The knob on the next room sticks, and gritting with pain, I push ’til it gives.

  I’m emptied into a large office. I step inside and— The door slams behind me. I jump and spin.

  “N–Newton.” Not good. Not good at all.

  His back is pressed to the door, and he looks at me with a wild gleam in his eyes. I’ve seen that look—on Budge when he’s gunning down the enemy on Halo.

  “Hey . . . um, have you seen Lindy?” My voice is as high as a ten-year-old boy’s. “Nice tie, by the way. Like the tux. And your shoes sure are shiny. How do they do that, huh? I see you didn’t wear white socks. That’s always a good choice.” Oh, my gosh. Am I still talking?

  Newt twists the lock on the door, his eyes never leaving mine. “So you figured it out.”

  “Yes, I was dying to know whether Felicity’s dad was a Mac man or preferred the PC.” I tap his PC. “I’m more of an Apple loyalist myself.” My fake laugh sounds more like a drunken sheep. “Now that I found out, I’ll just be going.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I drop my act. “Just open the door. Don’t be an idiot.”

  He laughs. “I have an IQ of 170. It’s a waste of time to question my intelligence.”

  Crazy and cocky. Perfect. “Why, Newt?”

  He looks into the space above my shoulder. “I would’ve done anything for her.”

  “Felicity?”

  He nods. “When she presented the idea, it was like a gift had just fallen into my lap. Like destiny.”

  “She was with you in the car when you cashed the check at the bank. And you made it appear as if Anna had signed it.”

  “I’m a good forger. I can copy anyone’s signature.”

  “And the teller—Victoria Smith? Obviously she was in on it.”

  His grin is predatory. “Let’s just say I had some dirt on her she didn’t want anyone to know about. And we dated for a bit—before Felicity.”

  I scan the room for something to use as a weapon. “Why frame Joshua Day? What did he ever do to you?”

  “Why, Bella. You provided that little detail. Victoria called me from McDonald’s that day you met. She mentioned you were hinting about Joshua. Everything had all fallen into place so nicely. This story has simply written itself.”

  I can’t hide my smirk. “Why don’t you just ask Felicity out?

  Why do you care if she gets prom queen? Is it really worth hurting other people?”

  “You know nothing about me!” he roars. “I’ve been in this school since kindergarten and no one ever acts like I even exist! I love Felicity. She promised me we’d be together for prom when I had taken care of everything. And I warned you to stay out of this.

  You’re all alike—always in my way.”

  Hmm. So psycho boy has a small dislike for the female population. “So you did all this—snuck into my house, doctored the photos, transferred the money, got Callie’s phone, and—”

  “And had Felicity call the caterer, yes. She cared about me.” His mouth twists. “As long as she needed me. And by the way”—he shakes a finger at me—“you really should look at getting a new lock for that back door.”

  I wait a few seconds. Wait for his wave of crazy to ebb. “Then why go to prom with Lindy?”

  “To make Felicity jealous.”

  Somehow I manage to keep a straight face. “And then Felicity broke her promise.”

  “Like I was a nobody,” he snarls. “She never cared about me. And after all I did for her. But revenge”—his eyes lock onto mine— “is definitely worth the price of admission.”

  I force my voice to remain low and calm. “Where is Lindy?”

  “When I saw you’d arrived, I sent her on an errand outside. I’ve been waiting for you, Bella. Because nobody gets the best of me. But now we’re through talking.” With strength I didn’t know he possessed, Newt shoves me and I hit the wood floor, my head barely missing the desk. I am so getting a massage after this weekend is over.

  He looms over me, his hands fisted. Something shifts in my brain, and my pulse calms. God, we can do this.

  Last year I survived an entire football team. I’ve survived an airborne wrestler with nothing to lose. And now this? I am not letting this dork get the best of me. I scramble to stand.

  “Do you see my face, Newt?” Now I’m the one advancing. “I had a little tangle with a man who weighs more than both of us put together. And I won.” Sort of.

  I close the distance and stick my finger in his chest. “Now you’re going to let me out of this room or I’m going to tear you apart, limb by stinkin’ limb.”

  His chuckle drips of demented evil. “You know what’s cool about being a geek, Bella?”

  I tense my muscles, ready to spring. “You always have your

  Friday nights free?”

  “No one really knows anything about you.” His leg shoots out in a kick that hits me straight in the ribs. I feel something give and double over, bile rising in my throat. “Like I’m a black belt in tae kwon do.” He laughs. “I like comic books.” He lands a chop to the top of my shoulder, and I sink to my knees. “I’ve recently learned a lot about explosives.” The base of his hand smashes into my temple.

  “And I’m really great with a computer.”

  I don’t even have time to move as he swings the keyboard like a bat.

  Not again.

  The floor rises to greet my face.

  My eyes cross.

  And I’m out.

  chapter thirty-seven

  I don’t feel so well. My mouth tastes like rusted yuck.

  Did someone drive a bulldozer into my face? Where am I?

  Omigosh.

  Lindy! Felicity!

  How long have I been lying here?

  Ohhhh, Newton Phillips.

  I gingerly move one arm. Ow!

  Wait—why can’t I see? I run my hand over my swollen eyes. I’m blind! Help me, Jesus, I’m blind!

  The door creaks, and I tense. A shock of pain ricochets through my limbs.

  “Bella?”

  My mouth hurts to move. “Luke?” I choke back the tears. “I—I can’t see. That karate-chopping nerd must’ve hit my optical nerves and—”

  He flips on the light and rushes to me.

  “It’s a miracle!” I reach for him. “I can see!”

  Luke digs into his pocket and calls 9-1-1.

  “Why are there two of you? Aw, you’re both so cute.” I close my eyes again. My head is so fuzzy.

  His hands roam over me as he talks.

  “Ow . . . Ow . . . Ow . . .”

  He snaps his phone shut. “We have to get you to the hospital.”

  Grabbing a Kleenex from the desk, he presses it to my bleeding forehead.

  “Story of my life.” I clutch his lapel. “Luke, is it too late? How long have I been in here?”

  “You’ve been out of my sight for fifteen minutes.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t let me out of your sight anymore.”

  “I don’t intend to.” He frowns at my wounded face.

  Some of the fog dissipates. “Newt—he’s going to hurt Felicity. I don’t know what his plans are, but they involve explosives. We have to get everyone out of the tent.”

  “They were winding down the music to announce the prom king and queen when I left.”

  “Where’s Lindy?”

  “Budge has her.”

  I go limp with relief. “We have to go. The police might not get here in time.”

  Luke scoops me up slowly, as if he’s afraid I’
ll break.

  I bite my lip on a yell as I’m lifted into his arms. “When this is over I’m going to have a glass of punch. And a bottle of Tylenol.”

  His blue eyes sweep over me and rest on my face. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” He runs his hand across my battered cheek, then stalks out the door. Every step down awakens a new ache.

  “Wait,” I say when we reach the bottom. “I can walk.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Tempting, but yes. Clutching my side, I follow him through the living room and into the empty kitchen. Everyone is outside for the big announcement.

  Luke pushes through the crowd in the tent and clears a path. I struggle a few steps behind, as my woozy head jerks from one side to the other looking for Newt. The king and queen candidates form a line at the front of the tent.

  The deejay stands on a small stage and pulls a piece of paper from his jacket. “And now, juniors and seniors of Truman High, your prom king is Jackson Feldman . . .”

  “We have to get Felicity off the stage!” I yell.

  Luke nods and keeps moving toward the front.

  “And no prom would be complete without a queen!” the deejay says. “The Tiger prom queen is . . .”

  A fake electronic drumroll rattles the tent. The noise escalates as everyone starts to clap.

  The deejay holds up the crown. “Felicity Weeks!”

  “Bella!” I stop as Lindy grabs my sleeve. “What’s going on?”

  “We have to get Felicity out of here. Newt’s going to hurt her. We need to evacuate the whole place.”

  Lindy stares toward the stage. “That’s not the crown I bought.”

  The prom king lifts a giant, sparkling tiara over Felicity’s head. She sheds big dramatic tears. Sister, spend an hour in my shoes, and you’ll have something to cry about.

  I catch sight of Luke’s back. He’s headed toward the stage. “Lindy, get out of here. Now.”

  Pushing past the pain, I rush up the steps to the contestants. Luke stands on the other end of the platform.

  I grab the deejay’s mic. “We need everyone to clear the tent. Leave immediately!”

  Nobody moves. Idiots!