Life in the Lucky Zone (The Zone #2)

by Patricia B Tighe

  “Have you been smoking something?” Claire asked.

  Rose laughed.

  “No, listen,” I said, “think about it. We started dating last April. In May I got those two acting awards and I got a B in that stupid PE class I’d been failing because I never showed up. In June my dad was appointed to the golf club’s board of directors—”

  “What has that got to do with Adam?” Claire asked.

  “—and he’s never been happier, which makes life at home easier for me.” I stuck out my tongue at her. “In July—”

  “You got caught sneaking out of the house to go meet Adam and were grounded so you weren’t able to come with me on the cruise,” Rose said, with a How ya gonna top that? look.

  I smiled. “Which turned out to be good luck for you, because without me you were forced to meet new people, including Sam.”

  “Ha,” Rose said. “Still don’t see how being grounded was good luck.”

  “My parents were so busy that after four days they let me off the hook, and I got to see Adam, which I wouldn’t have if I’d gone on that trip with you.”

  “What has this got to do with anything?” Claire asked, frowning at one of her LEGO figures who’d lost an arm.

  “Think of all the bad stuff that’s happened since Adam dumped me.”

  Rose moved a strand of her dark blond hair behind her ear. “Isn’t bad stuff after a breakup pretty much normal? I don’t think it has anything to do with luck. It’s because you’re trying to deal with everything while you’re still hurt.”

  Apparently Mrs. Mac thought the same thing. I squashed the frustration that welled up with that thought. “Well, I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided I need a new lucky boy.”

  Both of them turned to me wearing frowns.

  “Someone to date, you mean?” Rose asked.

  I pushed away a feeling of defensiveness. “Well yeah,” I said. “Or just to hang out with.”

  “It’s too soon to date again,” Claire said, sliding a little yellow arm onto the LEGO guy.

  “It’s been three weeks!” And it felt like three months.

  Claire looked up. “We’ve been over this already. You and Adam were serious. You need more time.”

  I waved a hand. “Okay, forget the dating part. I need a boy to hang out with who’ll change my luck.”

  “What about Berger?” Rose asked.

  Claire and I both laughed. Trey Berger was not the first guy that came to mind when I thought about lucky boys.

  “What?” Rose asked. “I don’t see anything funny about it. You’re already hanging out with him.”

  “That’s true,” I said. “But no good luck so far. In fact, my bad luck has probably rubbed off on him, since we’re both alternates for the play now.”

  “You know,” Claire said, “none of those good things you mentioned needed luck for them to happen. They were either the result of hard work or stupidity.”

  I laughed. “Say what you really mean, Claire.”

  “I’m serious. You don’t need luck, Linds. You just need to feel okay again.”

  “Well, I can’t make myself do that.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not saying you should. You need to let yourself feel like crap for a while.”

  “How the heck is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “I don’t know,” Claire said. “But my dad is always harping on about owning your feelings and junk like that. Like it’s necessary when you’re going through stuff.”

  Sometimes I wished I could punch Claire’s therapist dad in the mouth. Too much advice filtered down through Claire. I ran the horseshoe charm on my necklace against my lower lip. “I like the lucky boy idea better,” I mumbled.

  Rose laughed. “Who wouldn’t? But let’s say, for argument’s sake, that a lucky boy would help. How can you tell if a guy is good luck or not?”

  I grinned. “So, I have this little test.”

  “Yeah?” Rose asked with a smile.

  I sat up and crossed my legs in front of me. “Adam used to always sit in the same seat in the auditorium. So my plan is to invite a guy to meet me there, and if he sits in or near Adam’s seat, then he has to be lucky.”

  Claire frowned. “You’ve already done this, haven’t you?”

  “Is that what happened to Jeremy Farina?” Rose asked.

  “Yup,” I said. “He didn’t sit anywhere close to the seat.”

  Claire nodded super slowly. “I think I like this plan. Odds are no guy will ever pick the right seat and you’ll have plenty of time to get over Adam before starting up with someone new.”

  “What?” I threw Claire’s stuffed pig at her.

  She caught it. “Don’t hurt Henrietta!”

  “Well, that was a mean thing to say.”

  She pursed her lips. “But true.”

  “Ha,” I said. “You just wait. It’s gonna work.”

  “Who are you gonna invite next?” Rose asked, wiggling her eyebrows up and down.

  Should I tell them? Would that cause bad luck? Ruin the experiment? I fiddled with the beads on my lucky bracelets. “Maybe I shouldn’t say.”

  “No way,” Claire said. “You have to tell us.”

  I laughed. Oh, what the heck. I wanted to anyway. “Nick Somerset.”

  Rose’s mouth fell open. “But he’s so, so … ”

  “The word you’re looking for is ‘plaid,’” Claire said. “He’s Mr. Plaid Pants.”

  “Boring,” Rose said.

  “Maybe,” I said, “but can either of you truly say you know him? We’ve never really given him a chance because he’s so into golf. Getting to know him is my first step. Besides, he wins at golf, so he must have some good luck.”

  “Or skill,” Claire said.

  “And he is hot,” I said. “Don’t forget that.”

  “Right,” Rose said and laughed, “because hot guys have all the luck.”

  I pointed at her. “Exactly!”

  Claire laughed. “You’ve lost it.”

  I smiled. “Maybe so, but sometime next week, Nick will be invited.”

  Twenty

  Berger

  On Monday, Lindsey and I ran lines for about fifteen minutes backstage, but I could tell she wasn’t into it. She kept angling her head toward the front as if she could actually hear the others doing their read-through on stage. After the third time saying a line and having her stare at me blankly, I suggested we take a break.

  She blew out a loud breath. “Good idea. I need to use the restroom.” She headed off in the direction of the stage—not the bathroom.

  Whatevs. I got up and stretched. I might as well go listen to the read-through, too. I headed for the wings, but surprisingly, Lindsey wasn’t there. Maybe she took a different route to the bathroom. I stepped quietly on stage so I wouldn’t interrupt the people reading and looked out across the darkened auditorium. Not there either. Huh.

  Marta read a line as Ma Kirby, and a couple of people sitting in the circle of chairs laughed. Why in the heck would Lindsey want to hear this? It was actually hard listening to people read lines you thought would be yours. They were kind of fun to watch, though. Mike, in his usual manic way, squatted on a chair, his head of curly hair bent over his script. Next to him, Parker chewed on the inside of his cheek while he listened.

  I either made a noise or Parker sensed me there, because he looked up and then tilted his head sharply to the left. Toward the rows of seats. I looked again. And there was Lindsey, sitting just right of center, six rows up. I had no idea why she was there, but we probably weren’t running any more lines today.

  Mrs. Mac let out a cackle that made me jump. “Okay, everyone. Let’s take a five-minute break.”

  Chairs squeaked across the boards as people got up. Parker and Mike headed right for me. Oh, yay. The Tool Twins. What now?

  They stopped in front of me. “I thought y’all were rehearsing,” Parker said with a frown.

  “Taking a break. Just like you
.” I looked out over the seats. Lindsey was gone.

  “You need to keep her busy,” Parker said.

  “Hey, I tried, okay? She was a little distracted.”

  Mike looked around. “Lindsey was out here?”

  “Quiet,” Parker said to him. “Yeah, she was sitting in his spot.”

  Mike swore under his breath. “Seriously? I hate that guy.”

  Geez, maybe I could slap both of these two with one swing. I lifted my hands. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Parker gestured toward the auditorium. “Adam Castro’s seat. Where she was sitting. Don’t you remember him being there all last semester, every frickin’ day?”

  Of course I didn’t. Why would I? I’d been ignoring anything and everything that had to do with Lindsey. “Um, nope.”

  “Well, pay more attention,” Parker said.

  Okay, maybe only Parker needed a pop in the mouth.

  “Haven’t you ever seen her staring in that direction?” Mike asked.

  Actually, yeah. “Guess so.”

  Parker leaned his tall body closer. “Then maybe you should help her out once in a while.”

  I scratched the side of my mouth to hide my smile. He didn’t know squat about whether I’d been helping Lindsey or not. “I’ll get right on that.”

  “Berger?” Lindsey called from behind me.

  I turned. She was walking toward us, her jacket already on.

  Parker made a quiet scoffing noise. “She calls you by your last name?”

  I smiled. Obnoxiously. “Yeah. Jealous?”

  Parker’s face practically turned purple. Good grief, he really was jealous. He’d always seemed like a nice enough guy for an idiot. But it looked like his thing for Lindsey was making him nuts. I tensed. The tightness of his face told me I was about to get punched.

  “Hey, guys,” Lindsey said, then gazed up at me. “Ready to go?”

  We’d made no plans to go anywhere. She must have sensed something weird was going on. “Sure,” I said, stepping back a foot. I really had no need to get into it with Parker.

  Mike smiled and grabbed Parker’s elbow. “Hey, Linds. How’s it going?”

  “Good,” she said, looking perfectly calm. “But we need to go. I have to run an errand for my mom.”

  “All right, everyone,” Mrs. Mac said, clapping from center stage. “Let’s get started again.”

  “Come on, man,” Mike said to Parker. “We need to go too.”

  Parker let out a long breath. “Right. See you later, Lindsey.”

  “Yup,” she said.

  We headed for the back where I’d left my stuff.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “Looks like Parker is jealous of us spending time together.”

  “You and me?” When I nodded, she laughed and shook her head. “I wish he’d get over that stupid crush. It’s been two years now.”

  I put on my hoodie, then grabbed my backpack, and stuffed my script into it. “You don’t have to take me home or anything. Gray and Claire are supposed to be waiting.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  We headed out of the theater building, stopping when we reached the parking lot. “Listen,” she said, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about, you know, being so out of it today.”

  “No problem. You think Mrs. Mac would care if we rehearse someplace else tomorrow?” Somewhere you might be able to focus?

  “Probably not. Let’s plan on it. My house?”

  Her face said it was no big deal, but I was guessing she’d rather rehearse on stage during the read-through than come over to my house and brave Nana’s presence. Sometimes I felt the same way. I started to tease her about it, but her gaze had gone distant again. Probably not the best time. “Sounds good.”

  Twenty-One

  Lindsey

  Berger shoveled a handful of popcorn into his mouth. I held in a sigh. At least he chewed with his mouth closed.

  I set a can of soda in front of him on the coffee table. “Are you saving any of that for me?”

  His hand froze mid-grab, his gaze darting from me to the quickly dwindling popcorn bowl. “Did you want any?”

  “Of course I want some. Sheesh! What kind of person do you think I am?” I knelt on the carpet on the other side of the coffee table.

  “The generous kind who allows her company to eat all the food?”

  I squinted at him. “Not even close.”

  “The stingy kind who would rather her guest go hungry than share with him?”

  “Bingo.” I tossed a couple of pieces of salty popcorn into my mouth.

  He sat back and crossed his arms. “Probably for the best. Y’all are gonna make me fat.”

  I eyed his lean body. “Not likely.”

  Was that a blush running up his neck? How funny. Well, I wouldn’t tease him about it. He’d been so nice the past couple of days when the thought of entering the theater building made me feel like a vampire walking around with a stake through the heart.

  But I did have a question. “So, don’t take this the wrong way, but why is your hair always so messy?”

  He frowned. “How could I not take that the wrong way?”

  “I mean, seriously. You’ve got such nice, thick hair. You want me to style it for you sometime? The girls would be falling at your feet.”

  He laughed. “As nice as that sounds, I’d probably just trip on them, so … ”

  I made a face. “So, no?”

  “No. And to answer your original question, I never think about my hair.”

  “Huh.” Who never thought about their hair?

  The sound of footsteps going up the stairs echoed through the front hall. Mom must’ve been carrying her clean laundry to her room.

  Berger flipped through the script. “So where were we?”

  “Right after they’re talking about spaghetti.”

  “Okay. I wish I didn’t have to say ‘Ma’ all the time. Makes it sound like I’m trying to remind myself who I’m talking to.”

  “I know. This play is super old. I think Mrs. Mac chose something she’s directed lots of times because of her family problems back in December. She didn’t have time to prepare for something new.”

  “Oh, well. Here goes.” He cleared his throat. “‘Aw, Ma, you went out to eat once in a while.’”

  “‘Yes. That made—’”

  “Lindsey Marie!” my mother’s voice rang out shrilly. “Come here at once!”

  Oh, what now? “Sorry,” I said to Berger. “Coming!” I yelled.

  Berger made scared eyes at me. “Sounds like you’re in trouble.”

  I stood up. “I can’t be. I haven’t done anything or gone anywhere in forever.”

  “You sure? She sounds really mad.”

  “I don’t—” And then it hit me. She must have found out about all the charms I’d ordered. “Oh, no.”

  He leaned forward. “What?”

  “The stuff I bought online.”

  “Was there more than just that one package?”

  “Lindsey!” Mom sounded closer, as if she’d moved to the top of the stairs.

  I filled my cheeks with air, then let it out. “Yup. Lots more.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  This was going to be really bad. But Mom liked Berger. Maybe she wouldn’t blow up at me if he was in the room. “Could you come with me?” I asked. “Just to see if it’s something else?”

  This time his mouth went round just like his eyes. “That sounds like a bad idea.”

  “If I leave you alone, I’m afraid you’ll eat all the popcorn.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He didn’t buy it. Okay, how about this: “Please, she really likes you. I know this is a huge thing to ask, but she won’t flip out as badly if you’re with me.”

  Still leaning forward, he rested his hands on his thighs like he was deciding if he was getting up or not.

  “Please.” I said it simply, not whining or flirting or cajoling the way I usually did
with guys. Berger deserved being straightforward.

  He sighed and stood. “Okay. But she might not let me come over anymore.”

  We headed up the stairs, my heart going double time. “I doubt that.”

  In my room, my mom stood in front of my open closet door—where I had left all the empty mailers and boxes from the stuff I’d ordered. When she saw Berger, she raised an eyebrow at me. “Can you explain this?” She pointed inside the closet.

  “I ordered some jewelry online,” I said. “But I completely stayed within my budget, Mom.” I lifted my arm to show her my beaded bracelets. “See?”

  “Jewelry,” she said, then settled her lips back into a thin line.

  Berger, hands tucked into his jeans pockets, peeked into the closet. “Wow,” he whispered.

  “Exactly,” Mom said, but her face relaxed. Now she had an ally. Not what I’d planned when I asked him to come with me, but it seemed to help. She pulled something out of her pocket and dangled it in front of us. A bright, royal blue rabbit’s-foot key chain.

  Not good. So not good.

  “This doesn’t look like jewelry to me,” she said.

  “It’s not. I thought it was cute, so I bought it.”

  She stepped into the closet, grabbed something, and backed out. A plastic baggie holding four more rabbits’ feet. “So, you were so overwhelmed by the cuteness that you bought a whole bag of them?”

  Right. Now I remembered where I got my sarcasm. I didn’t bother to mention that I had another bag in my purse. I almost said I’d bought them to give as gifts, but the deeper the lie went, the worse it would be. So I just said, “Yep.”

  “Those are for luck,” Berger said.

  “Yes,” my mom said, “and so are those charms on that necklace you’re wearing.”

  My hand automatically went to my chest, where the necklace hung down past my scarf. Dang it. I thought it was inside my shirt. And it had probably been a bad idea to bring Berger up here with me after all. His presence had calmed my mom, but now they were both staring at me with something like pity in their eyes. I walked over to the window and stared down at the side of our yard, the grass a crisp, wintery yellow. Exactly how I felt inside. “So?”