An Ideal Boyfriend

by Mette Ivie Harrison

  “Used?” I said. What was he talking about? Was it too much to ask that he try to speak English to me?

  “I was afraid that the people who already have all the luck would have suppressed the information. Or made sure that only the lucky had access to it, which is exactly the opposite of what I wanted.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little paranoid?” I said, still with no idea really what he was rambling on about.

  “Trudy, you’ve been here long enough to see the truth,” said Art. “Luck is who they are. Our whole world is based on maintaining the status quo for luck. Even if the administrators don’t have a lot of it, do you think they’re going to help fund something that might take away their purpose in the world? Think about how things would change if luck was available to anyone who wanted it? Think about all the families who wouldn’t be important anymore. Powerful families.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sounds like a new conspiracy theory, Art. Have fun with it.” I tried to go, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back, nearly bumping his nose into mine. Luckily, I didn’t think anyone had seen it.

  “Listen, Trudy. That’s all I ask. Just listen for a few more minutes, and then you can walk away from me. All right?”

  “Fine. I’ll listen,” I said, and crossed my arms several feet away from him.

  “OK, so my starting hypothesis was that luck is a genetic mutation that has advantages and therefore is growing since, say, four or five hundred years ago, when the first demonstrated cases of luck were proven.”

  “There were witches before that,” I pointed out. Most scientists thought that witches were the first people who had luck, and they explained what they could do by saying it was “magic.”

  “Right, but witches might have been more than lucky. They might have also had secret knowledge or a sense of theatrics. But when the first genuine luck searches happened under King George I, when he gathered lucky people to his court to improve his political power both at home and abroad, I think we have the first real records of luck.”

  “OK, though there might have been charlatans there.” This was stuff I had learned more or less from my history of luck class last year. Everyone took the European version their freshman year, but I hadn’t had the broader version junior year that included Asia and Africa and the Middle East.

  “What are charlatans if they aren’t lucky people who get away with telling lies? At least until their luck runs out,” said Art.

  The final bell rang and I could see a couple out of the corner of my eye edging close to the alcove. Apparently, they had been hoping to make out here if they could, but they could just find someplace else to stay while they skipped class.

  I stared at them until they gave up and moved along.

  “The point is that King George didn’t make just records of those who came to his court. He sent out people to search for luck everywhere, in England, Scotland, and Ireland. They went to the tiniest villages. It was like a luck census. And the people he sent out had the ability to make judgments about luck. They scored everyone they met on a scale from 1 to 100.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said. I’d heard about the luck circles in the court of King George I. Who hadn’t? But I hadn’t heard that he had sent out people to score everyone in the whole country.

  “The records have been obscured. On purpose, I think. I had to actually go to England to find them.”

  “That’s what you were doing over the summer?” I asked. He had disappeared for a month or so and it had been a bit of a relief for me, but Rob had missed him.

  “Yeah, and it took some luck to get into the right archives. They aren’t open to everyone. But when I saw them, I realized I could compare the statistics from that study with the current statistics today.”

  “They probably weren’t as accurate back then,” I pointed out.

  Art let out a breath. “Haven’t you seen the results on the luck studies? Most people these days can guess someone’s luck test score within ten points. It’s just part of our gut instincts.”

  “Oh.” I suppose he was right about that. “So what does all this mean?” I knew that Art would enjoy telling me.

  “It means that there are twice as many people of moderate luck per thousand and five times as many people of extreme luck in our century, compared to King George’s time,” said Art.

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “I’m not the first person to start to wonder if luck is increasing, but I found the proof for it, and that’s when I started to look at other research on specific ways to increase or decrease luck.”

  “I thought that was all debunked, shown to be fake science,” I said.

  “That’s what they want us to believe. But mixed in with the stupid stuff there have been some interesting experiments done. I looked into them and started trying to duplicate the ones that looked the most promising. I started experimenting on rats and I found that an electric shock actually seems to bestow luck, if you count having more rat girlfriends as proof of luck.”

  I blushed, thinking about rat girlfriends.

  “It makes sense that we have more luck these days than we used to, with all of the exposure to electricity that we have now. Before, it would only be by chance that you’d be in contact with a lightning storm. I have a theory that astrology has something to do with electricity and being born under a certain sign. But I won’t bore you with that right now.”

  Uh, thanks. “So you’ve figured out how to give rats more luck? What about taking it away?” I was having trouble following his intuitive leaps, but I thought I understood enough to ask this as the next logical step.

  “Well, that’s trickier. What takes luck away is—” he lowered his voice to a whisper and looked around to make sure no one had come near us. In a couple of minutes, Principal Archibald was going to start patrolling the halls to send kids to class now that the bell had rung. But we had a little time.

  “It’s bacteria of a certain strain which I’ve identified uniquely. And the problem is that I think a drug company could make a lot of money off of this.”

  “How?” I asked. “I can see the shock therapy for more luck, but who would want less?” If I couldn’t give my luck to my parents, how would having less help any of us?

  “You might be surprised,” said Art. “It could be used as a weapon, for one thing. Corporate espionage gone wild. Or anyone who wanted to get revenge.”

  I stared at him. I didn’t know what to say. I was afraid he was right.

  “Countries could use it, too. If the United States was able to keep it a secret, they could send missiles full of luckless bacteria to other countries. Germ warfare on a new scale. Any country that had this information could take over the world within a few weeks. Do you see how important this is now, Trudy? I have information that would make people want to kill me, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “Have you been experimenting on yourself?” I asked Art, looking at him more closely. He seemed different somehow, and not in a good way. He was even weirder than normal, and more paranoid—which was kind of scary. Plus he looked paler and skinnier than I remembered him. How long had it been since I saw him at school? A week? I didn’t usually keep track of Art.

  “There wasn’t anyone else to experiment on,” said Art. “The rats ran away after the first charge of good luck. And besides, I felt kind of sorry for them.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, remembering my conversation with Mabel and Arlee. “Does this have anything to do with the Excel Pharmaceutical prize for the science fair this year?”

  Art twitched. “It might.” He looked around and whispered, “Trudy, I’m really worried Excel might have an idea of what I’m doing here and are trying to get someone to inform on me, give them results they could use to market worldwide.”

  This seemed super paranoid. On the other hand, it was an awfully big prize. “Maybe you should just turn in your results as a project of your own. You could earn the prize and then let the consequ
ences be someone else’s concern,” I said. Although now that I thought about it, I didn’t like the idea of Laura Chevely’s family having something like this under their control. Talk about the power of destruction.

  “I don’t trust them,” said Art. “I don’t trust anyone, Trudy. Not even myself. I’m only talking to you because you have so much luck I figured you’d eventually hit on some good advice.”

  What a vote of confidence. No wonder Art was always losing girlfriends. “Look, Art, I have to get to English now. I’ll think about what I can do to help and get back to you, all right?” I really had no idea how to help him with something this big.

  Luckily, Mr. Firth had been late, too, so I hadn’t missed the pop quiz. Also luckily, he only asked questions on the first half of the book, Jane Eyre, and I had read that part. From what I heard other people talking about, the ending was kind of a downer. Talk about bad luck. Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester had it in droves.

  Chapter 4: Rob

  Monday morning, I ended up watching Laura Chevely break up with her latest boyfriend, James Phipps in the middle of the main hall of the school. I knew James and I’d been tempted when Laura started dating him to warn him to stay away. But it seemed so hypocritical of me, after I dated her for so long.

  Besides, James was a football star, the debate team captain, and probably spit out more luck after he brushed his teeth than I had ever tasted in my life. What did he need advice from me for?

  In the last two weeks, I’d seen Laura in action now and again—not that I was looking for it. But she made sure the whole school saw it.

  She’d started with James’s younger sister, a freshman who was awkward and naïve. Jenna Phipps had always been cute, but once Laura took her shopping and helped her with makeup, she was stunning. The long legs that had seemed a little like a giraffe’s had become more gazelle-like, and Laura had arranged for her to get in with a modeling agency that Laura had connections with. After that, Jenna had followed Laura around like a long-lost twin.

  If I’d said anything bad about Laura, I was sure it would sound like sour grapes. And all right, maybe there was a part of me that was afraid of Laura. I didn’t want her to turn her attentions to revenge on me. After all, I’d gotten off pretty easy with her.

  When I told her that I didn’t think things were working out between us, I remember her staring at me and saying, “You mean you’ve fallen in love with that new-luck girl?” She didn’t say Trudy’s name.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said, dry-mouthed.

  “You always were a bad liar,” said Laura. We were at her dorm room, which was technically supposed to be against the rules, but Laura never followed them and no one bothered her about it.

  “It’s not about anyone else. It’s about you and me. We don’t work together. I’ve been pretending for a long time because I like you so much. And I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” I said.

  “Oh, so it was all a favor to me?” said Laura.

  “Uh—I don’t mean it like that.”

  “No? You’re not saying you want to break up because it would be unfair to me? Because you want me to go on and find the right person and have a happy life?” said Laura.

  “But I do want that,” I said. “I wish the best for you.”

  Laura put a finger to my chest. “You don’t say that to me. You don’t condescend. I don’t need your good wishes to have the life I want. And I don’t know why I’ve spent so long with you, Rob Chiltern. You aren’t worth it.”

  I didn’t argue with her. I knew I wasn’t. But even if I were, I wouldn’t have argued with Laura in that mood before. She’d never turned the icy hot stare on me, but I’d seen her use it on other people.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m sure you are. But not as sorry as you’re going to be, once you spend a little more time with this trumped up, new luck slut.”

  “Trudy isn’t—” I said, then closed my mouth. I’d said her name, and I’d given everything away.

  Laura’s eyes narrowed.

  “Please,” I said. “She hasn’t done anything to you.” I wanted to protect Trudy. If Laura wanted to hurt someone, I figured it should be me.

  “No, she hasn’t. But I think I will be patient this time. Oh, yes. I have bigger plans in store for you two. Don’t think I’m letting you off easily. I don’t forget pain, Rob, or who caused it. And I never, ever, forgive.” She walked off, leaving me trembling.

  But it had been a year since then and she’d left me and Trudy mostly alone. The list of boyfriends she’d been through since was so long it would have made Santa Claus’s elves get carpal tunnel syndrome keeping up with them. And when she broke up with them, it was always public, like it was with James Phipps.

  This morning, she’d put up a big sign on his locker that read, “It’s over, Loser.” There were lights on it and a siren, too. It was annoying and you’d think the school administration would have a fit about it, but they never had before and she’d done worse.

  James got to his locker just before class and saw the sign. His face looked like he had been run over by a semi-truck. He was utterly confused. “I thought—” he kept muttering to himself. “She said.”

  I tried to tell him that he’d be fine, that he’d get over her. He’d see how lucky he was to get rid of her.

  But then Laura showed up herself, I guess so she could enjoy the reaction.

  “Laura, please. Give me a second chance. I’ll do anything,” said James, down on his knees in front of her.

  I thought about the way Laura had kissed him on the football field at half-time. She’d made sure his sister got on the cheerleading squad first, and then had coordinated the kiss so that it was part of the half-time routine. The whole school had cheered.

  Then she’d brought him lunch every day in the cafeteria, wearing a different costume. The belly dancing one had been particularly riveting. And feeding him with her hands, using her stomach as a plate.

  “You just weren’t good enough for me,” she told James. “You didn’t give back enough. I felt like I was the one always doing more and more for you.”

  James had tried to do things for her, like having the whole football team do a dance on the field to spell out the letters of her name at their last game on Friday night. Laura had acted like she thought it was the most amazing gesture she’d ever seen. She’d cried and then kissed James again. But people who knew Laura had to have been worried. People who weren’t James and his sister, caught in Laura’s spell.

  “But I love you,” said James.

  “I don’t think you love anyone but yourself,” said Laura. “And that will always be the reason that people leave you.”

  Then Jenna walked by and saw the poster and her brother. “What—?” she began.

  “Look at those shoulders poking out of that shirt,” said Laura. “Like a scarecrow. And what size is that bra we bought you? Double A? I was trying to help you, but I can see now it was hopeless.”

  “But you said I was the next big thing. You said everyone would want to look like me,” said Jenna.

  “I was trying to be nice,” said Laura. “But no one should have to try that hard for anything.” She walked off, and left Jenna and James broken.

  Was it my fault that Laura had gotten so bad? If I’d stayed with her, maybe she wouldn’t be doing things like this to hurt other people. Or maybe she’d been doing it even then and I’d ignored it because I thought it was funny and didn’t really matter.

  Trudy had changed me so that I couldn’t think about what I’d done with Laura without feeling a little queasy inside. Maybe that had been the only way I could feel good about myself when I had no luck, pushing other people beneath me. But what was Laura’s excuse?

  I walked up to James. “Look, she’s not worth it,” I said softly. “Really, ask other people. She does this. Don’t make yourself crazy.”

  That was part of what Laura did so well. She made people believe it was their fau
lt, not hers. And that took a lot longer to get over.

  “Don’t you talk about her like that,” said James. His hands were in fists and he looked like he was getting ready to hit me.

  I backed off, my hands up. “Fine, whatever. She’s wonderful. Suit yourself.” I’d gotten off easy with her and just thinking about that made me nervous.

  But I also had Trudy in my life, and as soon as I saw her later that morning, I felt like the sun had started to shine and the whole world was a better place. That’s just the way Trudy is, and it’s not just because she has luck.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I said to her.

  “Am I?” said Trudy.

  “You always are,” I said, putting my hands on her shoulders to pull her close.

  “You mean because I have luck?” she asked.

  “Huh? I didn’t say anything about luck.”

  She pulled away from me. “But if I lost all my luck, do you think I would be ugly?” she asked.

  “What? No!” I said, and then wondered what I was supposed to say here. What was going on? It was like I’d missed the first half of this conversation.

  “Don’t you wonder sometimes about how much of our lives have to do with how much luck we have. If I lost all my luck, and I couldn’t go to St. James to school anymore, would you miss me?” asked Trudy.

  “Um, you can’t lose luck like that, Trudy. You’re born with it.” Or you’re not born with it, as the case may be.

  “Would you drop out of school and come to school where I was?” asked Trudy. “Or would we never see each other again? Would we ever find happiness if we didn’t have luck? Some people without luck fall in love, but how long does it last? Do they just pretend they’re happy without luck or are they really?”

  “Trudy, it doesn’t matter because it’s not going to happen to you,” I said. Maybe this was about her parents?

  “Would you give up your luck to be with me?” said Trudy, looking deep into my eyes for an answer.

  I felt as if I was going to choke on my heart, which had risen out of my chest and was now lodged firmly in my larynx. “I’d do anything for you, Trudy,” I said. “You know that, don’t you?” It was the best I could do, standing here in the middle of the hall during school.