Confidentially Yours #5

by Jo Whittemore

  “I think you’re both being silly,” Vanessa said. “There are no get-rich-quick schemes and no such thing as luck.”

  I tucked Abel’s note back in my pocket. “Suit yourself. But just think how much good luck could help KV Fashions.”

  “I don’t want to do well because I’m lucky,” she said. “I want to do well because I deserve it.”

  “Even if it takes you fifty years?” I asked.

  “Even then,” said V with a solid nod.

  Heather cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t have fifty years before my date with Emmett, so . . . Brooke, could you please make me a good-luck charm?”

  “Really?” I sat a little straighter in my chair. “Sure!”

  “Me too,” said Tim.

  “Oh for crying out loud,” said Vanessa, leaning back and gazing at the ceiling. “Brooke, don’t pull them into your delusion.”

  “It’s not a delusion, and I’ll prove it,” I said. “Something good will happen to me by the end of lunch.” I pointed to my watch. “If I’m wrong, we’ll all stop being ‘silly,’ as you call it.”

  “Good!” said V, crossing her arms. “You’ve got five minutes.” She stared at the clock. So did the rest of us.

  One minute and ten seconds later Katie walked over.

  “If it isn’t the best of the Midwest!” she called. “What’s going on, guys?” She saw us all watching the clock and did the same. “Are we trying to turn back time with our minds?”

  “Vanessa and I have a bet going,” I said.

  “Ooh! What kind of bet?” Katie asked.

  “Brooke thinks she has magic powers,” said Vanessa.

  “I don’t think that!” I smacked her arm. “You make me sound crazy.” I looked up at Katie. “My good-luck charm has the magic powers.”

  Katie’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “No!” said Vanessa. “That’s the bet.”

  “Too bad. If you had magic powers, I was going to ask you to turn these chocolate chip cookies into carrots,” she said, holding up a foil package. “You want ’em?”

  “Yes,” I said with a smug glance at Vanessa. “Yes, I do.”

  Katie put the cookies on the table, and I held my watch in front of V’s face. “Two minutes.”

  “Ooh!” said Heather. Then she grabbed a cookie.

  “Owned!” said Tim.

  Vanessa scoffed. “Whatever. Brooke just got—”

  “Lucky?” I finished for her, and smiled.

  I was going to have fun with this.

  CHAPTER 7

  7

  Happy-Go-Lucky

  My good luck felt almost like a superpower. Instead of being worried about what might happen next, I was excited. Whatever was coming was guaranteed to be something awesome. And on top of that, I knew that everything would go my way, so I could ask for whatever I wanted.

  That’s why I strode with confidence into the newsroom and tapped Mary Patrick on the back.

  “Uh-oh,” said Heather, who had followed me in.

  Mary Patrick whipped around and raised an eyebrow. “This better be important. I was in the middle of gently critiquing someone.” Behind her I could see a girl sobbing into a tissue.

  “Oh, it is!” I assured her with a confident smile. “I’ve got some great ideas to help us win the contest. For example, why not make our entry a double issue so we can pack in more content?”

  “Because the guidelines restrict us to a standard issue,” said Mary Patrick.

  “Ah,” I said with a nod. “Then how about an issue that also comes with braille dots? So our paper is more accessible.”

  “Too expensive to print,” said Mary Patrick. She gave me a shrewd gaze. “But I like the way you’re thinking, Jacobs. Keep up the good work!”

  Praise from Mary Patrick. Almost as rare as a unicorn.

  I strutted to my desk, beaming at my friends while they gawked at me. Heather had her hand inside a bag of Reese’s peanut butter cups, Mary Patrick’s favorite.

  “I didn’t have to throw a single one,” she whispered.

  “Nah, Mary Patrick’s a cinch to deal with.” I sat in my chair and leaned back, stretching my left arm luxuriously.

  “The other day you said talking to Mary Patrick was like listening to a blender full of rocks,” Tim told me.

  “That was before I got my good-luck charm.” I winked at him. “Speaking of which, don’t forget to give me whatever you want to use for yours.”

  Tim reached into his backpack and pulled out a quarter. “Here you go.”

  “A coin that’s been touched by a thousand people.” I wrinkled my nose. “How special.”

  He shrugged. “If I make a piece of money my good-luck charm, maybe I’ll have more good luck with it.”

  “But what if you accidentally spend the quarter?” asked V.

  Tim thought for a moment and took a black marker out of his bag. He drew a T on the tails side. “There.”

  I pocketed the coin and nudged Heather. “What about you? What’s your good-luck charm going to be?”

  She grinned sheepishly and put a tube of lipstick on the table. Vanessa gasped and snatched it up.

  “Is this lipstick instead of lip gloss?” cried V. She hugged Heather tight. “I’ve never been prouder!”

  Heather giggled. “It’s what I’m wearing on my date with Emmett. You know, since I promised myself I was going to try new things. I want to be bold and stand out.”

  “Be bold and stand out,” I repeated with a smile. “I like that. And I’ll take that.” I grabbed the lipstick from V. “Heather, you’ll have your good-luck charm tomorrow morning. For now, let’s get down to business.”

  We dove into the latest advice requests.

  “I’ve got a good feeling about today,” I said. “There’s a contest-worthy question right . . . here.” I plucked one out of the pile. “‘Dear Lincoln’s Letters, I want to try out for the swim team this year, and I’m a really good swimmer, but I don’t take tests very well, especially when people are watching. I’m afraid I’ll fail. Any advice? Sincerely, Swimfan.’”

  “That might actually make a pretty good entry,” said Heather.

  “Sounds like whoever it is could use a good-luck charm,” I mused.

  “Don’t you dare,” said V. “Tim, put a new rule in the book. We don’t offer magical solutions, only real ones.”

  “I think that’s the strangest rule we’ve ever had,” he said, reaching into his book bag.

  In order to be the best advice columnists we can, my friends and I have compiled a list of things to do and not do for a successful column.

  “Give me a little credit!” I said as Tim scrawled the new rule in our book. “I was totally going to throw in some solid advice too.”

  In fact, I was already crafting the response in my head. The good-luck charm would make Swimfan feel confident and fearless.

  “What do you think of this for mine, instead of the one about dating a smart chick?” asked Tim. “It’s from a guy who wants to date a girl, but her family is rich and his lives in a tiny shack.”

  “Tim!” Heather gave him a horrified look.

  He raised his arms defensively. “His words, not mine!”

  “I think it could be a good piece,” I said. “Not just for people whose parents make different money, but for different religions or races too. And you could even mention dating smart girls.” I pounded a fist on the desk. “This is good! All we need now is a piece for Heather. And remember, we’re not looking for the typical ‘My boyfriend and I are fighting.’ We want substance!”

  “Yes, Mary Patrick, Junior!” Tim saluted me.

  My friends and I sifted through the papers and emails for a few minutes before Vanessa picked one out of the pile.

  “‘Dear Lincoln’s Letters,’” she read, “‘I know my best friend is wrong about something, but she won’t listen. I’m afraid it’ll only hurt her in the end. How do I get through to her?’”

  I raised an eyebrow at
her. “Is it signed ‘Confused and Fabulous’ in sparkly, purple ink?”

  V stuck her tongue out at me. “No, I didn’t write it. But I should’ve!”

  “That would be against the rules.” I wagged my finger.

  “This question could work,” said Heather. “Especially if what the best friend is wrong about is something dangerous. Does it say?”

  Vanessa shook her head. “But I’ll bet it could turn into something dangerous. Especially if her friend is afraid she’ll get hurt.”

  Heather frowned. “Yikes. Should we try and find out who this is?”

  “I don’t think we can.” Vanessa turned the paper so she could see it. “Unless you recognize the handwriting.”

  None of us did.

  “It’s probably nothing too terrible,” I said.

  “I’ll make sure it’s my piece for the next issue anyway,” said Heather.

  Vanessa was about to comment when we heard something that had never been heard before: Gil shouting.

  “You can’t do that!” he hollered at Stefan, who didn’t seem the least bit swayed by Gil’s words or volume.

  “I did some thinking after yesterday, and everyone had a good point,” said Stefan. “My basketball photo is amazing, so I’m switching from entering the section contest for sports to the one for photos.”

  “What about me?” Gil poked himself in the chest. “I already had a photo I was going to enter. A good one!”

  Stefan shrugged. “Yours might be good, but mine is great.”

  Mrs. H hurried over before a real fight could break out.

  “Stefan, I have to agree with Gil. You chose to represent sports, so that’s what you’ll do.”

  “Have you seen his photos, Mrs. H?” asked Stefan. “So far this week his assignments have been a photo of a snowman-building contest and the new track team.”

  Instantly I was on my feet. “What’s wrong with the track team?”

  “The team is fine,” said Stefan. “But there’s nothing interesting about a bunch of guys dressed in gray, standing in a line with their hands behind their backs.” He held up a photo. “Or an image of people building white things on a white background.” He held up Gil’s other photo.

  Vanessa was all set to come to his defense, but he beat her to it.

  “There’s only so much you can do in a medium that’s black, white, and gray,” Gil informed him. “Besides, there’s plenty of contrast, and the important thing in the picture isn’t the snow; it’s the students.”

  Mrs. H took the photos from Stefan and looked at them. “On this one, I have to agree with Stefan. These photos are wonderful, but they lack punch and personality.” She smiled at Gil. “I know you’re capable of so much more.”

  “Yes, Mrs. H,” mumbled Gil.

  She turned to Stefan with a raised eyebrow, awaiting his response.

  “Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll stick with sports, but I guarantee those photos of Gil’s won’t win anything.”

  “Neither will sports,” I spoke up. “Since we’re going to win the section submission.” I gestured to the advice team.

  Yes, I was feeling that lucky.

  From the front of the class there was a “Ha!”

  I put my hand on my hip. “Something funny?”

  Felix stood and faced me. “You really think you can beat everyone, including headline news? We’re on the front page for a reason.”

  “So readers have something to skip when they’re looking for sports?” asked Tim.

  “Oooh!” said several people.

  I nudged him. “Dude, you’re supposed to be supporting the advice column, remember?”

  “Sorry, but sports is good too,” he said.

  “But clubs is better than all of them,” said their section leader. “We’ve always got way more exciting news than the rising price of chocolate milk or the football team getting new footballs.” She smirked at Tim, who slapped a palm on the desk.

  “If I hadn’t reported on it, nobody else would have!”

  I leaned toward him. “Probably not the best argument.”

  Tim raised his voice. “I mean—”

  But there was no way anyone was going to hear him. The sections were squaring off against one another, talking trash and placing bets. Mrs. H and Mary Patrick fought to restore order, and I just smiled through it all.

  “You’re not jumping in?” asked Vanessa. “You love fights!”

  “Nope. They have to brag because they’re not confident enough they can do it.” I jerked my thumb at my shouting classmates. “But I know we can, so there’s no reason to even argue.”

  V smiled. “Even though that good-luck charm annoys me, I do like having my confident Brooke back.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said with a wink. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  The bell rang.

  “Okay, I may be going somewhere since class is over,” I amended.

  She and Heather giggled.

  The arguing still continued as students flowed into the hall, but their voices were lost among the noise of the crowd. Heather and I made our way to history, where Mr. Costas was holding an Oreo showdown to quiz us on what we’d read the night before. I, truthfully, had read nothing, but as luck would have it, I was an incredibly good multiple-choice guesser and won three Oreos.

  “You know what this means?” I whispered to Heather while I munched on a cookie. “With my good-luck charm, I never have to study again! Heck, I may never have to do homework either! I can probably just convince my teachers that one of the cats ate it.” I chuckled to myself.

  Heather furrowed her brow. “Um . . . I don’t think I’d count on that, no matter how good your luck is. Plus, don’t you want to earn your grades?”

  “Meh. How much does middle school really matter?” I raised my hand to answer another question. “B!”

  “Correct!” Mr. Costas shouted, tossing me an Oreo.

  I smirked at Heather and whispered, “Didn’t even hear the question!”

  She did not share my amusement.

  “Oreo?” I asked, offering it to her.

  “I’m only taking it because I’m hungry. Not because I approve,” she said, popping it into her mouth. She chewed for a minute and swallowed. “Brooke, I don’t think you should rely on your good-luck charm for everything. Maybe for turning a bad situation around, but not for getting out of schoolwork.”

  “You only say that because you like schoolwork,” I pointed out. “If you were bad at it like me . . .”

  “Sweetie, you’re bad at it because you don’t do it,” Heather said with a smile.

  I held up one of my winnings. “Are we or are we not enjoying cookies because of my good-luck charm?”

  She sighed. “We are.”

  “Do you or do you not want me to make you a good-luck charm?”

  “I do, but—”

  I held up a hand. “Look, I see what you’re saying, but I want to enjoy this good luck for as long as I can, and I want to share it with my friends.” I leaned closer and whispered, “Wouldn’t it be great if your first date with Emmett was the best date ever?” I thought about her love of fairy-tale romance. “With flowers and a horse-drawn carriage?”

  She smiled dreamily. “Yeah, it would.”

  I shrugged. “So your good luck will help you with dating, and mine will help me with school.”

  And soccer, I silently added.

  Heather giggled. “Yeah, and Tim will probably use his to try and win the lottery.”

  I sat up straight. “The lottery! Why didn’t I think of that? I can have my parents buy tickets for me tonight!”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were saving your good luck for school.”

  “If I have millions of dollars, I won’t have to go to school,” I scoffed.

  Heather gave me a tight smile. “Sure. You can be a sixth-grade dropout instead.”

  Mr. Costas handed over the last cookie in the pack, and we all groaned. “Sorry, but your other teacher
s and parents are already going to kill me for the sugar I gave out. But now that I have you full of energy, let’s talk Chinese dynasties.”

  Everyone flipped open their history books while he started lecturing, and my conversation with Heather ended. She wasn’t making much sense anyway. Who wouldn’t want to take advantage of their good luck all the time?

  In fact, I decided I was going to do her a favor. My good luck had to extend to my friends, right? Especially if I was going to do a good deed?

  When class ended, I made an excuse to hurry away and tracked down Emmett at his locker.

  “Hey, Brooke!” he said with a confused smile. “What’s up?”

  “Hi! You’re going out with Heather on Friday, right?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Unless . . . something happened?”

  “Nope,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that Heather deserves the royal treatment.”

  He relaxed and smiled. “Oh, yeah, I was planning on taking her to the movies to see this musical we’ve both been waiting for.”

  “How are you getting there?” I asked.

  “My mom’s dropping us off. I’m not exactly old enough to have a car,” he said with a grin.

  I shook my head. “No mom. No car. Heather deserves a horse-drawn carriage. And flowers. You’d better be able to give them to her.”

  Emmett raised an eyebrow. “I will . . . think about it.”

  I smiled. “Great! Have fun!” I waved and hurried off to my next class, rather proud of myself. Heather was going to have her fairy-tale date, and I was going to be a millionaire. Then I’d buy Madame Delphi’s cottage and turn it into a pizzeria.

  But before all that, I still had one thing left to do.

  Convince Coach Bly that I was okay to play soccer.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Team of One

  “You want a lottery ticket?” asked Mom as she pulled in front of the soccer complex.

  “Yes, I’ve got a good feeling about this one!” I told her.

  “Have you also got money to pay for it?” she asked with a smile. “Because I’m not flushing my cash away.”

  I handed her the dollar bill I’d found in the cafeteria. “You’ve got to spend money to make money, right?”