She pointed to the exit and smiled. “Principal.”
CHAPTER
10
New Perspective
Five minutes later I was in the principal’s waiting area. I sat there for half an hour, doing my best to ignore the kids walking by and glancing at me through the window. At one point, Heather and Vanessa appeared, gesturing for me to pick up my cell phone.
What happened? V texted in a group message. We heard you blew up the science lab!
I shook my head and texted back. I was trying to make another charm to get rid of my bad luck. Turns out I’m the bad luck.
Heather and Vanessa gave me pitying looks, and Heather’s fingers flew across her phone.
If that’s true, then bring it on. I will live with Bad Luck Brooke every day!
Vanessa read what Heather had typed and smirked before sending her response.
Yeah, she already puts up with me pretty well!
I laughed out loud and clapped a hand over my mouth.
How do you do it, V? I texted back. How do you stay so happy even when things go so wrong?
Vanessa thought for a moment and answered with a smile.
Because I choose to.
“I wish I was more like you,” I said out loud.
Principal Winslow emerged from his office and appeared in the doorway of the waiting area. As soon as he saw me and my friends texting one another, we all lowered our phones.
“Visiting hours are over, ladies,” he said loud enough for them to hear through the window. To me he added, “Your parents just arrived.”
Heather and V waved and scurried away.
The door to the waiting area opened, and my parents walked in. I stepped between them and Principal Winslow before he could even say hello.
“I am so sorry,” I told Mom and Dad. “I know I messed up.”
“What were you thinking?” asked Mom. “Principal Winslow called and said you’d been going through someone else’s things!”
“You know better,” Dad added.
I nodded. “I was trying to make a good-luck—”
I didn’t even get all the words out before both my parents started groaning. Principal Winslow ushered us all into his office and closed the door.
“Did she do any damage?” Dad asked Principal Winslow.
“Thankfully, the teaching assistant caught Brooke before that could happen,” he said. “But even so, we can’t take this lightly. We’re going to have to suspend Brooke for the afternoon.”
“What!” I cried, getting up.
Mom pushed me back down. “We can accept that.”
I couldn’t. I’d never been in trouble at school in my whole life! I got Good Citizen awards every year!
“Please, Principal Winslow.” I clasped my hands together. “I’ll clean beakers or pick up trash outside or help the lunch lady. But don’t kick me out of school!”
“We’re not kicking you out of school, Brooke,” he said in a calm voice the opposite of mine. “It’s just an afternoon suspension. And normally it would be longer”—Principal Winslow was talking to my parents now—“but since Brooke isn’t usually a troublemaker, we’ll be lenient this time.” He nodded to me. “Consider yourself lucky.”
“Yeah, not the best choice of words for this kid,” said Dad, reaching over to shake Principal Winslow’s hand. “Thank you for your time.”
Mom nudged me. “Let’s grab your schoolwork.”
“But—”
“Up, Brooke.”
I got to my feet. “Can I go by myself while you guys wait in the car? This is embarrassing enough as it is.”
Mom and Dad looked at each other, and Mom nodded. “Okay, but you’ve got five minutes. No stopping to chat with your friends.”
“I promise.”
Instead I stopped to chat with Mary Patrick. “Here are my ideas for how to improve the paper,” I said, handing her a list. “At least show them to Mrs. H and ask her if I can have a chance to prove the entire staff deserves this.”
“Shouldn’t you tell her yourself?” asked Mary Patrick, taking the paper.
“I have to go.” I glanced at the clock. “Just . . . please.”
“Okay,” she said with a nod.
I ran out to the car, where Mom and Dad were waiting, and hopped in.
“Thanks. And again, I’m so sorry. If I’m grounded for the rest of the month, I understand. Although, if I could get time off for soccer games . . . they really need me.”
“We’re not grounding you,” said Mom as Dad pulled away from the school.
I wrinkled my forehead. “You’re not? I just . . . get to leave school early?”
“Not quite,” said Dad. He turned at the intersection leaving the school, but instead of going right, he turned left and sped up.
“We’re not going home?” I peered out the window. “Where are you taking me?” I met Dad’s eye in the rearview mirror and gasped. “Are you selling me to the circus?”
Dad turned to Mom. “You’ve got to stop letting her watch those made-for-TV movies.”
We pulled into a strip mall, and Dad parked in front of a store called the Sweet Life. The windows were decorated with pastel cake boxes and cupcake appliqués stuck to the glass.
“I thought we could sit and have a serious talk about what’s bothering you,” said Mom. “With no teasing and no joking.”
I smiled at her. “I’d like that.”
Dad held open the door to the bakery, and it was like walking into a warm hug. The air smelled of chocolate, vanilla, and sugar, and there were bakery ovens tucked behind the counter with windows lit so we could see the cakes rise. We all ordered our cupcakes and hot drinks and took a table by the window.
While Mom stirred sugar into her coffee, she spoke. “Your dad joked the other day about us going to a seer, but when I was in high school, I really did visit a psychic.”
I looked up from the whipped cream I was slurping off my cocoa. “You did?”
Mom nodded. “And she told me to marry my high school sweetheart.”
“But you grew up in New York.” I pointed at her and glanced at Dad. “And you grew up in Seattle.”
He smiled. “That’s right.”
Mom brushed my hair back. “Honey, I didn’t take the psychic’s advice, because in my heart I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. I chose a different path, and when your father moved to New York for college, we met and . . .” She held her arms open. “You know the rest.”
“If your mom had followed the psychic’s advice, I wouldn’t be sitting here,” said Dad. “And neither would you.” He tweaked my good arm, and I grinned.
“So everything turned out okay,” I said. “Or . . . great, I should say.” I pointed to myself, and my parents laughed.
I felt myself warming inside, and it wasn’t just because of the cocoa.
I liked the idea of being in charge of my own future, of being able to make it whatever I wanted.
“So what’s got you so confident you’re cursed now?” asked Dad.
The funny thing was . . . I didn’t feel nearly as sure as I had.
“I guess because I messed up Heather’s date,” I said. “He cancelled on her because of me.”
Mom clucked her tongue. “Poor Heather! Was she really mad?”
I shook my head. “She knew I meant well, so luckily—”
I stopped when I realized what word I’d used, and my parents grinned at each other.
Dad leaned toward me, chin resting on his hands. “Luckily? But I thought you were doomed.”
Mom elbowed him. “We promised not to tease.” To me she said, “What else happened?”
“I did pretty badly on an algebra quiz.” I lowered my gaze to the table. “Because I didn’t study.”
“We can help you with that in the future,” said Dad.
I glanced up. “Actually, Heather and Abel said they’d be my tutors.”
Mom nodded her approval. “Well, that’s good!”
“Yeah.” I se
ttled back in my chair. “It is, isn’t it?”
“So after the quiz, you got in trouble for sneaking into the lab?” asked Dad.
I giggled. “Well, before the lab I got ambushed in a dodgeball game.”
Mom raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t supposed to be playing.”
I raised both my hands defensively. “I wasn’t at first! But then a bunch of kids who wanted me to play came after me.”
Dad winced. “Must’ve been a massacre.”
“Nope!” I slapped my hand on the table. “We beat them and everyone cheered.”
At that, Dad cheered but Mom asked, “We?”
“Katie Kestler stepped in at the last minute to help me,” I explained. “She’s really good at dodgeball.”
“Sounds like she’s really good at being a friend too,” Mom said with a smile.
I swirled the last of the hot cocoa around in my cup. “You know, now that I think about it, today had its bad moments, but overall it was pretty good. I’m lucky to have such great friends and family.” I grinned at my parents. “And yes, I mean that.”
Mom put her arm around me and hugged me close.
“I didn’t even need my good-luck charm,” I added teasingly, at which point Mom’s fingers tickled my side.
“You keep mentioning that,” said Dad while I squirmed and laughed. “How did you even know what you were making was a good-luck charm?”
Reaching down for my bag, I pulled out Living the Charmed Life.
“I used this.” I opened it to the good-luck charm and turned the book so they could see. “I had the wish circle and the candle . . .” I tapped the page with my finger, and as I did, a strange thing happened. The top part of the page peeled away, revealing another page underneath. “Wait. Huh?”
“The bottom of the page is missing. It looks like you were reading only half of it,” said Dad.
“No.” I flipped the top of the page out of the way and saw the rest of my charm on the bottom of the page underneath. But across the top of that page was written “For a Great Marriage.”
I’d combined instructions for two different charms.
My mouth dropped open. I hadn’t made a good-luck charm after all.
“Brooke?” asked Mom.
All those good things that had happened . . . they’d only been lucky because I saw them that way. And all the bad things had only been unlucky for the same reason. Which meant . . .
“I really don’t have bad luck!” I threw my hands in the air. My spirits soared, and I felt almost giddy with relief. I leaned over and hugged Mom. “I’m not doomed!”
Mom laughed. “I never thought you were.”
“The Strikers aren’t doomed!” This time I hugged Dad.
“Of course not!” he agreed. “Not with you on the team!”
For some reason, his words brought me back to earth.
I sat in my chair. “Yeah, but being the best on the team still doesn’t make our team the best.” I made a face. “With Lacey and me out and Kayla gone, the entire front line is different, and if everyone doesn’t start playing better, we don’t have a chance in this first game. And they all count toward the title.”
Dad shrugged. “So help your coach whip them into shape, Captain.”
“I will,” I said. “But we don’t have much time.”
“There isn’t anyone else you can ask to help?” asked Mom with a meaningful raise of her eyebrow.
“Awww!” I groaned. “Not Lacey. She’s the worst!”
“Is she?” asked Dad with an optimistic smile. “Or do you just see her that way?”
“No, she really is quite awful,” Mom chimed in.
“Oh.” Dad blinked. “Then maybe we should get some more cupcakes to win her over.”
CHAPTER
11
No Fate
“This’ll only take a few minutes,” I promised, getting out of the car. I clutched my coat tighter around me, doing my best not to squish the cupcakes balanced on my splinted arm, and hurried up the steps to ring the doorbell.
A blond guy around my age answered the door, and we frowned at each other.
The last time I’d seen him, he’d been backstabbing one of my friends, and I’d publicly called him out for it.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Always a delight, Jefferson,” I said. “Can I talk to your sister? I have cupcakes.” I held out a pink box.
He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to talk to you. But thanks for the dessert.” He grabbed the box from me and started to close the door. I pushed with my whole body so that he stumbled backward. “Dude! What gives?”
“Go. Get. Lacey.” I scowled at him, edging my way inside. “The future of the Strikers depends on it.”
“Seriously?” Lacey appeared at the entrance to her living room, fuzzy robe over her pajamas and hair disheveled like she’d been sleeping in a wind tunnel. “Don’t you think that’s a tad overdramatic?”
“Clearly, you haven’t seen our replacements play,” I said, wrinkling my nose as she pulled a crumpled tissue from the pocket of her robe. Lacey blew her nose and returned the treasure to her pocket. “Are you feeling any better?”
She stared at me with groggy, red eyes. “Do I look like I’m feeling better?”
“Well, you have to hurry this up.” I gestured at her whole body. “Because we’re going to lose on Saturday if you’re not there.”
Lacey leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. “Really. The amazing Brooke Jacobs finally admits she’s not the only good player? I’m shocked.”
“I was too,” I confessed while Lacey rolled her eyes. “But I realized it doesn’t matter how great I play by myself. Soccer is a team sport, and we’re only as strong as our weakest link.”
“Which right now is me.” Lacey pointed to herself. “I’m barely able to stand. If my brother wasn’t holding me up—”
“He’s not. That’s a wall,” I corrected.
Lacey blinked in surprise and glanced around. “Where’d he go?”
I knew now wasn’t the time for snide remarks, so I continued with my point. “You’re not our weakest link, but I need your help dealing with the ones who are.” I took a deep breath. “I want you to be my co-captain.”
Lacey laughed and then coughed and then hacked something into her tissue. I tried to breathe the air as little as possible.
“I’m not going to be your co-captain!” she told me. “When I start feeling better, I’m going back to showing Coach that he needs to assign a new captain.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean, ‘going back to’?”
Lacey’s cheeks reddened even more than they were. “If you had a bad day on Monday, I might have had something to do with it.”
“You . . . you what?” I stared at her, wide-eyed, and watched her shrink several inches.
“I greased your cleats while you went to the bathroom,” she said in a small voice. “And I gave you a ball I knew was a dud.”
I held my hand to my forehead. “Why? I know we don’t like each other, but that is seriously low.”
Lacey paused for a moment and said, “Brooke, I’m going to tell you something, and if you ever tell anyone I said it, I’ll convince everyone you’re crazy.”
“This is off to a promising start,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re pretty good at soccer, all right?” She covered her eyes as if she’d just confessed to something embarrassing, like wearing footie pajamas. “And it makes me crazy that you also have a boyfriend and best friends and parents who come to watch you play. I want at least one of those things.”
I’d never seen Lacey so vulnerable. It was creeping me out.
“Well . . . thank you,” I said. “You’re pretty good too. That’s why I want you as my co-captain.”
It was her turn to look startled. “Still? After I tried to sabotage you? If I were you, I’d be furious.”
“Oh, I am,” I ass
ured her. “But I can’t make this all about me. The team is more important. Now, how soon can you be healthy?”
Lacey smiled weakly. “You think I’ve got this on my calendar?” She sniffled and shook her head. “I had some tests at the doctor today, so I’ll know more tomorrow.” Lacey ventured over to the couch and collapsed against the arm.
“Have you been getting lots of rest and taking vitamin C?” I asked.
“If you stick me, I’ll bleed Tropicana,” she said. “And I’ve been trapped in bed since Monday night.” She pointed at the ceiling. “This is the first trip I’ve actually made downstairs since I went up after soccer practice that day.” She glanced around again. “My mom bought a new lamp.”
Jefferson appeared in the doorway, mouth full of cupcake, and mumbled, “You have to leave. Dad says Lacey needs rest.”
“I’ve been resting for three days!” said Lacey, but she got to her feet and gave me a tight smile. “Sorry for everything that happened, and . . . I hope things go better with the team tomorrow. Tell everyone I said hi.”
Lacey’s brother opened the front door and stood there expectantly.
I nodded to Lacey. “Hopefully you can tell them yourself,” I said. Then I left.
“So?” asked Mom when I got back in the car. “How did it go?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I confessed. “But I did what I could.”
I just hoped Lacey cared enough about the team to consider my offer.
The next morning, Friday, I woke with paws prodding my smiling face.
“Good morning, Chelsea!” I picked her up and lifted her into the air. She splayed her paws and mewed at me until I put her down.
I threw back the covers, hopped out of bed, and changed into my nicest jeans and shirt. V and I had talked after I saw Lacey, and apparently I was the hot gossip in school.
“When you come back tomorrow, all eyes will be on you,” she’d told me. “So make it count.”
I thundered down the stairs to breakfast, which to my utter joy was delicious, melty cinnamon rolls.
“Yum! Can it be Friday every day?” I asked.
Mom chuckled and slipped a roll onto a plate for me. “Consider these a special treat,” she said. “But I’m glad they make you so happy.”
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