My Lucky Charm

by Wolfe, Scarlet

  My Lucky Charm

  Scarlet Wolfe

  Copyright © 2014 Scarlet Wolfe Books

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  ISBN-13: 978-1494234652

  ISBN-10: 1494234653

  Contents

  Notes

  Dedication

  A New Beginning

  All the Dirt

  Making Friends

  Friendly Outing

  Cat Fight

  Tutored

  My Lucky Charm

  A Compromise

  Let’s Play Some Football

  Let’s Play Footsie

  Big Brother

  Highway to a Girlfriend

  Home Sweet Home

  Gene Pool

  Meet the Parents

  A Little Torture Never Hurt Anyone

  Two Wrongs Don’t Make a Right

  Hollywood Gossip

  I’m Leeza Lane

  A True Troublemaker

  Paparazzi

  Troublemaking

  Face the Day

  Friends or Foe

  More Secrets

  Daddy’s Day of Reckoning

  Faith can Move Mountains

  Daddy’s Seal of Approval

  At a Crossroads

  Epilogue

  End Notes

  Acknowledgements

  Notes

  This novella is written from the point of view of Brandon and Leah.

  Dedication

  To Kelsey and other teens who express their individuality and stand up for what they believe is right regardless of the fallout.

  A New Beginning

  Leah

  I stare at the clock in my school’s office. They need to hurry up already. My driver, Paul, will be here in like fifteen minutes. The door opens, and a lady I haven’t seen before looks at me.

  “Leah Lane.” She’s really short, tiny, and I’m guessing fortyish. A woman who is probably attractive when not wearing a scowl. I stand, and lugging my backpack over my shoulder, I stroll into her office.

  “Leah, take a seat please. I’m Mrs. Grove, the vice principal.”

  I take a chair in front of her desk as she walks around to hers. Opening a manilla folder, she glances through it before eyeing me for what feels like forever. Get crack-a-lackin’, lady. Paul spazzes out when I’m late.

  “Leah, we’ve only been in school a few weeks, and you’re already in the office. I don’t see in your records where you were ever in trouble at your previous school. Are you having problems I need to be made aware of?”

  “Um, no ma’am.”

  “Something is going on since you called another classmate a bitch in the hallway in front of a teacher.”

  “Uh, she was being one.”

  Mrs. Grove rubs her forehead.

  “Name calling is not acceptable at Clairview regardless of whether you feel it matches the behavior of the person you say it to.” She flips through the folder below her once again.

  “You’re an exceptional student. Actually, ‘gifted’ is a term I see used frequently from your previous high school. I’m going to let this slide since I imagine you’re still trying to get to know your peers. I’m also aware kids often give new students a hard way to go, but please don’t let me see you back in here.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

  She smiles and motions toward the door. I hear the final bell ring as I fall into the swarms of students that are filling the hallways. I round a corner to go to my locker and smack right into someone.

  I stumble back, and when I look up, the most attractive guy is staring back at me. He’s tall, fit and has dark brown hair that’s just long enough to be messy but sexy. He has the deepest green eyes, and they’re studying every inch of my face, so I finally look away.

  “Sorry, I was in a hurry,” I say. I should go, but I can’t move my feet. I look to him when I feel his hand brush my shoulder. A slow smile spreads across his face as he picks up a section of my multicolor tresses.

  “Your hair is cool.”

  “Oh, thanks. I need to go. I’m late.” I scurry around him and feel my heart thudding like it’s trying to escape. I could swear I’ve seen him before, but I don’t recognize him from my classes.

  Frazzled from the contact with the hot guy, I take forever at my locker. I seriously think I stared into it for five minutes. Paul tends to worry, so he’s going to be annoyed having to wait on me. He’s certain someone will attempt to abduct me.

  Crap, I didn’t beat them out here. Every two or three days over the last two weeks, these extremely hot but extremely assholish guys have been hanging out at picnic tables under shade trees outside my new school.

  I have to pass them to get to the neighborhood close by, so Paul can pick me up without drawing attention. It’s ridiculous that I have a bodyguard, and I’m hoping my mom will be more trusting of our new environment soon and let me drive myself.

  I try not to look at the beefy array of testosterone when I walk by, but the yelling begins once again. I’m really sick of it. Along with girls who make fun of me every day, I have these guys at it, too. The whole reason I left my old life behind was to avoid this crap right here.

  “Hey, chick, I see you dipped your hair in Easter egg dye. Did you mix the wrong colors, or is that the look you were going for?” one of the guys ask before I hear an eruption of laughter. I can’t take this anymore, so I look over and flip him the bird. The same guy, who is buff and has blonde hair, yells at me again.

  “Any day, baby. Just tell me when and where.”

  “Leave her alone, Cole,” a different guy says. My head snaps their way, which I wish it hadn’t, but I can’t resist taking a glance at whoever is attempting to take up for me.

  Holy Hotness. The same guy I ran into only minutes ago in the hallway is staring a hole through me. Ah, this is where I’ve seen him. Now, he’s arguing with the tool who yelled at me. I swiftly turn my head back and pick up my pace.

  It doesn’t matter if there’s a nice one in the bunch. I’m done with jocks, and with the muscles gracing those guys, they have to be jocks.

  Brandon

  He can be such an ass. “Leave her alone, Cole.” I feel his gaze shoot to me, but I never take my eyes off of her. I nonchalantly bring my friends out here every couple of days, so I can see her as she walks home, but it appears to be backfiring.

  I’d do it every day, but they’d catch on. They already know I’ve taken an interest in her, but I don’t want them aware of how much so.

  “Why Brandon? Are you still wanting to tap Lucky Charm?” The rest of my buddies join in on the laughter.

  “I came up with that nickname, so don’t use it. She seems like she’d be dope, and I kinda like her hair. I imagine she’s cooler than your sorry ass,” I say.

  Cole glares at me. Now that she’s out of sight, I’m looking his way.

  “What’s your problem, Bran?”

  “I don’t have a problem. Let’s head to practice,” I say as I jump off the picnic table. I’ll get nowhere arguing with him. All the way to the gym, I think about her and that tight body.

  She’s wearing skinny jeans and Converse. Her long, blonde hair has strands of pink, yellow, blue and lavender in it. It’s odd because she’s eccentric in a classy way. Her hair looks profess
ionally done, and her clothes look new.

  Cole can say whatever he wants. He’s just pissed because he knows she’s attractive, yet she’s someone he’d never date. She’s not the type to hang with our circle of friends.

  I wonder every day how I ended up in this clique. I guess it sort of happened from football. Also, we come from families who do well for themselves, financially, anyway. From what I know, all our families are pretty screwed up, but you wouldn’t guess from the show they put on … we all put on.

  I need to get over my fascination with this girl. I don’t see her giving me the time a day with the way my friends act.

  All the Dirt

  Leah

  I sigh when I see Paul exit the car and open my door. “Do we have to go through this every day?”

  “Are you going to ask me that every day?” Paul replies. I roll my eyes and slide into the seat. After he shuts the door, I lean my head against the window.

  “I do what Kendra instructs me to do … what she pays me to do,” he says once he’s buckled in.

  “Please keep trying to strike it big and quit. Then she might let me drive.”

  Paul’s twenty-four and films documentaries. He’s trying to break into the movie business, but I believe he needs to be in LA or New York to make it, so I don’t know why he’s living in Colorado. I haven’t known him long enough to have him all figured out.

  When we moved here, Mom hired him, and I’m guessing it’s because he’s young and attractive. Paul is muscular with blonde hair and blue eyes. It probably makes her feel better to have someone his age working for her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tries to seduce him, too.

  He’d go to jail if he touched me since I’m only seventeen, unless he’s like my father, Maxwell Lane, who gets away with minor indiscretions like dating minors as young as his daughter!

  I think when teenagers begin high school, they envision the best possible scenario. It’s something like this: make friends, draw just the right amount of attention to yourself, pass your classes with ease, not end up with an embarrassing photo or video of yourself on Instagram, Facebook or YouTube, and avoid parents by spending time with your friends as much as possible.

  Oh, and get a boyfriend or girlfriend, lose your virginity, excel at activities you’re good at, and hope you get a car as a birthday gift. I got the car, but I can’t even drive the thing, and I most definitely know what it’s like to get the embarrassing photos and videos posted online.

  I don’t think when any teenager starts high school, they plan on having themselves and their family humiliated on national television, in every newspaper and on almost every site on the Internet.

  This happened to my family all because Maxwell couldn’t keep his junk in his pants, or I should say couldn’t just keep it in my mom. Oh, that’s gross. It’s the truth but … oh gross. I shake my head in disgust for even having the thought.

  Maxwell Lane, who I refuse to address as Dad, is the creator of one of the largest software companies in the world, Lane Drive Technologies. It’s a fortune five hundred company worth billions of dollars. He destroyed my previous life. After the initial humiliation, I thought it might be a blessing, but now I’m not so sure.

  I had what some would call the perfect life. Many would still say it’s perfect since I’m loaded, but money doesn’t buy happiness like so many want to believe. I’ve never felt so alone in all my life.

  I had a lot of friends, went to parties, shopped and relaxed at the spa. On the outside, I looked like the stereotypical rich kid. The problem was that I never felt I belonged.

  Yeah, the money is nice for things like buying clothes, getting my hair done and feeding my insane addiction to music, but I was always the black sheep amongst my friends.

  They were either preppy or all about the glitz and glam of LA, and neither were ever my scene. Send me to a part of town where there are eccentric coffee shops mixed with old music stores, eclectic art studios and vintage boutiques, and I’m in my element.

  Parachute me into a place filled with skinny jean, beanie wearing skateboarders, concert shirts, every color of hair, tattoos and piercing shops, and I’d blend right in.

  Instead, I grew up in yuppie, private schools where you’re groomed for ultimate success. We’re prepped for Cambridge, MIT, Harvard and Yale. We participate in sports like water polo and fencing.

  The girls don’t have colored streaks in their hair unless it’s the latest, fashionable, blonde highlights. I think you can piece together the type of person and environment I’m describing here.

  Of course, there are other kids who don’t fit that mold, and they stay tucked away like me since their parents frown upon it.

  Anyway, Maxwell took a liking to a different flavor of ice cream. It started with a scoop of eighteen year old, topped with blonde sauce, whipped cream and two big cherries on top. Two—ginormous—double D cherries.

  Needless to say, the scandal was top news that over the last year destroyed our already cracked family. Mr. Lane was investigated since the woman was barely eighteen. I know he saw her before she was of age, but with his money, his attorneys put that to rest.

  He didn’t fare so well with my mother. Lucky for Maxwell, he’s so loaded that even after she took him to the cleaners, he had nothing to worry about. The whole thing was humiliating for all involved.

  Already being the black sheep of my friends, it was easy for them to turn their backs on me. My mom had a nervous breakdown when she was shunned from high society.

  We might’ve rose above it eventually, but Mom and I couldn’t take another minute to wait and see, so after a year, I convinced her to move.

  That’s how we ended up in Boulder, Colorado. My mom’s sister, Dottie, lives here, and her daughter, Casey, is my hairdresser. With a change in wardrobe, brunette to blonde hair that I keep colored oddly, and not telling a soul about my family’s wealth, no one has figured out who I am. Yet. It’s only been a month.

  There’s also another not so tiny change I made. I go by Leah Lane instead of Leeza Lane. I thought finally being the person I want to be would free me, but instead, I’m ridiculed on a daily basis.

  I left LA so the stares and whispers would stop, but I’m reliving it in a different way. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a private institution for the wealthy or a public school, if you’re different, kids notice and can be cruel.

  I keep telling myself that I’m at least being the girl I always dreamed of. I rock my concert shirts and have the pretty colors I’ve always wanted in my hair. It’s good, right? Then why do I feel so alone?

  Brandon

  In the locker room after practice, I pull my phone out and see I have eleven text messages from my ex, Amber. We broke up a month ago, and she won’t leave me alone. What part of, “I won’t date a cheater” don’t she understand?”

  I’ll never forget that day that turned into a total nightmare. My friends won’t let me forget it, either. If I took her back, they’d kick my ass. My fellow teammates and I met up with the guys from our rival high school for a game of football.

  Trash talk had been going back and forth between us since freshman year. We couldn’t wait to play them in season, so we tried to make a game happen outside of school, but Amber blew that all to hell, and it became an afternoon of determining which school had the best fighters.

  The game had been going maybe ten minutes. We set up for a play, and I was staring at an opposing player across from me. He smirked and looked to the guy next to him.

  “What was that chick’s name? The one I picked up at Shane’s party last weekend. You know, the one I had in his parents’ bed by the end of the night.

  “Oh yeah …” He looked back at me. “Amber. That’s right. Her name was Amber.” It was over. First, I charged and tackled him. Then, since I couldn’t beat the shit out of Amber, I did it to this guy. Needless to say, his friends weren’t too happy about it, so in a matter of minutes, over twenty guys were in a fight. A huge fight.


  The following Monday, I had no girlfriend, and I, along with the entire varsity football team, was sporting different injuries like black eyes, swollen noses and busted lips. We had to explain ourselves to the principal and coach, who then put us through hell with drills for the entire week.

  Amber tried to deny it, but while I punched this asshole, he ran his mouth some more and knew way too much about her. I guess I should say he knew way too much about her assets. She put on a show and cried to our female friends, so they forgave her.

  She’s still in our circle, but she’s not so high and mighty at the moment since the guys still won’t speak to her. She’s hot as hell, so I’m sure they’ll be sniffing around her soon enough, but our time together is long over, so she’s wasting her time texting me.

  I change and drive home. I can’t find my mom, Teresa, so I go looking for her. It worries me when I don’t know her whereabouts since she likes to drink. Finally spotting her in the hot tub on the deck, I stick my head out the door.

  “Mom, I’m home.” I see the tumbler sitting on the ledge next to her. “Mom, don’t you know you’re not supposed to drink while in a hot tub?”

  “Oh, Brandon. You’re not the parent here. It’s one drink.”

  I sigh. “Please don’t stay in too long.”

  “Yes, father.” She waves her hand in the air like she’s shooing me away.

  “Where is Dad?”

  “Working late.”

  I shut the door and go to the kitchen to find dinner. I worry about her since that one drink she claims to be having in the hot tub is most likely the one after the four or five she already downed this evening.

  My dad, Bill, is “working late,” which is code for “screwing the secretary.” Yes, I believe he really does his secretary. I remember when I thought that only happened in television shows. Yet another reason I would never, ever, EVER forgive Amber.

  He’s a good dad in every other way. He makes almost all my football games, really provides for us, and seems to love my brother and me, but each day that he “works late,” I find myself disliking him a little more.