Lucky 13

by Rachael Brownell

  Grant.

  He’s waiting for me. At least, I think he is. He’s staring in my direction with a smile on his face.

  I want to run up to him and throw my arms around his neck. Knowing that he’s all right lightens my heart. It also infuriates me. I worried about him all weekend, and there he stands, perfectly fine, looking as handsome as always, grinning at me from ear to ear. I don’t know how I feel about that.

  “Madison,” he says as I walk past him. He follows me to the back of the class and takes the seat on my right when I don’t answer him. I hear him clear his throat to say something when the professor walks in. Saved by the bell. No, that’s not right.

  Moments later, I feel something hit my hand, and I look down to see a note sitting on top of my open book. I glance over at Grant and he’s facing forward, looking innocent. There’s no one else it could have come from, so he’s not fooling me.

  I pick up the note and slowly unfold it.

  I’m sorry I wasn’t here the other day. Family stuff.

  Should I write him back? I guess I don’t have a choice.

  I was a little worried.

  I’m sorry.

  I want to ask him to exchange numbers, but I don’t know how without sounding like I’m hitting on him.

  I hope everything is okay now.

  It is. Thanks. Lunch?

  Sure. But I have an appointment that I need to get to, so it’ll have to be quick.

  I still don’t want to admit to him that I’m in high school, so I make up an excuse to leave lunch earlier than last time. I detest lying. I know it’s wrong. I’ll tell him, I just want to wait until I’m eighteen. Only a few more weeks.

  Our professor gives us an assignment that’s due next week and excuses us a little early. I pack up and find Grant waiting for me in the hallway. As I approach, I take a moment to appreciate his beauty as he talks to another one of the guys from our class.

  He looks a little rugged today. He got his hair cut, but it’s still falling in his eyes. I watch as he runs his fingers through it, attempting to brush it away. It falls right back where it was and I can’t help but laugh to myself.

  Grant’s eyes cut to me as soon as his friend walks away. This boy is going to be trouble. My heart flutters every time he looks at me. I can’t imagine if he held my hand or, eventually, kissed me. I might explode. Yep, I’m in big trouble. I sure hope I can handle it for the next few weeks. Then, my decisions are my own.

  Lunch was moving along so nice. We were having a great conversation about everything and nothing all at the same time. When I asked him about our assignment, his eyes went cold. I wasn’t trying to pry, I just wanted to know what he was going to write about.

  “I don’t talk to my father, so I’ll probably make something up or not do the assignment.” There’s anger or hatred in his voice that wasn’t there moments ago.

  “I try not to talk to mine, but unfortunately, I still live with him,” I say, attempting to lighten the mood.

  “Yeah. So, I’m gonna go. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

  I don’t even get the chance to ask if he’s okay before he’s walking away. I don’t get it. Everything was fine a few minutes ago. I didn’t say anything wrong, I don’t think.

  I feel my emotions getting the best of me. Before the tears start to fall, I pack up my things and head to my car. I need to be alone. This boy has me so confused.

  By the time I make it to school, I’m late for lunch and my face is a mess. I find Libby waiting for me at by my locker as she normally is. She notices right away that something is wrong. I want to tell her, I do, but I don’t have the words. I’m afraid if I talk about it, about him, that I’ll fall apart completely.

  We were connecting. Things were great. He’s sweet, caring, and funny. Not to mention easy on the eyes. He’s the perfect guy. His only flaw is that he’s not good at communicating. He could have told me what I said wrong and I would have apologized and never said it again. No. Instead, he walked, or rather ran, away from me.

  That’s it. I don’t need this. There are plenty of guys out there that would be interested in dating me, I’m sure. I just need to find one. I don’t need Grant or the emotional roller-coaster that he’s causing my heart to ride. I’m over it. I’m moving on. Done.

  To keep my mind off of Grant as much as possible, I invite Libby over to study for a test that night. She gets super excited, practically bouncing off the walls and singing at the top of her lungs. I couldn’t help but laugh at her the entire way to lunch that day, my dark mood lightening a little.

  Of course, we don’t study much. Instead, we talk about Grant and his weird ways. Libby points out that he may have figured out that I was still in high school when I mentioned that I lived with my father. I slap myself on the forehead, realizing that his mood changed as soon as I mentioned that little fact.

  It doesn’t matter. It was a big deal to me that I was still in high school because my father still controls my life and my “social” activities. He has a strict no dating rule. That rule goes out the window as soon as I turn eighteen years old. I didn’t want to have to turn Grant down if he asked me out. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  It’s my feelings that I should have been worried about.

  Libby and I decide that I’ll ignore him, move on. Ignoring him should be easy, but I’m almost certain that I won’t be able to move on. He’s under my skin.

  Chapter 7

  Sitting in my car, dreading the next hour, is only heightening the fact I’m about to see Grant. I can do this. I can pretend he’s not in the same room as me. I can ignore him. I think.

  The moment I walk into the room and see the seat next to him is saved is also the same moment I realize that I’ve been kidding myself. His attention is focused on the textbook in front of him, so I take a chance and find a seat on the opposite side of the room. It’s the only seat available in the area. There’s no chance he can sit any closer.

  Suddenly, I feel his eyes on me. I want to turn around, smile at him, say hello, but I force myself to look straight ahead and focus on class. Thankfully, the professor walks in a few minutes later and class begins. Still, I can feel his stare the rest of the hour. I’m pretty sure he never looks away.

  I pack up early so I can bolt out of class before Grant can corner me. Speed walking all the way to my car, I’m pretty sure he’s not following me, but I don’t want to take any chances. I know I wouldn’t be able to ignore him if he caught up to me.

  Libby is fired up when I get to school that day. She’s talking a mile a minute about the football game coming up. She insists that I have to go with her. I’m pretty sure she almost passed out when I confessed to her that I had never been to an actual high school football game before. Her loud screech was my first clue.

  I promise to ask my father, to convince him to let me go. He doesn’t have a good reason to say no this time. At least, not that I know of. I didn’t see any important events on the calendar the last time I checked. Of course, the fundraiser wasn’t on the calendar either.

  My father isn’t home when I get there so I send him a text. He grants me permission to go to the football game but reminds me of my curfew. Eleven o’clock pm. No later. Since I’m going out, he’ll probably be here, waiting for me when I get home. These are the rules I’m ready to be rid of.

  ***

  Friday flies by. Before I know it, I’m staring into my closet, no clue about what to wear. I decide to text Libby and ask her to come over before the game. It gets colder at night and it’s a little windy today, but I don’t think a sweater is necessary. Maybe a cardigan? I want to look like I belong, though, and I’m not sure a cardigan will be a popular accessory for a football game.

  Libby laughs at my outfit when she arrives. I decided to go with a skirt and a sweater. When she walks in, I know I’ve missed the mark. Thankfully, we have plenty of time to raid my closet and put something cute together. I’ve avoided embarrassing myself. At least for today.
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  Jeans. Cowboy boots. Short sleeved blouse. Something I would wear to school on an average day. Who would have thought? I figured people dressed up to hang out together, and maybe they do. Just not for high school football games I guess.

  The game is rather uneventful. Our team is less than exceptional. In fact, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say they suck. We got our butts kicked. It was so bad, Libby decided to leave early and head to some party. I, on the other hand, went home. I knew that if my father found out that I was at a party, regardless of if I were engaging in inappropriate activities or not, he would ensure that I never attended another football game, my age be damned.

  One good thing did come from the football game. Jason. The guy Libby was telling me about last week. He bought me a coffee from the concession stand and invited me to the party, along with Libby. I thought he was being really nice to me until I realized that he was trying to get in my pants.

  The good part of that? I was smart enough to see through his thick line of bullshit before I fell for it. He did take my mind off Grant for about five minutes, though—until I started to compare them. Grant won that battle by a long shot.

  My weekend is spent figuring out my role at the Foundation. With only a few people working, I feel more comfortable. There are less prying eyes. I knew my presence at the Foundation would interest people. It would interest me if I were them. Who is this teenager that is taking over? What was her grandma thinking? Is she really going to be able to keep this place running?

  I’ve been asking myself those same questions for the past few weeks, and now that I’m sitting in my office, staring at a binder that Grandma left me full of important information, I know my answers. No. I’m not ready to be in charge. I’m not ready to take on the responsibility, and even if I was, I wouldn’t want to right now. I’d fail. Miserably. That’s the last thing I want.

  Not because of my own ego. I want the Foundation to flourish. I need to step back. I can be a helping hand. I cannot and do not want to be a big decision maker right now. I know who can, though. I have to wait four more weeks, until my birthday, to make the official announcement, but there’s no time like the present to start planning.

  I dial Lucy’s number programmed in the phone on my desk and wait for her to answer. When she finally does, I apologize for bothering her and ask if she has time to come down to the Foundation. She’s more than happy to, and an hour later, she’s sitting across from me in my office.

  “Is everything okay, Madison?” Lucy stutters over her words. She’s obviously nervous. Even if she had spoken with more confidence, the fact that she’s biting her bottom lip gives her away.

  “Yes. Everything is fine. I was just going over the material Grandma left me,” I say, pushing the overflowing, three-inch binder across the desk at Lucy. She leans toward the desk and opens the cover. Her eyes go wide as she flips through tab after tab, taking in the information. “I was hoping that you could help me.”

  “Of course,” she replies, sitting back in her chair, more comfortable with our conversation now. “What would you like to know?”

  “How long have you worked for my grandma?”

  “She hired me about five years ago. Why?”

  “Is there anyone else that’s been here longer than you have?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  “When did she promote you?”

  “She didn’t. I started in this position. I have my degree from NC State in business administration, so I’ve always been the Program Director. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I’ve been sitting here for,” I take a peek at the clock on the wall behind Lucy, “six hours, and I still have no idea how I’m going to do this.” Motioning to the binder that lays open on my desk, I cringe. “The way I see it, Grandma left you as acting Director until I turn eighteen next month for a reason. When I take over my role, I’d like my first act of business to be to promote you to co-Director. I’d like to share the role with you so I can learn from you until I leave for college. We would make decisions together, but you would be the one to run the day to day operations. You would be the one in charge. You know this place better than I do; you understand what it needs to continue operating at a high level, to continue to be successful.

  “I’d like to promote you, Lucy. Then, when I return from college, I’d like to create a new position for you, one that gives you the recognition that you rightly deserve.”

  I relax back into my chair and allow her to let my words soak in for a moment. She stares at me as if I’ve grown a second, or possibly, third head. I can tell this is not what she was expecting when I called her this afternoon.

  “I don’t know what to say. This Foundation is my second home. Your grandmother was my guardian angel, like she was for many who’ve come and gone. I was lucky enough that when I came to her, she kept me here. She put me to work and helped me rebuild my life at the same time. I thanked her every day for that. And you. I’ll thank you every day for this, for placing your trust in me. I love the Foundation and everything it stands for. Without it, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. Thank you, Madison, so very much.”

  Lucy is on the verge of tears by the time she’s done. I reach my hands across my desk and she takes them in her own, squeezing gently. Normally, moments like this make me miss my mother, the years I was cheated out of with her. Today, in this moment, I miss Grandma more than I have in a while.

  ***

  It’s been an over a week since I started avoiding Grant, and I’m not sure I can keep it up. I feel his eyes watching me. He continues to save a seat for me every class, getting there early. I keep finding a way to avoid sitting anywhere near him. Today, it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to avoid him.

  I see him standing by the door as I pack up my things. I’m going to have to walk past him to leave and he knows that. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him smirking at me as I approach, but I keep my focus straight ahead. As the people in front of me filter out and go their separate ways, Grant slides in behind me, grabbing my hand and pulling me to the side as soon as we’re in the hall. I attempt to pull my hand away, but he’s not letting go.

  With my back against the wall, Grant steps forward, trapping me, and whispers in my ear. “You can’t avoid me forever, Madison. Please have lunch with me today.”

  His clean, masculine scent surrounds me and I close my eyes, breathing deep. I missed that scent. More than anything, I missed hearing his voice.

  “You can’t be hot and cold like this, Grant. I don’t understand you,” I reply, opening my eyes to make sure that he understands I’m seriously pissed at him. If my eyes can’t relay that information for me, the tone of my voice should do the trick.

  “I’m sorry. Really,” he pleads as he pulls back. I look up and his eyes tell me all that I need to know. I see the sincerity in them mixed with concern that I won’t believe him.

  “Fine. Lunch. Quickly. I have places to be.” I try to sound unaffected by his proximity, but my voice cracks and gives me away.

  I watch Grant closely, to see if he notices. A grin of triumph starts to spread across his face. Either he sees the effect he has on me or he’s happy I’ve agreed to lunch. The way I see it, he wins no matter what.

  With my hand still firmly encased in his, Grant pulls me toward the cafe. I fall in step with him as we walk in comfortable silence across campus. Grant grabs food while I find us a place to sit with a small amount of privacy.

  Raising his water bottle toward me, Grant proposes a toast. “To a fresh start.”

  Not certain what he means by that, I touch his water bottle with mine and take a sip. I want to ask, to probe deeper, but I’m afraid that he’ll run from me again. That’s what he seems to do when I ask personal questions. I’m not a huge fan of my back story, of my past or the challenges I’ve had to overcome, but I don’t walk away every time someone asks me.

  “So, how have you been?” Grant’s voice pulls me from my internal monolog.

  �
��Fine. You?”

  “Sad. I didn’t like it when you weren’t talking to me. I’ve missed this.”

  “Oh!” I’m surprised and he can hear it. I wasn’t expecting him to be so open with his feelings. I also wasn’t expecting him to call me out about ignoring him.

  “I know I messed up and I’m sorry. There are a lot of things about me I don’t like to talk about, and my father is one of them. I freaked out and when I freak out, I run.” His explanation makes sense. I tend to have a hard time talking about my mother, so I understand to a degree.

  “I get it. I don’t like talking about parts of my past either. Just promise me you won’t leave me in the dark. If you don’t want to talk about something, tell me. I can handle it.”

  “Okay.” He pauses a few beats but never takes his eyes off of me. I can tell he’s not done, that something is rolling about in his brain right now. I don’t have to wonder what it is for long. “You know, we sound like we’re making up after a fight.”

  “Well, we kind of were fighting, only I was giving you the silent treatment.” I try to make a joke of it, but Grant’s not laughing.

  “I get that. It also sounds like we’re dating.”

  My heart stops beating. This is what I’ve been trying to avoid. If he asks me out, I have to say no. I have four more weeks until I can go out with him. Right now, after making him promise to never do it again, I want to run.

  Looking away from Grant, I blow my bangs out of my eyes and adjust my glasses. When I look back up, he’s reaching across the table. I watch as his hand gets closer and closer, knowing that he’s going to touch me. I expect him to caress my cheek, in fact, I hope he does, but that’s not what he’s reaching for. I feel his finger trace the line of my scar and I close my eyes. Normally I would pull back, but I’m thankful for the distraction, even if it’s something I would rather not talk about.

  “What happened here?” Grant asks, his voice soft and gentle, barely above a whisper.

  “Car accident when I was twelve.” I hope that’s enough information to satisfy his curiosity.