Lucky 13

by Rachael Brownell

  Grant’s eyes flick to me, a mix of confusion and concern registered on his face. “When?”

  “Um. I don’t really remember much. I was told that my grandma and I were coming home from the beach when our car was hit. There are about two weeks of my life that I don’t remember at all.”

  With wide eyes, Grant removes his hand and cups my cheek. “You’ll remember one day, Madison. When the time is right.”

  His words hit deep. They’re similar to ones Grandma said to me in the hospital when I woke up. I want to remember now. I want to know what I missed. I want the blackness to fade to light. Knowing there’s something I’m missing, something big. I can feel it. I’ve always felt it.

  Before the conversation can get back on track to where it was originally headed, I excuse myself. I have to leave for school or I’ll be late. As much as I don’t want to go, I need to leave or else I’ll end up backed into a corner with no way out.

  Grant makes me promise to sit next to him on Thursday. I’ve already decided to stop avoiding him, so I agree. Feeling him watching me as I walk away after slipping a piece of paper into my hand, my curiosity is burning by the time I get to my car and see what it says.

  His phone number.

  Does he expect me to call him between now and then? I can’t do that. Can I? I want to. I want to call him right now so that he has my number.

  Resisting the urge, I head to school for what I expect to be a day full of questions from Libby. There’s no way I’ll be able to shake the perma-grin that’s plastered on my face before she sees it. I don’t want to.

  As expected, Libby peppers me with questions the entire lunch period. I tell her as little as possible, knowing that the more I share with her, the more she’ll want to know. I try to change the subject on more than one occasion to no avail. She’s a persistent person. A loud, persistent person. She felt the need to yell “No” every time I made an attempt at talking about something other than me.

  A smile is still plastered on my face as I pull in the driveway ... until I see that my father is home. It falls immediately. He’s not normally home this time of day, so there has to be a good reason. One that I’m sure I’m not going to like.

  He hollers for me as soon as I close the front door. I make my way to the den to find him sitting behind his desk with his feet propped up. He looks cozy. My father never looks cozy. He’s a very serious man with impeccable posture. He doesn’t slouch. He doesn’t relax back into chairs like most normal people, like he’s doing right now.

  “Madison. How was school?” His voice is unnaturally cheerful. Something is up.

  “Fine. What’s going on?”

  “Two things. First, your grandmother is being recognized for her philanthropy by the community at the football game on Friday night. I need for you to be there to accept the award.” I can do that. No big deal. “Second, Mr. Finch called this afternoon. The house is being transferred to my name. I know this is not something that you wanted, but after having a judge review your grandmother’s will, he decided that it was best to override her wishes. You wouldn’t financially be able to take care of the house as a high school or college student.” The satisfaction in his voice is nauseating.

  Even without a mirror, I know that my face is turning red. He did this behind my back. I can’t believe him. Actually, it sounds like something he would do. I shouldn’t be surprised. My father always gets what he wants, no matter the cost. This … this will cost him more than he will ever begin to understand. He just lost my respect, the little that he had left after years of ignoring me.

  “I guess you win, don’t you, Daddy?” I emphasize each word, knowing that I’ll get under his skin the way he’s just managed to get under mine. His feet fall off the desk, his posture returning to its normal, rigid position, as he squints his eyes at me. If I didn’t know better, I would think that my father harbored a deep hatred for me. “Is there anything else?”

  “You better remember whose home you’re living in.” He’s rubbing salt in my open wounds and he knows it. “You’re dismissed.”

  I make my way to my room, head hung in defeat. He won. He took one of the most important things right out from under me. This never would have been possible if I wasn’t still a minor. When I turn eighteen …

  A light bulb goes off and I race up the stairs to make a call. It can’t hurt to try. I have to ask. The worst he can say is no. He doesn’t answer my call, so I leave him a message with my cell phone number so he doesn’t call the house asking for me. I’m hoping that he’ll get back to me by the weekend.

  Chapter 8

  Libby is overjoyed that I’m going to be attending the football game on Friday night. It’s at our rival high school, and she says that it’s going to be the best game of the season. After watching our team get pounded last Friday night, I’m less than enthusiastic about the game and nervous to be standing in front of so many people that I don’t know, all of whom know who I am.

  I knew the time would come when everyone would find out who I was, that I was related to Grandma. I’m proud to be her granddaughter and I’ll hold my head high as I accept the award for her good deeds. I was hoping that I would be able to make a name for myself before people started to associate me with her, though. Now, I’ll only be known as her granddaughter and not for my own personal achievements.

  It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s happening in a few days, and before then, I need to make it through two tests and a presentation in Creative Writing with Grant’s eyes on me. My paper is finished, polished and ready to present. It was a challenge to write about my father without sounding as if I hate him, which I do right now.

  As I expected, Grant’s eyes never leave mine as I talk about my father, his job, and moving around as I was growing up. It’s the longest two minutes of my life, but over before I know it at the same time. After taking my seat, the professor calls Grant’s name and he apologizes that he didn’t have time to complete the assignment.

  I knew this was a possibility. After his abrupt departure and then his apology, I expected that he wouldn’t write the assignment. I have no idea what his issues with his father are, but they must be big if he’s unwilling to share them. It makes me both curious and concerned for him.

  Moving on to the next presenter, I listen intently until Grant drops a note on my desk. After the last piece of paper, I’m not sure what to expect from him. I want to rip it open, but instead, carefully unfold it, hoping not to make too much noise and draw attention to myself.

  You never called.

  I got busy. I’m sorry.

  You should call me.

  When? Right now?

  I hear Grant laugh to himself and then the paper falls back in front of me.

  How about tonight?

  I want to call him, I do, but I’m also still afraid that he’s going to ask me out and I’m going to have to say no. If Mr. Finch would call me back, maybe I could say yes. I should try and call him again on my way to school.

  I have a test to study for. Tomorrow night?

  I won’t be around.

  Saturday?

  Sounds good. Maybe we could meet up and hang out?

  And this is what I was afraid of.

  Maybe.

  I hope he doesn’t think I’m playing hard to get. I’m not. I want to hang out with him more than anything, but I also don’t want my father to find out and freak out. The one time I decided to chance it and hang out with a guy after school so we could study together, my father grounded me for a month. Then, before that month was over, we were on the move again, back to Germany for six months.

  I don’t want to leave here. I like it. I’ve always liked it here. It almost feels like there’s a reason that my father doesn’t want to be here, though. He’s never come back here to visit. He limited the time I was here visiting. It wasn’t until my mother died that he started acting this way.

  The note lands on my desk one last time before the professor excuses us for the day.
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br />   I’ll find you. I promise.

  ***

  Libby’s excitement for the game is making me laugh. She’s been here for at least twenty minutes and hasn’t stopped talking about what we’re going to do tonight. She has big plans for us, apparently. She’s currently in my closet, tossing clothes over her shoulder and out the door. I’m attempting to catch as many as I can, but there’s a pile at my feet that’s continuing to grow.

  “You have to look amazing, Mads.” Her new nickname for me. I kind of like it. “There are going to be so many people there. This is the biggest game of the season. The stands will be packed. Parents, students, everyone. I can’t believe they’re giving you an award tonight.”

  “They’re not giving me an award. It’s for my grandmother. I’m accepting on her behalf.”

  “However you want to spin it. Hey!” Clothes stop flying for a moment and then Libby appears, a white dress on her arm. “I found it,” she declares, a proud smile on her face.

  “Found what?”

  “Your outfit.”

  “But it’s going to be too cold for a dress.”

  “We can bring a blanket and you can change before the party.”

  “Party?” Crap. I’m not going to be able to go to a party. There’s no way my father will let me.

  “Yeah. It’s at Jason’s place. His parents will be there, but they’re cool. Only a few of us are invited and he said that I could bring a friend.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Libby. I don’t think my father would be okay with it.”

  “You never know until you ask.”

  “He’s on base for the weekend. I can text him, but I’m telling you that he won’t like it.”

  “What if you didn’t tell him, then? Would that be the end of the world?”

  If Mr. Finch had returned my call it wouldn’t be. I spoke with his secretary yesterday and apparently he’s out of town until Monday. She’s going to have him call me first thing in the morning, hopefully before school starts.

  “It would be the end of the world if he found out I lied to him. Trust me.”

  “Let’s see what happens. We might not even go if Jason is an ass at the game.” Libby tosses the dress at me and motions for me to go try it on.

  I slip into the bathroom and pull the dress over my head. It still fits surprisingly. My grandma let me pick it out a few summers ago and I never got the chance to wear it. I forgot I even had it.

  “I love it!” Libby exclaims as I open the bathroom door. “You can wear your boots with it.” I didn’t fight it. The dress did look nice, and as long as I hid my legs under a blanket until halftime, I would survive.

  An hour later and Libby has finished my hair and makeup, done her own, and found an outfit for herself. We pack a bag so I can change my clothes after the game, and we’re out the door five minutes ahead of schedule. I let Libby drive since we’re headed to a different school because I’m still learning my way around town.

  Jason spots us the second we get there, takes our hands, and pulls us up to where a handful of people are sitting in the bleachers. I recognize a few faces but not many. Our school is huge. Most of my classes are in one wing of the school, the same wing as my locker. If I don’t share a class with someone, or see them on multiple occasions, I’m not going to remember their face. Remember their name? Not a chance.

  Jason is sitting between Libby and me, under the same blanket, resting his hand on my thigh. My thigh that is barely covered by my dress. The moment he decides to start drawing circles on my bare skin with his thumb, I jump up and excuse myself. Libby is in step with me as soon as I’m at the bottom of the bleachers, about ready to descend the stairs.

  “You okay? You looked freaked out.”

  “Fine. Jason creeps me out, though. I’m going to head home after the game, I think.”

  Libby gives me a curious stare but doesn’t probe further. That’s a first. “How about some hot chocolate before you take the field? You’ve got about five minutes.”

  I look up to the play clock and see that not only is our team getting beat by three touchdowns, but with only five minutes left before the half, Libby is right. I have just enough time to grab something to drink and head to the players’ entrance.

  I order two hot chocolates and turn to find Libby engrossed in conversation with an unfamiliar face. As I approach, he turns and looks at me as if he knows who I am. I smile, but his knowing gaze freaks me out a little.

  “Mads, this is Chester. Chester, Madison Thompson.” Libby introduces us, and an even bigger smile forms on his face. It looks similar to one that I get when I win an internal war. An “I was right” victory smile.

  “Nice to meet you,” I reply. “Libby, I’m going to head to the entrance so I’m not late. Can you hold my hot chocolate?”

  I hand her both cups and walk past them without another word. I look over my shoulder and find that Chester and Libby are still talking, but Chester is staring at me, his smile still present.

  I watch the clock count down. When the whistle blows, red jerseys swarm the gate as our team heads to the locker room. I hope they have a better plan for the second half of this game if they expect to make a comeback. Closely behind them are our rivals in blue. The last blue jersey is about to exit the field so I step around the open gate and onto the track. He removes his helmet and my mouth drops open.

  Grant.

  He’s here.

  He’s playing football. For a high school team.

  Our rival team.

  “Madison,” he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “I can explain.”

  My mind is racing a million miles a minute. There are so many questions that I want to ask, so many thoughts running through my mind. I wasn’t the only one hiding who they were. I felt bad for lying to him when, all along, he was doing the same.

  “You. You’re in high school?” I meant it to sound like a statement, knowing that he’s obviously in high school, but it came out sounding like a question.

  Grant’s eyes drop to my exposed legs and slowly climb back to mine. He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. It’s written all over his face. It’s the same look he gave me the other day when he cornered me and forced me to talk to him. He’s sorry.

  “I have to go. Will you please call me later?”

  He doesn’t wait for my response. He runs past me to catch up with the rest of his team. My eyes never leave him as I watch him jog away. I’d been watching him all night and didn't even know it. Number thirteen. Their quarterback. The reason they’re kicking our ass right now.

  “Madison, are you ready?”

  Mrs. Schroder is standing behind me, waiting for me to accompany her to the fifty-yard line. It’s time to stand before most of the town. A town which has two high schools. One of which I attend. The other Grant attends. It’s hard to wrap my mind around it all, but I don’t have time to think about it for long. I have an award to accept before I can disappear into the crowd and figure out what to do next.

  The players are back on the field by the time Mrs. Schroder and I make our exit. A round of applause for my grandmother rings in my ears as I keep my head held high and my eyes trained on my escape. I thank Mrs. Schroder for everything before running to the restroom and locking myself in the stall. I wait for the whistle to blow, announcing the start of the second half, before I make my way back through the crowd to the fence.

  I watch as Grant leads his team down the field quickly, adding to their lead over us. His movements are precise and graceful. He’s good, very good. I listen as the announcer lists his stats for the crowd, calling him Lucky Thirteen. I laugh, the irony of the statement too much for me to handle at the moment. I’m on the verge of tears, thinking about Grant, all that I’ve shared with him and kept from him when our team turns over the ball and number thirteen takes the field again.

  Just after they score, I hear Libby hollering my name from behind me. I turn to find her looking around in search of me
, so I raise my hand and wave. Looking past her for the guy she had been talking to, I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that she’s alone.

  “I drank your hot chocolate,” Libby admits as she approaches. Then she pulls her hands from behind her back, a cup in each hand. “I also bought you a new one. It’s really hot. I just burned the roof of my mouth.”

  After handing me my cup, Libby takes a sip of hers and cringes. She should have heeded her own advice.

  “So, Chester wants to head downtown after the game and check out Mum Fest. He was thinking that we could go with him.” I wait, knowing that there’s something she’s not telling me. She’s avoiding eye contact. I nudge her and she sighs before continuing. “He has a friend that he wants to introduce you to.”

  I roll my eyes. “That didn’t take much. Remind me never to tell you my deep, dark secrets.”

  “As if you have any,” Libby jokes. “Please, Mads. I’ve known Chester for years and he’s a good guy. I’m sure his friend is nice.”

  “A good guy, huh?” I try to get Libby to confess her interest in Chester, but she doesn’t. Not right away. Not until I promise to head downtown with her after the game. After that, she tells me more than I need or want to know.

  “So, tell me about Mum Fest. What’s it all about?” I ask as we get out of the car after searching for a parking spot. Libby tried to park behind the thrift store, but all the spots were taken, even the one reserved for employees. That pissed her off until she realized that she recognized the cars. Her fellow co-workers beat her downtown after the game.

  “There’s a concert tonight to kick things off, and then tomorrow the streets will be flooded with vendors and activities. It’s like a huge fair spread throughout downtown.”

  The concert has already started. I can hear music echoing through the streets, bouncing off the buildings. It gets louder the closer we get, and eventually I can see the stage and hear the words to each song clearly.

  “What time are we supposed to meet them?” I yell over the music.