Lucy and the Love Pact
Love in Ocean Grove (Book 2)
Anna Catherine Field
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
About the Author
1
The lights are blinding and hot, which is not a good mix with the nerves in my stomach. The girl ahead of me, Shanna, stands on the marked X, the judges studying her closely. She’s gorgeous, with creamy, perfect skin and long legs. Everyone here is equally attractive and for the first time in my life, I feel flawed. Why aren’t my eyes that blue? Why can’t my hips curve like that? I have the posture of a troll.
“Shanna, for your makeover we’d like to see you take your hair a few inches shorter and a shade darker.”
It’s makeover day on The Next Big Model and I’ve been waiting months for this. Years, really. Being on the show has been a dream of mine since I first saw it when I was a kid. My mom and I watched it together every week. That dream kicked into high gear when former supermodel and lifestyle guru, Fiona Crawford, announced that the show was coming to Ocean Grove and she would be the host. I knew the fates had intervened.
I knew that a big makeover was coming. It always does on episode three of the season, just after the viewers have had a chance to get to know us as contestants. Even so, I’m nervous about the judges' suggestions. They’ve done some wild things before, but everyone looks amazing when it’s over. I’m usually considered a “classic beauty,” complete with a good complexion and long shiny hair. It’s brown like my mother’s was, a deep shade that contrasts with the blue of my eyes.
Shanna gets her walking orders and I make eye contact with Fiona. She gestures me forward.
“Lucy,” she says as I stand before them. I don’t mind their studious gaze. I’ve spent my life with people looking at me. They’ve been intrigued by my style, my backstory, my tragedy. Through it all, I held my chin high. I’ve learned to rely on myself and nothing else. Handing over control to Fiona like this is a challenge.
“I know a little about you, Lucy, and how much you gave up to participate in this competition.” Fiona’s eyes remind me of her son Chase’s, a friend from the Academy. The blue is so bright that it’s almost painful to look at. “You dropped out of school, right?”
“The day I turned eighteen and was eligible to apply,” I confirm, hoping this just signals my commitment.
“And your foster family didn’t approve?”
That question feels like a kick to the gut. “When I made the decision to enter this competition, there was an ultimatum. I accept the repercussions.”
Fiona smiles and it’s like being graced with the approval of an angel. “I love your ferocity. It shows a level of dedication to a dream that most people will never possess.”
She glances at Michal, the show’s hairstylist. He looks back and there’s a conspiratorial grin. That’s my first hint of something coming. Something wrong.
“Lucy,” he says, actually standing and walking around the big table. I feel the other contestants shift behind me. He hadn’t done this to anyone else. He stands before me. He reaches out with a well-manicured hand and touches my hair, hanging loose down my back in gentle waves. It’d always been part of my signature style. People loved my hair. They were envious. And I’d always considered it the anchor to my look.
“We decided that you need a change. A drastic one that will fit your face and fierce personality.” He tilts his head. “You’ve heard of the singer Sinead O’Connor?”
I didn’t know then, but that’s the moment my dream shatters. That my convictions aren’t what they seem. That Lucy Harrington would show the world who she really is; and it’s definitely not pretty.
2
Lucy
After occupying a table in my section for two hours, table six left a three-dollar tip sitting in a spilled cup of soda and the equivalent of a box of saltine crackers littered on the floor. I push aside the chair and stare at the sticky, smashed mess.
How can one little kid create such a disaster?
I drop a rag in the puddle of soda and see a pair of scuffed, black boots walk up.
“Need some help?”
I fight a sigh and I glance up at Irving, who’s smiling down at me kindly. I rock back on my heels. “I need you to boycott kids from the restaurant. You’re the manager, aren’t you?”
“I am,” he says, holding a second rag and a dust pan, “but I think that’s outside my paygrade. Here, clean up the table, I’ll get this.”
I hesitate. Ever since the show, I’ve been wary about people offering to help me. Do they feel bad for me? Do I seem that pathetic? I know he doesn’t have a crush on me. That interest is reserved squarely for Jennifer, the other waitress. I wrinkle my nose. “How about you get the table and I’ll finish this,” I say. “I’m already on the floor.”
He looks unsure but shrugs. Maybe he does like me? That’s off the table though, Jennifer definitely does like him, and the last this I want to do is make waves. After a lifetime of wanting to be noticed, my M.O. now is to keep a low profile.
At least until my hair grows back.
Pie Whole is one of those landmark restaurants that make Ocean Grove famous. The unique little shopping district hasn’t changed that much in the last fifty years. Sure, things come and go, (like Fiona’s Home recently moving in down the block) but the old things tend to stay. Like the comic book shop next door, Bazinga Comics. Some places are an institution.
I’m scraping caked crackers off the floor with a knife when I hear the front door open. I check the time. It’s Friday night and nearing eleven. We stay open until one, trying to catch the tourists and workers looking for a late-night stop. I’m hoping it’s just a few stragglers, because I’m ready to get cut and to go home.
Any hopes vanish when I hear the voices—definitely a group. They walk past me, heading to the big booth in the back. I keep my head down and sweep up the mess, waiting for them to pass. When I’m in the clear I stand quickly, too quickly, slamming my head into the table with a loud crash.
“Ah!” I cry, stumbling back. I hit something hard, jarring my arm, and the dust pan filled with slimy crackers crashes to the floor, the mess scattering all over the area I just cleaned and my feet. I groan, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Dude, take a step back!”
I turn around, ready to lay into Irving for always being right there, but it’s not Irving. It’s a guy. A hot guy. With gray eyes and a wicked jaw line. His hair is cropped short, which serves to accentuate his features. His very handsome features. Are guys supposed to be
this pretty?
“Wow, sorry,” I say, actually managing to spill the pan again, this time on his shoes.
His eyes flick to mine and his lips quirk up and he says, “No problem.”
“Let me just…” I squat and attempt to brush off his shoes. He drops down and faces me.
“Hey, don’t worry about that.” His eyes sweep over me again, narrowing, studying. “I like your hair.”
I instinctively touch my head, still reaching for the familiar long locks and coming up drastically short. Is he making fun of me?
It’s been six months since they cut my hair and three months since the humiliating moment aired for the world to see. I’ve done what I can, working it into a funky, long on the top and shorter on the sides style while it continues to grow in. I wince, both from the reminder of what happened and from accidentally touching the tender spot that slammed into the table.
I stand and he does as well.
“Hey,” the guy says, eyes softening. “You okay?”
Without hesitation, he reaches for me and tilts my head, looking for the wound. His touch is gentle and I jerk back like I’ve been burned.
“I’m fine.” I look down and grimace. “Seriously, I’m super sorry about the mess. Totally my fault.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he frowns. “I’m no stranger to concussions. You need to be careful.”
“Just a bump,” I say, although I am woozy. I can’t tell if it’s from banging my head or being near this guy.
He nods but the concern still lingers, and I know I need to get a little space. He keeps looking at my face—my hair—and at any minute he may recognize me and that’s not something I can handle right now.
“Jennifer,” I call, and I hear her push through the kitchen door. “Can you take the back booth?”
She looks at the guy and then over at the big group. It’s a guaranteed tip.
“Sure.”
With crackers on my feet and holding onto thin shreds of my integrity, I turn and leave, wondering for the millionth time that day, how my life ended up like this.
3
Dean
The pizza delivered to our table smells amazing. My mouth waters when the waitress places it on the rack in the middle of the table. The crust looks perfect and the cheese exactly the right amount. There’s a reason Pie Whole is a landmark.
Too bad I can’t eat any of it. Right now I’m off gluten, sugar, carbs, and most dairy.
News flash: it stinks.
“Thanks Jenn,” Tommy says, giving the waitress a smile. She’s a year older than us and graduated from Ocean Grove High School last year. I don’t really know her but there’s no doubt she’s one of the reasons Tommy suggests we come here all the time.
I shove my fork into my salad, rooting around for some chicken or maybe a little bacon.
“Do you really think one slice of pizza is going to kill you?” Tommy asks as he lowers a piece of the pie onto his plate.
“It may not kill me, but it could cost me a job.”
“You’re shredded,” Adam agrees. “Like completely ripped. And you already got the job. I thought we were celebrating?”
I chew on my rabbit food and ignore them. I know my goals and achieving a certain level of physicality is one of them. Plus, I have a few more auditions coming up and like all things that involve willpower, it’s slippery slope.
The guys shake their heads and dive into the pizza and I pretend I’m not ridiculously jealous about it.
I’ve known these guys forever. We’re all seniors at Ocean Grove High and participate in their arts program. Tommy and I are both in the drama department, while Adam is getting his diploma in visual arts and Chris focuses on music—the cello, to be exact. A lot of people enter the program just to get out of the main school, but I want to be an actor. I mean, I am an actor. I’ve acted and been paid, that makes me a professional, right?
“Eighteen years old, nine months from graduation, and you’ve already got your big break.”
I smile, proud, but say, “It’s like, two lines.”
“Hey, you’re moving up from a non-speaking line of jock number three in a locker room scene, to jock with a speaking line and getting to make out with Reese Varney. That’s big.”
“On a hit show,” Adam points out. His girlfriend is a big fan of the popular high school drama filmed in a studio about thirty minutes away, and he’s the only one at the table that watches it. “It could lead to a lot more.”
It is kind of big. The directors like me and pulled me from just being a shirtless guy standing around to actually having a few lines in the TV show. It could make a difference in the next steps in my career.
From my seat I have a view of the bar and into the wide window that looks into the kitchen. The girl from before hasn’t walked back out, but I can see her, irritated and pacing in the back.
“So when does filming start?” Chris asks.
I tear my eyes away from the girl. She’s new here, I know that for certain, but there’s also something familiar about her. But maybe not, it could just be that she’s beautiful and I can’t stop looking at her.
“Tuesday, I already got permission to miss school.” I nod at the girl. “Have you ever seen her before? I swear I know her from somewhere.”
Tommy checks her out but shrugs. “I haven’t seen her around.”
We finish dinner, jealous of my friends who get to eat like normal people. That’s the difference between us, though. My aspirations are bigger than even the average person at my school. Even Tommy, who has some talent but is more interested in dating wannabe actresses than actually making this a profession. I look across the room once again, this time making eye contact with the waitress with her short hair and beautiful blue eyes. We stare at one another for a heartbeat before she tosses her bag over her shoulder and walks out the front door.
There’s a tug in my chest, something that keeps my eyes there way after she’s left. It’s the same feeling I get when wake up every morning, determined to find success. Determined to get what I want.
4
Lucy
The toaster and the doorbell ring at the same time. I’d slept in after that late shift and woke up with a massive headache from where I slammed my head into the table. There’s leftover pizza in the little oven on the counter and I’m holding a bag of frozen peas against my tender head. I almost ignore the door, opting for the food instead, but it’s followed by a knock and someone calling my name.
“Open up, Luce, don’t make me use my key.”
I exhale, walking away from the tiny kitchen and opening the door. I rest the cold bag against my head. My friend Finley stands on the other side.
“Seriously? You’re just getting up?” She notices the ice pack. “Are you okay?”
“I had the worst shift last night.” She closes the door and follows me into the kitchen. “Why do people let toddlers come to restaurants in the first place? They’re monsters.”
Finley laughs. “I don’t know. I’m an only child, I have no idea how kids work. Wait. Did a toddler beat you up?”
“No. That was all me gracefully introducing my head to the bottom of a table at full speed.” I pull the hot pizza out and lay it on a paper towel before leading her into the small living room. I think about the hot guy I’d run into right after. Then I remember his crack about my hair. Jerk. “It’s just a bump. I’ll survive.”
“Where’s Maya?” she asks, looking back toward my roommate’s bedroom.
“Class, I think, or with Christian.”
Finley looks around the room. “I like how you’ve decorated the place. Way better than schizophrenic chic.”
I make a face. “You shouldn’t make fun of your mom like that. She can’t help that she’s sick.”
“Was sick,” she amends. “She’s doing really well now, but yeah, I know. Sometimes it just helps me deal with it better by joking about it.”
I wish I could be like her—making light of all the dr
ama and failures in my life. Finley and I were both foster kids that ended up living with rich families and going to Grove Academy, a swank private school. Our stories verge from there. Her foster family is amazing. Mrs. Crawford is supportive to the point of letting Finley and her mom move into the guest house once she left the hospital. And her foster brother? Chase Powell? He’s now her ridiculously hot, college freshman boyfriend. When I needed somewhere to stay, Finley and her mom worked it out so I could live in their old place, a tiny carriage house on the other side of town. Maya, a girl I knew from the group home, moved in to split the bills.
“Have you talked to the Johnsons?” she asks, like she’s reading my mind.
“No. Once I dropped out of school, they opted out of my life.”
“To be fair, the state won’t let you drop out of school and stay with a family,” she says. “You knew the rules.”
Ugh. I’m sick of rules.
“I’m eighteen, Finley, I didn’t have much longer there anyway.” I take a bite of the greasy pizza and it’s just not as good a day later. I toss the remainder on the table, not really hungry. I don’t like talking about the Johnsons. They’d been good to me. The only family I’d really had after my mom died, but when I told them I was going on The Next Big Model, everything changed.
“Well, I think you should talk to them. See if you can come back. We still have almost a whole year of school left. Senior year! If you enroll now it’s like you haven’t even missed much. I was behind when I started last year and it was tough, but I caught up.”
Lucy and The Love Pact: Young Adult Fake Romance (Love in Ocean Grove Book 2) Page 1