So Not Happening (2009)

by Jenny B. Jones

  Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. “I hope he gets the idea soon. I'm sick of dressing like a princess.”

  “But this is the new you, Lindy. It's not a phase. You've been totally transformed. Lots of girls would kill to have those Chanel shoes you have on right now. You went from looking like a sports warehouse model to a runway model. And he's into it. I've seen him looking at you.”

  “Yeah, like I'm a psychopathic shopping freak.”

  “Just trust me.” I pat her arm and join my parents.

  “Hey, I'm going to the park with—“ I choke on the rest of my sentence as I notice a familiar bald man in the family huddle.

  “Bella, you remember Mickey.” Jake pats his trainer's back.

  Yes, how have you been since I broke into your gym and found my stepfather throwing himself on another man?

  Mickey takes his eyes off me and focuses on Mom. “Jillian, how's work? Are you adjusting to life at the diner?”

  “It's getting better. I never realized what a hard job it was to be a waitress.”

  Um, probably because you weren't made to be one. My mom used to serve on the boards of directors for charities. Now she's serving anything that comes with fries.

  Mickey clasps his hands behind his back, making his chest muscles pop through his oxford shirt. The guy may be pushing fifty, but he could probably take on any member of the Truman football team. “And how is Dolly?” He turns his attention to the floor.

  “She's fine, Mickey. Maybe you should come by the diner for a piece of pie someday next week.” Mom's face is hopeful.

  “I haven't . . . um . . . had any of Sugar's banana cream pie in years.”

  Mom wraps her small arm around Jake's ox of a trainer. “Sounds like it's been too long. Come in to the diner, Mickey. Things might've changed in there.”

  Mickey scratches his head. “Oh, did they redecorate?”

  “She means Dolly,” I blurt. “Not the wallpaper.” Boys. They're so dense. “So I'm going to the park with Matt and Lindy, okay?” I give my mom a quick squeeze.

  “Why don't you ask Logan to go?” Mom asks as my least favorite Trumanite joins us. She jerks her blonde head toward him.

  “Bella, wasn't there something you wanted to ask Logan?”

  I pry my clenched teeth apart. “Budge, would you like to accompany me and some friends to the park?”

  “I'd rather eat hot lava.”

  “Okay then.”

  “Bella, go get him.” Mom pushes me into the flow of the crowd as my stepbrother walks away.

  “Budge, wait.” I catch up with him in the school lobby. “Look, you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot, and I'm sorry. Let's—”

  “I don't need you, Jillian's attempts to be my mom, or this stupid church. I'm out of here.”

  “What is your problem?” I catch his arm. “I know losing your best friend had to hurt a lot—still does, I'm sure. But being mad at all of us isn't going to accomplish anything.”

  “You don't know jack about my life, so butt out.” He busts through the lobby doors out into the yellow sunshine, his dark mood like a cloud Lrailing behind him.

  “I'm going to pray for you, Budge,” I call out.

  At the park I turn off my bad thoughts about Budge and sink my energy into the pepperoni pizza Matt places in ihr middle of the blanket.

  After Lindy leads us in a quick prayer, my mouth closes around my first bite.

  And it's everything I can do not to spit it out.

  “I see that face.” Lindy points her finger. “Do not tell us how they make pizza in New York. This is Truman, Bella. Don't be a pizza snob.”

  “I'm not!” I wipe a string of cheese off my chin. “It's getting better.” I chew and smile. “Mmmm.” It's like eating cardboard encased in mozzarella. “So, Matt, what did you think of the party Thursday night?” It's the first chance I've really had to talk to him about it.

  “It was okay.” He stares off toward a giant sandbox inhabited by squealing toddlers.

  I so want to just come out and ask him about the Brotherhood, but I can't. I don't know him well enough. And what if he alerted the other guys that I'm onto them? I'd never find out anything else.

  “You and the team seem pretty... close.”

  “Yeah, I guess we are.”

  “It's so crazy,” I laugh. “I mean we were there for hours, and I never found out whose house we were at. Do you know whose cabin it was?”

  “No. That's the fun of it.” Matt wipes his mouth with a napkin.

  “Yeah, well, it's not my kind of party,” Lindy says. “I don't think we'll going back. Right, Matt?”

  He continues his study of the sandbox.

  “Right, Matt?”

  “I don't know, Lind. It's good to get away from it all sometimes. None of us drank, so what's the harm?”

  Her eyes narrow to slits. “Because we don't need to be around that stuff. You've always been adamant about that.”

  “Lighten up, Lindy. We had a good time.”

  “Yeah.” I nudge her in the ribs. “You said you had a great time dancing. Didn't you, Matt?”

  His eyes linger on Lindy for a brief second. “You do have some new dance moves I've never seen before. I always thought you hated dancing, but you totally held your own Thursday night.”

  “Thanks.” She bats her curled eyelashes. “Bella introduced me to this guy in New York, and we danced . . . a lot.”

  I hold my breath, waiting for Matt's reaction.

  “I brought a Frisbee. You ladies want to toss it around awhile?”

  That's it? No jealousy? No declarations of love?

  “I'm game.” Lindy forces a smile and jumps up, her skirt swishing around her.

  We keep the Frisbee going for a few minutes when my girl radar picks up on something. Yes . . . I'm almost certain . . . I do believe there might be cute boys somewhere close.

  “Is that the Truman soccer team?” Just beyond Matt's shoulder a group of guys pile out of cars and onto an adjoining practice field.

  “Yeah. They're pretty good. The captain's a little cocky though.” Matt spins the Frisbee to Lindy.

  A guy balances the soccer ball on his knee. I struggle to bring him into focus, but something tells me—

  “Luke Sullivan.” And my editor in chief moves closer in our direction and comes into full view. “He's cute.” The awestruck words tUmble out of my mouth before I can reclaim them. Preppy, uptight Luke has leg muscles any quarterback would envy. And biceps. I had no idea. I just had no idea.

  A Frisbee bounces off my forehead. “Ow!”

  Lindy laughs. “See something over there you like?”

  “What? Me?” I fling the disc and rub my head. “No, of course not! I was ... um...just seeing if anyone of interest for you was over there.” This time I catch Lindy's pass. “I know you have your heart set on one guy, but it doesn't hurt to keep your options open.” And I release the Frisbee, sending it flying between Matt and Lindy.

  They both dive for it, falling into a tangled heap on the grass.

  Matt rolls away, shaking with laughter. Lindy jumps up, her skirt stained with green. “Good job, Matt. Look at my outfit.” She brushes it with frantic hands. “And my hair.”

  His freckled face falls. “What's into you lately? It's like you've changed.”

  “You're just now noticing?”

  “I'll be glad when this girly phase of yours is over.”

  “This is me, Matt. This is who I am.”

  “And I don't like it.” His voice rises above the slight breeze.

  “I can't stay one of the guys forever.”

  “I never thought of you as one of the guys!”

  “Um, I don't see you burping rap songs in front of any other girls, do you?”

  Matt scoops up the Frisbee and the pizza box. “I'm out of here. Let me know if you run into my old friend Lindy. I miss her.” He dunks the box in the trash and stomps away.

  Lindy's shoulders sag. “This isn't working,
Bella.”

  “Of course it is.” I can hardly keep from rubbing my hands together in giddy satisfaction. “Don't you see? He's finally noticing you.”

  “Yeah, noticing that he can't stand me. Fat lot of good that's doing.”

  “Lindy, be patient. He's going to go home, and you are going to invade his every thought. Obviously you've gotten under his skin. If he's unsure about this new you, it's because he's afraid of what he feels.” I totally saw this same thing on Tyra last week.

  “I've got basketball practice in a few hours. I'll see you later.”

  I watch Lindy go and feel a hitch of nerves. What if I'm not bringing Matt and Lindy together? What if I'm detonating their friendship? But he has to fall for the new Lindy, right? She dresses better, she smells like a girl, and she has killer highlights. Who could resist that?

  I stroll across the grass, past a row of swings and an old wooden teeter-totter, lost in thought.

  A whistle blows, jarring me from my trance, and I realize I've walked to the soccer field. My eyes locate Luke instantly. He shouts commands to his teammate, then high-fives him. He runs down the field, the chiseled muscles above his knees flexing with every step. The wind sails through his hair, and he pushes the ball toward the goal. I can't help but smile as I see his expression when he sinks the ball in. A grin lights up his face, and his teammates pile around him. Gone is the editor mask. No arrogance. No overblown ego. Out here, he's just a boy.

  I reach for my cell and try Hunter.

  Right to voice mail. “It's Bella. Remember me, your girlfriend? Give me a call.”

  A shadow falls across my arm. I look up and Luke smiles.

  “Did you come out here to cheer me on?”

  “No.” Can't. Think. “I was just here with some friends. I'm leaving.” I continue my walk, my face red. He'd better not think I was checking him out.

  “Bella—wait.” Luke runs toward me. “Have you found anything else?”

  Just my totally buff editor glistening with sweat. “Er, no. You?”

  He lifts up a Gatorade bottle and drinks. “Did some research and found out the lake cabin does belong to Coach Dallas.”

  “How'd you get that information, Detective Sullivan? Did you break into his office? Hack his computer?”

  He wipes the moisture from his brow. “Googled the address. Much more legal.”

  Oh. How unimaginative.

  “Now we just have to find out how Carson Penturf's suicide and Zach Epps's wreck are all connected to what I've overheard lately.”

  “If they're connected.”

  “You know they are, Luke. What does your reporter's gut tell you?” You know, the one beneath your six-pacabs.

  He slowly nods. “They're related. Just not sure how.”

  “We have to get more information somehow. And your idea to have me be a glorified waitress at the football games isn't cutting it.” Plus I broke a few nails. So not cool.

  Luke's tanned fingers tap a rhythm on the bottle as his mind works. “Find out from Matt if there's a party this Thursday night. If so, you have to get an invitation.”

  “Okay.” If my mom will even let me go.

  “And why don't you pay Kelsey Anderson a visit?”

  “She's hardly ever at school.”

  “You know where she spends her time, Bella.”

  I shudder with dread but know the girl could be a source of more information. “I'll go see her tomorrow night.”

  Across the field the whistle blows again, and Luke's teammates reassemble.

  “See you tomorrow. Oh, and, Bella?” He flashes me a wicked grin. “Good luck with your boyfriend.”

  chapter twenty-nine

  You want me to do what?”

  On Monday I sit beside my mother at Sugar's as Dolly slams down a mug and pours herself a shot of Folgers.

  “Cater Jake's party. It will be a fairly small affair at the house.” My mom fills a shaker with salt.

  Dolly arches an eyebrow. “Who will be there?”

  “Jake, some other wrestlers in the amateur circuit, a few select people from the media, and the family.”

  Dolly juts out a hip and parks her hand on it. “And?”

  My mother blinks rapidly, a sure sign she's withholding information. “And a few other random people I've invited. Can't remember who.”

  “Jillian Finley, I am not going to cook up a spread for the likes of Mickey Patrick.”

  “I need your help. I don't know how to cook. I can't even manage to squeeze cheese on Triscuits.”

  “It's true,” I say. “She can't.”

  “It's not that I don't want to help you. It's about...”

  “Dolly, I think you need to—shoot, there's old man Hodges holding up his coffee cup again. That man's going to run my legs off.”

  Mom bustles away to check on her customer, leaving Dolly, me, and a few questions I'm dying to have answered.

  “None of your business.”

  I blink at Dolly's tone. “What? I didn't say anything.”

  She smacks her gum and runs a fingernail through her teased hair. “You were going to. I saw it in your eyes.”

  “Come on, tell me what happened with you and your ex-husband. I mean, if the guy's a jerk, then maybe my stepdad doesn't need to be working with him.”

  She takes a rag and begins scrubbing the counter with a fury. “He left me, that's what.”

  “For another woman? Is that what bonded you to my mom so quickly? You know she totally relates to that.”

  “No, he didn't leave me for another woman. Don't you have somewhere to be?”

  “Oh, shoot. I do.” I sling my purse over my shoulder. “But we're not through discussing this.”

  When I pull into the parking spot at Truman Manors nursing home, dread expands in my stomach like a balloon on helium. I turn off the key then rest my head on the steering wheel and offer up a small prayer for fortitude. I do not want to go in there. I don't want to see old people in the last stages of their lives. I don't want to inhale the smell that could only belong to a nursing home. And most importantly, I do not want to discuss the football team with Kelsey over Zach's lifeless body.

  Five minutes later, I finally talk myself out of the car and into the lobby. On each side of me are seating areas and big-screen TVs. On my right is a glass case that houses ten or so chirping birds. Trapped and on display. Is this supposed to cheer the residents up? It makes me want to grab a fire extinguisher, bust through the glass, and yell, “Fly away, birds! Go! Go!”

  I turn my head from the captive pets and focus on the other side.

  And there sits Luke, playing checkers with an elderly man.

  “And that's the game! I win again.”The man holds out a wrinkled hand and Luke places cash in it. “You want to play another one?”

  Luke sees me and stands up. “No, you cleaned me out, Mr. Murphy.”

  “You can't handle this, can you?”

  “Nope.” Luke laughs and ambles to my side.

  “When you're man enough to face me again, I'll be waiting.”

  “See you next week, Mr. Murphy.” Luke places his hand at the small of my back and leads me through the lobby and past the nurses' station.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He shrugs an arrogant shoulder. “Waiting on you.”

  “Really? Because it sounded to me like you're a regular here.”

  “I don't know what that man's talking about.” Luke taps his temple. “He's a bit senile.”

  I punch his shoulder. “Luke Sullivan, you do have a heart.”

  “Tell anyone and I'll kick you out of the class and send you to—”

  “Tire Changing 101?”

  I follow him down a hall, passing door after door. Some rooms I have to look away. The residents remind me too much of the trapped birds. Some sit alone in their rooms, empty eyes staring at flashing TV screens. Others yell and call out in barely decipherable words.

  “It's not easy being here, is it?” Luke
stops before room 202.

  I shake my head. “Is this his room?” Unlike the others, this door is closed.

  “This is it. Are we ready?”

  “You're going with me?”

  “Of course.” His head tilts and his voice lowers. “You didn't think I'd let you go alone, did you?”

  “Because you don't trust me to get the information?”

  He opens his mouth, pauses, then starts again. “Let's just do this.”

  Luke knocks softly, then pushes on the door.

  Kelsey sits in a chair shoved next to the bed. The bed where her boyfriend lies, unmoving, with machines pumping and tubes weaving a pattern around him. I swallow hard.

  She looks up from her vigil. “Hi, Luke.” Her pale eyes dim a little as I step out from behind him.

  “I brought you some snacks.” Luke reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out some crackers and a bottle of water. “Nurse Betty at the front desk said you've been forgetting to eat lately.”

  She takes the food and manages a smile. “His color's good today, isn't it? He looks kind of peaceful.”

  My eyes are drawn to Zach, who looks anything but peaceful.

  “Kelsey, I have a favor to ask,” Luke says as I sit down in a vacant chair. “I know this is the last thing you want to talk about, but Bella and I have reason to believe that any information you can give us about Zach's wreck would be helpful to something we're working on.”

  She bites into a cracker. Are you gonna tell me what this is about?”

  Luke sighs. “No.”

  Seconds pass, the only sound being the push and pull of Zach's ventilator.

  Kelsey considers her fingernails for a moment. “Okay.” She reaches for her water bottle. “What do you want to know?”

  Luke doesn't hesitate. “Why do you think Zach didn't let you go to the last few parties with him?”

  She stares at her boyfriend and smoothes a piece of hair from his cheek. “I don't know. I guess I'll never know.”

  Luke sits on the arm of my chair. “Which players was Zach closest to?”

  “That was kind of odd last year. He was always best friends with Budge.” She looks directly at me. “Your stepbrother and Zach were inseparable. But during the fall semester Zach and Budge just went their separate ways. Zach started spending more and more time with the team. He mostly hung around Dante and that guy who got suspended this year—”