Get Lucky: A YA Anthology

by Dean, Ali

  Sasha excuses herself, and I’m already headed toward my own car when my mother calls out to me. “Oh, Mackenzie, darling, we’re having a special dinner tonight.”

  I turn around to look at her. We just had one on Friday. What other news could she have for me? My heart rate picks up with the possibilities. She looks at Roger. “Roger and I thought it would be nice for you to meet his daughter, Olivia. She’s close to your age.”

  “Olivia’s a senior at Woodland,” Roger adds. “I think you two could be friends.”

  Are they playing at something, or just totally clueless?

  “Where’s the dinner?”

  “Our house,” my mother states proudly. I must give her a funny look, because she adds, “We’re having food delivered from Juliano’s. I know it’s your favorite.”

  I can’t even answer that attempt at maternal affection. I almost say, “Yeah, when I was five,” but I know that sarcasm gets me nowhere. Playing along is the easiest way to handle Delilah Ferris.

  “Great.”

  But, when I’m in my car, windows down, angry music blaring, I wonder if there’s any way I can get out of this dinner without causing an explosion. She’s pushed me farther than she usually does, and I don’t like it. Meeting for a dinner at the club to meet the next guy she’ll marry, I can handle that. Having his daughter come over to our house, where we’re expected to play nice and pretend we can be friends one day? That’s really pushing it.

  I’m sweating from head to toe from playing some of the hardest and best tennis of my life, a completely unexpected thrill after a sleepless night, and it takes only one conversation with my mother to pierce through the elation. I’m furious. How can she put me in this position? I thought we had an unspoken deal to stay out each other’s lives except for appearances’ sake? And I don’t think it was Roger’s idea, from the little I know of the guy. He does everything for appearances, too, and this goes above and beyond that.

  Could it have been Olivia who wanted this? Why? What does she know about me?

  I’m distracted when I get home, and finally turn my phone back on from last night. Jesse and Emma both called and left several texts. Emma wants to tell me all about her night and get the details on mine. A different wave of emotion hits at the thought of that conversation. I suddenly feel like my entire life is out of control. All the pieces that seemed to be fitting together, if precariously, are not only slowly sliding out of place, but reshaping themselves entirely. And, what am I supposed to do about it? Recreate myself and my relationships?

  It doesn’t work that way.

  After showering, I rummage through the kitchen to find something to eat. My mother has groceries delivered regularly, but most of it goes to waste since neither of us are home to eat very often. I’m spreading cream cheese on a bagel when Emma’s loud voice yells from the front entry.

  “Mackenzie Bell! I know you’re in here! I saw your car out front!” She storms into the kitchen.

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  “Oh, wow, that looks good.” I put a bagel in the toaster for her, knowing she’s about to eat half of mine.

  “So, tell me what all went down between you and Lincoln. Before last night, he was a name that I’d heard a few times, but I can see it’s more than that.”

  If I can get her talking about Lincoln, I might be able to hold off on answering her questions about my night.

  “It is more than that, Mac. So much more. I think we’re already in love, and I only met him a few weeks ago.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. It sounds ridiculous, but I think I might believe her. Emma tells me everything about Lincoln: how they met at a coffee shop where they were both studying, and they had a three-hour conversation. I knew she was hooking up with this guy, but now I know it’s not just our schedules this quarter that have kept us from seeing each other as often. She’s been spending every free minute with him.

  “I really want us all to hang out. I was hoping for that last night, for you to get to know each other, but, well, that didn’t work out.”

  “Emma, how was I supposed to talk to the guy when you had your tongue down his throat within seconds of seeing him?” I tease her, and she pretends to be ashamed of herself.

  “Well, at least you and his best friend, Chester, got to hang out a little, right? What happened? Jesse said he picked you up from Chester’s, and then you must have gone home.”

  “Yeah, I was tired. Sally Childs was at your house, and she was talking my ear off, so I was ready to call it a night.”

  Emma watches me, waiting for more, but I busy myself making coffee. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “It was too loud at your house to stay there. That’s why I walked home.” I’m hoping that’s the only reason she’s suspicious.

  “Did something happen with you and Chester?” she asks eagerly.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but no.”

  “Oh.” I can see the wheels turning in her head, and I almost wish something had happened with me and Chester so she would drop it. I don’t know if the kiss with her brother is something I can hide from her, or if I even should. It seems like the kind of secret that would fester and could create a chasm between us. I don’t want that, and I won’t let it.

  But I’m not ready to tell her, not when I don’t have a handle on it myself. Not yet.

  “I’ve got a ton of homework today, Ems, and I’m going to have to kick you out, so you stop distracting me,” I tell her. I know she still knows I’m keeping something from her, but I do plan to tell her, and she doesn’t push me to do it now.

  “Yeah, fine. I should do mine, too, so I can make out with Lincoln later,” she says breezily. “And I really need to tell Jesse. I hate keeping this from him, and he’ll be mad, but keeping it a secret is exhausting.”

  I don’t think she means anything by that; Emma isn’t the type to give an underhanded blow, but still, her words make my stomach churn. I’ll tell her tomorrow.

  I do have a ton of homework, and I hole up in my room to work through it, trying not to think about the impending dinner with Olivia Carmichael. Still, it’s in the back of my head all day, weighing on me.

  My mother gets home mid-afternoon, but I don’t go downstairs until I hear the doorbell ring around six. She glances at me walking down the stairs, sizing me up and down, before reaching to open the front door.

  “Olivia, darling, so nice to see you,” my mother greets Olivia in much the same way she greets me, calling her darling and air kissing. As soon as they break apart, Olivia’s eyes are on me, burning me up. She’s about my height, 5’7”, but we otherwise share very few physical characteristics. Her hair is dark brown, her eyes just as dark, and her skin is olive, where mine would be pale if not for all the time I spend on the court.

  As her father introduces us, and my mother offers drinks and leads us into the kitchen, one thing becomes clear. Olivia Carmichael does not want to be my friend. Whether it was the way she looked at me, or the way she holds herself, all stiff and standoffish, I don’t know, but she’s screaming hostility. The thing is, I expected her to dislike me because of my mother. It wouldn’t be the first time. But, as we stand around dishes of olives and crackers and soft cheese, chatting about golf, which Olivia is quite good at, apparently, a sinking, uneasy feeling seeps through me.

  Olivia doesn’t hate my mom. No, she admires her. They’ve spent time together before: playing golf with Roger, and then, I learn, on multiple occasions, just the two of them have lounged by the club pool or had a meal together. I’ve never had to try so hard to play the part as I force a smile at the conversation. But, I’m not sure I want to fake it anymore. What’s the point? Why are we even having this little dinner? What are we trying to prove? If my mother has a relationship of some sort with Olivia, the girl must know already that my own relationship with my mother is only formalities. Is that why Olivia despises me? Why else would she despise someone she doesn’t know?

  My mind i
s spinning, not with jealousy or betrayal, but with confusion. Maybe my mother needed Olivia’s alliance in order to win over Roger. Still, she wouldn’t say anything negative about me; that’s not what mothers do, and Delilah Ferris is intelligent enough to understand that, her lack of maternal instinct notwithstanding.

  The doorbell rings, and my mother looks at me with a frown. “Were you expecting someone, darling?”

  “No, but I’ll get it.” I need to get away from you for a minute.

  I heave deep breaths as I walk to the front door. But, when I open it, I forget to breathe for a moment.

  “Hi, Mac.” Jesse says my name, adoringly, and, I think, apologetically.

  “Hey, Jesse,” I try to sound breezy and uncaring, like I’ve already forgotten about the kiss, but I think I fail. Jesse clears his throat nervously, shoves his hands in his pockets.

  “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you, Mac. I was worried, and then angry, and now I’m confused. We need to talk, alright?”

  And, now, I’m grateful for the company in the house, because I don’t know if I want to talk to Jesse about what happened.

  “Mackenzie, darling, who is it?”

  “Just Jesse,” I call back, gesturing for him to come inside. Olivia’s gorgeous, and if he flirts with her like he normally would with a hot girl, that will tell me all I need to know. Not that I’m testing him by inviting him inside. Jesse’s presence is actually comforting, calming even, and having him here might help prevent me from doing something regrettable. With Olivia’s hatred spewing off of her, and the bizarre revelation of her fondness for my mother, I’m not sure I can sit here and play normal daughter without Jesse at my side.

  If I thought the climate in the room couldn’t get any more mystifying, I was wrong. As soon as Jesse walks into the kitchen, there’s an unmistakable shift in the air, and it’s not a good one.

  Chapter Seven

  Olivia’s perfectly glossed lips rise in satisfaction, like she’s just discovered she has a winning a lottery ticket.

  “Jesse, what a nice surprise.” I suck in a breath at Olivia’s words, not because of the familiarity, which isn’t particularly shocking, but at the way she says them. She sounds like my mother: dark and scheming.

  “Olivia,” he murmurs, and then looks at my mother. “Hello, Delilah, nice to see you.” He knows how to play the part, too.

  Roger introduces himself, but his presence here tonight has dwindled to irrelevant.

  “We were just about to sit down for dinner. Why don’t you join us?” My mother doesn’t wait for an answer, as she begins uncovering the dishes on the counter. “Mackenzie, darling, would you set another place at the table?”

  Jesse shifts on his feet as I maneuver around him, grateful for a distracting task. “I don’t want to interrupt. I can see Mac later. Thanks, though.”

  “Oh, I insist. And, aren’t your parents still out of town? I’m sure you could use a nice dinner.”

  And that’s the end of it. Arguing with Delilah Ferris is useless.

  My mother wasn’t entirely wrong about Juliano’s, but only because it’s Italian food. I don’t know a single person who doesn’t love it. She’s ordered three times more food than we need, and I wasn’t paying much attention when I loaded my plate. It’s piled high, but I’m only eating for appearances sake. My appetite is gone.

  I end up sitting across from Olivia and Jesse. She’s stealing glances at him, and he’s diligently trying not to look at her. I’m tempted to throw Olivia off by asking about the cops showing up at her house last night, but it feels like cheating. Not that we’re competing for a prize or anything. I am curious, though, where her real mother was, and if Roger, who was at our house, even heard about it.

  “So, Olivia, how do you know Jesse here?” Roger asks, oblivious to the thick emotion wafting across the table.

  It’s the question she was hoping for. “Oh, we have mutual friends. We’ve hung out at parties and stuff.”

  Roger isn’t really listening to her answer. He doesn’t care. He’s just making conversation, and playing the part, too. This is all so ridiculous. I’d leave, but I don’t know where I’d go. And I want to watch this unfold.

  My mother’s syrupy voice cuts in. “And you’ve played golf together. I remember you telling me about that.” My eyes shoot over to my mother, who takes a sip of wine, disguising her expression. Over the rim of the glass, she watches Jesse for his reaction, and my eyes follow hers.

  His mouth is set in a firm line, his eyes darting around the table, unsure where to look. It’s not guilt that’s making him squirm in his seat; it’s fury. Nothing like the anger when he picked me up last night, which was mild in comparison. I’m too fascinated by the rage simmering in Jesse to think about what my mother said.

  “We did. It was a couple of months ago,” Olivia says, leaning toward him so their shoulders are almost touching. “You got so busy with tennis after that. We should go again some time.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jesse says without hesitation. “We’re in the middle of tennis season.” It might be the first time I’ve witnessed him be borderline rude. He doesn’t even apologize. Even to my mother, Jesse is normally polite and cordial. And he might hate her as much as I do.

  “That’s too bad,” Delilah says. “Olivia and I are planning to go next weekend, and we’d love it if you could join us.”

  Olivia glances at me, and gauges my reaction to my mother’s revelation. Unlike me, her face is an open book, and I can see that she isn’t finding what she’s looking for from me. Did she hope I’d be jealous of her spending time with my mother? It’s becoming clear those two are peas in a pod, and they can do whatever the hell they want together. My mother doesn’t have as much power over me as she once did. I don’t even mind if they try to hurt me, as long as it doesn’t involve Jesse. But, that’s just it. Olivia wants Jesse Kendrick. And, whether my mother knows about my feelings for him or not, she wants to help Olivia get him. One thing I know, Delilah’s methods of getting what she wants are not innocent.

  As Olivia reaches for Jesse’s arm, and leans to whisper something in his ear, it clicks. Olivia doesn’t despise me because my mother broke up her mother’s marriage, or because she wants to be my mother’s new best friend and replacement daughter. No, she despises me because Jesse is my real family. I have access to him, where she does not.

  Jesse dislikes very few people, and it’s quite clear Olivia has made that list. He’s leaning away from her, cringing at whatever she whispered. It’s very unusual for Jesse not to flirt along, particularly with a beautiful girl like Olivia. Unlike most guys who go with the aloof act if they aren’t interested, Jesse has never been capable of it. He’s too genuine. Maybe that’s why he’s had so many girlfriends.

  It takes immense restraint not to clap with glee at his open disgust with Olivia. But I can’t hide my pleasure at what he does next. He reaches into his pocket, checks his cell phone, and announces that he needs to leave, with me, for a family emergency.

  “Oh dear,” my mother feigns worry. “What is it?”

  “It’s not exactly an emergency,” Jesse admits. “Just something with my sister. Thanks so much for dinner.” He’s already up, around the table, and holding his hand out for me. I take it, stifling laughter. The insult is priceless. It’s clear to everyone at the table he just wants to leave, and has made a lame excuse, not caring if anyone believes it. He doesn’t care about their opinions or their feelings, and that is another first for Jesse Kendrick.

  I’m proud of him.

  As soon as the door to my house shuts behind us, he says, “I had to get us out of there. I couldn’t sit there and act normal.”

  “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

  “Are you ready to listen now?” He’s worked up from sitting between Olivia and Delilah, and he’s taking some of his frustration out on me. “You shut me out.” He lets me hear the hurt in his voice, and I have the urge to slap him. The image of Bianca on hi
s lap flashes before me. He has no right to be hurt.

  “Are we going to your house? Is Emma home?” I ask.

  “Emma’s not home. No one is.”

  “Fine, then,” I say petulantly. “Talk.”

  “I didn’t know that husband number five was Olivia Carmichael’s dad,” Jesse begins. “But it all makes a lot more sense now.”

  “What does?”

  He sighs and shakes his head, as if he doesn’t want to think about any of it, but knows he must. His hand is still holding mine when he opens the front door to his house and we walk inside. We sit down on the couch in the sitting room that no one ever sits in. But it’s the closest piece of furniture to the front door, and it seems as if we both need to be sitting down for this.

  “I was seeing a girl from Woodland over winter break.”

  “Heidi Dowd?”

  “Yeah.” He’s looking at his hands. He doesn’t want to talk to me about this, but he knows he should. This is the Jesse I know. He won’t make me pry it out of him, or search for information that I need. He knows that Olivia needs to be explained, and I guess it begins with Heidi.

  “We were at a Woodland party. The thing between our schools had simmered down then, and no one had a problem hanging out together. Anyway, I was leaving a bathroom when Olivia came rushing forward all upset. I didn’t know her very well, but, you know, I asked if she was okay and if I could help. It looked like she’d been crying.”

  I scooch closer to him. He seems vulnerable, embarrassed or ashamed of what he’s telling me.

  “She started telling me about walking in on her dad with another woman earlier that day. She said she’d tried drinking to forget, and now she was a mess. She acted like she didn’t want anyone to see her like this, and, um, that’s how we ended up in the bathroom with the door closed.”

  I’m trying to picture it. Even knowing that Olivia’s dad was having an affair, and that she could have walked in on him with my mother, I know that she was manipulating Jesse. Whether she told him truth or lies that night, she was setting him up.