A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  Face first.

  I come up gagging and coughing. “Ew! Ew! Gonna die! Call 9-1-1! Get the fire department!”

  When I finally clear out my eyes, I see two rough brown work boots.

  “I wasn’t doubting your muscles there, Wonder Woman.” Clyde chuckles and flicks a piece of dirt off his pants. “The wheelbarrow gets unsteady if there’s too much weight.”

  I continue heaving and spitting. “I’m gonna need some help here.”

  “You sure are.” He holds out a shovel. “This ought to do the trick.”

  By eight o’clock it’s dark, I reek like a sewer plant, and my left nostril is clogged with gunk from a horse’s butt.

  I catch a ride with Clyde to Dolly’s house to get my car. He makes me sit in the back so as not to offend his delicate sensibilities.

  I bail out and watch him make a U and head back to the barn.

  I open the Bug trunk and find a towel to throw over my seat.

  Easing into the car, I twist the ignition key. The engine makes a thunk, thunk. I drop my head to the steering wheel and bang it a few good times. This does nothing more than dislodge more dried manure. I give it another go, and the car still won’t start. Maybe my smell killed it.

  I dig for my phone and call Mom. No answer.

  I call Dolly. No answer.

  I try Jake, Budge, Lindy, Matt, and a few other friends—even the geek from American History who sends me messages on Facebook that border on sexual harassment.

  Nobody is home! Is the whole world gone tonight? Did the rapture come, and I missed it? God thought I stunk too much to let me in?

  I close my eyes and let out a whimpery mewl. I have one other person left to call. The last human being on the face of the earth I want to see me like this.

  Fifteen minutes later I stare at the opened door of the green 4Runner and think walking back to town doesn’t sound so bad. I probably need to burn off a few more calories anyway.

  “Get in. I’ve got the seat lined with trash bags.”

  I bite back a curse as Luke Sullivan holds the passenger door open. “Thanks for coming. I know you were probably busy.” Talking to your Harvard girlfriend who would never be coated head-to-toe in horse business.

  “You smell different tonight. New perfume?” Luke coughs into his hand and turns his head away from me. I don’t know if it’s to hide his laughter or because he’s about to gag.

  “Funny. You’re hilarious. You should have your own show on Comedy Central.”

  He shuts me in the SUV, and I hear him laugh it up as he walks around to his side.

  I just want to die. To vaporize and disappear.

  Even though it’s cold enough to ice a pond, we drive with the windows down. I’m too tired and humiliated to even care that I’m freezing. There could be snot dripping out of my working right nostril, and I wouldn’t even mind.

  Luke stops grinning long enough to break the silence. “Can I ask what you were doing tonight?”

  “Working. What does it look like I’ve been doing?”

  “You really don’t want me to answer that, little buckaroo.” He flips on the heat, careful not to touch me. “You couldn’t sling fries like the rest of our classmates?”

  “Can you just drive please?” I hear him chuckle again, and it only fans the flames on my temper. “If you tell anyone about this, I will . . .” I can’t think of a single, legal thing.

  “Yes?”

  “Tell the world what a horrible kisser you are.”

  Luke brakes right in the middle of the dirt road and throws it into park. In the dark I see his eyes trained on me. “Bella”—his voice is a gravelly whisper—“right now you are the most disgusting thing I have ever seen. You smell, you look like you got caught in a cattle stampede, and my vehicle will never be the same.” He leans over the gearshift. “And if I wasn’t so afraid of whatever’s coating your lips, I would prove to you what a liar you are.”

  I stare at his mouth. “Liar?” My word comes out more like a breathy wheeze.

  Luke eases forward an inch. “Don’t tempt me.”

  I can hear my own heart beating.

  Then he slings it into drive and tears down the road, a slight smile on his arrogant face.

  We spend the rest of the trip without talking, and when he’s almost to a complete stop in my driveway, I jump out like a stunt guy and all but crash through the front door.

  “Your stink is overwhelming my superpower.”

  I glare at my little stepbrother and slam the door behind me.

  Jake looks up from his newspaper in the living room. “Good day at Dolly’s?”

  “I see that smirk. I see it!” I point a dirty finger, caked with things I don’t even want to think about. “Why didn’t anyone tell me I’d be scooping poop today?”

  Mom bounds down the stairs, a camera in hand. She snaps off a shot and smiles. “For your scrapbook.”

  “Yeah.” I waddle toward the steps, leaving a trail of gunk. “Send it to Grandmother.”

  chapter ten

  On Tuesday I shut my locker and come face-to-face with Anna Deason.

  “What are you doing at school?” I cast a worried glance in every direction. “They think you’re a criminal. Principal Sutter will have you led out in handcuffs.” That would be totally embarrassing. And you know one of those yearbook staffers would be right there with a camera.

  She shakes her glossy dark head. “Nuh-uh. My daddy’s not only on the school board, but he’s an attorney. And one mention of the word lawsuit got me back in school until I’m proven guilty. And right now the teller from the bank who cashed the check is AWOL.”

  “The teller is missing?”

  “Yeah, gone. Victoria Smith’s her name. She’d been at the bank for about six months. She’s a senior here, but her locker’s all cleaned out. The police said she left her mom’s house. That’s all I know.”

  “Are the police looking for her?”

  “No. They got all the info they need. They have her sworn statement.”

  “But her story doesn’t add up. Either someone posed as you or she knows the person she cashed the check to wasn’t you.” And I didn’t get a chance to talk to Victoria yet. I have to find her.

  “Love how all these people are looking at me like I’m a convict.”

  Anna waves at someone passing by. “Listen, Victoria is not the sharpest eyeliner in the makeup bag, you know what I’m saying?

  The person who handed over the check might’ve had a mustache and she would’ve cashed it.”

  “Give me her mom’s address, and I’ll talk to her as soon as I can.” Which will be hard to do since I now possess the world’s worst job.

  “My dad already tried talking to Victoria’s mother. She wouldn’t tell him anything. She said Victoria’s leaving was a family affair and to butt out of it.”

  Then I guess I’ll just have to get the information another way.

  After school I call Dolly and tell her that I’ll be a little late to the farm. Then with my newly recharged Bug, I drive to the industrial area of town and park in front of Mickey Patrick’s gym, where Jake trains every day. That is, when he’s not supervising the maxi-pad machine at Summer Fresh.

  “Hey, Mickey.” I nod to Jake’s manager and trainer as I enter the gym.

  He looks up from a stack of jump ropes he’s untangling. “Jake said your evening at Dolly’s kind of stunk.” He winks like I don’t get his pun.

  “Couldn’t someone have mentioned that Dolly has a multimillion-dollar horse farm behind her house?”

  He lifts a bulky shoulder. “Thought everyone knew.” Mickey looks uninterested, but I know it has to be a sore spot—that Dolly totally reinvented her life after he left.

  “Hey, when’s her baby due? She didn’t really have time for details the other day.”

  “Whose baby?”

  “Dolly’s.”

  “What?” Mickey drops a rope. “She’s—”

  “Adopting, yeah.” I watch
Mickey’s eyes round. “Oops. I assumed I was the last to know.”

  He runs a hand over his bald head. Mickey looks like a buff, middle-aged version of Mr. Clean. He’s built, he’s quiet, and he can intimidate the heck out of someone. Like now.

  “I’m sorry, Mickey. I didn’t know it was a secret or anything.”

  He looks through me. “I’m sure it isn’t a secret. Just shows how out of touch I am.” He throws the last jump rope into a pile and walks off, shutting himself in his office.

  Jake flings himself from the ropes and smacks into his opponent, Mark Rogers. A two-man camera crew has lights set up and cameras rolling.

  I tell myself to ignore the cameras and act natural as I walk toward the ring.

  But it doesn’t hurt to reapply my lip gloss.

  “Dude, you’re giving me razor burn. Isn’t that a wrestling foul?” Mark rubs his arm.

  The two guys laugh and Jake takes to the ropes again. I think wrestling is for boys who never grew up.

  I clear my throat and Mark turns, moving out of the way just as Jake flies through the air. He lands a hard belly flop on the mat. “Oomph! ”

  Mark leans over the ring. “S’up, Bella?”

  Mark is also a wrestler wannabe. He’s pretty new at it, just like he’s new at his job on the police force. He’s probably been out of the academy a year or so, but ever since I did my own pile driver on some crime, he’s been überhelpful.

  “Gotta get some Gatorade.” Jake climbs out and limps down the hall. The two camera guys follow.

  “Whatcha got cooking?” Mark cuts right to it.

  “I need an address. Victoria Smith. Where is she?”

  “The bank teller in the missing school money case?”

  I smile. “That’s the one.”

  “I can’t give you that.”

  “I have some homework to give her.” Like twenty questions from me.

  Mark zips his lip. “I cannot divulge that information.” He wipes some sweat and coughs into his hand. “Dad’s house!” He coughs again. “Sorry, sinuses.”

  “That’s all you have for me?”

  “Sure wish I could give you that address in Tulsa, but I can’t. I’m a locked box. A sealed envelope. A safe with no key.”

  “Got it.” I smile and hand him his towel. “If you think of anything else you can’t tell me, let me know.”

  I pivot on my heel and run smack into Luke Sullivan.

  His arms snake around and hold me steady. “Bella Kirkwood, you’re up to something.”

  I wrench out of his grip. “I am offended. I was just here visiting my stepfather.”

  Luke crosses his arms and slowly shakes his head.

  “Fine.” I roll my eyes. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough. I have dibs on a story for the missing junior class funds, so I hope you’re not poaching on my territory.”

  “This isn’t about the paper.” But if I did solve the money mystery, it wouldn’t hurt to write it up in a sweet little article with my name right under the title.

  “Are you going to talk to Victoria?” he asks.

  “She moved out of her mom’s house.”

  “Answer the question, Bella.”

  “I’ve got to get to work.”

  Luke laughs, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Call me if you need a ride—to find Victoria, that is.”

  When I drive my Bug out to Dolly’s horse barn, there’s a man with a camera waiting. I ignore him and go find Clyde.

  “You ready to muck out some more stalls?” He pats down an auburn-colored horse.

  I’d rather eat my own socks. “Um . . .”

  His laugh rumbles. “Relax, kid. Today I’m going to show you how to groom a horse.”

  “Like do hair?”

  He doesn’t smile. “Follow me.”

  Fifteen minutes later I’m standing next to Sundance Kid and combing her coat. Clyde assured me she was the gentlest of horses, but how do I know what’s lurking behind this animal’s large, black eyes? Could be an intense desire to karate chop me with a hoof.

  I go through the whole grooming routine like Clyde showed me and then pick up a brush to tackle Sundance’s tail. I stay to the side of the horse like Clyde demonstrated, working in small sections to ease out any tangles in the hair.

  “Sundance, the bad news is you have some serious dead ends.

  The good news is you’ve got some great highlights.”

  Can’t seem to get all the tangles. This one piece just will not come out of its knot. “Hang on, girl. I’ll get it for you. I’m really good with hair.” Need some detangler. I lean down a little closer. “Almost got it. Just a little bit more and—”

  The tail lifts and a yellow stream shoots out like a Super Soaker.

  I jump back. But not before I’m drenched in horse pee. At the sound of laughter, I look over and see Clyde and the camera guy watching me like it’s a spectator sport.

  “Hope you enjoyed that.” I wring out my hair and wipe my hands on my jeans. “I think I’m going to cut out of here early, if that’s okay.”

  On my way home, I call Dolly and tell her I’ve got all the info I need on farm life.

  “That’s okay, sweetie,” she says. “It’s not for everybody.”

  chapter eleven

  Budge, your Thursday night gamer meeting is going to have to wait. Jake said the entire family has to be home so we can watch the premiere of Pile Driver of Dreams.” I’m just now getting to the point where I don’t roll my eyes every time I say the show’s title. It’s a huge step in my path to maturity.

  Budge readjusts his backpack over his shoulder and bumps knuckles with a passing friend. “So far this reality show crap is lame, man.”

  “Um, did they get footage of you getting bathed in horse tinkle? I don’t think so.” Who knows what else they have.

  I stop in my tracks at the tap on my shoulder.

  “Are you Bella Kirkwood?”

  This question always fills me with dread. Especially when asked by a girl in a dog collar who clearly just escaped from a punk rock video. Or prison.

  I turn around and hope my eyes are not bugging. “Yes, I guess I am.”

  “I’m Ruthie McGee. You might have heard of me.”

  I’m not sure what the right answer is here. “Uh . . . no.” The girl in front of me has the most remarkable hair of black and white, like an irate skunk roosted on top of her head. It stands in spikes that defy the laws of gravity.

  I look back, thinking Budge took the opportunity to escape, but he stands behind me, frozen. Unable to move, suspended in a trance of hair and black leather.

  “I need your help.”

  My next words take all the courage I’ve got. “I don’t work for free.” Please don’t kill me.

  Ruthie chews on a wad of gum, her black-lined eyes narrowed into slits. I take a step backward.

  “Fine.” She pops a bubble. “I’m willing to pay, but I don’t want you to take on any other cases—just mine. And I’ll make it worth your while, but only half now. The rest when the mission is accomplished. Here’s my problem.” She jerks her head toward Budge. “Is he just gonna stand there and eavesdrop?”

  My stepbrother’s mouth is open so wide, drool is bound to start pooling any second. I nudge him with my elbow.

  “Ignore him. He won’t repeat anything you say.” Plus, I think he’s too scared to move.

  “I’m running for prom queen.”

  I process this. “Do you need assistance with your updo?”

  She laughs, great rolling barks that come from deep within her throat. Then she sobers. “I need help clearing my good name.” She shoves a piece of paper in my face. “This was on my bike when I got out of school yesterday.”

  “You don’t really strike me as the ten-speed type of girl.”

  “My motorcycle.”

  “Right.” I look the paper over. It has a color picture of Ruthie making out with a guy. I lift a brow in question
.

  “It’s not me.”

  I check the paper again. “The face is kinda blurry . . . but that is definitely your hair.”

  “I’m telling you, that isn’t me!” Ruthie reaches for her shirtsleeve, where she’s got a small box rolled up. She shakes her head and drops her hand. “No, I’m trying to cut back.”

  “Marlboros?”

  “No.” Her face scrunches. “That stuff will kill you. Breath mints. I eat ’em when I’m stressed. I went through twelve boxes just last night.”

  “There is a pleasant aroma of spearmint about you.”

  “The picture, Kirkwood. Focus on the picture. That is not me. Someone is trying to destroy my good name.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  Her look says are you stupid? “Because they’re jealous, that’s what. I got the bod, the skills, the looks.”

  And a few tattoos.

  “This note was with the picture.”

  Drop out of the prom queen race or prepare for the consequences.

  I study the writing, but can’t determine if it’s from a male or female hand.

  “Ruthie, it’s not that bad. I mean, so you’re kissing a guy here. Big deal.”

  “Big deal? This wacko is going to send this to everyone I know. The photo’s been doctored, but no one will believe it.”

  “Who’s the guy?”

  “My best friend’s boyfriend.”

  “Oh.” Not good.

  “My daddy’s gonna freak.”

  “I’m sure he’ll understand.” With a kid like you, he can’t be expecting an angel.

  “Just tell me you’ll investigate and find out who’s doing this.”

  She stuffs the papers in my purse. “You don’t know my dad.” And she stomps off in her black spike-heeled boots.

  I laugh and look at Budge, who has at least managed to close his mouth. “Daddy must be rougher than she is, if she’s scared. Do you know her?”

  Budge swallows and nods. “That’s the Baptist preacher’s daughter.”

  “She’s a nut job.”

  He dabs at some sweat on his forehead. “I think I love her.”

  After filling out a dozen job applications in town and dropping them off, I return home to the smell of steak.

  I say hi to Mickey Patrick, who’s perched on a chair in front of the TV. I know he’s anxious to see how his star Jake is going to be portrayed tonight.