A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  He laughs. “That’s awesome. Wait just a sec, okay?”

  I hear a beep.

  “Taylor?”

  Ugh. “Nope. Still me. Bella.”

  “Must’ve lost her. Tell Jake I’m really happy for him.”

  I struggle to hear him with the noise around me. “Yeah, I’ll do that. Bye.”

  “Hey, Bella?”

  “Yes?”

  I hear him breathe deep. “Thanks for calling me.”

  Silence. “That’s what friends do.” And I hang up, a little sadder than I was only one minute ago.

  chapter twenty-three

  But I’m really qualified. Nobody knows ice cream better than me.”

  The owner of the Truman Dairy Barn shakes her white poodle-curl head one last time, and I leave. I’ve been all over Truman today. Nobody is hiring.

  I hop in my mom’s Tahoe. Times are hard. I need my car fixed and I need a prom dress. And prom shoes. And prom earrings, lipstick, hair, nails, perfume, necklace, and matching handbag. The five dollars in my pocket is not going to cover it. I miss my dad’s credit card.

  This morning in my quiet time I read a devotional about pride. It said that God dislikes it so much, he gives us the cold shoulder. I certainly don’t need that. And I know I’m supposed to resist pride, and it’s wrong. But I have yet to find anyone in the Bible whose only job option left was cranking out maxi-pads. Who needs a car anyway? I’m doing fine catching rides in the hearse.

  Okay, actually, no I’m not. I’m forever thinking I smell formaldehyde. Fine, God. I’m ready to suck it up and gain some humility. I can’t afford you being mad at me. Not with a maniac at large.

  Taylor Swift blasts from my phone, and I pick it up.

  “Hey, Hunter.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Deciding whether I want to give up my car or give up my dignity. I have to get a job, and the only place that’s hiring is the factory where Jake works.”

  “Doesn’t he make—”

  “Yes!”

  Hunter’s laugh does not make me feel like turning the car toward the industrial park to Summer Fresh.

  “These are desperate times, Hunter. You have no idea.”

  He laughs again, but this time it’s bitter. “Oh, I know more about that than you think. At least you have prom to look forward to.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I should just skip it until next year. It’s going to be really expensive, I don’t have a job, and I don’t even have a date.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  I chuckle. “I’m so sure.”

  “Seriously. Dad has business in Tulsa in March. I’ll just see if he’ll postpone it until your prom weekend.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  Hunter’s voice is soft and familiar. “I’d do anything for you.”

  “And I won’t find you outside making out with my best friend under a tree and some twinkly lights?”

  “I thought you had forgiven me.”

  “I have.” Forgetting seems to be another matter. “Hunter, I would love it if you’d go to prom with me. It would mean a lot.”

  “Then it’s settled.”

  I balance the phone between my cheek and shoulder. “So how are you feeling these days?”

  “I’m okay.” His tone says to drop it.

  “Any updates?”

  “They’ve ruled out a few more things. I’ve got more tests this week. Don’t worry about it. You have enough to think about.”

  “Knowing the doctors can’t figure out what’s wrong with you and it could possibly be fatal is not something I can just push out of my mind.”

  “I never said I was dying.” I hear him clicking on a keyboard and know this topic has probably lost his attention. “I just said it was severe, and I wouldn’t be sure of the outcome. Nothing has changed. But talking to you always makes me feel better. And I know you’re praying for me and stuff. It’s like sometimes I can feel your faith, you know?”

  Being Hunter’s friend is so the right thing to do.

  As I end my call, I realize in the last few minutes I’ve driven the Tahoe to Summer Fresh. The entrance to the sprawling concrete building looms before me. If Hunter sees Christ in me, then what would Christ do? Probably move to the next town.

  No, he’d suck it up, go in, and fill out an application. God, give me strength as I walk through this dark, dark valley of life.

  Here goes nothing. I jump out of the SUV, call my overly protective mom to check in, and head toward the Kotex Compound.

  “I’d like an application for a job. Part-time.”

  A gray-headed woman eyes me over the top of her bifocals. “You look familiar.”

  “I’m Jake Finley’s stepdaughter.” Throwing around a shift manager’s name ought to mean something.

  “Nah. That’s not it.” She opens a drawer and rifles through it.

  “Yessiree. Here we go.” She pulls out an Enquirer and pokes her nail at a picture. “This is you, ain’t it? I love this show!”

  “Can I just get an application?” I’m not sure if I’m having a moment of maturity or insanity, but it could wear off at any moment.

  “I know this is you. Says here you’ve got two boyfriends.”

  “I really don’t—”

  “Says here you solve local crimes.”

  “It’s not like—”

  “And you’ve secretly been dating Prince Harry of England?”

  I step a little closer at the clearly doctored picture of me and the prince. Nice. “Just between you and me, it’s all true. But if Harry finds out I told, he’d stop buying me diamonds, so let’s just keep that one on the DL.”

  She nods her gray head vigorously. “Look at me—buttoning my lip.” She presses her mouth together. “Mmmmmm.”

  “Great. I knew I could count on you. Um, application please?”

  She makes some more muffled sounds and hands me a blank form and a pen.

  “Ginger, do you have those accounts ready?” A man lays some manila folders on the receptionist’s desk. “Hey, aren’t you Jake’s kid?”

  Behind him Ginger makes fish lips and shakes her head.

  “Yes, I’m his stepdaughter. I’m, uh, filling out an application. He said you were hiring.”

  “Reuben Pierce.” We shake hands, then he grabs the form. “You’re hired.”

  “Just like that?” No. That was too quick. “I’m working on a story on teen jobs for the school paper, so I might not be around too long.” Please tell me that’s not acceptable and to go merrily on my way.

  “I can tell a good pad maker when I see one. And we here at Summer Fresh always like to help out Truman High.”

  Oh. How generous.

  “I want to see you here Monday after school. Can you handle that?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I mean, yes. I’ll be here.” We shake hands again, and I wave good-bye to Ginger, who now is doing the lock-and-key number and pointing to her lips.

  Outside, I spy a familiar white van across the street. “Yes!” I yell. “I’m going to make feminine products! Stick that on your TV show!” And I peel away.

  A couple of hours later, Mom knocks on my bedroom door. “Luke’s here, honey.”

  I save the article I’m working on and skip down the stairs in my jeans, Chucks, and bobbing ponytail.

  He sits in the living room and talks to Budge.

  “Just gonna grab my coat,” I yell and detour into the kitchen where I left it. I wander into a serious heart-to-heart between Jake and Robbie.

  “I’m going to ask you one last time, Robbie. Why didn’t you finish any of your schoolwork this week?”

  As I reach for my jacket on the back of an empty chair, my little stepbrother shrugs. “I dunno.”

  Jake holds a note with the school letterhead. “Until your teacher calls me with a positive update, no TV.”

  “But Dad, I have to watch my superheroes. And I got s
ome judo

  DVDs.”

  “You’ll be doing homework, son. No TV this week.”

  There’s a cramp in my heart as little Robbie snivels into his shirtsleeve. What is going on with that kid?

  Luke stands up as I enter the living room. “You look nice. Very casual and sporty.”

  At least he didn’t say I look like a good pad maker.

  Luke holds an umbrella over my head as we walk outside into a growing rainstorm. As usual, he opens my door and shuts me in.

  Has Hunter ever opened a car door for me?

  “Lindy said to tell you she has your Match-and-Catch envelope.

  You left it the day we passed out the results,” Luke says.

  “I’ve been too busy to even think about it. I guess I’m just hanging in the wind—not knowing who my true love might be.”

  “Your prom date could be in that envelope.”

  “Already have one,” I blurt without thinking. A full minute of silence ensues. Then another. “You’re not going to ask me who it is, are you?”

  Luke takes his eyes off the road long enough to look at me with bland eyes. “Let me guess. Hunter called and said just the right thing, and you’re convinced even more that he’s changed, and now he’s going to ride up in a white Hummer and escort you to prom.”

  “Somebody did not put on his happy pants today.” I stare out the window at a slice of lightning. “I suppose your girlfriend is perfect?”

  Luke turns his 4Runner into the gym parking lot and finds a spot. “Have you prayed about jumping back into a relationship with Hunter?”

  “Yes.” Sorta. Maybe. Pretty much no. “And for your information,

  Pastor Sullivan, I’m not jumping into anything.”

  We walk into the gym and flash our press passes, which is pretty cool. I feel like a cop on TV when I do that.

  I follow Luke to the concession area. “Are we going to interview some people? Take some pictures? Get some quotes?”

  “We’re getting nachos.”

  A few minutes later he turns around and hands me cheesy nachos with some canned chili on top. It looks disgusting. And I can’t wait to dig in.

  “Your Sprite.” He extends a bottle, and I’m oddly touched that he remembers these little things, like my favorite drink.

  “Luke, do you know what my favorite color is?”

  He leads me up the bleachers to find a seat. “Pink. And black.” He smiles at my cotton candy–colored scarf.

  I settle my food in my lap as we sit. “And on what side do I usually part my hair?”

  He focuses straight ahead on the ball game already in progress. “The left. But tonight you’ve flipped it to the right.”

  “You do have good reporter skills.”

  His intense blue eyes leave the court and fix on my face. “What does noticing things about you have to do with me being a good reporter?”

  I don’t know how long I stare at him, but a blast from the scoreboard snaps me back to the game.

  After the junior high game ends, the Lady Tigers take the court, and the cheerleaders line up under the basket. Lindy spots me in the crowd and waves as she sinks a warm-up shot.

  “Hey, guys.” Matt Sparks climbs the bleachers and sits down beside me in his team sweats. “Glad you could make it for the games.

  Bella, good article in the paper about the high cost of prom.”

  “Thanks.” I beam. “Who knew it could be so expensive, right?”

  But come Monday, I’ll be working toward a paycheck. One pad at a time. “Are you taking a date?”

  “Nah.” Matt looks to the court as the two teams take their places for the tip-off. “I’m sure I’ll just hang out with Lindy like usual.”

  I nearly choke on a chip. “Didn’t she tell you? Lindy’s going to the prom with Newton Phillips.”

  Matt blanches. “Who?”

  “Newt. He’s a friend of—”

  “I know who he is.” Matt’s fingers tap the seat. “When did this happen? Is it like a date?”

  “Um . . .” What do I say here? “You’ll have to talk to Lindy. I didn’t mean to spill the beans. I just thought you’d know.” Hope you weren’t planning on coordinating your tie with her dress.

  “I need to go stretch.” He stands up. “I’ll see you guys later.”

  “That went well.” Luke watches him leave.

  “How was I supposed to know she hadn’t told Matt?” My grin spreads slowly. “His reaction was interesting though, wasn’t it? So what about you? Is Taylor coming in for prom?”

  He claps when the Tigers score. “She’ll be staying at school.”

  The buzzer sounds for a time-out, and the cheerleaders take center court. I watch Anna smile her peppy smile and lure the crowd into a chant. I scan the audience for anyone even remotely suspicious. Aside from two guys in twin mullets, I see nothing unusual. No one that screams, “I stalk potential prom queens.”

  “There’s Dolly.” Luke waves toward the end of the gym, and

  Dolly starts walking our way. Baby Mason is held tight to her chest by some sort of sling contraption.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as Dolly sits in the spot Matt vacated.

  She lets out a breath, sending her big bangs up even higher. “Mason and I needed to get out of the house for a while.” She strokes his sleeping head. “And I have season passes. I love me some basketball. And I figure it’s never too soon to introduce a boy to sports, right?”

  Mason looks like he’s unconscious, so I doubt he’ll be absorbing much of the game tonight.

  At half-time I’m about to go to the concession stand for some Skittles when the cheerleaders take the court again. They spread across the floor, and music begins to pump out of the speakers. I sit back down to watch the show.

  “Wow. They’re really good.” Dolly pats Mason’s back. “They just shot that one girl up like a torpedo.”

  That one girl is Anna Deason. Though she’s incredibly tall, she’s slender and light. As a techno mix of a song plays, she and a few other girls do backhand springs across the floor as the other cheerleaders begin to build. The song speeds up, and Anna runs to the center of the formation. Two cheerleaders form a basket with their arms, and Anna is thrown straight into the air as the music crescendos.

  My eyes follow her straight toward the ceiling.

  The music stops. And the gym goes black.

  Shrieks come from all around.

  Then a loud thud from the gym floor.

  Luke’s hand finds mine as I get to my feet. “Don’t move.”

  “But Anna—she could be hurt.”

  “Must be some storm out there,” Dolly says as Mason begins to fuss.

  “What’s going on?” Did the lightning knock the electricity out?

  “Call a doctor!” someone yells from below. Anna. She must be injured. And maybe others, if she fell on them.

  Though it feels like an eternity, only two minutes pass before the lights flicker back on. Someone in the press box picks up a mic.

  “Just the weather, folks. I guess the lightning flipped a breaker.

  Please stay in your seat until we can get these two young ladies safely out of the gym.”

  Anna hangs limp over her dad’s arms as he carries her out. The cheer coach follows behind, helping another girl hobble toward the exit.

  Luke stands. “Let’s go check it out.”

  I trail behind him into the gym lobby. He peruses the anxious crowd that’s gathered. “Let’s go talk to Hank Gates.”

  “Ben Gates’s dad? Why are we talking to the point guard’s father?”

  “Because he’s the fire chief.” Luke slips through a knot of people, then pulls me through, his fingers wrapped around my hand.

  He stops in front of a middle-aged guy in a Truman Fire Department cap. We wait until he finishes a conversation with the school superintendent.

  “Mr. Gates?” Luke steps forward and engages the man in small talk about the game, his son, and some ran
dom current events. “So lightning knocked the lights out, huh?” he finally asks.

  “Yep. Looks that way. We’ve had some wild storms the last few nights, but luckily no damage.”

  I join the conversation. “Did it just affect the gym?”

  He scratches his beard. “Yeah, kind of crazy. It didn’t trip any other breakers in the high school but the main gym area. Even the locker rooms had power.” He shakes his head. “Mother Nature’s just full of mischief tonight.”

  Luke catches my eye, and I know we share the same thought.

  Mother Nature?

  Or someone a little more sinister?

  chapter twenty-four

  Happy Monday, Truman Tigers! This is Melanie Coulson for Tiger TV with your morning announcements. It’s not too late to cast your vote for prom king and queen. Hop online today and . . .”

  Budge sits sideways in his seat, ignoring the TV. “I’m so sick of all this prom stuff.”

  I dig through my backpack until I find our novel for the month, Heart of Darkness, and barely resist the urge to chuck it across the room. More like Heart of Pukeness. “Why don’t you just ask Ruthie to prom? What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  “She’d put me in a choke hold and laugh in my face.”

  It is possible. “I don’t think so. But she is a little untrusting of guys right now. Her last boyfriend dumped her over those doctored pictures.”

  “What a jerk.”

  “If you don’t ask her, someone else will. What if a biker family moves into town today, and some dude with chaps and a leather vest steals her heart? Do you really want to risk that?”

  His head droops. “I could never compete with someone in chaps.”

  I pat his shoulder. “Seize the day, Budge.”

  I barely stay awake through the lecture on the novel. When the bell rings to end class, I’m the first one out the door.

  “Did you get my message about Anna?” Luke asks, as I sit down at my computer in journalism.

  “One broken arm, one concussion, and one surly attitude. Yeah, it was the talk of church yesterday.”

  I scroll through my e-mails to check for any possible job offers or other miracles.

  Wait—what’s this?