A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  Luke and I both move to the center of the seat and lean in. If she came back to tell us the toilet paper was scratchy, it’s going to be a huge letdown.

  Victoria stares at her hands. “I can’t say much, but I think you’re on the right track with Joshua Day.” Her voice seems to gain strength. “You have to keep me out of this for my own protection, but Joshua is the one who was behind those calls to cancel the caterer and banquet room. And Joshua . . . he’s been harassing the girls.”

  “Have you been helping him?” I ask.

  “No!”

  Luke grips his Coke. “Was he the one who transferred the junior class’s money into Anna Deason’s account?”

  “Yes. He’s brilliant at computers. He writes all sorts of programs.” Her eyes grow distant, as if she’s seeing him. “He’s great at fantasy. It’s reality that he has trouble with. But I love him anyway. Even if he won’t stop chasing her and—” Victoria clamps her mouth tight. “I have to go.” She jumps out of the seat, doubles back, grabs the shake, and bolts out the door.

  We get back to Truman just in time for the opening of Pile Driver of Dreams. The crowd has expanded and somehow an even bigger flat screen has appeared.

  Dolly sits with Mason in her lap and laughs at something he does. From a distance Mickey watches, his face impassive.

  Luke and I grab the two vacant seats next to Lindy and Matt.

  Not that they notice we’re there.

  “I just don’t see why I have to hear about your prom date from someone else, that’s all,” Matt says.

  “So that’s what you’ve been so pouty about lately?”

  “I thought maybe—”

  “What?” Lindy barks. “That we’d go together? As friends. Like we always do things together—as friends.”

  “Best friends. And I don’t even know this Newton guy.”

  Lindy crosses her arms and jerks her head away. “You can meet him at prom.”

  “You’ve been acting weird ever since you got that Match-and-Catch form back,” Matt says. “Does it bother you that it paired us together? It’s not like I’m your brother or a cousin.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Aren’t you?”

  Luke’s whisper dances on my neck. “Lindy likes Matt?”

  “You’re just now putting that together?” I tsk. “Clearly I have the sharper reporter’s instinct.”

  Of course, right now my instinct is saying, Luke, back up before I get the urge to do something crazy like feel your biceps or run my fingers through your hair.

  With many of Jake’s coworkers, friends, and fellow wrestlers, I tune into Pile Driver of Dreams. When the show turns to Jake, it shows him at work in the early morning hours. Some footage of him with Budge and Robbie. The family at church last Sunday. And Jake in his pirate garb taking someone to the mat.

  “You’re on the screen, Bella.” Mom grins from across the room.

  Images flash of me having a one-woman fight with the pad machine.

  Me on the front steps with Hunter, staring intensely into his eyes. Mickey’s gym erupts into whistles and ooohs.

  I shake my head and laugh it off. “It’s nothing!” I look up and find Luke watching me. He averts his gaze and returns his attention to the TV.

  And it is nothing with Hunter. Nothing more than friendship.

  And I’ve decided that’s all I’m going to let it be.

  I think.

  chapter twenty-nine

  The week passes by so easily, I’m just waiting for the sky to fall. Though lots of March rain, there’s no prom queen calamity, and Jake made it through again. Now it’s down to just him and Sanchez the Snake. In less than three weeks, the two wrestlers will go head to head. Or spandex to spandex. Wedgie to wedgie.

  On this Wednesday morning, I sit Indian-style on the floor of the library at our Fellowship of Christian Athletes meeting. Callie sits beside me, looking a little uncertain.

  Today the speaker, a football player from Oklahoma State, spoke on forgiveness and letting things go. It started out kind of boring, but when he started playing the YouTube clips, I began to tune in. And Callie showed up, surprising us all.

  “. . . And God tells us to forgive as he forgave. You know, Jesus didn’t hang on that cross just for you alone and just so you could forget it. We are to be Jesus to others. Are you still holding on to a grudge?”

  About ten possibilities pop into my head.

  “Are you still withholding forgiveness for someone who deserves it? How’s that going for you? Is it accomplishing anything?”

  I think of my dad. Maybe I don’t like Christina because I’m still hurt he left my mom. Maybe Marisol isn’t totally awful. I guess I can’t show them Christ if I’m catty all the time. And Christina has made an effort with me.

  “Think of family . . . friends . . . former friends . . .”

  Ew. Mia. My BFF who stole Hunter. Okay, so Hunter was just as guilty. And I did forgive him.

  I need to call Mia. Tell her it’s okay and just let it all go. Or I could talk to her when I go to Manhattan for spring break next week.

  And maybe I should forgive Budge for flushing my MAC eye shadow down the toilet last month.

  Nah. Let’s not go crazy.

  After prayer, we’re dismissed. I stand up and stretch my arms. “How did you like it?” I ask Callie.

  “It was good.” Her eyes flit over all the people in the room. “Thanks for asking me. It’s like after I got with Joshua, all my friends forgot about me. Except for Felicity.” She steps closer. “Bella, you know I didn’t do all those things, right? I would never hurt anyone.”

  “I believe you.” And I do. I don’t even think she knows about her boyfriend’s misdeeds. But she soon will if Luke and I have anything to do with it.

  Later in journalism, I stand behind Luke at his workstation. “Did you want to see my final draft?” I ask.

  He minimizes an e-mail message, but not before I see his girlfriend’s name. “Um . . . yeah.” Luke takes my work from my hand. “Bella, this is good,” he says after some time. “Just like the job features, every article you’ve submitted about living with a reality show has been top-notch.”

  I try to wipe the big goofy grin off my face, but fail.

  “I’ve learned a lot about the wrestling business from reading your work.” Luke takes off his glasses. “Learned a lot about you.”

  “Well . . .” Inhale. Exhale. “It’s been fun working on this together.

  I really liked having you around on Thursday and Friday nights.” I replay the words in my head. “Er, and everyone else! Yep. Matt.

  Lindy. Breath of Death. That guy totally livens up a party, eh?” Why am I still talking?

  “I guess since the show is taking a few weeks off before the big finale, our standing date at Mickey’s is off.”

  I swallow. “Yeah.” The show will still film the families, but it won’t go back on the air until the Thursday night before prom. “Too bad the paper won’t send you to Vegas with us for the final show.

  But then there’d be two of us rushing around like mad Saturday morning trying to get back in time for prom.” He’s smiling. What does that mean?

  “There’s a class meeting at lunch. Are you going to be there?”

  “Yes. Can’t wait.” Can’t wait for a class meeting? Did I really just say that?

  After calculus I take my rumbling stomach straight to the cafeteria to pick up something to eat. I bump into Anna. “What’s your hurry?” I ask.

  “Class meeting. Felicity’s going so she can make some big announcement. I can’t wait to see what it is this time.” Anna rolls her eyes. “Maybe her daddy’s arranged for horse-drawn carriages for all of us.”

  “Did you say there’s a class meeting?” Ruthie stops. “Will my prom date be there?”

  I shrug. “I guess it’s possible.”

  “I’m in. Let’s go.”

  The girls wait for me as I grab a sandwich to go. When I rejoin them at the cafeteria doors,
Callie Drake stands next to them along with her boyfriend.

  “Oh, and here’s Bella,” Callie says. “This is my boyfriend, Joshua.”

  I force a smile. “I feel like I already know you.” Seriously, dude, I mean that.

  “I had a great time at the Wiener Palace last week.” Callie looks at all of us expectantly.

  “Sorry Felicity’s still giving you the cold shoulder,” I say. “You can hang out with us anytime.” Just don’t bring Psycho Joshua.

  “I’m gonna go get in line. I don’t want them to sell out of pizza.” Joshua steps away, then turns around. “And Callie, don’t be long or I won’t hold your place.”

  She laughs nervously. “He’s pretty serious about lunch. I better go.”

  We say our good-byes and then head to the library for the meeting. Lindy is just calling it to order when I take a seat beside Luke.

  “Okay, guys. Next week is spring break, and then . . . prom. We’ve had a few fund-raisers and now have enough money to pay the deejay and—”

  “I have an announcement! Excuse me!” Felicity Weeks makes her way from the back of the room.

  From my spot, I see Lindy tense, like she totally wants to tell Felicity to shut her yapper.

  “I am here today as a representative of the senior class.” Felicity beams like she’s found the cure for cancer. “And as you know, I have provided us an alternate location for prom.” She stops as a few people hoot in support. “And now I am pleased to tell you that my father has secured the top caterer in Oklahoma, OK Kibbles—all free! My daddy will be picking up the tab as a donation to Truman High.”

  Half the room cheers in response. The other half just stares, knowing there’s more.

  “Man, her popularity rating is going to be off the chart,” Anna grumbles.

  “And as a favor to my daddy, Big Cool from KLRC radio has agreed to emcee and deejay the event!”

  “Wait!” Lindy yells over the crowd. “Wait! Felicity, you can’t step in and take over prom. We have class officers, and we have to vote and—”

  “All in favor, say aye!” calls Brady Malone, the secretary.

  “Aye!”

  The whole room shouts agreement, and Lindy knows it’s over.

  “Fine. Felicity, please give us more details.”

  Anna raises her hand. “And don’t fear because I’m bringing balloons!” She looks around the now silent library. “Fine. I see how you are. You’ll have a balloonless prom. That’s what you’ll have.”

  After the meeting I spend the rest of my classes thinking about Luke. And thinking about Hunter. Both guys are, like, putting something out there. I don’t know what. But Luke has Taylor, and my ship with Hunter has already sailed. Hasn’t it? It’s just that he’s so different. I really like the new version. A lot. But . . . he doesn’t make the butterflies bungee in my stomach like Luke does.

  After school I hop in the hearse, and in a blaze of shrieking lyrics, Budge takes us to Truman Elementary to pick up Robbie.

  “Can you find a ride to tutoring tomorrow morning? I don’t have my gamer meeting.”

  I stare at Budge. “What? Your army of dorks isn’t meeting? Did someone die?”

  He answers by cranking up his hideous music just as Robbie gets to the hearse.

  “Hey, buddy.” I ruffle Robbie’s hair as he climbs in back. “Did you eat any paste today?”

  “Just a little.” He shoves some papers into his half-open backpack.

  “Did you have art?” Budge asks. “Let’s see what you drew.

  Maybe a symbolic representation of global warming?”

  I think of his past artwork. “A picture depicting your feelings on the cruelty of petting zoos?” I wrap my arm around my seat and grab a paper. “Let’s see.”

  “No!” Robbie yells. “Give it back.”

  “Robbie, it’s in two pieces. What happened?” I hold up two halves.

  “Nothing.”

  Budge inspects the paper. “A dog? You painted a dog?”

  My older stepbrother and I share a concerned look.

  “Maybe it’s a metaphor for his need for world peace?”

  Budge snaps his fingers. “Yeah, or a symbol of man’s inner struggle with—”

  “It’s a dog.” Robbie snatches the paper back and clicks into his seat belt. “Can we just go home?”

  “Did someone rip your paper?” I ask.

  His short legs kick against his seat as he stares out the window.

  Another thought occurs to me, one that makes my heart hurt. “Has someone been making fun of your drawings?” Still no reply.

  “If so, Robbie, that’s just stupid. You have the best artwork I’ve ever seen. Like, museum quality.”

  Budge turns into Sugar’s Diner. “Total Smithsonian material.”

  The car stops and we all pile out. “We’ll talk about this later, okay, Robbie?” He ignores me and walks on into the diner.

  The three of us sit at the counter on red barstools. I hear a plate clatter to the floor and without looking, know it’s my mom.

  She scurries by us. “Be with you in a jiffy. I have a chicken-fried steak emergency.”

  A few minutes later she reappears, her hair wilted to her head.

  “Shakes all around?”

  We all nod. “Crazy day, Mom?”

  “Yeah.” She looks across the restaurant. “Dolly’s had the last few hours off.”

  I follow the trail of her gaze and find Dolly in a booth, sitting across from a guy who could be her son. Her face is drawn, and even her hair seems deflated.

  Mom swipes the counter with a rag. “Mason’s dad. This is their third meeting. His parents just left a bit ago.”

  I can’t tear my eyes away from the restrained pain on Dolly’s face. “What does her lawyer say?”

  “Dolly’s already made up her mind.” Mom’s hand stops mid-swipe. “She’s giving the baby back to his father.”

  chapter thirty

  Webcams are so weird. It’s like watching a movie where the sound is a split second off from the film.

  “Dad, speak up toward the mic, I can’t hear you.” I glance in my handheld mirror and feather my lashes with mascara. Running late for school as it was, and then dad had to talk to me.

  “Bel, I just can’t believe it’s already Thursday. This week has totally gotten away from me.”

  “I know. I can’t wait to see you Saturday.” A whole week in New York.

  “Yeah, babe . . . about that. I know you’re going to be devastated, but I’ve cancelled your flight.”

  “What’s that? I don’t think I heard you right.” I tap my finger on the computer.

  “Bel.” He sighs big. “This amazing opportunity has come up. Christina has found a cable channel in Brazil that wants to interview me for a TV show. It’s what I’ve always wanted. It would be me and my life and—”

  “Butt implants.”

  “More than that. It’s a chance of a lifetime.”

  “So not only are you cancelling our spring break plans at the last minute, but you could be moving to Brazil?” I lift my laptop and smash it to my face. “Do you see how unhappy I am?”

  “Don’t do that, honey. A frown today, a wrinkle tomorrow.”

  “This week was important to me.” I hear the catch in my voice and rein it in. “I wanted to spend time with you. Get my dress for prom. See some Broadway shows and be the girl on your arm—like we used to do.”

  “I know.” His pixilated face appears contrite. “I hate that I’m letting you down. Again. It seems like I’m always doing that. But I have to go to Brazil. E! News doesn’t use me for commentary much anymore, and the offers are fewer and fewer these days. If I’m going to get back on track financially, I have to make some sacrifices. And it will give me an opportunity to meet some of Christina’s relatives.”

  His eyes plead with me through the computer screen. “I’ll make it up to you—some way, somehow.”

  “Dad . . .” I take a deep breath. “I’ve be
en thinking about some stuff, and I wanted to tell you that I forgive you. For what you did to Mom. And me—for leaving us.” His head jerks like I just declared my love for Kmart.

  Dad thinks about this. Finally he gives a half smile. “Thanks, Bel. Do you forgive me for bailing on spring break?”

  “I’m only doing one pardon a day.” But tomorrow doesn’t look so hot for you either. “Bye, Dad. Have fun.” Without me.

  As long as I’m in the forgiving mood, I might as well call Mia and get it over with. I briefly consider sending her a postcard or e-mail. No. Suck it up and do it in person. I pull up her number and hit Send.

  “Hey! This is Mia. Please leave a message . . .” Voice mail.

  Score.

  “Mia, it’s Bella. I know this is random but, um, just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for how things went down last fall. I guess you’ve figured out by now that I’ve forgiven Hunter, and I wanted you to know . . . I’ve forgiven you too.” I try to think of something else mature or inspirational to say, but come up with nothing. “I hope one day we can be friends again.”

  Wow. Being responsible sure takes it out of you. This calls for a Pop-Tart.

  “Mom, my ride’s here! I’m leaving!” I grab a light jacket and head out the front door where Ruthie sits in her mom’s Volvo station wagon. I turn my head so she won’t see me laugh. If there was ever a girl who did not belong behind the wheel of a wagon, it’s Ruthie McGee.

  “S’up?” she says, squirting ketchup on some Dairy Barn hash browns.

  “Wow. Nice pink hair.” She turns her head to give me the full effect. “I like it.”

  She starts the car, licking her fingers. “With spring on the way, I thought I needed a change.”

  As we drive down the dirt road, the school bus passes us on its way to pick up Robbie. Poor guy. I hate to see him have to get on that thing. I think it petrifies him.

  Ruthie sings along to the music, her face scrunched with emotion.

  “Celine Dion?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” She belts out the chorus. “She sure sings some deep crap.”

  A couple of miles down the road we pass a group of kids huddled together waiting for the bus.

  An idea unfolds in my head. “Stop the car.” Ruthie brakes and we both jolt forward. “I didn’t mean in the middle of the street.”