A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  “And Budge,” I add and wave him over.

  “My prom date’s a smartie.” Ruthie high-fives my blushing stepbrother. “Like the smartest computer geek on the planet.”

  Budge shuffles his feet. “Not the smartest. That’s Newt.”

  “So my prom date is the smartest computer geek on the planet.” Lindy laughs, but sobers when she sees Newt’s face. “I meant smartest person. You’re totally not a geek.”

  Newton’s left eye twitches.

  “Ugh, thank goodness they apprehended him.” Felicity joins our circle. “That Joshua was a menace to society. But now we can all go to prom safely.”

  “Hi, Felicity.” Newt brushes the long hair out of his eyes. “You didn’t show up for physics tutoring this morning.”

  Felicity flips her blonde hair and looks at Newton like he’s a Payless clearance shoe. “I was busy. I have a lot of prom details to attend to now that it’s at my house.”

  “You could’ve called,” he says.

  “Newt, unlike you, I don’t have a lot of free time. I’m kind of dealing with some important things right now that someone like you wouldn’t have a clue about. I’m sorry if you cut your stupid gaming schedule short to meet me.”

  Newt’s face is redder than my patent leather bag.

  “Do you have a date?”

  Felicity laughs at Ruthie’s question. “Well, of course I do. My new boyfriend goes to OSU. His daddy’s the district attorney in Oklahoma City.”

  I look at Luke and cross my eyes. Seriously, I was never like Felicity. Right?

  “I must run off, but don’t forget today’s the last day the voting results for prom queen will be up on the class Web site. Cast your votes!” Felicity walks away, waving over her shoulder. “Tah-tah!”

  “That girl . . .” Anna seethes. “She’s totally bought the crown with daddy’s money. She’s so far ahead, it won’t matter how many votes I get between now and prom. Everything she does just makes her votes quadruple. Last week I gave out pencils. No change in the poll. Yesterday I passed out cookies to everyone—all for nothing.”

  Ruthie nods. “I’ve been campaigning too. Wednesday I told a girl I hated her shirt.”

  I frown. “What was that supposed to accomplish?”

  “Nothing. But it made me feel better.”

  The first bell rings, and we gradually migrate inside to the lockers. The halls buzz with the news of Joshua’s arrest.

  Luke stops at my locker. “Are you okay?”

  With the news that he’s been single for months? “Yeah, why?”

  He examines my face. “I don’t know. You just seem down. I mean, we just cracked another major case and you weren’t even that excited.”

  “I have to stay here for spring break. I guess I’m just bummed.”

  And I’ll be smelling like tacos all week.

  “I’m sorry.” He leans on the locker beside mine. “I know you were looking forward to seeing Hunter.”

  I nearly drop my book. “Hunter? No, I wanted to spend the week with my dad. We had plans.” I shut the door, absorbed in one single thought: I hadn’t even thought about not seeing Hunter. Not only was I not sad about it, but when dad cancelled, Hunter never even crossed my mind.

  “Bella?”

  “Huh?” I realize he’s been talking.

  “I asked you if you wanted to get together over break and work on our Pile Driver of Dreams articles.”

  Get together? I stare into his blue eyes. What does that mean? “Um . . . uh . . .”

  Luke pushes off with his foot. “It’s okay if you don’t want to work on break. Not everyone does.” He smiles and pats my shoulder. Like Mark Rogers did. Yet different. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Shoot! Did I just mess up? What if he was asking me out? And all I could say was uh. But no. He said it was to work. And this is Luke. The guy keeps his nose to the grindstone. Whatever that means. Why would anyone ever want to put her nose to a grindstone?

  After school Budge chauffeurs me, Robbie, and Newt. We drop his friend off first.

  “Dude, what is that?” Budge puts the hearse in park and bails out. There in front of Newt’s garage is a tricked out Honda Civic. “Check out those rims!” Budge runs his hand over the purple paint-job. “Where’d you get this?”

  Robbie and I get out and inspect the car.

  “Online.” Newt smiles with the kind of satisfaction that only comes from having some wheels. “Can’t drive it until I get it licensed.”

  Budge gets behind the wheel. “Where’d you get the Benjamins?”

  “Tutoring.” Newt points out something on the stereo.

  “Tutoring paid for this?” I ask. “That’s gotta be better than wearing a sombrero.”

  Budge snorts. “Or getting attacked by a pad machine.”

  “Nobody asked you.”

  “Or diving nose first into a wheelbarrow of horse poop.”

  “Newt, have you ever heard of Hannah Mon—”

  “I’m shutting up now.”

  On our way home, we pass Jake running on the dirt road. A camera crew rides in front of him in a truck bed.

  “Dad’s really ramped up the training lately.” Budge wheels the hearse into the yard.

  “I heard him lifting weights at three thirty this morning.”

  Which qualifies as crazy in my book.

  Later in my room, I lie sprawled on my bed with Moxie on my stomach. I pick up my phone for the millionth time. No call from Mia.

  No text. I’ve forgiven her! She should be sobbing with gratitude.

  God, I am so down. Luke’s totally thrown me for a loop. Did he not want me to know he’d broken up with Taylor so I wouldn’t pursue him?

  And Hunter’s . . . complicated. And Dad totally dumped me. I should be on my way to New York right now. I should be getting ready for shopping, Broadway, and guilting my dad into buying me something. Instead, I’m stuck at home all week working for Manny “Tacos Make the World Go Round” Labowskie.

  Knock. Knock.

  “Bella?” My mom pokes her head in my room. “Will you come downstairs?”

  I roll onto my back and sigh heavily. “Do I have to?”

  “I think you want to.”

  As soon as I hit the kitchen, a guy with a camera jumps out. “Oh!” I yelp. “You little—” Just a few more weeks of this. I compose myself and find a smile. “You little booger.” I wag my finger. “You scared me.” I turn around and roll my eyes all the way outside.

  Following the sound of my mom’s voice, I walk into the backyard. Where Jake sits in my Bug. My beautiful running green Bug! The engine purrs like a happy cat.

  Clapping my hands in glee, I jump into the passenger side. “Oh, car! I’ve missed you! But who fixed it?”

  “Jake did.” Mom holds out my door. “Well, he paid to have it fixed.”

  I turn to my stepdad. “You did that? For me?”

  He shrugs a meaty shoulder, making his neck almost disappear. “It was nothing.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see the camera guy move to get a better angle. “Oh. You did it because of the show.” I swallow back a lump of sadness. “Well, whatever the reason, I’m grateful. Thanks.” I kiss him on the cheek and go back inside.

  “Hey.”

  I lift my head out of the fridge to see Jake. “Yeah?”

  “I wanted to ask you—” He turns on the camera guy. “Could you give us a moment?”

  The guy shakes his head. “No way. This is good stuff. Ought to get you a ton of votes.”

  “I said, please go away.” Jake draws himself up to his full height. “Now.”

  The camera guy skitters out.

  “Bella, I didn’t get your car fixed to make myself look good for the show.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No way.”

  “Then you got it fixed so I wouldn’t have to endure anymore screamo in Budge’s car, lose my mind, and possibly hurt innocent people?”

  His mouth curls into a g
rin. “Exactly.”

  “Thanks. Um . . . I’ll pay you back.”

  “I know you could, but this one’s on the house. I would’ve gotten it fixed sooner, but your mom wouldn’t let me.”

  “Isn’t she sweet,” I deadpan.

  “Thanks for saving Robbie—with those bullies. I should’ve been more on top of it. I never should’ve believed him when he said no one was picking on him.”

  “It’s okay. That’s what big sisters are for, right?”

  “I have something else for you.” Jake reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out an envelope. “I know you’re upset that you’re not going to be spending time with your dad and doing all your usual Broadway stops.”

  I put on a brave face. “Oh, who needs to see Wicked again? After thirty-seven times, I guess I’ve got the plot by now.”

  He hands me the envelope. “Open it.”

  I peel it open. “Two tickets for the Tulsa Performing Arts Center?” I read the print. “Wicked?”

  “I was hoping for time number thirty-eight, you’d see it with me. Just you and me—no cameras, I promise.”

  Tears prick the back of my eyes.

  “I know it’s not New York. And we won’t eat anywhere fancy. Probably just grab a burger at—oomph!”

  I wrap my arms around this giant of a man. “Thank you! Thank you!”

  I blink back the wetness. I do not cry. Ever.

  Sniff.

  Well.

  Maybe for Wicked.

  chapter thirty-three

  The alarm on my phone chirps right into my dream just as I’m diving into a sea of Versace dresses. I struggle to stay there as lifeguard Zac Efron waves to me from the shore, but the incessant beeping won’t go away. I’m forced to open my eyes.

  Monday morning. How is it a school week is so much longer than a vacation week? Though the play in Tulsa with Jake was amazing, the rest of the break was just one burrito after another.

  Moxie mewls and covers her eyes with a paw. At least somebody gets to sleep in.

  Sitting up, I flick on my lamp and grab my Bible. I pull the ribbon bookmark and open to where I left off yesterday. When I finish, I get out my prayer journal and write a quick letter to God.

  “Bella?” My mom taps on my door twenty minutes later. “You awake?”

  I put the cap on my pen. “Barely.”

  “I’m taking Jake to the airport, so you need to make sure Robbie gets ready for school. Don’t let him pick out his own socks.”

  I slide off the bed, grab my robe, and follow her downstairs.

  Everyone is gathered at the kitchen table.

  Last week Jake received word that he had an appearance on

  Regis and Kelly in New York City. I wish I could go with him. I lived there all my life and never went to the show.

  Jake cuts a banana for his youngest. “Now Robbie, if anyone gives you a second’s worth of trouble, you go straight to the office and have them call me or Jillian. No more secrets, got it?”

  Robbie nods his head, his eyes all for the Cheerios in his bowl.

  “I’ll see you guys in Vegas Thursday.” Jake kisses his son on his head, then fist bumps Budge. “This house better still be standing when I get back.” He pats my back then heads for the Tahoe with my mom.

  At school everyone is just as lethargic as I am.

  “Hey, Bella.” Lindy intercepts me after English class. “Any word on Joshua Day?”

  “Not yet. I’m hoping Luke’s heard something,” I say. “Is Matt still giving you the cold shoulder?”

  She frowns. “He didn’t call me once on spring break.”

  “Maybe his raging jealousy has rendered him mute.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Nice try.”

  I hustle down the hallway and into journalism. The class is empty except for one. Luke sits in the chair next to my workstation. A smile crawls up my cheeks, and I’m helpless to stop it. His expression says he’s happy to see me, and my stomach wobbles like Nickelodeon slime.

  “Mr. Holman wants us to cowrite an article about what led us to Joshua Day.”

  I set my stuff down. “Good morning to you too.”

  “If it’s good enough, the Tulsa World is interested.”

  I raise my head. “Seriously?”

  He nods his dark head. “For real.”

  I squeal and launch myself into his arms. “Omigosh! That’s amazing!” His arms wrap around me just as I realize what I’ve done.

  I step back as if I’ve touched lightning. “Sorry.” I clear my throat.

  “Um . . . you can let go of my hand now.”

  But he keeps it. “Do you realize what a big deal this could be?”

  “You holding my hand?”

  His grin is slow. “The paper.” He brushes his thumb over my skin then releases me.

  I struggle to remain neutral. Unaffected.

  “We have to make sure we have every fact straight, so we need to put our heads together and map out the story.” He pulls out my chair and motions for me to sit.

  “So what’s the latest on Joshua?”

  “He’s still in jail. His family couldn’t afford to post bail.”

  “Callie must be going crazy.”

  Luke pushes up the sleeves of his Abercrombie henley. “Joshua still insists on his innocence.”

  “So do most ax murderers.”

  Since I have the day off from Manny’s House of Indigestion, I call Mom after school to see if she wants to run to Tulsa to help me shop for some new heels. I need something to snazz up my old lastyear’s model of a dress. Though I could get a new dress with my money for bringing Ruthie’s harasser to justice and my job advance, I think I’ll just save it.

  “I can’t, Bel. I have to get to Dolly’s. The family is coming for the baby. I need to be there with her.”

  “Today? Now?” But I didn’t get to say good-bye to baby Mason.

  “Can I go?”

  Mom’s hesitation crackles over the phone. “I don’t know . . .”

  “Budge can watch Robbie. I’ll pick you up at Sugar’s.” And I disconnect before she has time to argue.

  I drive my key-lime-green Bug to the diner. When I swing open the heavy glass door, the overhead bell jingles. And mom stands there waiting just a foot away.

  “Let’s go.” Her mouth is set, her face pinched.

  She buckles into my passenger seat as I start the car. “What’s with the bag?” I ask.

  Mom rests a big plastic bag at her feet. “It’s a care package—an entire chocolate pie from Sugar’s, smothered chicken fried steak, some Kleenex, a new push-up bra, and a romance novel.”

  “A bra?”

  She shrugs. “Your dad always said perky boobs make everyone feel better.”

  “He also said thin thighs could bring world peace.”

  She flings the bra into my backseat. “Good point.”

  Ten minutes later the Bug eases into the driveway. Mom grabs her bag and we slip into the front door without even knocking.

  “Dolly?” Mom calls from the living room, where we tiptoe around suitcases and boxes of Mason’s things.

  She steps out of the kitchen, Mason in her arms, her eyes red and puffy. “He’s been asleep for an hour, but I can’t seem to put him down. It’s like we’re two magnets . . . stuck together.” A tear slips down her cheek only to be chased by another.

  The doorbell bongs a short melody. All three of us jump.

  Dolly's eyes widen and zip to Mom. “He’s here.” She swallows. “I can’t believe this day has come already.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Mom grips Dolly’s shoulders.

  “We can fight this.”

  She pats the baby’s back. “This is Mason’s father—his family.”

  More tears free-fall. “I know I don’t go to church and stuff. Haven’t stepped foot in one since the girls’ funeral. But I do pray. And this is what I’m supposed to do.” Her voice breaks on a sob. “It’s just so hard.”

&nb
sp; Mom glances toward the door. “Are you ready for me to let him in?”

  Dolly wipes her nose and nods.

  Mom pulls open the big oak door. Mason’s father stands in the entryway, his parents and attorney behind him.

  “Hi, I’m Jonathan.” He holds out a hand and Mom shakes it. She puts on her best fake smile and ushers the family in.

  The door swings open again, and Mickey Patrick walks in. “Hi.

  I was . . . um, in the neighborhood.”

  Dolly keeps her attention on the young father. “These are his things.” She gestures to the mountain of boxes. “I did some shopping for him just yesterday. Spring is coming soon, and I wanted him to be ready. There’s a really cute Easter outfit in the red suitcase.” She sniffs. “You may not want it, of course.”

  Jonathan stares at his son. “He’ll wear it. I’ll send you pictures.”

  “That’d be nice.” Dolly’s breath shudders in her chest. “The blue bag has his favorite toys. He likes to have his froggy rattle as soon as he wakes up. But that’s on the instructions I wrote out for you. Those are in the brown suitcase.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jonathan says calmly, like he has all the time in the world. And I guess he does. He now has a lifetime to spend with the son he didn’t even know he had. But that still leaves Dolly alone. With a gaping place in her heart.

  “And I packed up his crib set and all the décor because he really likes looking at his cowboy things. He loves his horse mobile, so be sure and turn that on for him. Sometimes when he’s—”

  “Dolly—” Mickey steps from the behind the family and wraps a big arm around his ex-wife. “Let him go, babe.”

  Her face seizes and she breaks down, clutching the still-sleeping Mason. “I love you, sweet boy.” She presses a kiss to each of his cheeks. “You’re going to be so happy with your daddy.” Her watery words are a struggle to decipher.

  Mickey runs a knuckle across the baby’s hand. “When he gets fussy, he enjoys a little AC/DC too.”

  I look at Mom, and she’s just as teary eyed as me. This is majorly sad—like Fox and the Hound sad. Like Bambi sad.

  Dolly pulls Mason from her shoulder and kisses him one last time. She whispers words for his ears only, then offers the baby to Jonathan. Slowly. Carefully. Hesitantly. Her arms stretch out to meet his.