A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  Frannie digs in her purse and pulls out some Maalox. She opens the bottle and chugs it like water. “I ain’t proud of this. And I haven’t slept in, like, six months since he hatched this plan.” She grabs her cheeks and pulls. “And I’m getting wrinkles from the stress.”

  I glance at my mom and my stepbrothers. The first match has started, and they are so in tune with that, they haven’t heard a word of this.

  My heart pounds in my chest. “Frannie, wouldn’t you feel better if you came clean?”

  “I know, right?” She tightens the lid on her Maalox. “I tried to talk to the producer this afternoon, but he told me that Louie had warned him about his ‘bitter, delusional ex-wife.’ I’m not bitter! I’m furious! And I’m the one who showed Louie all those wrestling moves. Who do you think he’s been training with? And those pants he has on? Mine!”

  Ew.

  I move to the empty seat beside her. “If you want, I could go with you to try and convince them to listen to you again.”

  “It’s no use. The producer kicked me out of his office. He had security tailing me all day.”

  I stare at the ring where Louie has Jake pinned against the ropes. See, the dirty secret to wrestling is that it’s all planned and choreographed. So while the moves are real, your opponent knows exactly what’s coming so he can minimize the hurt if possible. Jake is supposed to win the first match and Sanchez the Snake the second, to keep it all fair.

  But nothing’s fair now! How dare Sanchez the Snake pull the old dying-mother card?

  “Security may be following you, but not me. I’ll be back.” With no time to lose, I don’t even bother filling my mom in. I run down the steps and sprint toward the ring.

  “Mickey! Mickey!” I stop right in front of Jake’s manager. “You have to listen to me. Louie, er, Sanchez the Snake—he’s a fraud. His story about his mother—”

  With his eyes zoned on the ring, Mickey moves me aside. “Later, Bella.”

  “No, you have to hear this!”

  He walks away, yelling toward the ring at an illegal move.

  Augh! Think, think, think.

  I spy the black-haired camera guy who has followed me around like my own personal paparazzi. “Hey! You!”

  “Don’t block my camera! Are you nuts?” he yells.

  “Crazy camera guy, I have urgent news. Sanchez the Snake— he’s no good. He’s been playing you guys from the beginning. His mom—”

  “Beat it.”

  I tug on his shirt. “Look, if you don’t listen to me—”

  “You’ll what?” His look is withering. “Shoot me with some more refried beans?”

  Sheesh, a girl starts one teensy-weensy food fight. “Dude, the contract the wrestlers signed—that we all signed. It said something about being disqualified for misrepresenting the facts.”

  “Look, I don’t have time for your chitty-chat, but I will tell you that it’s too late. We can’t do anything about it now. The votes have been tabulated, the judges are set to make a decision after the second match. This is a live show, and we have twenty-five minutes left. It’s over.”

  But this is Jake’s dream. He can’t lose out to some lying snaky scumbag.

  I glance up at Frannie and shake my head. But I’m not going to give up.

  Everyone stands and claps as the first match is over. The referee holds up Jake’s hand as the winner. After a small break, they begin the second round. I’m losing time here. Where is the producer? I finally spot him behind another camera crew, but he’s surrounded by security.

  God, what do I do? I need help!

  WWWD. What would a wrestler do?

  I watch Frannie walk down the steps and stop at the bottom rail. “What do you need me to do?”

  I think for a second. “Provide a distraction.”

  She nods. “Done.”

  In four-inch heels, Frannie goes running in front of security, screaming wild insults against her ex-husband. Her arms are waving like windmills. I take the opportunity and shoot straight for the ring. I make a flying leap toward the mat, heaving my legs over and rolling until I’m on.

  Just as Jake falls right next to me.

  “Bella?” His eyes widen like he can’t believe what he sees.

  “Hey.” I smile. “I just thought I’d drop by.”

  As Jake holds out an arm to shield me, he yanks me up. The ref breaks through, yelling at the top of his lungs.

  “What the heck are you doing?” he screams. “Are you insane?”

  I feel five thousand faces turn to me. The arena is eerily quiet. Security has dropped Frannie like a dirty diaper and is headed straight toward me.

  “Uh . . .” A hundred words pummel in my brain, but none of them will make sentences. Mom stands with Mickey, her face white. I clear my parched throat. “This man is a phony.” I point my shaking finger at Sanchez the Snake. “He—he. Mother. Golf. Not. Mexico.” Oh, crap! “No, I mean, his liver needs child support!” Oh, Lord, something has a hold of my tongue and won’t let go!

  Jake pulls me to the side and holds up a rope. “You need to leave.” A vein throbs at his temple as boos come from every direction. I barely dodge a Coke bottle.

  Security rushes the ring and climbs up.

  “Come with me, ma’am,” one says as he grabs my arm.

  “Don’t hurt her.” Jake removes his hand. “She’ll go with you.”

  “No!” I jump back. “I won’t! Sanchez the Snake has been lying to you all!” My voice grows in volume and strength. And if I’m not mistaken, I think what I said actually sounded like English. “He pretended to have a dying mother to get the votes. But his mom is alive and well. And he has five kids and has never paid a dime of child support to Frannie.” I flail an arm toward his ex-wife below. “She needed the help, so that’s why she went along with it. But she couldn’t do it anymore and nobody would listen to her.” Two beefy guys in black bump Jake out of the way and wrap their hands around my arms like shackles. “Listen to me! There is some lady in Mexico who needs a liver, but Sanchez found her just so he could film—”

  The rest of my sentence is drowned out. My eyes are filled with the sight of Sanchez the Snake leaping off the ropes, his body soaring like an eagle. I’m powerless to move as his shadow covers me.

  Somewhere I hear Jake’s roar. A security guy shrieks like a girl.

  And I go down.

  Pain and shock register in my back, my head, my face.

  Sanchez hits me like a missile, and I’m on the mat, collapsing under his massive weight. My arms. My legs. My head. Pain.

  There’s a stinky, sweaty man on me.

  My eyes roll back in my head. I shudder for breath.

  I give into the pushing darkness in my head.

  And everything goes black.

  chapter thirty-five

  I put down the USA Today as Mom packs up my things.

  “The WWT owner was able to find the doctor and get you an early release.” She feels my head and winces at the bruises. “I called Hunter and updated him. He’ll meet you at prom. But honey, are you sure you’re okay? I would feel better if you stayed here today. Maybe even another evening.”

  The hospital nurse takes away my lunch tray as I down some Tylenol. “No. One night in this place is enough. Plus this gown is scandalous!” I mean, every time I go to the bathroom, everybody sees my business.

  Mom pulls a brush through my wild hair. “I don’t know how you didn’t break something. It’s a miracle.”

  Budge tears his attention from the TV. “A miracle and Frannie Heine. That was awesome when she did a swan dive for Sanchez right as he was about to land. If he had hit you dead center, we’d be calling your dad for plastic surgery right now.”

  “That was a brave thing you did, Bella, but stupid. You should’ve told me what was going on,” Mom says.

  I run my fingers over my split lip. “I just didn’t want Jake to lose—not like that.”

  Robbie runs around my bed, his cape flapping. “An
d thanks to you, he won!”

  Mom smiles. “Life is going to be very different from now on.”

  “Great,” I droll. “I need some more change in my life. Moving from Manhattan just wasn’t enough.”

  “Bella, please think about—”

  “No.” I swing my feet over and put on my shoes. “I am not missing prom. And neither is Budge.”

  Jake enters the hospital room and holds the door shut, muffling the sound of cameras snapping outside. He looks at me and winces like my mom.

  “Stop doing that! You guys are making me feel like I need to go to prom with a bag over my head.”

  Budge lifts his brows. “I suggested that months ago.”

  Jake sits on the edge of my bed. “Good news and bad news. The bad news is since you and Budge missed your flight this morning, I couldn’t get you guys on another flight.”

  I drop my shoe. “Get to the good part.”

  “The WWT president has scheduled his private jet to fly you and Budge to the Tulsa airport.”

  “Oh, my gosh. That’s awesome!”

  He lays a hand on the part of my arm that isn’t blue. “But the plane doesn’t leave until three thirty this afternoon.”

  The panic I felt when a psychotic wrestler took me out is nothing compared to this. “But that’s five thirty Oklahoma time. We’ll be late for prom! I wanted the day to get my hair done. To get a pedicure. To at least have time to zip up my dress!”

  Mom’s eyes grow big. “Do we need to call the doctor?”

  “No!” I squeal. I must get control or else they’ll strap me to the bed and make me stay here. “I mean, I’m grateful for the ride. If we have time to get ready, then that would be nice. But if not, I guess we’ll go as is.”

  “You could wear your hospital gown,” Budge snarks. “Show your best side.”

  I lunge for my stepbrother. “I’m about to kick your best side—”

  Standing at the base of the airplane, I carefully hug Mom.

  “I can’t believe I’m letting you go. Alone. After something the weight of a refrigerator landed on you.” She runs her hand down the back of my head. “I’m going to get the worst-mother-of-the-year award.”

  I pull away before she drags me back to the car. “I’ll be fine. Budge will keep an eye on me.”

  She rolls her blue eyes. “Actually, Dolly will. She’ll be at the house waiting for you to help you get ready. Dolly will also be spending the night, so don’t try anything funny like coming in past curfew.”

  “How about sneaking my date up the trellis to my room?”

  Mom’s lips form a firm line. “Very funny.” She carefully kisses my cheek. “Be careful. And call if you need anything.”

  Jake tosses Budge the keys to the Tahoe, and we board the plane.

  Feeling stressed and nervous over the time crunch, I check my seat belt three times, consulting my watch between each tug. The pilot said it would take us almost three hours to get back home. Then there’s the hour-long drive to Truman. Time to change. I guess Budge and I will have to settle for being fashionably late.

  My stepbrother reclines his seat. “Ruthie is going to kill me for not showing up on time.”

  “Does she know you’re picking her up in the hearse?”

  He adjusts the headrest and closes his eyes. “She told me she was a modern woman and didn’t need a man picking her up.”

  I laugh at the picture in my head. “So she’s wearing a dress and riding her motorcycle?”

  “You got it.”

  Hope she has bloomers.

  I spend the next two hours watching TV shows on my iPod.

  Needing to stretch, I get up and grab a Sprite from the refrigerator at the wet bar.

  “So is Newt picking up Lindy in his pimped-out Civic?” I hand Budge a Coke.

  “Nah,” he says. “He’s driving his mom’s clunker. She won’t let him drive his until he pays to get her Chevy fixed.”

  “Can’t be any worse than your death wagon.”

  He holds up a finger. “Au contraire. Lindy will have to climb in on the driver’s side because Newt’s passenger side is so bashed in.”

  “I’m sure Lindy will be totally impressed. She’ll spend the rest of her life thanking me for this setup.”

  Budge pops the top on his can. “He told his mom he hit a deer, but there’s no stinking way.”

  The faintest notion tingles in the corner of my mind. “What kind of car does she have? Two-door? Four?”

  “Four. It’s some sort of grandma sedan.”

  I lean on the armrest toward Budge. “When did he have the wreck?”

  “I don’t know. What difference does it make? Sometime before

  Christmas break, I guess.”

  My pulse begins to speed. “Like the same time Luke and I were run off the road?”

  Budge opens his other eye. “Don’t be ridiculous. Newt can barely see to drive at night. Plus he works in the evenings.”

  “Tutoring?”

  “That’s after school. Most nights he works as a janitor.”

  Warning bells ding in my already throbbing head. “Where, Budge?”

  “The Truman National Bank.”

  My mouth falls open. “I think I’m going to puke.” My stepbrother holds out his barf bag. “Budge, what if Joshua Day had help in all those things he did? Or what if he didn’t do any of them?” The facts race through my head, and I try to focus and line up every detail like Post-its in my mind. “Whether Joshua was involved or not—Newt was. He had to have been.”

  “That’s insane. Newton Phillips is the wimpiest guy I know. He couldn’t hurt anyone. He’s perfectly capable of shutting down the world with his computer, but not harming people or threatening anyone.” But as Budge says this, his expression shifts. Like the possibility is suddenly not so far-fetched.

  “When I was working at Summer Fresh—”

  “Is this before or after the maxi-pads attacked you?”

  “—I talked to Newt’s mom. She said she was glad I had arranged the prom date between him and Lindy because she was worried about what she called his ‘fantasy world.’”

  “She just meant the games he creates,” Budge says.

  I grab my stepbrother’s arm. “And she said she was glad he was going with Lindy because she was a good girl, and that it was a step in the right direction for him—like he had been messing with some bad stuff. Or bad people.” What does this mean? I can’t think fast enough! And the gaps—there are too many holes in what I know.

  “Did Newt date anyone recently?” Did he date anyone—ever?

  Budge rubs his hand over his stubbly face. “No . . . not really.”

  His eyes close as he thinks. “Wait—he would talk about this girl he tutored. He would always say how hot she was and stuff—how he’d do anything for a girl like her to like him.”

  “Who was it?”

  He sticks a finger in his ear. “Dude, yelling is not going to jog my memory. I don’t know. He never told me her name.”

  “Newt tutored Felicity.” The fact explodes in my mind. “It has to be her! He acted weird around her the other day—reminded her she’d skipped tutoring. I’ve never even seen him talk to a girl before that morning.”

  Budge’s eyes grow wide. “All along Newt’s been sabotaging the prom queen race.”

  “And setting up Joshua Day to take the fall.” Get me off this plane! I’m seriously about to jump out of my skin. I need a phone. I have to call Lindy and tell her to stay away from Newt!

  “Wait a minute.” I hold up my watch. “We’re descending. What’s going on?” We’ve only been in the air a little over two hours. Did God provide a miracle and speed up time?

  The copilot sticks his head out of the cockpit. “Hey, guys. I don’t know if they told you, but we’re making a pit stop in Denver. We have to drop a small shipment off.”

  “What?” I shriek. “You can’t!”

  He smiles. “I heard you guys were excited about some dance.” He
shakes his head. “Ah, to be young again.”

  “Um, can you maybe step on the gas a little? You know, break the speed barrier or something?” I force a laugh. “Wouldn’t that be so much fun?”

  The copilot just grins, then goes back to business.

  “I’m on the verge of a screaming freak-out here.” I tap my fingers on the armrests.

  “Do you think Felicity was in on it?” Budge asks.

  I consider the possibility. “I don’t know. She was desperate to be prom queen, but her tires got slashed too. Would she do that to her own car? She was leading the race, especially with her dad funding, well, everything.”

  “If Newt’s behind all this, there’s no telling what’s he’s got planned. He’s, like, freakishly brilliant. You should call Lindy.”

  My ears pop as we finally land.

  After we roll to a stop, the copilot opens the exit door. “We should be heading back out in thirty.”

  Thirty whole minutes? “Do you want me to run the package?” I offer. “I’m awfully fast.” At least when a psycho-maniac is taking my friend to prom.

  The guy gives me another weird look, then exits the plane.

  I rip out my cell and call Lindy.

  No answer. Just as it goes to voice mail, the line goes silent. I check the bars on my phone. Only one? Please, God. I need some holy cell reception!

  I try Luke’s number.

  “Hello?”

  My breath releases in a whoosh. “Luke, I have to talk fast—”

  “Bella? Hello?”

  Are you kidding me here? “You have to stop Lindy from going to prom with—”

  “Hellooo? Hello?” Click. Dead line.

  I thrash back into my seat. “Try your phone, Budge.”

  He holds it up. “No reception here.”

  I pace the short length of the plane until an eternity passes.

  Finally both pilots are strapped in again, and we’re in motion.

  “Just an hour and a half,” the pilot calls.

  I glance at my watch. “We’re not going to get to Truman until, like, nine thirty.” Rummaging in my purse, I wrap my fingers around a Snickers. This moment calls for chocolate.

  “Hey, I’m stressed too.” Budge holds out his hand, and I grudgingly give him half. If I’ve learned nothing else this year, I’ve learned sacrifice.