A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  “He’s still hanging out with Ashley.”

  “He told you it was nothing more than a friendship.”

  “It doesn’t look like just friendship.”

  “Lindy dove into the love pool. And look how happy she is.”

  “Happy? Every time I see her, she looks like her dog just got run over.” Except for last night when she was hanging out with Matt again. She laughed and smiled the entire time.

  “You got it bad for Luke Sullivan. The sooner you accept that and deal with it, the better. He won’t be available forever.”

  “He was out with Ashley Timmons last night.”

  Ruthie cracks her knuckles and smiles. “She can be taken care of.”

  Moments later the sound of yelling greets us as Ruthie and I walk into the big top at the carnival.

  “Cherry, you’re so stupid! Don’t let go of my hand!”

  I flinch and look up. “Stewart’s such a slimeball.”

  Ruthie nods. “I got a pair of nunchucks I’d like to introduce him to.”

  “Focus!” Red yells from the ground. “Cherry, take this seriously.”

  “I am!” She brushes sweat from her brow. “We’ve been practicing for three hours. I need a break.”

  “You’ve got about two weeks before I expect to see the Praying Mantis.” Red glares at his niece. “I won’t let you mess this up for my circus.”

  Even from where I stand below, I can see the hurt flash across Cherry’s pale face. What a life she leads. Makes me grateful for my family—crazy though they are.

  Red claps his chubby hands. “Back to the beginning. Try it again!”

  “No.” Cherry climbs onto the ladder and begins to shimmy down. “I’m taking a break.”

  “Cherry, you hop right back up there this instant! I’m warning you!”

  “Or what?” She continues her journey until she reaches the dirt. “You’re going to ground me—from work? That’s all I do!” She stomps toward her uncle. “Maybe I want what other girls have. Like the chance to have lots of friends, go to dances, and take driver’s ed! To sleep in a bed that you don’t pull down the highway in a caravan.”

  “I told you her living with Dolly O’Malley was a mistake,”

  Stewart says as he joins them. “Now little cousin thinks she’s better than the rest of us.”

  “I do not.”

  Stewart’s face pulls into a sneer. “You always have. You think you’re privileged or something because of who your parents were.”

  Ruthie nudges me with an elbow. “This is better than those Latin soap operas I watch. And no subtitles.”

  “You want to know who my parents were, Stewart?” Cherry’s voice packs a punch I’ve never heard before. “They weren’t famous to me. They were kind and loving. And they cared about me. They didn’t make me work all day long. And when I did work, it was because I wanted to and because it made them happy. I wasn’t just some show dog.”

  “That’s it!” Red pokes his finger in Cherry’s face. “When Dolly comes tonight, we are having ourselves a little talk. And you can bet you’ll be moving back here—where you belong. I don’t know what crazy things that woman has filled your head with, but I will not have you disrespecting me. I took you in when you were an orphan with nowhere to go. Your parents left you nothing because all they cared about was this carnival. But you have a place to stay and food to eat because of me. If it weren’t for me you’d be on the streets.”

  Tears gather like thunderclouds in Cherry’s eyes. “My parents loved me!” With a choking sob, she runs away—right past the gathering crowd and out of the big top.

  “We better check on her.”

  Ruthie follows me outside. “Just say the word and I’ll get those nunchucks.”

  I catch sight of Cherry running to the back corner of the carnival grounds. She stops at the Ferris wheel and speaks to the guy cleaning it. He nods and walks to the control box.

  “Oh no.” I can see where this is headed.

  “Want me to talk to Cherry?” Ruthie asks. “I’ll jump on with her and you can just, um . . . text some encouraging words from below.”

  I lift my head toward the heavens and beyond until I find the top cart on the Ferris wheel. Gulp. “No. We’ll go together.” How is it I can ride a plane once a month with no problems yet can’t get on a simple carnival ride without breaking out in hives?

  Cherry walks onto the ramp and pulls the front latch of a cart.

  “Wait!” I call. “We’ll go with you.”

  The worker frowns and steps in front of us. “Miss, I don’t think she wants to be bothered.”

  “We’re her friends,” Ruthie says loud enough for Cherry to hear. “And we want to ride too.”

  We walk to the cart, and I get in, scooting beside Cherry. Ruthie climbs in next, pulling the door closed and squeezing us in like toes in a stiletto.

  “What are you doing? Go away.” Cherry swipes at the tears spilling down her cheeks. “I want to be alone.”

  “Too bad.” Ruthie gives the man a thumbs-up as he double-checks our door.

  My heart squeezes as I look at the pain in Cherry’s eyes. “Normally you’d be talking to Betty right now, wouldn’t you?”

  She sniffs and nods. “Whenever I had a problem, my mom would bring me out to the Ferris wheel, and we’d take a spin. Just the two of us. My grandpa bought this machine for my dad as a wedding present. Every cart is painted in a fairy tale theme. My mom loved it. This Sleeping Beauty one was her favorite.” Cherry rubs a finger where elaborate paint swirls rise and fall. “After my parents died, Betty would ride with me in this cart when she knew I wanted to talk. She would have torn into Red today. She wouldn’t have let him talk to me like that.” Her voice catches. “And now there’s no one to take up for me.”

  I pull her into my arms as best I can, given I’m plastered between the two girls sardine-style.

  The Ferris wheel groans, and with a lurch, we’re off.

  “I’m so sick of being alone,” Cherry whispers.

  Ruthie leans on me and moves in for a three-way hug. “You’re not alone. You’ve got us.”

  Cherry’s laugh is small. “It’s not the same, though. You have no idea what it’s like to not have parents. To be an unwanted guest. I’m just a burden to my uncle.”

  You have no idea what it’s like to feel this cart swing and imagine yourself plunging to the ground.

  “You’ve got God too.” The words tumble out of my mouth in a rush. “I know it’s hard to see that he has a plan in all of this, but he does.” Why are my cheeks burning? Why is it so hard to talk about God to people?

  “I’ve gone to church with Dolly. We’ve prayed.” The wind lifts Cherry’s hair as we rise. “But how could I buy into that? Where’s God in all this? Why was I left by myself? If there is a God, how could he just take my parents?”

  I sneak a quick glance at Ruthie. I am so not prepared for this conversation. Why couldn’t Cherry ask these questions to someone who knows her Bible a bit better? Or someone who’s had lots of practice witnessing. I’ve had lots of practice shopping. But unless she asks me whether I prefer Gucci or Prada, that is pretty much not going to be worth diddly-squat.

  “Um . . . you have to believe that there is a God, and he loves you.” Ruthie could pick up the conversation at any moment. She is a pastor’s daughter. I’m a plastic surgeon’s daughter! Ask me about butt implants! But Ruthie’s just sitting there leaning on the edge like she can’t wait to hear what I have to say next. “Bad things happen. But I know that when we hurt, God hurts. He’s not just some big, bad guy up there. He wants us to think of him as a father.”

  I release Cherry from the hug, and she rests her head back on the seat, staring at the clouds. My stomach rolls as the ride slowly revolves.

  “What father would leave his kid stuck with Uncle Red and Stewart? What father would take away both my parents and Betty?”

  “Cherry, believing in God isn’t going to magically fix anything.”
Don’t I wish it would. “And it’s hard to trust in something you can’t even see, but every day . . . God waits for you to try.”

  She closes her eyes and rubs her hands over her face. “I just want a life. Is that too much to hope for?”

  “No,” I say, trying not to glance down as we make another swoop. “And I’m going to pray that you’ll have a family and love.” I still feel like I’m just spewing words.

  “Whatever. Unless you’re ordering me up a total life transplant, don’t waste your breath.” Cherry signals to the carnival worker below, and he throws the lever. When the Ferris wheel stops, Cherry jumps out over the cart. No door, no waiting for Ruthie and me to get off. Just shimmies from the seat, leaps off the front, and hits the ground running.

  Ruthie reaches into the pocket of her leather pants and gets out her Tic Tacs. “That went really well.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I set my teeth and count backward from five. “You could have helped me. Instead of letting me just flail in the water.”

  “I helped.” She pops a mint into her mouth.

  “Oh really? Tell me one thing of any significance you did.”

  “Prayed.” Ruthie locks her eyes with mine. “I prayed the entire time you were talking.” She reaches over and unhooks the door.

  “You’re quite the doubter, Bella Kirkwood. Anybody ever tell you that?” She hops out, leaving me sitting there.

  “Miss, you want another ride?”

  I glance at the worker standing by the control box. “No. Thank you.”

  “You sure?”

  “Sir, I think that’s about the only thing I am sure of.”

  chapter twenty-one

  Today the weatherman predicted a nice breezy eighty-three degrees with zero chance of precip. As I watch Luke Sullivan walking my way, I think that guy clearly miscalled it. Because I see 100 percent chance of storm.

  “What is this?” He slams down a piece of paper next to my mouse.

  “Is that my exposé on nerd editors?” And good morning to you too. “I should have known it would hurt your feelings.” He and I haven’t really talked since we, you know, talked. I’ve kind of been avoiding him. It’s all so awkward.

  “Meet me in Mr. Holman’s office. Now.”

  I definitely should’ve started this day with coffee. I look back to my computer and type a few more sentences. He can wait. Bossing me around like that. Who does he think he is?

  “I would not push me this morning, if I were you,” Luke calls out in front of the entire class. Every head in the room pivots from Luke . . . to me. Even our advisor, Mr. Holman, raises a bushy brow as he helps Ashley.

  I stand up, smoothing out my funky Betsey Johnson skirt, and with a smile perfectly balanced on my face, I join Luke in the office.

  He shuts the door behind us and motions me to a seat.

  “I’ll just stand, thanks.”

  “Sit.”

  Employing Haughty Look Number Four, I lower myself onto the edge of a chair.

  He sits in the other one and pulls out the same piece of paper.

  “Back to our original question, what is this?”

  I read the first line and sigh. “It’s my column for next week.”

  “It’s about birthday cakes, measles shots, and used books that smell.”

  “I write from the heart.”

  He takes off his tortoiseshell glasses and hangs them in the V of his shirt. I’m forced to look directly into his ocean blue eyes.

  “This is rambling, lacks voice, and is full of grammatical errors.”

  “Maybe Ashley can fix it.” Omigosh. Did I really just say that?

  “Or someone else on staff—if you think there’s a problem or two.”

  But it’s too late. I see the storm clouds roll out and that familiar arrogance take its place. “You know what I think?”

  “You hope sweater vests come back in style?”

  Luke wheels his chair closer to mine. “I think your mind’s on overload. Between your schedule at the carnival, your family problems, and confusion about us, you can’t even concentrate enough to write three cohesive paragraphs.”

  If I had gotten that morning coffee, I would’ve just spewed it.

  “Are you delusional? First of all, I don’t work any more than you do.”

  Though I do have the extra burden of clown feet and hair the color of Kool-Aid. “And I hate to burst your gargantuan ego, but I don’t sit around all day thinking about you.” Well, maybe just a few hours here and there.

  “Your column’s been weak the last three issues. As of right now, you’re taking a break.” He places a book in my hands.

  “Reviving the Passion of Nonfiction?” Sounds thrilling. “Wow, I hate to borrow this from you. I know how you like to read it aloud to all of your dates.” I better not have just seen his mouth quirk.

  “Take the next week to read and review some work from published pros.” His voice softens. “Relax your mind.”

  The book feels heavy in my hand, and I have to blink to block out the fantasy of braining him with it. “You can’t just stop my column. Mr. Holman will never go for that.”

  Luke stands up, rubbing the back of his neck above his Abercrombie collar. “He will if I’m subbing a new column in its place.”

  My stomach plummets like the Zipper at the carnival. “Who?”

  “Ashley.”

  Now I’m standing. “I cannot believe you. Let me guess, if I’d go out with you, you’d reconsider? Is this punishment until I come around?”

  His look could freeze the Pacific Ocean. “If you think that then you don’t know me at all.”

  “Oh, I know you all right. You’re a control freak, and this is just more proof of it. I’m probably the first girl who’s ever rejected you.”

  “The paper is too important. Your column runs on the front page, and lately it’s not even worthy to be in it. I expect more from you, and until I see that progress, you’re done.”

  “And you just randomly picked her?” I jerk my finger toward the classroom in Ashley’s direction.

  Luke takes a deep breath, doing that thing he does when he’s considering his words and trying to be all uppity editorlike. “Everyone else is already writing all they can and worked to the maximum. But Ashley has yet to completely be integrated into the paper. Not that I have to explain myself to you, but she came to me with a great idea for a feature, and now would be the perfect time to use it, since there will be a big gaping hole where your work should go.”

  I chuckle once and shake my head. “You are so full of it, you know that, Luke Sullivan?”

  He leans on the door, his arms crossed. “I’m sorry, Bella. I didn’t handle this well. I lost my temper, and I apologize for my tone. But I’m being sincerely honest when I tell you that removing you from the paper for a week or so isn’t personal. If anything, it’s for your own good. I did it for Trinity Dermott out there last year, and now I’m benching you.”

  “Was Trinity also an ex-girlfriend?”

  His tanned hand clutches the doorknob, yanking it with a twist.

  “You have your new assignment. Get to it.”

  “I think—”

  “Leave, Bella.” He holds the door wide open. “Before you say something else we’re both going to regret.”

  By lunchtime I’ve printed out all of this month’s articles with my name on them, read them a hundred times each, and worked up a seriously hideous headache. Luke is right. My writing has stunk lately. But still . . . to put Ashley Timmons in my place? He had to know that was a low blow. Even if her article last week on test prep anxiety was kind of clever. And funny. And well written. Still!

  “Kirkwood, you gonna eat those fries? Can you believe when I got to the front of the line they were all out of meat loaf?” Ruthie steals a handful from my plate. “So I think my unicycle ballet needs a few more figure eights. A little more ribbon waving. Tonight I’m going to get crazy and do purple ribbon instead of pink. It will match my hair.�
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  I stop picking the label off my water bottle long enough to notice Ruthie has once again colored her hair. It looks like Barney held her at gunpoint and took her hair as a hostage. “Very nice.”

  “Dang right it is.” Budge pats Ruthie’s teased-out ponytail. “My lady is hot stuff.”

  “So then he caught the pass and ran right into the goalpost.

  Knocked him out for five minutes.”

  Across from me, Lindy laughs at Matt’s football practice story. “When is Corey Davis going to suck it up and get his eyes checked?”

  “Last week he showed up in his golf shoes. Seriously, the boy needs contacts before Coach sidelines him forever.” Matt takes a drink of Gatorade. “Hey, I was going to go sign up to help with the athletic banquet. Want to go talk to Coach and see what they still need?”

  “Sure.” Lindy stands up and grabs her food tray.

  “There you are!” Bo Blades jogs toward her and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I have a surprise for you in my car. Come on.” He takes the tray from Lindy’s hands and passes it to Matt. “Take care of this, will you?” Bo pulls Lindy out the cafeteria door, holding her hand like it’s a state championship medal.

  “Matt?” I watch him just stand there. Motionless. “You okay?”

  He sets the tray down on the table. Takes a seat. “Have you ever wanted something, but didn’t know for sure you wanted this something . . . until it was too late?”

  “I assume you’re not talking about the meat loaf.”

  He props his chin on his hand. “She was my best friend. I didn’t want to mess that up. I was afraid if we didn’t work out then I would have lost a girlfriend and a friend. But now I wonder . . . in playing it safe did I just blow it anyway? I mean, I could’ve had my chance.”

  “So you knew she liked you?”

  He nods his freckled face. “Yeah. I knew.”

  “Wow. She did everything to get your attention this year.”

  “I know. Lindy was the brave one. What’s wrong with me that I can’t take risks? I can on the field and on the court, but in my personal life—I always play it safe.” He glances toward the door. “And look where it’s gotten me.”