Lennon's Jinx (Lennon's Girls #1)

by Chris Myers

  “Honestly, I drank a little too much, and I fell—end of story.”

  “Tell us what really happened,” Iz says.

  “Alex hit on you last night,” Gabby says. “Did he punch you because you told him no for the eighth millionth time?”

  “It was an accident,” I lie because it’s too embarrassing to say.

  “We’ll kick his ass for you.” Gabby brings up her fists and gives a one-two punch. She takes kickboxing and is actually really good. The guys are a little afraid of her.

  Rena comes over, lugging her backpack. For some reason, she’s holding two red roses that aren’t drooping to her toes like mine but stand up straight because she has the good sense to wrap a wet napkin around their base.

  Gabby stops paying attention to us. She’s one hundred percent distracted. Any time a cute guy walks near us, she pushes out her chest and tips her chin down to give that mysterious, alluring look of desperation.

  While the dynamic duo are lost in space, Rena pulls me aside. “Are you going to tell me how you got the black eye?”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” I say. I hate lying to Rena, but what else can I do? Even my own mom doesn’t believe me.

  Hurt shadows Rena’s face for not telling her the truth. “Whatever is going on has to stop.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ve got it handled.”

  “It doesn’t look that way. Why won’t you tell me?”

  “Look.” I can’t meet her intense gaze. “It was an accident. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Rena sighs and shakes her head. She glances over at Iz and Gabby who are probably ogling some boy.

  I follow their line of intensity. Shoot. It’s him.

  “Didn’t you throw a beer on Lennon last night?” Iz shakes my arm so hard that the pain shoots straight up to the bruise on my face. “I can’t believe you did that. He didn’t hit you, did he?”

  “No,” I say. He just exposed himself like the pervert he is.

  “Oh my God. He’s looking right at us,” Gabby says. If her grin got any bigger, she’d fall into it.

  Everyone jerks around to face me, except Rena. She’s still staring at him. Gosh, does the whole female population have to lust after this guy?

  I glance at Lennon standing next to the red brick of the school. Though he is big, he fades into the walls at school, a flower wilting from lack of sunshine, water, love? It’s hard to say. But who cares? He’s probably slowly rotting to death from some new strain of STD.

  Bailey waltzes up to him, grabs his arm in ownership, then plants a big kiss on his cheek. Bailey is pretty, bleached blonde, big boobs, flirty with anything with three legs, and as hard as this is to believe, she’s in all my AP classes.

  “It’s her,” Gabby mutters, returning her gaze to watch Lennon. “She’s such a fake.”

  “And a stalker,” Iz adds. “Why does he allow her to hang on him?”

  “Because she gives him blowjobs for free,” Rena says, laughing. It doesn’t bother her that he’s a slut, but black girls have a whole other standard for guys. You never see a gorgeous black girl with a guy who isn’t built like the Terminator. They get all the good ones.

  Gabby folds her arms across her chest. “Bailey’s one of those girls who’s hoping to get pregnant, so she can permanently latch onto him and his money.”

  “I would,” Iz says. “God, he’s beautiful.”

  Gabby swats Iz. “You are such a skank.”

  “For him I would be.”

  They don’t seem to remember putting the moves on him at my party last night. They were both seeing double or triple after the way they pounded shots of tequila.

  “Then it’s a good thing he wears a raincoat,” I say. At least that’s what I hear. It’s rare for a white boy. I’ve heard a few girls told him they were on the pill, and he still wore one. He’s not too stupid.

  Lennon talks to Bailey briefly then heads in our direction.

  My friends all turn at once to face me. I’m still watching Lennon. He grins at me. I turn around to see if some popular girl is standing behind me. No one is, so why would he be smiling at me? I did douse him in beer last night.

  “Why’s he coming this way?” Rena asks nervously, clutching the roses. If she keeps doing that, hers will look like mine.

  “Probably to chew me out for dumping beer on him,” I say.

  “Why did you do that anyway?” Iz asks. “I heard he was in the den with Bailey, totally PC.”

  “Politically correct my ass,” I say. “He wasn’t supposed to be in that room.”

  “Lennon’s not all bad,” Gabby says, shaking my arm, which throttles my head. “He saved that frosh from being Alex’s next touchdown.”

  “Yeah, right,” I say, though I partially agree with her. He did give me his shirt.

  “God’s honest truth,” Iz says, crossing her heart.

  I still don’t believe them.

  Lennon walks straight up to me. I cringe when he towers over me.

  Rena takes a big whiff of her flowers. “Thanks, Lennon.”

  “No problem. We’re still on for next week?”

  Rena grins at him with the smile she used to reserve for Byron. “I’ll see you on Monday during your free period. Same place, same boring library.”

  “Good,” he says.

  Wait a minute? Lennon bought Rena flowers? That’s right. She tutors him. He’s had plenty of opportunities to hookup with her, but for whatever reason, he hasn’t.

  I cower, waiting for the backlash.

  Lennon swivels back to me. “I’m sorry.”

  Wait a minute. He said he was sorry. He is? That is so not Lennon Tyler.

  As he turns to walk away, he adds, “I hope the other guy looks worse.” Lennon saunters to his SUV.

  Rena grabs my arm and smiles at me with admiration. “He apologized. He must like you.”

  “He doesn’t even remember my name,” I say, though we’ve gone to the same school since sixth grade when Bailey latched onto him, but she isn’t the only girl who has had him.

  “See you, Jinx.” Lennon doesn’t turn around but gives me a backhand wave.

  “He does, too,” Rena says.

  “He’s so adorable.” Iz swoons. “You’re so lucky.”

  “What?” I say. “To become one of his groupies? Or become infected with some exotic disease like Ebola? I don’t think so.” Though I have to admit the roses got to me. After having a lousy night, they perked up my day.

  “He really is completely harmless,” Rena says.

  I beg to differ. No guy is harmless. They’re the aggressors. They’re never forced into doing something they don’t want to do because you can’t rape the willing. And Lennon is plenty willing.

  As he gets into his SUV, I wonder if he remembers. When I first came here in sixth grade, the kids taunted me over my name. My real dad gave it to me.

  Kids can be relentless. Lennon overheard them harassing me, calling me Jinxy-poo and saying I’m jinxed. He told them to fuck off. He received a detention for using the “f” word. I’ve never forgotten it, and the other kids left me alone after that, so I can’t really say he’s all bad.

  He still shouldn’t have been half-naked at my party in my dad’s den.

  “Are you spending the night?” Rena asks me.

  Rena knows me too well.

  “Not tonight,” I say. “I’m auditioning for a keyboardist.”

  “Awesome. What band?”

  “None listed.”

  “You’ll do great,” Rena says. “What are you going to wear?”

  “Something that will get me hired.”

  She eyes me with concern. “Do you want me to come?”

  I do, but I need to get past what happened to me. How will I live on my own if I don’t? “That’s okay.” I hand her the address. “Just send the search plane if I don’t come back.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  LENNON

  With my right leg jiggling, I sit on the edge of
an Italian leather sofa at the main office of Gold and Leigh Investment Banking.

  The secretary waves me over. “You can go in now, Mr. Tyler.”

  When I enter her office, Clive’s mom gestures to yet another supple leather armchair. “Take a seat, Lennon.”

  I do as she says. “Are we ready to serve Jonathan on my eighteenth birthday?”

  “Yes, we are. You really need a lawyer specializing in family law. Do you still want me to proceed with your case?”

  Mrs. Beckham studied financial law, but unlike the other attorneys I spoke with, I trust her. “I want you.”

  “As you requested, I talked to your mother, and she agrees that you are the best guardian for Currie.” She shakes her head. “That makes me sad for the two of you.

  “My friend in family law has reviewed your petition for custody,” she continues. “She brought up a few concerns I’d like to share with you.”

  I have a few of my own. My leg starts to shake again. “All right.”

  She sits on the edge of her desk with her hands folded across her knee-length skirt. “If you cut off Currie from your father, she may revolt against you. It could cause issues with your relationship with her.”

  “I’m willing to take that risk to protect her.”

  “Your father willingly gave child support without a court order. You may want to negotiate with him prior to taking legal action.”

  Mrs. Beckham is not so subtly reminding me that Jonathan transferred two million to my trust upon being served for child support. He then agreed to give Currie and me eighty thousand a month, much more than I had asked for. But I know him better than Mrs. Beckham. He was buying my silence.

  “Jonathan has been cooperative so far,” she says.

  I rise from the chair and pace, huffing out a nervous breath for what I’m about to say. Bile rises in my throat. “My ass is scarred from being left in diapers too long. I practically starved. I got food poisoning from eating out of our garbage, not to mention the cocaine coffee table and the naked assess I had to navigate on the living room floor. Currie deserves the childhood I never had.”

  Mrs. Beckham inhales sharply, trying to conceal her shock. It’s not working. “I realize that you took care of Currie for many years and still do, but your father has never given up his visitation rights, and he pays child support. He also has gone through rehab.”

  My heart rate picks up. “He’s done that before and slipped back to his former habits.”

  “Has Currie had any problems during her recent visitations?”

  “No, Currie’s been fine, but I’m a wreck for the few weeks he has her.”

  Mrs. Beckham takes a seat and pats the other one, indicating she wants me to calm down, but how can I? We’re talking about Currie’s future and ridding myself of Jonathan.

  “You may want to consider joint custody,” Mrs. Beckham says.

  I don’t want to see Jonathan ever again. “Did you not hear me? Absolutely not. Besides, we live here, and Jonathan’s in LA. That would never work.”

  “We have a strong case against your father, but the judge will take Jonathan’s progress into consideration.”

  I can’t lose Currie. “Mrs. Nowak will testify as well as me.”

  Mrs. Beckham levels her attorney gaze at me. “That will work in your favor.”

  “Jonathan wants to talk to me. He keeps using Currie to reach me. What if he files before I do?”

  “You and Currie live in Naperville, so we can change the venue to here.”

  “I won’t be eighteen for another two and a half months.” I can’t ask for full custody until then.

  “By the time this goes to court, you’ll be eighteen,” Mrs. Beckham says, “so don’t worry about that. What do you intend to do after you graduate?”

  “Take care of Currie.” What else is there?

  “You need your own life, Lennon.”

  “Currie is my life, and I have my band,” I say.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m not going to share custody with Jonathan. He ditched us. Let him rot in hell.”

  “We have a couple more months, so there’s plenty of time if you decide differently.”

  I stalk to the door. “Time won’t change my mind, Mrs. Beckham. Thank you. For everything.” Currie is the only person in my family who matters to me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her away from Jonathan.

  I leave her office and drive to the warehouse, showing up late for my band’s auditions. Our keyboard player quit, so Clive and Danny Boy decided to run an ad without my consent to replace him.

  It’s hard for me to get motivated about booking more gigs when child support brings in so much. Mom didn’t want to apply for it or alimony. That’s why I hold the platinum. She thinks Jonathan’s coming back. I’m hoping not, but he always does.

  What does that jerk want from Currie anyway? He never took any interest in me and would’ve carved me from Mom’s belly if she would’ve let him.

  Inside the warehouse, I sit down in my director’s chair. The long line of auditions suck. If they can’t play a few of the simple melodies we write, we don’t waste our time on them.

  Auditioner number fifteen stumbles into our warehouse. He’s heavily medicated and carrying a guitar.

  Danny Boy laughs. “We need a keyboard player, not a guitarist.” Danny Boy has a serious baby face that all the young girls and cougars love, and a tousle of dark hair they can’t resist touching.

  “I can play that.” The stoner sounds like Tommy Chong, the hippie on That 70s Show. He fumbles with our keyboard and knocks it off its stand, shattering it. “Sorry, I’ll pay for that.” He bends over and does a face plant into the concrete, cracking his front teeth and passing out.

  Hope he doesn’t sue us. We don’t have liability insurance. Maybe, it’s time I got it. Danny throws cold water onto him and rouses him. He helps the auditioner to his feet and leads him outside, thanking him for his time.

  “Guess that’s it for today,” Clive says with his ever-cool British accent all the chicks love. He has spiky dishwater blond hair and gets laid almost as much as me.

  “Good.” I’m ready to leave anyway.

  “We should practice,” Danny Boy says. Since he doesn’t have wealthy parents like Clive and me, he wants a music career instead of the business degree his dominatrix girlfriend Susan has picked out for him.

  Since we don’t practice much, our band isn’t as good as it could be, not like Jonathan’s. He’s dead serious about his music when he’s not smoking crack.

  Clive plays bass, sax, and a few other instruments because his dad is a studio musician. His dad plays for all the biggies, including Jonathan. Danny Boy has been taking drum lessons since he could walk.

  I could really use a nap before Currie’s dance recital tonight. “Come on, Danny. Do we have to?”

  Danny Boy shoves my shoulder. “Yeah, we do.”

  “Okay, for a little while.” This will appease Danny Boy.

  “Want to get a pint with me later?” Clive asks. “We can scour the city for talent.”

  I give Clive a sly grin for the Brit word that means hot girls. We’ve known each other a long time and have similar interests. “Can’t tonight. Recital.”

  “Oh, right. Can’t miss that.” Clive pulls three beers from the fridge and hands us each one. “That reminds me. Bailey called here. She wants to meet you later.”

  That would be good for me and would make up for the cluster last night at Jinx’s house, except I don’t have a babysitter tonight. “I wish I could. Bailey’s a great friend with perks.”

  Danny Boy snorts a laugh. “You know that girl is only looking for a wedding ring.”

  Clive flicks the bottle cap from his beer at Danny Boy. “And Susan isn’t?”

  “It’s different for us.” Danny takes a sip of beer. “I plan on being with her forever.”

  “That’s boring,” Clive says. “Danny does have a point. Bailey has her sights on you.
She could end up preggars, and then where will you be?”

  “It’s not like I don’t use protection, like some guys I know,” I say, punching Clive’s shoulder.

  “I do most of the time,” Clive says. “Sometimes, I get caught up in the heat of the night.”

  “What are you going to do with Bailey?” Danny Boy asks. “She wants more than what you’re willing to offer.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s hard to let go of her. We get along. She doesn’t pressure me for anything long term.”

  Clive slings his arm around my shoulder. “Those are the sneaky ones, mate.”

  “When she gets hurt, she’ll go psycho on you.” Danny taps his cymbal. “And then you’ll have a mess on your hands.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I tip my beer back.

  The warehouse door opens and closes. The sound of high heels lightly click on the concrete floor. Now, a girl in our band may be of interest.

  “Auditions are over, honey,” Clive says, appraising her like fresh meat.

  That flame of hair is familiar, no curls unfortunately though. Her head hangs down, so I don’t get a good look at her. “But I haven’t—”

  Danny Boy shoves her toward the door. “Last weenie broke our keys.”

  “I have mine out in the car,” she says. “I’ll go get them.”

  No way. It can’t be her. She wouldn’t dare show her face here. She knows I have a band. Doesn’t she? And what did she do to her hair?

  Clive shakes his head. “Whatever, sweetie.”

  I’m peeling the label from my beer when she returns. The faint scent of gardenias wafts over to me.

  It is Jinx. She’s straightened her hair. What is it with girls and their hair? It does look good, but it looked good before.

  Her being here is too good to be true. She never did thank me for those roses, and she hasn’t thrown them away. After school, I spotted them in the front seat of her car. She probably just wants the new shirt I promised her.

  Jinx takes off her Navy pea coat, exposing black leather pants she must’ve used a crowbar to pry on and a low cut flowery top that’s see-through and shows off a purple bustier beneath. She’s like smoking. No nun habit for her today. Why the change? I straighten in my director’s chair.