A Whole Lot of Lucky (19 page)

Her ice-blue eyes pierce me as she fires off questions. “Why did you show Emily my e-mail? What else have you told her? Did you know she would tell Mrs. Weston?”

I reach out but stop short of touching her. “No! I didn't know she would tell! I mean, she didn't really tell—she left the phone out, but I don't think she did it on purpose.”

“Emily DeCamp.”

“Yes.” But when Nikki relaxes with satisfaction, I say, “I mean, no! It wasn't her fault.”

Nikki cocks her head. “So it's your fault.”

“No, no … it's not my fault, either. It—it—”

“It's somebody's fault. Maybe it
is
your fault. Maybe you did it on purpose because you were mad we left without you.”

“That's not why! I did wish I'd gone with you, but I wasn't
mad
at you. After you guys left, I felt like—I felt like—” And then I say a four-letter word that even my parents don't use.

I say it for Nikki.

A part of me feels guilty for swearing, but I stuff that part into a closet I'd just discovered in my heart. Words are just sounds, right, and I offered up that word because I knew she'd understand exactly what I meant by giving it to her.

Nikki's pupils constrict. She scans me like one of those X-ray machines at the airport. I'm as still as a rabbit and ready to be flayed. Scan complete, Nikki whumps against the back of the glider and we move. Only, if you've ever sat on a glider before you know it doesn't sway up and down like a swing; it moves back and forth, back and forth. Nikki speeds it up by pushing against the terrazzo floor.

Leaning into her cigarette, she takes a long, slow drag and releases it to the side. She turns on her lopsided grin. “So you wished you'd come?”

Her words form a life preserver and I grab on to it. Nodding, I say, “I kept thinking about how much
fun you guys were having and how I was stuck in school.”

“You didn't really have a test, did you.” See how I used a period there instead of a question mark—that's because she didn't
ask
me if I had a test; she was telling me she knew I didn't. It was a statement, a declaration, something I could not deny.

I lower my head. My voice is tiny and my words are small. “I was afraid to say no.”

I feel her hunch closer. “Are you afraid of me?” she asks.

My throat closes up. I'm afraid of her the same way I'm afraid of tall roller coasters and upside-down rides. I'm afraid the ride will be too fast and too high and even though someone who works there sits at the top of the first hill, you can't really get off once you get on. And yet, if I walk by the ride enough times and hear the people screaming and watch them smile and shake their heads when they unload—
That was awesome!
—I know if I leave without riding that ride, that'll be the sorriest day of my life.

“No.” My voice comes out garbled. I clear my throat and repeat, “No, I'm not afraid.”

I lift my eyes and meet hers. My stomach feels sick. I put my foot down and stop the glider.

Nikki gives it one more push, watches my face, then stops. “Mimi isn't going to be happy tonight. But it wasn't your fault.” She crosses her arms. “It was Emily's.”

Before I can protest, Jordan slides the door open and snatches the cigarette pack from the table. “Buy your own,” she snaps. “Get the roast in.”

Nikki straightens her posture. “You're supposed to take care of that.”

“I'm busy. Do it or I'll tell Mom.”

The two sisters stare at each other, a battle of the wills, wills so stubborn, there's no telling who might win or how long it could take.

Finally, Nikki blinks and says, “Whatever,” which Jordan takes as victory and flounces back into the house. Carefully, Nikki presses the lit end of the cigarette into the ashtray, putting it out. “I hate sisters. Do you have one?”

A video of Libby pops up. Libby laughing with me over the Cheerios on her tray. Libby kicking her legs for joy because I've come into the kitchen. Libby and her fuzzy baby hair. Libby throwing tantrums. It reminds me of
Beezus and Ramona
—Libby is sometimes a pain like Ramona, but mostly, I love her.

I set my lemonade on the table. “Want to trade?” I ask, not because I'd ever want to, but because saying it makes me sound cool.

It works. Nikki gives a reluctant laugh, a laugh that says,
We're in the same boat,
and I try to look like someone who might really be in the same boat as Nikki Simms.

As I hurry back to school before it gets too late, I whip out my phone and post on Nikki's Facebook wall.

Me:
Dude, thanks for the lemonade.

She's not mad at me. She's not mad at me at all. Something bothers me, itching my mind like a no-see-um, those bugs that are so tiny you can't even see them; the only way you know they're on you is because you feel them biting, which doesn't hurt like a dog bite or a bunch of piranhas, but it makes you scratch your shoulder and then your knee and you look for a mosquito but you don't see one. That's how you know it's a no-see-um. It's one of the few words that means exactly what it says.

So that's how I'm feeling as I walk back to school, like being bothered by a no-see-um, or in this case, a no-remember-um—when you
know
there's something you forgot but when you search your brain, it's nowhere to be found and then you think maybe you didn't forget anything at all, maybe you just drank too much root beer or something. You ever get that feeling? It buzzes through my head halfway back to Magnolia. Only halfway though, because then I realize that bothersome feeling is probably left over from the way I felt on my way
to
Nikki's house. Now I'm coming
from
Nikki's house and it's okay. She's not mad at me.

I scratch my arms. Stupid no-see-ums. They bite your skin, suck your blood, and fly into your ears straight to your brain. I take off running all the way back to school.

Later, zooming through my neighborhood on the Silver Flash, I ponder about Mrs. Weston telling our principal, and how Nikki's mom will act if she gets a phone call. Probably whack the heads off some broccoli. I'm on my way to fill in Amanda to see what she thinks, and I want to tell her about going into Nikki's house. She is going to be so impressed!

I zip past the other houses, past the orange trees, which are done blooming. They're done with oranges and done with flowers. Time to concentrate on growing. I smile when I hear the hummingbird notes of Emily's flute as I pass her house.

When I get to Amanda's, I bang on the door. My knock is as distinctive as a ringtone. As I wait, I check out the unfamiliar skateboard resting nearby. My pulse quickens. Maybe Matthew bought a new board. I study
it so I can make a casual comment about it, like,
Cool board. What kind of wheels are those?
Or—and this is even better—
Can you ollie?
I heard that word on a stunt show and filed it in my mental notes under M, for Matthew.

I'm daydreaming about how impressed Matthew will be with me knowing the word “ollie” that I startle when Amanda opens the door.

“Hey, Amanda,” I say and barrel in, almost bumping straight into Tanner Law. “Oh!”

“Hi, Hailee.” Tanner Law has shot up a foot since I last saw him. Blond hair glints off his arms, and his eyes, which I've never noticed before, are gray.

Amanda looks bashful. “We were just hanging out.”

Then I go all the way into the kitchen and see Matthew and Shana sitting, their fingers entwined on top of the table.

Awkward moments are
so
awkward.

“Hailee! We haven't seen you in a while.” Mrs. Burns ducks from the fridge with a bottled water.

I rush to her side. “Well, you know, I've been busy at school and with homework and the Library Club”—I sneak a peek at Amanda and Tanner—
Amanda and Tanner!
—“and have you been looking at any decorating magazines lately, because I've been thinking about redoing my room”—that's true; I said it before, remember?—“and maybe you have some good ideas. My favorite color is green.” I can't seem to remember why I rode my bike over here.

Mrs. Burns sips her water.

“Your favorite colors are pink and purple,” Amanda says.

“I just changed it.” I cross my arms, drop them, and recross them. “People do change, you know.”

Amanda gives me a quizzical look.

“Actually, I might have a couple of new magazines.” Mrs. Burns starts toward the hallway.

“Oh,” Shana says, “would you please finish your story about Matthew first?” Her face and Matthew's face blush in unison.

Remember that game “Which one of these things doesn't belong?” I am living it right now.

As we take seats around the table, Mrs. Burns says, “Hailee didn't hear the first part, so I'll catch her up.” I shrink at my name. I don't want anyone singling me out—get it?—because I am already singled out. Anyway, Mrs. Burns picks up the story. “When Matthew was in about third grade or so, he'd come home and cry about this bully who wouldn't leave him alone at recess.”

Shana murmurs a soft “Aww,” and she and Matthew exchange a glance.

“I tried talking to the teacher, but this kid just wouldn't stop. Finally, one night, Matthew was not himself at the supper table, so Mr. Burns laid down his fork and knife, wiped his mouth, and said, ‘Matthew, the next time he bothers you, kick him in the shin.'”

All around the table, we burst into laughter.

“I didn't like the idea,” Mrs. Burns said, “but after supper, Mr. Burns showed Matthew where the shin was and told him the only way to do it was to kick hard, then run!” She starts cracking up. “So the next day, Matthew comes home happy, saying he did just what his dad told him to do, and we were glad because we thought that was the end of it.

“But it wasn't. Matthew liked the idea so much that he started looking for that kid just so he could kick him in the shins.” Now we're all laughing. Matthew looks embarrassed, but pleased, too. “We had to order him to stop. But that boy never did bother Matthew after that!”

“I shut him down,” Matthew says, a sheepish grin lighting up his face.

“Well,” Mrs. Burns says to me. “Let me go get those magazines.”

Shana says she has to go and Matthew walks her out. I'm alone with Amanda and Tanner. Little hearts float up from their side of the table. Girlfriend and boyfriend vibes soak the air like humidity. When Mrs. Burns comes back, I can barely focus on her talk of color palettes and themed bedding. Matthew slips in and up the stairs.

I don't hear Tanner's joke, but I laugh when Amanda starts laughing.

She looks at me appreciatively. “It's so true, right?”

“I know,” I say, letting my laughter die down in a way that sounds natural.

Tanner's chair is about three inches from Amanda's. They don't seem shy except for when they look at me.

“So how's Magnolia?” he asks.

“Oh, it's great!” Amanda answers for me. “Hailee's getting all As and everyone there likes her.”

I shrug. “Well, I don't know if
everyone
likes me….”

“Of course they do, silly!” Amanda says.

“Yeah, you have lots of friends on Facebook,” Tanner adds.

Mrs. Burns puts down her magazine. “Your mom lets you on Facebook?”

Amanda pokes her mom with a glance. “I
told
you, Mom! Tanner and Hailee are friends on Facebook.”

Mrs. Burns tilts her head. “But they already
are
friends—in real life.”

“Mo-om.” Amanda uses a singsong voice. “You're so last century.”

Mrs. Burns stands and bops Amanda's head with her rolled-up magazine. The table feels unbalanced after she leaves. I can hear the electronic hum of the refrigerator, the air-conditioning, and the love connection between Amanda and Tanner. I clear my throat. Tanner chuckles at nothing, and Amanda smiles. Her gaze ping-pongs from me to Tanner and back again, and I realize how odd three is as a number.

“Um—” Wet concrete pours into my veins and stiffens my joints. “I have to go home,” I say.

Amanda makes sure the door shuts behind her when
she walks me out. “What do you think of him? You can be honest.”

She wants me to say something nice about Tanner.

I tilt my head like Nikki does. “I can see how you like him.”

“I know! Isn't he cute? He's going to help me with my last project for the Compass Club—cleaning cages and giving baths to the animals at the shelter. He's so awesome!” She bangs her hands together as if the Tanner Law awesomeness is too much to behold. Lowering her voice, she says, “If he tries to kiss me, I'm going to let him!” Her eyes widen with the shock of what she's just said.

So do mine.

I leave Amanda's house without getting to use “ollie” in a sentence with Matthew.

My tires spin off sand on her driveway. Amanda and Tanner or maybe even Matthew could be watching me from a window, so I put a half smile on my face as if I'm thinking about something pleasant, such as lemon meringue pie. (If you aren't a lemon meringue person, think of a pie you do like, such as blueberry or pumpkin.) I sit up straight on my bike and, as I pedal, I point my toes because models always do that.

It's not a natural way to ride, so I'm glad when I'm out of eyeshot and they can't stare at me anymore. I slump over my handlebars and heave the bike side to side while pumping.

Ever since I left Palm Middle, Amanda's been keeping two lives: her regular life (her family and me), and her Palm Middle life (Tanner). I decide I am insulted—
insulted!
—by Tanner replacing me on Amanda's Compass Club project. Out of the generosity of my heart, I offered to help Amanda even though I was really busy, what with winning the lottery and all. I click up to a higher speed. Yes, that's what I'm feeling—insulted.