Lucky Me (10 page)

“Uh, no,” I replied, coming up behind him and opening the bedroom door. “We had a deal, remember? I need you to help me, especially now that Brendan's been poisoned. You need to hold up your end.”

“Because you're doing such a good job of holding up yours,” Jack said as I scowled.

“Oh!” I heard someone say to my right. Nadia, one of the housekeepers glanced at Jack and I standing an inch away from each other, and then looked at the floor. “Sorry to interrupt. I'll come back later!”

Eyes on Nadia, I pushed Jack away from me lightly. “No!” I exclaimed. “This is a perfect time. Nothing's happening here.”

“Really, I can come ba—”

“I said it's fine!” I turned to Jack, who looked like he was having a crazy amount of fun. “Get out!”

“Alright, alright. I'm going,” he said, smiling at Nadia on his way out. “Thanks for last night, Gia!”

“Shut up, oh my God!”

“I can keep this between us if you'd like,” Nadia said, nodding at me understandingly.

“There's nothing to keep between us, Nadia,” I replied, trying to look as casual as possible. “Honestly, I have no idea what you're talking about.”

She looked like she wanted to say something, but instead gave me a sharp nod and began making my bed without a word. I watched her for a few seconds, wondering just how bad it looked between Jack and I. When the awkwardness was becoming too much, I gave up on damage control, locked myself in the ensuite, and did some heavy breathing for a while.

By the time I had finished battling with the tangles in my hair, showering and putting on clothes that made me look like a human being, it was already past one. Nadia and Jack were both gone, leaving my bed neatly made, and the couch looking flawless. The idea of Jack sleeping in the same room as me was giving me heart palpitations. At least now the couch would smell like his cologne. I made my way down the stairs and through the silent hallway into the kitchen, where Mike and Chris were eating lasagne.

“Where's Anya?” I asked, not bothering to greet the boys with a hello first.

“I don't know,” Mike said.

“Where's Dad?”

“Don't know. He went somewhere with Kenny. He said he'll be back soon and that you're not allowed to leave the house,” Mike replied, shovelling pasta into his mouth.

Sabrina, one of older housekeepers, walked out of the kitchen shooting a glare in my direction. I always had a feeling she didn't like me. She's always shaking her head around me, although I can't figure out why.

“How am I supposed to see Brendan?” I asked, turning my attention back to the boys.

Mike shrugged and said, “Take that up with Dad.”

I helped myself to some lasagne and took a seat on a barstool next to Chris. That boy
never
spoke. Like, ever. It was actually kind of worrying.

“So what's up?” I asked Chris, attempting to break the ice and show him speaking was actually allowed in the household.

His glanced at me from the corner of his eye and gave a tiny shrug. I raised my eyebrows. Okay then.

“So, you wanna tell me why Jack walked out of your room this morning wearing the same clothes he wore to that party last night? Moving a bit fast, eh sis?” Mike asked, smiling in between bites of pasta.

“You wanna tell me why I shouldn't squish you like the insect you are?”

Mike turned to Chris and gave him an understanding look. “It's probably her time of month. Don't take anything she says personally.”

Jack walked in before I had a chance to reply, catching me off guard with blue jeans and red flannel shirt. I had to actually remind myself to chew my lasagne so that I wouldn't start drooling.

“Hey guys,” Jack said, without looking up from his phone.

“Oh, hey Jack!” Mike said, a little too enthusiastically. “Anything interesting happen last night after the party?”

“Um,” Jack began, giving me a confused look. “Not really, Mike. How was your night?”

I was going to squeeze the life out of Mike the next time I caught him alone. Chris was going to come in handy if he didn't stop hinting at Jack and I doing the nasty.

“It was alright,” Mike said. “Probably not nearly as wild as what was happening in my sister's bedroom.”

“Mike!”

“Okay, I've pretty much established that crazy comes along with this family, so I'm going to ignore all these weird comments,” Jack said, and Chris nodded in agreement.

“Lasagne?” I pushed the dish of pasta toward Jack, hoping it would change the topic.

“Thanks,” he replied, serving himself a piece. “So I've got some info about last night's poisoning debacle.”

I looked up from my plate. “What did you find?”

Jack broke off a piece of lasagne and scooped it up with his fork. “The dumpling had Chinese poison in it. Nothing too strong, but it did the job.”

“Was it in all of the dumplings?”

“Nope just one, and that's why no one else was poisoned.”

“Freaky coincidence?” I suggested, hopefully.

Jack swallowed his bite. “Not likely. That poison was put
in there.”

I nodded, still processing the information. Why would anyone want to poison Brendan? “So now what?”

“I called Brendan an—”

“You
called
Brendan?” I cried, dropping my fork in surprise. It hit the plate with a loud clatter.

“Yeah, why?” Jack said, looking at Mike as if he could answer for me.

“I got nothing,” Mike replied with an apologetic look.

“Did you forget that massive fight I had with Brendan about
you
last night? He hates you!”

“Damn!” Mike exclaimed, turning to Chris. “As if we missed that!”

“Relax, he was on a bunch of meds,” Jack said, putting his plate down on the marble kitchen island. “I called him, told him I was just checking up on him and made a few lame jokes about mystery meat. He said everything's cool and that he's learned his lesson.”

“What lesson?” Mike asked for me.

“Never to get catering from the Dumpling Hospital again.”

“The Dumpling Hospital?” I repeated, making a face. “What the hell is that?”

“Oh, I know that place!” Mike piped up. “It's in China Town. My friend Dave said that it's really sketchy! His dad got diarrhea once after eating there.”

I looked at Chris, who was
still
silent. “You got nothing to add?”

“No,” he replied.

One word, two letters. It was all the proof I needed that Chris actually could talk.

“Anyway,” Jack resumed. “If I were you, I would do some more research on this Dumpling Hospital place. If the name isn't suspicious enough, their food definitely is.”

“That's great and all,” I said, pushing my plate away from me slightly so that I could lean my arms on the counter. “But who was that dumpling for? I mean, why would they just poison one dumpling? It doesn't make any sense.”

“Well when I asked how the whole thing happened,” Jack explained, “Brendan said the waiter was actually heading in our direction to offer us some food.”

“Offer us food inside a bedroom?” I said. “Sounds a bit creepy, doesn't it?”

“Bedroom?” Mike said, his smile returning.

Jack paused for a few seconds, as though he was thinking about smiling, and then deciding against it.

“He said he took the tray off him right before he saw us walk into the room.”

“I didn't see any waiters,” I said.

“Me neither,” Jack replied with a nod. “In fact, Brendan didn't even hire any waiters. Whoever this guy was, he was planted there in disguise.”

“That,” Mike said, “is some Mission Impossible shiz!”

“No one says
shiz,
Mike,” I said abruptly. “Did Brendan say what the guy looked like?”

“No, and I didn't want to ask. I already seemed super suspicious with all my questions. You can ask him later.”

Jack put his plate in the sink, and the room was silent for a moment as everyone considered his story. It was possible that the waiter was out for Jack, but it was unlikely. Especially with the creepy calls and texts in play, I had a pretty good idea that it was me he was after. Jack clearly agreed.

“So what you're saying is,” I began slowly, “this random guy was disguised as a waiter to potentially serve me a poisoned dumpling from a sketchy Chinese restaurant that gave Dave's dad diarrhea?”

Jack nodded. “It definitely looks that way.”

“Well that's just dandy!” I exclaimed, hopping off the barstool. “No, really! As if I didn't already have enough to deal with! Let's just throw in some psycho freak stalker who's trying to kill me!”

“Chill out, sis,” Mike said, pushing his empty plate away from him. “It's not a big deal. So you're getting stalked a little! Big whoop.”

I spun on my heel to face Mike, eyes narrowed into a steely glare. “Leave now if you value your life,” I told him, and he slid off his chair.

“Clearly Jack didn't relax your psychotic nerves last night,” Mike said, shrugging lightly. He turned to Jack. “Dude, try again. She's going to need a few sessions to crack.”

With that he strolled out of the kitchen, leaving me to stare at his empty seat in shock and embarrassment.

I glanced at Jack. “Don't say a word. Don't you dare.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Good, don't.”

Chris, who was watching us quietly from his bar stool, gave a small cough. I looked at him expectantly, hoping I'd get another word out of him. He just gave me a tiny smile like he was scared of showing any sign of happiness and looked down at his plate awkwardly.

“So,” Jack said, resting his elbows on the kitchen island as he leaned in. “What do you want to do about this dumpling?”

“What can we do?”

“Well it's not like we really have any proof. So, nothing really.”

How insanely helpful of him. No, really.

“So let's go get some proof,” I said. “How do you feel about taking a little after-school excursion tomorrow?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Excursion?”

“I want to check out the restaurant,” I told him. “Go straight to the source.”

“I don't think that's a good idea, Gia.”

“In case you forgot, last night my boyfriend was poisoned by some creep who was really aiming for me. I want to know why! I
would
go alone, but then I'd be depriving you of an opportunity to be crazy overprotective, which I know is your favorite thing to do.”

Jack was silent as he considered his next move. Beside me, Chris ate another forkful of lasagne.

“Alright fine,” Jack said finally, and I gave him a pleased smile. “We can go check it out quickly. And I mean
really
quickly.”

My smile faltered a little. “Wait, just the two of us?” I said, as the realization hit me. Images of Jack lying on my couch were flashing at the front of my mind like my thoughts were at a nightclub.

“Yeah?” Jack replied with a shrug. “Why?”

“No. Nothing. It's all good.”

Jack gave me a knowing look. “Are you going to go all British on me again?”

Boy, don't tempt me.

Chapter Six

Going to school isn't exactly buckets of fun on a normal day, but after the events on Saturday night, it had become unbearable. Brendan was of course absent, but had been released from the hospital, which was a step in the right direction. Truthfully, I don't think Brendan was at home for his own health and recovery. I think his parents needed all the time in the day to yell at him for the party.

In the meantime, I was stuck dealing with people constantly showing me pictures of Jack, Dad, and I outside the hospital, as if I had forgotten the entire incident. Al, Dad's manager and best friend for as long as I can remember, had done some damage control to make sure TMZ didn't pick up on the news and make it a bigger deal than it was. But most of the partygoers fled the moment they heard sirens, so this was all new to them. Meghan, of course, had denied even being at the party. She claimed she was at some charity banquet, which resulted in me laughing for about three hours straight. Meghan considered just speaking to the people outside her clique an act of charity.

With an impressive amount of self-control and breathing exercises, I had somehow managed to get through the day without punching someone in the face or having a full Britney Spears-like meltdown. The same can't be said for my emotions after school however, as I eyed myself in the mirror with disgust.

“And you're
absolutely
sure that you couldn't find anything that would make us look like food inspectors?”

“I thought we would blend more like this.”

Blend? Maybe the beauty hadn't gotten to his brain and broken it or something, because Jack's idea of “blend” was very different than mine. Jack was wearing baggy white basketball shorts paired with a loose, purple and yellow Lakers jersey. Large gold chains hung around his neck, knocking against each other every time he adjusted the angle of his black snapback.

“You look like you were raised by Lil' Wayne!” I exclaimed, motioning toward his baggy pants.

“Hey!” Jack said, sitting on the edge of my bed. “I look like Marky Mark.”

“You look ridiculous!”

Jack ignored me, inspecting my outfit with an approving nod. “At least your outfit fits. I had to guess your size.”

I wheeled around to face the mirror again with a grimace. Jack had forced me to put on this stupid golden mini-skirt and a similar basketball jersey that hung so loose off, it almost covered my skirt in length. That should be a good indication of how well he guessed my size. As if that wasn't bad enough, Jack had insisted that my ponytail be extremely high up, almost to the point where I looked like I had a unicorn horn. To top it all off, the only thing keeping me from being classified as semi-naked was a heinous black, puffy, plastic-looking jacket with a fur hood.

“I couldn't get shoes for you, you'll have to wear your own,” Jack told me, as I glared at my reflection in the mirror.

“What shoes are you wearing?”

“These.”

Jack pulled out a pair of white sneakers from a backpack lying next to him. The shoes looked a little old and worn out, and had the word “Pimp” written once on each shoe in glittery gold permanent marker.

I raised my eyebrows. “You're kidding, right?”

“What?” Jack smiled at me, slipping his foot into one of the shoes. “I think I may wear these more often.”

“And I think I may go run myself over now.”

“Little extreme don't you think?”

“So now I have to wear this heinous outfit with a pair of Louboutins?”

Jack shrugged and said, “I can't help that you only have fancy shoes.”

I groaned. “Where do you even get these clothes from? They're a crime against humanity.”

“I don't reveal my sources.”

Clearly Jack's so-called “sources” were blind, or just really hated the fashion industry, because these clothes were offensive to my entire existence. I shook my head firmly, my ponytail swinging side-to-side.

“I can't be seen in public like this!” I said firmly. “Why can't I just wear something I already have? We can still go as food inspectors. I'll just put on a blazer and—”

“Gia! That'll take too much time. Now suck it up, put some overpriced shoes on and let's go!”

Slipping out of the house had thankfully been a less painful process than getting dressed. I had run into Anya on the way out, who looked at me like she couldn't believe I was actually planning on going out in public like that, and I couldn't blame her. The ponytail height had managed to crawl down a little, but I had still somehow ended up in the ridiculous homie getup at the end of all the arguing. Feeding Anya an impromptu lie about how we needed to attend an emergency dress rehearsal for a school play, we practically sprinted out the front door. Dad was out for lunch with friends, so I didn't have to worry about dealing with him directly. Ironically, he had been spending a lot more time out of the house and away from me ever since the bodyguards had moved in. Suspicious, but definitely convenient for me.

About twenty minutes later, and lots of arguments on the way over, Jack and I were sitting in an almost deserted parking lot gaping at the Dumpling Hospital that was just ahead.

“No, seriously,” Jack said, hands still wrapped around the steering wheel. “What the hell is that thing?”

I didn't reply. I couldn't reply. The Dumpling Hospital kind of spoke for itself. The whole building just screamed sketchy. They may as well have painted over the crooked, first aid cross and plastered “Death Chamber” all over the place. The restaurant was definitely old, but run-down was an understatement. Whoever chose to voluntarily eat there clearly had a death wish.

“Well . . . let's go.” Jack said, pulling the car keys out of the ignition.

I turned to face him with my eyes widened. “I don't think this is a good idea anymore.”

Jack sighed, resting his hands on the top of steering wheel. “This was your brilliant plan!” he exclaimed. “We drove all the way over here, so we're going in now.”

I glanced at the Dumpling Hospital with a grimace. “I changed my mind. Take me home.”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no'? Look at this place! Look at what we're wearing! Look at what
you're
wearing! I'm not leaving this car.”

“Yo woman! I ain't gon' hear no crazy talk from you!” Jack replied, bobbing his head so aggressively that his hat almost slid of his head.

I gave him an incredulous look and said, “Are you having a seizure or something? What the hell was that?”

“It was my gangster talk! I'm getting into character.”

“Oh my God, we're going to die in this place.”

“Well,” Jack said cheerfully, pushing open the car door. “No time like the present.”

There wasn't going to be much more of a present if we went in there. I groaned and pushed my car door open, stepping out in my far too expensive shoes.

“Jack, there's no one here!” I cried, staying as close to the car as possible. “Look around. It's all deserted! They probably killed them all inside!”

“Gia, don't be such a drama queen. There's a family going in right now. See? They have little kids with them and everything!”

I followed his gaze toward a family walking into the restaurant. There were two parents and three little boys. One of the boys had a little action figure in his hand, but I couldn't tell who it was from the distance. He was waving it around in the air and yelling out “DIE. I KILL YOU.” I spun back around in panic and slammed right into Jack, my arm roughly brushing against the cold chains hanging around his neck.

“Are you insane?” I cried. “Even the kids are violent! It's a breeding ground for serial killers, I'm telling you!”

Jack rolled his eyes and grabbed onto my hand, firmly walking toward the restaurant as his chains clanked against each other.

“Come on, Princess,” he said in a bored voice, practically dragging me through the entrance doors. “I won't let the mean little kids touch you, don't worry.”

“Hi, welcome to the Dumpling Hospital.” A young Asian girl with a hint of an accent greeted us as we walked in.

She was dressed as a nurse and stood behind a small podium that read
Reception.
She had a name-tag attached to her outfit that read Cindy.

“Yo!” Jack said, releasing my hand and forming his fingers into a peace sign. “We'd like a table yo. For like, two, yo,” Jack told her.

“Just you two?” She asked uncertainly, eyeing us up and down. She looked half amused, half scared.

“Uh, yeah. That's what I said, dog. Ya feel?”

“Uh, follow me please,” she replied, and I knew she was judging us big time in her mind.

“Ease up on the homie talk!” I hissed to Jack. “And a peace sign? Really?”

“It's what homies do, Gia!” He whispered back fiercely.

“No it's not!”

“Oh, forgive me. I'm not exactly fluent in gangster sign language, you know!”

“Here you are,” the waitress said, motioning to the booth to her right.

“Thanks, G,” Jack replied, holding out his fist as if encouraging her to bump it against hers. She didn't.

“We'll take a minute to order,” I said, yanking Jack's arms down and forcibly sliding him into the booth.

She sized us up once more, her gaze lingering on the pimp shoes planted on Jack's feet, before finally turning on her heel and walking away.

“Would you relax?” I snapped the moment she was far enough. “She thinks we're crazy!”

“She works at a restaurant modeled after a hospital, and we're the crazy ones?” Jack replied, adjusting his chains.

Well, there was no arguing with that. I picked up a menu and scanned the surroundings. The Dumpling Hospital was a seriously messed up place, but you had to give it points for creativity. The tables were long and had pale blue tablecloths over them, so they looked like gurneys without wheels. Above the kitchen door there was a sign that said
“Operating Room”
and all the waitresses were dressed in white nurse uniforms and the waiters in scrubs. I took a wild guess that the chefs were dressed as doctors, and was actually surprised at how impressed I suddenly was with the décor. All creepiness and shabby furniture aside, it had something cool about it. But the restaurant wasn't particularly full, even though it was getting close to dinnertime, which told me the place wasn't doing too well. It wasn't very large either, and I doubted it would fit more than thirty people at most.

“Hi, I take order please?” A young “nurse” asked me, her ponytail swishing to and fro. Her accent was heavy and her English was clearly broken, but I could make out what she had asked.

“Uh, sure,” I said, picking up the menu.

I looked down at it with a frown. The paper looked like it had been printed a million years ago and I hadn't thought to bring any hand sanitizer. Not only was I probably going to get food poisoning, they were going to throw in tetanus for free. The top of the menu read
Dumpling Hospital
—
Dumplings are the best medicine.
I ran my finger down the list of dishes and looked at the waitress who was tapping her foot impatiently.

“Could I please have a—” Jack, who was kicking me under the table, cut me short. He shot me a look that told me I was out of character and I cleared my throat. “Oh right. I mean, girl, what's your special today?” I exclaimed, startling the waitress with my fake ghetto accent.

“Dear God,” I heard Jack whisper, closing his eyes.

She mumbled something and pointed to the top of the menu. I looked down at where her finger was pointing. It read:

Kong Bao Kidney Stones
—
served with rice

I re-read the special dish two more times just so I was sure that I hadn't made a mistake, and looked up at the waitress uncertainly.

“Great,” I said, with zero enthusiasm. “I'll have one of those, please.”

Jack ordered the “Guong Zhou Gallbladder,” matching my lack of excitement at the dish names. The waitress directed us to the self-serve cutlery area before taking one last long look at our outfits, and finally walking away.

“Okay,” Jack said in a hushed voice, as we both leaned in. “I want you to go to the self-serve place and pretend to get us plates and spoons and forks and stuff, but take a look around while you're walking up.”

“Got it.” I nodded. “Wait a minute. Why do I have to do it? I'm the one being targeted here!”

“You literally have to walk three yards. No one's going to jump up and attack you, I promise.”

“Boy you're going to be so sorry if that isn't true.”

“We'll deal with that if it happens. Now go pretend to get us stuff! But actually do get cutlery, because we need it to eat our kidney stones.”

“I'm not actually eating any of this!” I exclaimed, surprised that he even thought that was a possibility. “What if it's poisoned?”

“Do you want to say that any louder?” Jack asked, and I scowled. “Just go get some cutlery!”

I glared at him and begrudgingly slid out of the booth, catching a glimpse of Jack's shoes in the process.

“Remind me again why we're dressed like this?” I said, frowning as he adjusted his snapback with frustrating amusement.

“I'm going to be really honest here,” he said with a smile. “I was totally just messing around with the costumes and I never thought you'd go along with it. But it turns out, keeping up the act was way more fun!”

I rested my palms flat onto the gurney and leaned in toward Jack, eyes narrowed. “So you're saying I'm dressed like the female version of Vanilla Ice for
fun?
”

Jack blinked back at me, expressionless. “Well, yeah.”

I did some quick reasoning with myself and decided slapping Jack was probably not a good idea. For one, it would draw more attention to us, and we didn't need any more attention in those outfits. Secondly, it would probably come up later if Jack and I ever decided to fall in love. But the chances of that happening were looking slimmer than shady at the given moment. Grumbling to myself, I stalked off toward the cutlery, smoothing down my marshmallow jacket as best as I could. A waiter dressed in “scrubs” was refilling the small baskets when I approached. He looked up at me and dropped a bundle of forks into the tub in surprise, causing them to make a loud clattering sound. He was most likely just taken aback by my outfit, but his eyes widened as if he recognized me. I tried to act cool, convincing myself that he probably didn't know who I was. I doubted he even knew who I was without the homie gear. There was no way he was recognizing me with it on.