My Lucky Charm
Authors: Scarlet Wolfe
My Lucky Charm
Scarlet Wolfe
Copyright © 2014 Scarlet Wolfe Books
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
ISBN-13: 978-1494234652
ISBN-10: 1494234653
To
Kelsey and other teens who express their individuality and stand up for what they believe is right regardless of the fallout.
New Beginning
Leah
I stare at the clock in my school’s office. They need to hurry up already. My driver, Paul, will be here in like fifteen minutes. The door opens, and a lady I haven’t seen before looks at me.
“Leah Lane.” She’s really short, tiny, a
nd I’m guessing fortyish. A woman who is probably attractive when not wearing a scowl. I stand, and lugging my backpack over my shoulder, I stroll into her office.
“Leah, take a seat please. I’m Mrs.
Grove, the vice principal.”
I take a chair in
front of her desk as she walks around to hers. Opening a manilla folder, she glances through it before eyeing me for what feels like forever. Get crack-a-lackin’, lady. Paul spazzes out when I’m late.
“Leah, we’ve
only been in school a few weeks, and you’re already in the office. I don’t see in your records where you were ever in trouble at your previous school. Are you having problems I need to be made aware of?”
“Um, no ma’am.
”
“S
omething is going on since you called another classmate a bitch in the hallway in front of a teacher.”
“Uh, she was being one.”
Mrs. Grove rubs her forehead.
“Name calling i
s not acceptable at Clairview regardless of whether you feel it matches the behavior of the person you say it to.” She flips through the folder below her once again.
“You’re an exceptional student. Actually, ‘gifted’ is a te
rm I see used frequently from your previous high school. I’m going to let this slide since I imagine you’re still trying to get to know your peers. I’m also aware kids often give new students a hard way to go, but please don’t let me see you back in here.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”
She smiles and motions toward the door. I hear the final bell ring as I fall into the swarms of students that are filling the hallways. I round a corner to go to my locker and smack right into someone.
I stumble back, and when I look up, the most attractive guy is staring back at me.
He’s tall, fit and has dark brown hair that’s just long enough to be messy but sexy. He has the deepest green eyes, and they’re studying every inch of my face, so I finally look away.
“Sorry, I was in a hurry,” I say. I
should go, but I can’t move my feet. I look to him when I feel his hand brush my shoulder. A slow smile spreads across his face as he picks up a section of my multicolor tresses.
“Your hair is cool.”
“Oh, thanks. I need to go. I’m late.” I scurry around him and feel my heart thudding like it’s trying to escape. I could swear I’ve seen him before, but I don’t recognize him from my classes.
Frazzled from the contact with the hot guy, I take forever at my locker. I seriously think I stared into it for five minutes
. Paul tends to worry, so he’s going to be annoyed having to wait on me. He’s certain someone will attempt to abduct me.
Crap,
I didn’t beat them out here. Every two or three days over the last two weeks, these extremely hot but extremely assholish guys have been hanging out at picnic tables under shade trees outside my new school.
I have to pass them to get to the
neighborhood close by, so Paul can pick me up without drawing attention. It’s ridiculous that I have a bodyguard, and I’m hoping my mom will be more trusting of our new environment soon and let me drive myself.
I try not to look at the beefy array of testosterone when I walk by, but the yelling begin
s once again. I’m really sick of it. Along with girls who make fun of me every day, I have these guys at it, too. The whole reason I left my old life behind was to avoid this crap right here.
“Hey, chick, I see you
dipped your hair in Easter egg dye. Did you mix the wrong colors, or is that the look you were going for?” one of the guys ask before I hear an eruption of laughter. I can’t take this anymore, so I look over and flip him the bird. The same guy, who is buff and has blonde hair, yells at me again.
“Any day, baby. Just tell me when and where.”
“Leave her alone, Cole,” a different guy says. My head snaps their way, which I wish it hadn’t, but I can’t resist taking a glance at whoever is attempting to take up for me.
Holy Hotness
. The same guy I ran into only minutes ago in the hallway is staring a hole through me. Ah, this is where I’ve seen him. Now, he’s arguing with the tool who yelled at me. I swiftly turn my head back and pick up my pace.
It doesn’t matter if
there’s a nice one in the bunch. I’m done with jocks, and with the muscles gracing those guys, they have to be jocks.
Brandon
He can be such an ass. “Leave her alone, Cole.” I feel his gaze shoot to me, but I never take my eyes off of her. I nonchalantly bring my friends out here every couple of days, so I can see her as she walks home, but it appears to be backfiring.
I’d do i
t every day, but they’d catch on. They already know I’ve taken an interest in her, but I don’t want them aware of how much so.
“Why Brandon? Are you
still wanting to tap Lucky Charm?” The rest of my buddies join in on the laughter.
“
I came up with that nickname, so don’t use it. She seems like she’d be dope, and I kinda like her hair. I imagine she’s cooler than your sorry ass,” I say.
Cole glares at me. Now that she’s out of sight, I’m looking his way.
“What’s your problem, Bran?”
“I don’t have a problem. Let’s head to practice,” I say as I jump off the picnic table. I’ll get nowhere arguing with him. All the way to
the gym, I think about her and that tight body.
She
’s wearing skinny jeans and Converse. Her long, blonde hair has strands of pink, yellow, blue and lavender in it. It’s odd because she’s eccentric in a classy way. Her hair looks professionally done, and her clothes look new.
Cole can say whatever he wants. He’s just pissed because he knows she’s attractive, yet she’s someone he’d never date. She’s not the type to hang with our circle of friends.
I wonder every day how I ended up in this clique. I guess it sort of happened from football. Also, we come from families who do well for themselves, financially, anyway. From what I know, all our families are pretty screwed up, but you wouldn’t guess from the show they put on … we all put on.
I need to get ove
r my fascination with this girl. I don’t see her giving me the time a day with the way my friends act.
Leah
I s
igh when I see Paul exit the car and open my door. “Do we have to go through this every day?”
“
Are you going to ask me that every day?” Paul replies. I roll my eyes and slide into the seat. After he shuts the door, I lean my head against the window.
“
I do what Kendra instructs me to do … what she pays me to do,” he says once he’s buckled in.
“
Please keep trying to strike it big and quit. Then she might let me drive.”
Paul’s twenty-four and
films documentaries. He’s trying to break into the movie business, but I believe he needs to be in LA or New York to make it, so I don’t know why he’s living in Colorado. I haven’t known him long enough to have him all figured out.
W
hen we moved here, Mom hired him, and I’m guessing it’s because he’s young and attractive. Paul is muscular with blonde hair and blue eyes. It probably makes her feel better to have someone his age working for her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tries to seduce him, too.
He’d go to jail if he touched me since I’
m only seventeen, unless he’s like my father, Maxwell Lane, who gets away with minor indiscretions like dating minors as young as his daughter!
I think
when teenagers begin high school, they envision the best possible scenario. It’s something like this: make friends, draw just the right amount of attention to yourself, pass your classes with ease, not end up with an embarrassing photo or video of yourself on Instagram, Facebook or YouTube, and avoid parents by spending time with your friends as much as possible.
Oh, and
get a boyfriend or girlfriend, lose your virginity, excel at activities you’re good at, and hope you get a car as a birthday gift. I got the car, but I can’t even drive the thing, and I most definitely know what it’s like to get the embarrassing photos and videos posted online.
I don’t think when any teenager starts high school, they plan on hav
ing themselves and their family humiliated on national television, in every newspaper and on almost every site on the Internet.
This happened
to my family all because Maxwell couldn’t keep his junk in his pants, or I should say couldn’t just keep it in my mom. Oh, that’s gross. It’s the truth but … oh gross. I shake my head in disgust for even having the thought.
Maxwell Lane,
who I refuse to address as Dad, is the creator of one of the largest software companies in the world, Lane Drive Technologies. It’s a fortune five hundred company worth billions of dollars. He destroyed my previous life. After the initial humiliation, I thought it might be a blessing, but now I’m not so sure.
I had what some would call the perfect life. Many would still say it’s perfect since I’m loaded, but money doesn’t buy happiness like so many want to believe. I’ve never felt so alone in all my life.
I had a lot of friends, we
nt to parties, shopped and relaxed at the spa. On the outside, I looked like the stereotypical rich kid. The problem was that I never felt I belonged.
Yeah, the money is
nice for things like buying clothes, getting my hair done and feeding my insane addiction to music, but I was always the black sheep amongst my friends.
They
were either preppy or all about the glitz and glam of LA, and neither were ever my scene. Send me to a part of town where there are eccentric coffee shops mixed with old music stores, eclectic art studios and vintage boutiques, and I’m in my element.
Parachute me into a place filled with
skinny jean, beanie wearing skateboarders, concert shirts, every color of hair, tattoos and piercing shops, and I’d blend right in.
Instead, I grew
up in yuppie, private schools where you’re groomed for ultimate success. We’re prepped for Cambridge, MIT, Harvard and Yale. We participate in sports like water polo and fencing.
The girls
don’t have colored streaks in their hair unless it’s the latest, fashionable, blonde highlights. I think you can piece together the type of person and environment I’m describing here.
Of course, there are
other kids who don’t fit that mold, and they stay tucked away like me since their parents frown upon it.
Anyway,
Maxwell took a liking to a different flavor of ice cream. It started with a scoop of eighteen year old, topped with blonde sauce, whipped cream and two big cherries on top. Two—ginormous—double D cherries.
Needless to say, the sca
ndal was top news that over the last year destroyed our already cracked family. Mr. Lane was investigated since the woman was barely eighteen. I know he saw her before she was of age, but with his money, his attorneys put that to rest.
He didn’t fare so we
ll with my mother. Lucky for Maxwell, he’s so loaded that even after she took him to the cleaners, he had nothing to worry about. The whole thing was humiliating for all involved.
Already being t
he black sheep of my friends, it was easy for them to turn their backs on me. My mom had a nervous breakdown when she was shunned from high society.
W
e might’ve rose above it eventually, but Mom and I couldn’t take another minute to wait and see, so after a year, I convinced her to move.
That’s how we ende
d up in Boulder, Colorado. My mom’s sister, Dottie, lives here, and her daughter, Casey, is my hairdresser. With a change in wardrobe, brunette to blonde hair that I keep colored oddly, and not telling a soul about my family’s wealth, no one has figured out who I am. Yet. It’s only been a month.
There’s also
another not so tiny change I made. I go by Leah Lane instead of Leeza Lane. I thought finally being the person I want to be would free me, but instead, I’m ridiculed on a daily basis.
I left LA so the stares and wh
ispers would stop, but I’m reliving it in a different way. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a private institution for the wealthy or a public school, if you’re different, kids notice and can be cruel.
I keep telling myself
that I’m at least being the girl I always dreamed of. I rock my concert shirts and have the pretty colors I’ve always wanted in my hair. It’s good, right? Then why do I feel so alone?