Lucky Girl Read online

  Cory grunts and lets me lead him away. “Beer, yeah. Good call.” He grabs us a couple of Solo cups from the plywood floor. Another football player comes over and shoves him in the shoulder on purpose, and this time Cory shouts, “Bro! Sick practice today!” and they fist-bump.

  I take my beer and sip, even though it’s still half foam. Maybe it’s better that I couldn’t catch Ryan’s eye. He’s not that into the jock thing. Last year when I broke things off with Paul Maziarz, one of the basketball players, Ryan went, “Oh, thank God,” and when I got offended he just said, “I’m sorry, but dude-bro is my least favorite breed.”

  I watch Cory talking to his teammate, gesturing wildly about some drill they ran. He’s fun and he never takes things too seriously—I mean, I’ve never seen him actually punch someone—and I happen to like jocks just fine. They’re easier than guys who think they’re into music. And obviously they’re so much easier to hang out with than girls.

  The Midcity jocks have the best parties, too. We seem to be disproportionately blessed with tall boys who have access to alcohol and reliably absentee parents.

  My eyes wander around the room, but Ryan must’ve gone back outside, and Maddie definitely isn’t here yet. I see another familiar face, though. It takes me a few seconds to place it, and then I nearly choke on my beer.

  The guy from the airport is here. The intense one, the redhead. He’s standing against the doorframe that will someday lead out to the porch and yard, but for right now is nothing but a big rectangle with the black night behind it. His hands are shoved in his jeans pockets, and he seems about as comfortable as Maddie will probably be, if she ever shows up.

  “Hey, isn’t that Costello over there?” Cory shouts in my ear.

  I turn toward where he’s pointing, and at the same time I hear Maddie’s laugh ringing out over the blaring music. It is her, though she looks even more different here than she did at the airport. Her hair is glowing in the lamplight, and her eyes are dark with eye shadow and mascara. And her shorts are short. She has all these bohemian necklaces on, plus a bunch of bracelets, and she is completely pulling it off. If she weren’t my best friend I’d be hating her right now, hating even more how pathetically boring my black tank top and white jeans skirt look in comparison.

  “I didn’t know she was hot,” Cory says.

  “Let’s go say hi,” I yell, ignoring his comment. I grab his hand and drag him through the crowd again.

  Back in ninth grade, when we started high school, I was suddenly surrounded by boys all the time. Maddie was still more interested in soccer and riding our bikes to the creek, and it started feeling weird, like I was leaving her behind. That’s when I started trying to help her get better at flirting. I taught her all this stupid shit, like how to flip her hair and bite her lip and stuff—things I probably looked like a moron doing myself, but figured must be working, because for the first three weeks of high school I hooked up with a senior. Instead of an older boyfriend, though, Maddie started getting into student government and Spanish club, and by the time she went on a few dates sophomore year, I had way better advice.

  But now, as Cory and I elbow our way over to where Maddie and Ryan are talking to Olivia Thorpe and Annabelle Wilhelmi, I watch in total amazement as my best friend flips her hair. And bites her lip. And smiles at us in this way . . . it’s almost . . .

  “Hey, sexy, welcome home.” Cory leans over and gives Maddie a one-armed hug, and now I’m jealous. Because what the hell, dude-bro. But also—she is sexy. And again, what the hell?

  “Hey, guys!” Maddie breaks away from Cory and kisses both my cheeks. I’ve only seen people do that in movies, and I’m so surprised I almost drop my drink. When she leans back again she winks at me, though, and I realize she’s just doing that other thing I taught her, back in the day: get all handsy with your girlfriends because guys think that girls kissing or touching other girls is super hot. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry that all my worst advice is working so well for her.

  “Maddie, you remember Cory Callahan, right?” I shout over the music. My lungs feel hot as I realize I’m showing off—I’m literally showing her what I did this summer. She might’ve had all sorts of amazing experiences across the ocean, but I hooked up with one of the hottest seniors at Midcity.

  Who she was apparently in love with two years ago.

  The burn moves to my cheeks, but I can’t help it—I want to still be the prettier one.

  “Duh!” Maddie cries, putting her hands on Cory’s shoulders for a second. All her bangles slide down her golden arms, and it’s nauseating how cool she looks. “From school! From middle school, Sunday school . . .” She throws back her head and laughs, and he is . . . dazzled.

  Whaa . . . at.

  And now they’re talking—Maddie and Cory just start chatting like old friends. I mean, they are old friends, we’ve been in school a year behind Cory since junior high, and we’re all at the same church.

  “I thought Gabe was here?” Ryan shouts, pulling me closer. Annabelle and Olivia have scooted away, probably still pissed at me for that game of spin the bottle last year when I kissed Annabelle’s crush, Finn Kramper, right in front of her. I know I’m still pissed about it—the kiss was gross, and then Finn wouldn’t stop texting me for weeks afterward. It was just spin the freaking bottle. I wasn’t supposed to get a stalker and a sworn enemy out of the deal.

  “Yeah, most of this stuff is his,” I tell Ryan, angling my face so I can talk into his ear and keep an eye on Maddie and Cory. Is she still into him? Does she think I’m not that into him?

  I mean, I’m kind of not. And she seems very.

  “I thought there’d be more people here I know,” Ryan says.

  “You know me!” I bump my shoulder into his. “And have you met Sam Adams? He’s a super-chill kind of dude.” I tip my cup, pointing to the beer inside, but Ryan shakes his head.

  “Getting up early tomorrow,” he says. “No rest for the theah-tah.”

  I nod. Ryan’s always telling us how damaging cultural stereotypes can be, but he swears that gay people are better in the arts. “We know what it’s like to respect the fourth wall,” he declares to anyone who will listen. Which is usually just Maddie and me, because he’s honest with us about being gay, and also because we understand what the “fourth wall” is. Because he told us.

  “Whatever, it’s still technically summer. You can be a little late.”

  “I sort of can’t, though. You know, since I’m in charge. As student director.”

  I stare at him for a long second, then I’m screaming and throwing my arms up, and it’s just lucky that there isn’t any beer left in my cup to spill on us.

  “WHAT!”

  Annabelle and Olivia wrinkle their noses at me but who cares? Ryan is legit blushing.

  “It was supposed to be Charlotte Lewis, but she—”

  “Yeah, no, I know, she took all the damn jobs!” I say. Ryan and I comanaged Maddie’s student council campaign, which by default made us semiprofessional Charlotte Lewis haters. Ryan did most of the actual work, and I was in charge of hating Charlotte, who ended up winning president while Maddie took VP. And then I hated Charlotte even more when she also took the best theater gig.

  I lower my arms, wondering why that all feels like such a long time ago.

  “So I guess she just told Klonsky it would be too much work,” Ryan’s saying, “and I’m not such a bad fallback option, so . . .”

  “Fallback?” I squawk. “You were robbed, and now you have what should have been yours to begin with! This is so amazing!” I give him a big hug.

  Ryan hugs me back, then pushes me away again. “Stop or people will think you’re in love with me.”

  I stick my tongue out. “Am I not a—what—pretty good fallback option?”

  “From Jonathan Groff? No, sorry.”

  “Well, let’s have a toast anyway.” Ryan starts to protest again but I’m already pushing him toward the keg, back across the room, wher
e I was standing with Cory a minute ago. Where I was being humped by Cory, basically, and now I’m most definitely not.

  “Maddie seems to be having a good time,” Ryan observes as I pour him a cup of foam.

  “Yeah.”

  “And you seem . . .”

  “What? I’m fine,” I say, but too quickly. “I am. Maybe she likes that guy, whatever.”

  Ryan rolls his eyes and mutters, “that guy,” under his breath, but he takes the beer from me without further comment.

  “Hos before bros,” I say with as much conviction as I can muster. Then I tap my plastic cup against his and we both drink.

  “She looks freaking amazing,” Ryan says, and we both watch Maddie laughing at something Cory said.

  “Yeah,” I say. Maddie deserved to have an awesome summer, to have something go right. And if the only thing in her way now is me . . .

  Ryan nods toward another corner of the room. “I heard Marcus Weaver still pines for you.”

  I spot Marcus’s big Afro floating above the crowd. “Come on, pines?” I snort.

  “Yes, pines is a perfectly acceptable way to phrase that! I also hear that he’s been jonesing for your groovy kind of love.”

  I drop my head, giggling too hard to look him in the eye anymore.

  “Seriously, though, do you really like Cory? Isn’t he kind of . . .”

  I look back up. “What, hot? Yes, he’s kind of hot. And he’s funny.”

  Ryan’s eyes get huge and serious. “He is not funny.”

  We stare at each other silently for a few long seconds, until I crack up again, shaking my head. “No, he’s not!”

  Ryan smiles but mostly just looks relieved. “I mean, you’ve probably laughed at him.”

  “Don’t be mean! What if Maddie really does like him? You’ll have to find a way to enjoy his company.”

  Ryan shrugs and I feel sort of buzzy with a new idea. Maybe a balloon bouquet was immature, but ditching Cory so Maddie can have him . . . that’s something a really good friend would do.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see someone standing very still, a dark column of silence in the room. I turn and don’t even feel surprised to see that it’s Airport Guy again. He’s looking at Gabe Richmond, barely nodding while Gabe talks, though his face is alert and almost friendly. I stare at them for a minute, wondering why Airport Guy is so totally different from everyone else in this room. It’s not just because he seems sober, and focused, and quiet. It’s also . . . I don’t know. Interesting. Sophisticated.

  Maybe he went to Europe this summer, too. Snort.

  “You were looking for Gabe, right? He’s over there,” I tell Ryan. “Who’s he talking to?”

  “Where? Oh. Oh!” Ryan puts a hand on my shoulder like he’s steadying himself. “Isn’t that Alex Goode?”

  “Alex Goode? Like, the Alex Goode?”

  “Yeah. Remember we heard he might move here or something? I guess he did.”

  I only half remember, honestly, because I’m terrible at keeping up with the news. But now that Ryan says it, I realize I’ve seen Airport Guy on TV. He’s Alex Goode, and he stopped a school shooting last year, over in Iowa. He caught the gunman, another student named Brian Hinckley, and somehow talked the guy out of a massacre. Brian killed himself, but everyone else was okay. And Alex became a national hero.

  “Jesus,” I say under my breath. “No wonder he seems so intense.” Then I look at Ryan, suddenly suspicious. “Why didn’t you recognize him at the airport today?”

  “He was at the airport?”

  “Yeah! You were all, seven o’clock.”

  Ryan’s face is blank for a minute. “Nope. That guy was black. I for sure did not see Alex freaking Goode at the airport.”

  “Huh.” I turn back to watch Alex nod at something else Gabe is shouting over the music. “This is the smallest, weirdest town.”

  “Let’s go say hi,” Ryan says.

  Gabe smiles as we walk up, but Alex just looks at us blankly as Ryan shouts, “Hey! I’m Ryan. You’re Alex, right?” and sticks out his hand. Alex nods and shakes hands but still doesn’t say a word. I’m about to pretend to faint or something, anything to avoid the awkwardness, when Ryan points at me. “This is Rosie.”

  “Hi,” I say. I reach out and Alex takes my hand. It’s very serious.

  I bite my lip to keep a silly giggle from escaping. Something tells me Ryan will not approve of me giggling at National Hero Alex Goode.

  Alex’s hand is strong and warm and dry, smooth in a way that shows this guy doesn’t sweat. At least, not over stuff like girls. The giggle evaporates in my throat, and I manage to meet his eyes and smile. They’re dark and at the same level as mine, and I’m wearing heels, so that means he’s only a few inches taller, and in a flash I remember every single shred of gossip I’ve ever heard about him. And then I go full maniac and blurt, “You’re on the team! Football! I mean—you play football. Right?”

  Fabulous. It’s because he’s famous, I think. I’ve never met a famous person before. Or a hero. Unless you count all my friends’ parents who are in the military, they’re heroes, obviously, but besides them. I’ve had too much beer, and I don’t know how to be normal around a celebrity, that’s all.

  Alex nods at me and that’s it. Thank Jesus, Gabe starts telling us about something football-related and Ryan laughs—which is weird, because even though Gabe is very entertaining Ryan doesn’t usually care about football, but whatever. But Alex and I just stand there, stuck in the awkwardness vortex I created.

  “I gotta go,” Alex says suddenly, and without another word he disappears into the crowd, heading toward one of the not-yet-a-door holes in the wall.

  The three of us watch him leave and Gabe goes, “He didn’t even want to come to this. The dude is totally shy, it’s so random.”

  “I don’t know,” Ryan says. “Kind of makes sense to me.”

  I pour the rest of my beer down my throat. I don’t know what I expected Alex Goode to be like, but shy wasn’t it.

  Gabe and Ryan keep talking, but I tune out, scanning the room. Cory is touching Maddie’s hair, and she’s gazing up at him. Olivia and Annabelle are dancing with each other. My head is doing that floaty thing.

  Ugh, I’m drunk. I check my phone, and it’s later than I’d thought. It’s almost curfew, and I’m tired of watching Maddie flirt with Cory. I’ll deal with all that tomorrow.

  “Can I get a ride?” I ask Ryan. “I don’t think the guy who brought me here wants to drive me home.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “You don’t sound too broken up about it.”

  “Yeah, well. Maybe I’m growing as a person.”

  Ryan glances back at Gabe and then shrugs. “Let’s go tell Maddie we’re leaving.”

  “Nah. She’s good. I’ll text her.”

  Ryan doesn’t argue and we turn on our phones, lighting our way across the muddy expanse of not–front lawn to his car.

  “This is going to be an interesting year,” he says.

  I grunt.

  “In a good way,” he adds.

  “Ha, yeah. Definitely. Though I’d settle for just some better parties.”

  Ryan laughs, a sharp bark that gets swallowed in the humid night air. “Good luck with that, kid.”

  3

  “YOU WERE OUT late last night.” Mom leans against the counter, a giant mug of coffee cradled in both hands just below her chin.

  “Not really,” I automatically mutter, shuffling to the fridge and pulling out the frozen waffles.

  “The dog next door started barking around two—”

  “Mom, I was home way before that.” I push the toaster button down so hard it doesn’t stick, then jab it again a few more times out of frustration. She never believes me.

  “Hey, okay, calm down.”

  I watch the metal coils turn red around my waffle, and neither of us speaks for a long time. Finally I look over, taking in my Disney-princess mom in her pale lavender scrubs. Even when she’s tired, ev
en when she’s annoyed at me, she is beautiful.

  “I was home by one, I swear,” I say softly.

  She nods, but then her eyes travel down to the hem of my shorts, and anger flares up behind my eyes again.

  Before she can say anything else, though, Ayla comes in and yanks open the fridge.

  “Where’s all the yogurt?” my sister practically shouts.

  “Oh my God, are we all on our periods, or what?” I snap.

  “Rosie, that’s vile,” Mom says, while at the same time Ayla nearly takes my head off yanking open the freezer.

  “Watch it!” I jump out of the way as the door swings shut again, and there’s a completely different twelve-year-old standing there now. A serene, smiling one, holding a cup of yogurt and a bag of frozen blueberries.

  “Ayla, honey, the moods are getting a little . . .” Mom stops herself as Ayla’s smile fades.

  This has been the story of the summer, basically. My sister turned from the sweet angel my mom had always wanted me to be into a hormonal beast, and now no one is safe. Not even Ayla’s dad, my stepdad, Dave. Who is probably upstairs right now, pretending to be asleep so he can avoid the morning drama of the three Fuller women.

  My waffle pops up, and I back away, finding a spot on the counter that’s not too close to either of them, and sneak a look at Mom again. She meets my eye and smirks a little, and just for a second, we’re on the same team. The same What the hell happened to Ayla? team. I give her a tiny smile.

  Then I remember that I need something. “Can I have the car?” I ask, and she sighs. Moment over.

  “I still need stuff for school.” Ayla has her back to both of us, but her voice is loud and clear.

  “I know,” Mom tells her. “I just have a short shift today, so I can take you later. Or your dad should be around, right?” She turns back to me. “Maybe you should ask him for a ride, too, Rosie. I have to leave pretty soon here.”