Lucky Girl Read online

  He shakes his head politely, giving her a perfect adult-appropriate smile, and she beams at him.

  “Okay! Have a great first day, you two! Alex, you know where to find me.” We both nod again, and she pauses like she wants to say something more. In the end she just raises a fist halfway and yelps, “Go Lions!”

  We watch her walk away, stopping to chat with other students every few feet. Alex turns to me, and for a second we stare at our lockers in a completely awkward silence.

  “Go Lions!” I say softly, and out of nowhere he lets out this huge laugh. It makes me laugh, too, just once, and I sneak a glance at him.

  “Do they really call the pep rallies ‘Pride Parades’?” he asks, a smile still on his lips.

  I pinch my mouth closed and nod.

  “What a world.”

  “I’m sorry she assigned you a babysitter,” I say. “I’m sure you could find your classes just fine, I mean.”

  Alex shifts his eyes from me to just over my shoulder, then back again. “Yeah, and everyone seems super friendly.”

  I angle slowly around and notice that there are people staring at us. Standing there, totally still, staring. Even one of the teachers, Ms. Fiedler. And Ms. Fiedler doesn’t get distracted from calculus for anything.

  “I think we’re gonna need a bigger boat,” I say softly. It’s an old family joke from Jaws, which Dave insisted on watching with me when I was way, way too young to handle it. I’m mostly talking to myself, but Alex raises an eyebrow at me.

  “You like movies?”

  “Sure,” I say. “I’m also quite fond of air and food and the blood that keeps my internal organs from collapsing.”

  He just stares at me for a long beat, long enough for me to wonder what the hell I’ve said, and then another one of those huge laughs comes booming out.

  It breaks all the spells at once—the kids behind us scatter, the last warning bell for homeroom rings, and I burst into a big smile.

  I made the hero laugh. Twice.

  “Come on,” I say. “Who’s your homeroom teacher?”

  He takes a piece of paper from his pocket, folded into the size of a quarter, and starts smoothing it out. By the time he hands over his schedule I’ve already tested my locker combo and slammed the door shut again. I take the creased paper and see that Mrs. Walsh was right—we have a ton of classes in common. Starting with homeroom.

  “Okay, you can basically follow me around all day,” I tell him. It sounds decidedly flirty without me even meaning it to, but he just shrugs. Hiking his backpack onto his shoulder, he waits expectantly until I start walking.

  I’m reminded how easy it is to get down the hall when everyone makes way for the guy you’re next to. With this guy, though, it’s also awkward as hell, trying to pretend we’re not being gaped at like some kind of zoo exhibit.

  “So,” I say, hoping I can distract him from how pathetic my fellow Lions are acting, “did I see you at the airport the other day?” As soon as the words are out, I realize I’m being almost as creepy as all the gawkers around us, so I hurry to add, “I mean, I was picking up my friend Maddie, and, you know, it’s not a big place, and I thought I maybe recognized you. After I saw you. Probably.”

  Oh, wow, I’m making it even awkwarder.

  But Alex just says, “If it was Friday, then yeah. I was there.”

  “Why were you flying in from Chicago? Didn’t you move from Iowa?”

  If it surprises him that I know way too many personal details, he still doesn’t show it. “We were visiting family,” he explains. “All my stuff was already at my dad’s house, so we just flew back.”

  I nod, biting my tongue before it can babble something else that makes me sound like a stalker. But I still have a million questions, a million rumors I wish I could verify directly. Everything I heard last year, like that his dad has lived out here for a long time, and that Alex moved here to get away from his old school three hours away in Iowa. Because of the traumatic memories. Which all makes sense, but might not even be true.

  I don’t want to be a nosy jerk. But then I hear myself saying, “It must be weird, that everyone already knows everything about you.”

  “Probably not everything,” he jokes.

  “Well, I mean. I know where your homeroom is.” I stop outside Mr. Richnow’s door and smile. Before I can think better of it, I also flip my hair and tilt my head a little. Like an accidental flirting move.

  But he just furrows his eyebrows and looks past me through the door. “Yeah, I guess you do,” he says.

  And then he gives me a brief little smile and walks ahead.

  Okay.

  I let Alex get ahead of me and scan the room. I guess I should sit with Alex, but it’s kind of exhausting, feeling so nervous around him all the time. Even if I did make him laugh, now he seems like he can’t get away from me fast enough.

  Unfortunately the second bell rings and Mr. Richnow yells, “Everyone find a seat and sit in it!” and I get stuck next to Olivia Thorpe. She doesn’t scowl at me, though, so maybe it’s not that bad.

  “Hey, sexy.”

  I turn to the right, and there’s Finn Kramper, grinning at me.

  Perfect.

  “Okay, people!” Mr. Richnow booms. The room gets marginally quieter but he doesn’t wait for silence, just keeps yelling. “Remember where you are now, because that will be your seat for the rest of the year!”

  Per. Fect.

  I turn around, careful to rotate away from Finn, and catch Olivia sneering at me. I sneer right back, then keep turning until I find Alex. Of course he snagged a seat in the back row, right next to this guy Emilio, who’s totally cool.

  “When I call your name, tell me if you’re here or not!” Richnow says, voice still booming.

  “How can we tell you if we’re not here?” Finn calls out. I accidentally look over at him again and he grins at me, so very proud of his clever joke.

  Mr. Richnow ignores it all. “Marisa Ang!” he shouts.

  Well. I made it a whole half hour before I remembered how much I hate school.

  I keep up with Alex for the rest of the morning, but he gets quieter and quieter. Maybe because people keep gawking. And the way people stare at him isn’t the way they stare at me. It’s way more . . . serious. Like they need something from him.

  So that’s how roughly two million years go by, and then it’s time for lunch.

  We’ve just rounded the corner to the cafeteria when I feel a slap on my ass. Not hard, but not soft—and it’s followed by a loud, “Keepin’ it high and tight, girl!”

  Ah, Marcus Weaver, he of the famously fluffy Afro, now bigger than ever. He laughs and winks at me, and I laugh back, relieved to see a friendly face.

  “Just keepin’ it high, Marcus?” I joke.

  He’s surrounded by a bunch of the other football players, including, I notice, Cory and Gabe. They all go, “Oooh,” or make pot-smoking faces, laughing along with me. But it only lasts a second before they spot Alex and get distracted fist-bumping him and talking about practice. Cory throws an arm around me, keeping me included with the group, but I’m no longer part of the conversation. And when we reach the cafeteria, they all scatter, Marcus dragging Alex away to the french fries and the other guys hurrying to the burger station.

  I scoot to the side and check my phone. There’s nothing from Ryan or Maddie, even though I texted them both this morning to ask when they have lunch.

  I’ve just ducked out the door to try them again when I finally see Maddie heading toward me. She’s in the middle of a group of student council–type girls, all of them listening to something she’s saying, laughing at whatever it is. Even Charlotte Lewis is giggling, and, I have to admit, looking slightly less stuck-up than usual.

  I wait for them to get closer so I can walk in with them, but then someone to Maddie’s left starts talking and her head turns away from me. So they all keep strolling, not even noticing I’m there.

  Which. Okay. Not a big deal.
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  But for some reason, I feel like I’m about to start crying. Like it’s my first day of kindergarten instead of junior year.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, making me jump. I let out a strangled yelping sound that, thank God, is too quiet for anyone to have heard, and grab it.

  Ryan: Stuck in theater bring chips!!!

  It’s to Maddie, too, part of the group text I sent earlier. But I’m so relieved to have a plan that I don’t pause—just haul ass to the vending machines. Because there’s never been a day so weird it couldn’t be improved by junk food.

  6

  “HAVE WE DISCUSSED how his last name is literally Goode?”

  “Right? Super on the nose.”

  “And now you know everything about him.”

  “Oh my God, not even close.”

  Ryan spritzes glass cleaner in my direction and I squeal, even though I’m sitting all the way across the dressing room. “We’re counting on you, Fuller. Get that gossip!”

  “Sorry.” I lean closer to the mirror, adjusting the straps of my bra under my top, snapping a few photos. It’s boring in here, but the lighting is great. “So is cleaning the green room really what being student director is all about? Because it kinda blows. No offense.”

  Ryan pulls a chair over to the mirrors and stands on it, gently spraying and wiping down each vanity bulb. “I’m not doing this because I’m director,” he says. “I’m doing it because this place is full-on disgust.”

  “That’s true.” I poke at the paper-towel roll on the counter and look around. Every inch of the room seems to be gray with dust or grime.

  Ryan stops spritzing. “Are you gonna help, or what?”

  “Probably or what.” I shrug. “Plus, I already helped—your Doritos are right over there, remember?”

  “Hmph,” he grunts. “You got Cool Ranch.”

  “They were out of the super-cheesy ones, I told you!”

  He climbs down, moves the chair, and starts washing the next mirror. “You really don’t want to convo about Alex Goode? You were with him all morning! Did he do anything gallant?”

  I snort, shaking my head. “I feel kinda bad. Everyone just stares at him.”

  “Well, duh. He’s famous. Plus, he’s walking around with you.”

  “Ha, okay. Thanks?”

  “He’s way more interesting than some quarterback, anyway.”

  Our eyes meet in the mirror and I roll mine.

  He laughs. “Maddie told me you guys were doing a little Cory-swapping, yeah? I’m just happy to hear you’ve already got someone else to be all paparazzi-patrol with.”

  “You are seriously a lunatic.”

  Ryan goes back to cleaning. “So, what’s happening now? You into Alex Goode?”

  “Dude. It’s not like I need a boy every second!” I’m still fiddling with my phone, adding filters to the new photos. Maybe that’s why my voice sounds so whiny.

  Ryan steps down from the chair and gives my head a cursory little pat. “It’s a small town. Sometimes you’re gonna have to share the cute boys with your friends. Especially when you’re already moving on to the hot new mystery guy.”

  I laugh. “That is not what’s happening, okay? Whatever.” I finish the pic I like best and post it. Then I turn off my phone, like I always do right after a post. A watched selfie never gets liked, as they say. “Anyway. You saw them on Friday. She’s totally into him.”

  “I know, right? And seriously, I’m so relieved she told you how obsessed she’s always been with that boy. Even if I don’t understand it.”

  “Wait—you knew about that? I swear she never told me!”

  Ryan gives me a weird look and goes back to cleaning.

  I throw my head back, shaking a fist. “Maddie! Curse you and your saintly, silent suffering!” It makes us both laugh, but I’m still not sure if I knew about Maddie’s old crush or not. Honestly, I might’ve known and just not taken it seriously, because . . . well, Cory Callahan was kind of out of her league. At least, before this summer.

  “Thank God you never get attached to these guys,” Ryan says, turning away again, setting down the Windex and picking up a broom. “She really would’ve kept suffering in silence, you know. If you’d actually liked him.”

  “I did like him.” The words come out before I think, and Ryan gives me a look in the mirror. “For like a minute,” I add quickly. “Not now.”

  “Well, yeah. The timer went off.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “There’s no timer.”

  “Oh, for sure there is. The famous Rosie Fuller Stopwatch? Everyone knows you have a short attention span.”

  “Jesus, you’re making me sound . . . skanky.”

  “No! No. You’re fun. You love life. You love boys. We all love boys! No shame, no shade.”

  I keep watching him in the mirror. He’s sweeping, glancing up now and then, just casual chitchat. I unwrap and bite down on another Starburst but the back of my throat tastes kind of sour.

  “So you think I should have a longer ‘attention span’?” I put air quotes around his phrase, which makes him look up again.

  “God, no. What for? You’re hot, you’re young. Trust me, if I lived somewhere a little less provincial, somewhere I got hit on as much as you do? I’d be swiping right all over the place. Or is it left?”

  “Dunno.” I look down at my phone again. Enough time has passed, and there it is: fifteen hearts. Pull down, refresh. Twenty.

  “Typical,” he grouses. “Life is so easy for you normative bitches.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I scroll down, zoning out.

  Football starts this weekend. There will be parties and boys everywhere, and Maddie will finally come along to all of them with me, and I’ll always be able to crash at her house, where there’s no psychotic little sister and they always have good cereal. It’s all working out for the best.

  At the end of lunch I find Alex still in his huddle of jocks, all of them yelling about some video game. Well, all of them except Alex, who’s doing that silent almost-nodding thing I’m starting to think of as his signature move. When Marcus spots me, his face lights up, and the next thing I know I’m being carried down the hall, flailing and giggling and hoping to God he doesn’t move his arms and shove my skirt out of place.

  “Put me down!” I squeal, because that’s what you’re supposed to say, and he grunts like a caveman, the way he’s supposed to.

  The other guys are laughing, but I’m careful not to look at Alex. We probably seem so stupid to him, after everything he’s seen. Then again, maybe this is just what he needs—some normal high school crap. That’s sort of why he’s here, isn’t it?

  “Ms. Fuller, that’s enough!” Ms. Fiedler’s voice shouts, and without warning my feet hit the floor again.

  “Sorry Ms. F.,” Marcus says, giving her a little salute. She’s glaring at me, though, obviously not pleased that I can’t stop giggling.

  “Try to set a better example for our new student,” she snaps, then turns and storms back into her classroom.

  Some of the guys go, “Oooh,” as soon as she’s gone, and Marcus reaches out to tickle me. I yelp and jump back and he goes, “Yeah, Fuller, why don’t you stop messing around?”

  “You’re such a dork!” I yell at him, swiping at his hands. Cory’s there laughing, too, and when I meet his eye, he winks at me. It makes my skin go hot and cold at the same time, and suddenly I don’t feel like laughing anymore. I smirk back at Marcus and say, “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Hoo, baby, anytime.” He high-fives Gabe Richmond, and then they all swagger off, totally full of themselves.

  Finally I turn to Alex, and sure enough, he’s barely smiling. There’s a little glint in his eyes, though, I swear. “Did you have a good lunch?” I ask. I’m trying to sound friendly, but it comes out total mom.

  “Yeah. Thanks for coming to get me.”

  I feel my cheeks go from pinkish to magenta. “Sure. Sorry those guys are so . . . dumb.” I wave down the hall,
in the general direction of Marcus. “Anyway, we’re right here.”

  We walk into history class and end up sitting together. A few people look over, more subtly than this morning. I notice some raised eyebrows in my direction, almost like they’re impressed to see me with Alex. But not the way people look at me when I’m with Paul or Cory or whoever. Surprised impressed.

  I open my mouth to say something to Alex, prove to everyone that I am impressive, but I’ve got nothing. He gets out his books and I check my phone, and the day continues—confusing and weird, but, I remind myself over and over, interesting. Ryan has drama, and Maddie has her whole group of smart girls, but I am the only person at Midcity who got assigned to Alex Goode for the day.

  Lucky me.

  I don’t even get my laptop turned on after dinner before Ayla wanders into my room.

  “Ever heard of knocking?”

  She ignores me and walks over to my desk. Her fingers rest on the box of charcoal pencils I had to get for the art elective I’m being forced to take.

  “What’s this?” she asks.

  “Arts credits,” I say. “Intro to Art.”

  “I didn’t know you drew.”

  “Intro to Art,” I say again. I’m already sitting comfortably on my bed, and it would be a waste of energy to get up and shove her out of my room, but I keep a careful eye on her.

  “I heard Alex Goode is at your school now.”

  “You guys get gossip at the junior high, huh?” I can’t believe I’m actually curious to know what she’s heard, but I am.

  “He goes to St. John’s,” she says. “Which you’d know if you ever came to church anymore.”

  “Ayla, come on. What do you care, really?”

  She glances at me, her face tight, then looks away again. “I don’t. It’s just—Mom won’t let me sit with my friends, and if you were there I know she would.”

  I sigh. I don’t know how to explain that when I got on birth control, I started feeling uncomfortable at church. It was like I had to choose one or the other, and church was the boring, way more optional one. So.

  Ayla turns away again, starts picking through my open closet, and now I’m feeling too bad about my heathenish ways to yell at her to stop.