A Whole Lot of Lucky (17 page)

“Do you wear contacts?” I ask.

She smiles—a perfect row of white teeth, but not too white like some people who get carried away and practically strip the enamel off theirs. No, hers are natural looking, just like her makeup and her manicured nails.

“How did you know? Are my eyes red?”

“No, no! I figured maybe you did, since Emily wears glasses.”

“I just started wearing contacts,” she says, talking like she's one of us. My mom is always too busy with Libby to sit with my friends. “But when I was you girls' age, I looked just like Emily, glasses and all.”

“Mo-om!” Emily's nose pokes out from her hair.

“It's true.” She reaches over and smooths Emily's mop from her face. “Except you're prettier than I was.”

“Mom!”

Mrs. DeCamp gently laughs. “You girls are so easy to embarrass! Okay, what are we doing here?”

Marna explains the game. I am to lie still as a statue. Each lifter will stick the first two fingers of each hand under my body: Marna at my head (since she's in charge); Mrs. DeCamp on one side, Emily on the other; and Amanda at my feet.

“Thanks a lot!” Amanda pinches her nose as if my feet actually stink.

“Smell the roses!” I wiggle my toes in her face.

Marna lowers the light and settles us down. “This only works if everyone believes,” she intones. “Hailee, you are light as a feather and stiff as a board.”

“Light as a feather and stiff as a board,” I repeat. Amanda tickles the sole of my left foot. I ignore it. I concentrate all my energy on being light as a feather, stiff as a board. My blood is pine sap that hardens the wood, so now I'm stiff as a board and heavy like one, too. Instead, I try to think feathery stiff thoughts.

“Close your eyes. Everybody, close your eyes. Hailee, you have to be quiet, but everyone else say it with me. Remember, if we believe, we can make her levitate.”

Marna starts the chant. “Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Light as a feather, stiff as a board.” The others begin. Their voices join as one and fill the room with a hypnotic spell. I open one eye, spy through the slit.
Marna rocks as she chants. Her features knit in concentration. Emily and her mom murmur the words in low voices. When I glance at Amanda, she doesn't sense it. Her head is bent and she's more serious than I've ever seen her. A chill goes straight through me and I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Light as a feather, stiff as a board; light as a feather, stiff as a board.” The chant gets louder; their words get faster; and on some signal I can't see, they begin to lift. “Light as a feather, stiff as a board; light as a feather, stiff as a board.” Louder, faster, fingers pressing against me. “Light as a feather, stiff as a board; light as a feather, stiff as a board—ohmygosh—it's working!” someone says, which causes all their voices to heighten.

I open my eyes again, watch their mouths flap in unison, and suddenly laughter rips open my gut, breaking the spell.

“Hailee!” Amanda is clearly disappointed.

“It was working,” Marna declares.

I burst into gales of laughter. I was the board, and I can tell you right now their fingers were not lifting eighty-seven pounds of Hailee Richardson.

“You should've seen your faces!” I roar. I mimic them, rocking and all. Amanda gives me sourpuss lips. I point at her as I chant.

Mrs. DeCamp laughs and tells us she's got work to do. “Emily, did you remember to take your allergy pill?”

Emily leans her head back against the bed. “Yes, Mom,” she says in an oh-my-gosh-you-remind-me-every-day-why-are-you-doing-this-to-me-in-front-of-people voice.

Mothers. They can be so embarrassing sometimes.

Still, this is new information for my mental notes. “You have allergies?”

“Grass, weeds, tree pollen.”

I can't believe it. “You mean like, basically, everything outside?”

Amanda pipes up. “That's terrible! I'd feel like a prisoner.”

For a second, Emily looks hurt, like she's a strange laboratory rat we're all examining. But then she says, “I'm used to it. Besides, I can go outside a little bit; I just can't stay out or I'll start sneezing, coughing, and my eyes get all scratchy. I mainly need to be in.”

We always thought she was weird. It's just allergies! I guess you really don't know a person until you know them.

* * *

The moon slowly makes its arc from one dormer window to the other and we are snuggly and wide-awake in our sleeping bags. Emily had braces in elementary school and might need them again. Marna actually hates the oboe. She wanted to play drums, but her parents said no way. Amanda talks about Matthew's new
girlfriend, Shana, and how she sees the two of them kissing.

When a boy touches your cheek, his fingertips leave glittery paths of sparkles and happiness across your skin and somehow these sparkles bubble up to your brain and you feel as if you are floating. Even though Matthew was swatting a bug off my face, this is what it felt like.

Amanda goes off to a different subject, but unanswered questions pile up in my mental notes: Who starts the kiss, the boy or the girl? Do you have to close your eyes? (I would like to keep mine open, at least the first time so I could see what's going on.) What if the boy has just eaten half a bag of spicy barbecue potato chips? Do you still have to kiss him or can you ask him to go brush his teeth? You see what I mean here. No one ever tells you the rules.

Marna asks me what it feels like to be rich. “I don't know,” I answer. It's hard to explain how we won three million dollars but we aren't rich. I mention taxes, investments, and installments, but I can see she doesn't know what those things mean.

Marna says, “I can't believe you could win three million dollars and be poor!”

“We're not poor!” I don't even wear my Goodwill clothes anymore. “It just feels like we should be richer. But I did get some stuff, like this phone and my laptop.”

“You got some new outfits,” Amanda points out.

“Yeah, new outfits,” I say.

“And a new bike,” Amanda adds.

“Yeah.” I can't believe I forgot the Treads Silver Flash 151.

“And you get to go to Magnolia.”

“O-kaaay,” I say, drawing out the last syllable. Except for Amanda, everyone else here has the same stuff I do. “It's not like I'm spoiled or anything.”

“Maybe not spoiled, but you guys are all so lucky!” Amanda gushes.

“Lucky?” I am indignant. Who pedaled a red boy bike for years and endured the Megan and Drew tag team of insults? Whose mom used to drive a little farther because the Goodwill store near the gated communities had newer clothes on their racks? I'm not lucky; I'm finally getting what I deserve. Seems to me there're two flavors of lucky—the kind that tastes like a chocolate sundae with whipped cream, M&M's, sprinkles, chocolate shavings, hot fudge, and a maraschino cherry, or the kind that tastes like canned peas. I have spent most of my life with a heaping plateful of the second kind.

I don't want to talk about luck and money anymore. Instead, I put Amanda on the hot seat. “Amanda's not allowed on Facebook.”

“Really?” says Emily, and from incredulous Marna, “Why not?”

Amanda kicks me from her sleeping bag. In a tight voice, she explains her parents' rules. After tossing that
bone, I thought they'd be busy for a while, but it backfires. They sympathize. Their parents are strict, too. Their parents insist on reading their posts and have controls that block some websites and turn off Internet access at certain times.

“That's horrible! My parents would never do that.” To prove it, I slip out my phone and tap on Facebook.

The first thing in my News Feed pops my jaw open.

Tanner Law
likes Amanda Burns.

“Tanner likes
you?”
I blurt.

“What?” Amanda springs up. The other girls rustle with curiosity. Amanda leans over, glances at the screen, then takes my phone. Her mouth bows into a little smile.

I'm confused. “Why did he write that?” I don't
like-like
him, but I liked him liking me.

Amanda gets all shy. “I guess he just sort of …” Shoulder shrug. “He just—” A smile breaks on her face like the sun popping up in the morning. “He put a note in my backpack, but I didn't see it until I got home. He said he likes me and …”

“And what?” Emily asks breathlessly.

“Just stuff.” She lowers her gaze, stares at Tanner's post. Her eyes reflect his words, are full of
Tanner Law likes Amanda Burns.
“He wants me to write him back.”

“Why?” I hate how my voice sounds—big and demanding—but still I want to know.

Amanda hears it, too. I realize this because she makes her voice small and sweet. “He wants to know if I like him.”

You'd think she just announced a new Harry Potter book. Emily and Marna clamor to see his photo and then pronounce him “cute” and “hot.” Emily likes his curls. Well, of course she would.

Watching them, I invent a new word—
boyzonbrain.
Sounds like a poisonous berry, doesn't it? It means boys-on-the-brain and it's even more dangerous. I make a mental note to submit my new word later.

Emily asks Amanda, “Are you going to write back to Tanner?”

“What're you going to say?” Marna chimes in.

“Could I have my phone back, please?” I'm irritated Amanda's kept this from me, and I'm annoyed that Emily and Marna act as if Tanner's post is worldwide news. Here I was, concerned for poor Amanda and her ugly clothes, and there she is, taking over the whole sleepover.

“One minute,” Marna says. She, Emily, and Amanda rate the pictures, comparing Tanner to different singers and celebrities.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you,” I say like it's not even a big deal, “I sent Nikki those quiz answers.” The only girl who responds is Amanda, who glances up just long enough to shake her head at me, then goes back to looking at Tanner's face on
my
phone.

When something simmers in a pan too long, it doesn't boil over or burst into flames—it quietly bubbles until it's charred and black. My charred black heart becomes tough as an overdone pork chop. In the dark room, all I can see are their smiling faces illuminated by the glow of Tanner's photos.

“I need my phone back,” I repeat. “I have to check my messages.”

I read through my News Feed, gasping or chuckling here and there so Emily, Marna, and Amanda can hear how interesting my friends and I are.

In fact, the comments and posts I read come through as a loud noisy room, a party where it's all happening. I'm right in the middle of it when snippets of Amanda's conversation penetrate my bubble. She's asking what CSS means; she raves about the new dresser she got as a hand-me-down from her aunt; she talks about riding the city bus. My cheeks burn with shame. Though Marna thinks it would be exciting to go on a bus, she says, “My mom would never let me do that.”

Of course she wouldn't. Only poor people do that. I cringe at what Emily and Marna must think of Amanda—must think of us. Right away I say, “Well,
I
don't ride the bus.” It's true. I don't take the city bus, but that's because Mom and Dad haven't renewed my pass in over a year. Nevertheless, I want to separate myself from the picture Amanda has created.

Mom picks us up the next morning after Mrs.
DeCamp has filled our stomachs with thick, sweet slices of buttery French toast. I'm relieved to get Amanda away from my Magnolia friends. She has nothing in common with them.

As we ride home, I whip out my phone.

“You were on that thing all night and at breakfast, too,” Amanda says. “It was kind of rude.”

What can you expect from someone who shares a clunky computer with her parents and isn't allowed on social networks? I ignore her. Mom aims her rearview mirror to talk to me. “You
are
on that phone too much, Hailee. Put it away.”

The look I give Amanda is dirtier than the soles of my feet on a summer day.

On Sunday, I don't go to her house to help her choose outfits. Maybe Tanner should help her. Maybe she could hop on the bus and get advice from a department store lady. Maybe the flea market is holding on to a faded, pilling top that is a perfect fit for her.

I am so glad I don't go to Palm Middle.

Nikki:
Ditching school. Meet behind electric shed at south gate.

It's Thursday morning, and not even the surprise fire drill Tuesday made my heart flip out as it does now. Mom smiles and waves as she pulls away; after lunch, Amanda will babysit Libby while Mom runs errands. Since the weekend, I've been careful to keep Amanda separate from my new friends; I don't want them to think of me as hobo Hailee. When Mom's van turns the corner, I read Nikki's e-mail again.

Nikki's sent a group message that includes me, Alexis, and another girl named Gia. Skipping school. Nikki's skipping school and she wants me to come.

Alexis:
On my way! Hang out by Lake Eola?

Lake Eola! My heart drops. I love the swans and the ducks and the way they flock over for bread crumbs. In my backpack is a sandwich waiting to be torn apart and fed to them. For a second, I am under the cypress trees laughing with Nikki. The Lake Eola Fountain shimmers in the sunlight, birds are chirping, and there's a rainbow even though it hasn't rained.

Without looking up, I avoid other girls streaming onto campus as I stare into my phone like it's a crystal ball.

Gia:
Dude! My mom almost read that! Be right there.

I frown. The next adventure of my life is starting without me.

If I go, Nikki and I will probably be best friends. If I don't go, I'll look like a dork and Nikki won't like me. She'll drop me from Facebook and not say “Hey” to me anymore. Why do I have to be a good citizen? Why? Why? Why?