Dumb Luck (4 page)

chapter
eight

Kayla followed me to my first class—English. She squeezed my hand and then rushed on down the hallway, late for her own math class. I was a little shocked at what was going through my brain right then. I even hate to admit it, but this is what I was thinking:
I'm going to have to ditch Kayla if I want some of those girls to come up and talk to me.

Yep. That was the plan. At the time, I wasn't even thinking straight. I wasn't thinking about our friendship and the fact that she had saved my sorry ass when I fell out of the tree. I was just thinking about me. The new me.

Which is why I didn't notice where I was going. As I was walking down the aisle between the desks, Grant Freeman had his leg out. Maybe he did it on purpose. I don't know. But I tripped.

My books and papers went flying and I went down hard, smashing first into Brittany Michaels' desk, making her scream. Then a proper face plant onto the linoleum floor. Gravity was clearly not my friend these days.

Everyone laughed. They were laughing at me. Not that it was the first time. It's just that before I would have brushed myself off, felt embarrassed, and shuffled to my seat. But now, thanks to winning the money, well, like I said, I was starting to change.

I now had an ego. Or at least I was working on one.

A teenage male ego.

I didn't like being laughed at.

I wasn't going to take that crap any more.

I picked myself up and glared at Grant. And his grin said it all. He had done this on purpose.

And then I lost it. I grabbed his leg and yanked him out of his seat onto the floor. He recovered quickly and came up swinging, just as Mr. King was walking into the room. Sadly for Grant, Mr. King grabbed him by one arm and was pulling him backwards just as I let go my first honest punch in my entire life. Brandon the Magnificent had somehow turned into Brandon the Maniac.

I can't say I hit him hard. I wasn't a fighter. But I did connect with the bridge of his nose. And there was blood for my fellow English students to see. Grant let out a bellow. And poor Mr. King didn't know what to do but shout, “Back off, Brandon!”

As I backed off, I fell backwards onto Brittany's desk again and sent her books flying. I straightened myself and looked around at the other students. Some were laughing. Some looked shocked. Some seemed just plain freaked. But Taylor was watching it all from the back of the room. She was just smiling that smile I'd seen earlier. And yes, there was eye contact.

Grant was trying to kick me as Mr. King now held both of his hands behind his back. Blood was dripping down the front of Grant's face and he spit some of it at me but missed.

I should have felt stupid or embarrassed or guilty or something like that. But I didn't. Grant was one of those guys I'd known since I was a little kid. Good at sports. Good looking. From a well-known family. Everyone thought he was the golden boy, but he had a way of making kids like me feel like shit. Silly little things he'd say to put them (or me) in my place. Adults never saw it, but those of my tribe knew he got his true joy from making losers like me feel small and insignificant.

Now this.

Mr. King was afraid to let go of Grant. He didn't know what to do. I felt a little sorry for him, but I realized I had a smirk on my face as I looked straight into the anger of Grant Freeman's eyes. Strange thoughts filtered through my brain.
What can they do to me? Kick me out of school? I don't even want to be here. I don't
need
to be here. I can walk out of here and do whatever I want for the rest of my life.

They say money isn't everything. Maybe not. But the money had given me a newfound courage.

“Brandon,” Mr. King finally shouted. “Go to the office. Go to Mr. Carver's office now.”

I blinked at him at first, then watched some
more blood drip from Grant's nose. Grant started to say
something. It wasn't polite whatever it was. A threat. “I'm
gonna ...” but at that point, he must have sucked
in his breath and swallowed some blood. He started coughing.

I had been given my cue. So I slowly walked around him and Mr. King and took my time finding the door. I also took my time walking to the office. By the time I'd made it there, Mr. King must have reported that I was coming. Mrs. Klein watched me as I arrived and just pointed with a cocked thumb to the open door of Mr. Carver's office. “He's waiting for you,” she said.

Joseph Carver was a guidance counselor and also the vice principal—the man who routinely dealt with problems at the school. He was black. And he was gay. Everyone knew he was gay. He was maybe forty years old. And he was one of the most likeable adults I'd ever met.

Mr. Carver looked up from some paperwork on his desk. He tipped his glasses up from the bridge of his nose. “Brandon DeWolfe,” he said. “Didn't you just win a whole shit-load of money?”

I nodded.

“Then what the hell are you doing getting into a fight with Grant Freeman, first thing in the morning?”

“He tripped me.”

“Please close the door. I don't want Mrs.
Klein listening in on this.”

I closed the wooden door with a thud.

He let out an exasperated breath. “Sit down, please.”

I sat.

“This isn't the third grade you're in, is it?”

“No. I guess not.”

Mr. Carver leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. “I read about you in the papers and my first thought was, this couldn't have happened to a nicer person.”

“Thank you,” I said. Funny, that
was exactly what Kayla had said.

“But then I had second thoughts. I started to worry.”

“What's to worry about? I just had some amazing luck.”

“Luck is a two-edged sword,” he said, readjusting his glasses.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, here you are,
sitting in my office. That only means one thing.”

“I'm sorry about this morning.”

“Sorry is an easy word. Too easy. Say you're sorry to Grant. Or don't, if you prefer. Grant probably did try to trip you. But you don't want enemies. Not now that you have luck. And money. How much was it?”

“Three,” I said.

“Three,” he repeated. “What on earth is a kid like you going to do with three million dollars?”

“I haven't exactly figured that out yet.”

He leaned forward and looked into my eyes. “You know what I'd do if I won what you did?”

“Quit your job?”

He suddenly appeared animated. “Hell, no. I like my job. If I quit, what would I do with myself all day?”

“Go on a trip?”

“You go on a trip and then you go back home and then what?”

“But you could take it easy. Do whatever you want to do.”

He threw
his hands out. “That's what I'm doing now. That's my
point. I'd keep doing my job. I wouldn't change much of anything.”

“You like dealing with snotty teenagers? You like having to deal with people's problems?”

“Yes. I do. Life is all about problems and how we deal with them. Right now I'm dealing with you. And I never had to deal with you before. Not like this. And what I see is trouble with a capital
T
.”

“I'll be okay. I think Grant was just jealous of my good luck. He never hardly paid attention to me before.”

“Well, see. Now that you had your picture in the paper with that big cardboard check, all kinds of people are going to pay attention to you. You notice that yet?”

I nodded.

“And how are you gonna know who your friends are?”

“I'll know,” I lied. “And I kind of like that people are looking at me differently now. I'm not invisible anymore.”

“Girls?”

“Yeah. Girls.”

“You do understand what they're thinking, don't ya? ‘There's Brandon DeWolfe who just won the lottery. Wouldn't it be cool to have him for a boyfriend?' You think that's a good thing?”

I nodded. “Sure. It's nice to have the attention.”

Mr. Carver just shook his head. “Capital
T
,” was all he said. He turned around to the window and looked up at the way the flag was rippling in the wind. “Attention can be good or bad. Most of my life I've been a black man living in a very white community. So I get attention. And to top that off, I'm a gay man.”

“You're gay?” I asked, just to see how he would react.

“Everyone in this school knows I'm gay. Don't mess with me.”

I shrugged and smiled.

“So here I sit, a gay black man who is also a vice principal at a school. That draws attention. Do you follow me so far?”

I didn't really see the connection but I nodded.

“So people know I stand out for who I am and they aren't exactly offering me congratulations on account of being either black or gay. So I have to do my job very well and live my life the best I know how. And, let me tell you, it is not easy.”

“But I'm not black and I'm not gay,” I said a bit too flippantly.

Mr. Carver wrinkled his brow. “I think you may be missing the point. The point is you have garnered the world's attention. You didn't earn it. You didn't work for it. You walked into a corner store and put your money on the counter. Fate did the rest. Now you have to figure some shit out pretty damn quick or you're gonna end up in a mess.”

Maybe if he'd said this in the way you'd expect a
VP
to say it, I wouldn't have even taken it seriously. But this was different. I was a little ticked off about this lecture now. What was his problem? Maybe he was jealous that he didn't win the lottery. He saw the look on my face and could tell I wasn't really taking him seriously.

Joseph Carver turned to his computer and worked the keyboard until he found what he wanted. “I'm gonna give you some homework. You do this and I'll forget about the fight. You'll still need to apologize to Mr. King. And to Grant. And you'll have to drop in from time to time.”

His printer went into action and in a second, a single page was printed. Mr. Carver handed it to me. On the page was a list of names. “Look them up and tell me what you found,” he said. “Now sit in the office until the bell rings. And then go to your next class. If Grant tries to draw you into something, walk away. Walking away is good, remember that. It takes focus and a strong will. You are gonna need both.”

As I sat in the office and waited for the bell to ring, Mrs. Klein kept one eye on me. I sat quietly and studied the list of names—none of whom I had heard of.

chapter
nine

On my way to second period, without Kayla in tow, two girls approached me. Brittany Michaels at first and then Jessica Firth. They both asked the same question: “What does it feel like?”

And I didn't have any easy answer. Confused is what I might have said, but also exciting. I was still kind of shy around both of them, but then Taylor ambushed me, rounding a corner as I bumped right into her. I'm sure she did this on purpose. Brittany and Jessica faded as I stood there chest to chest with Taylor. “I'm so sorry,” she said. “My fault entirely.”

“Sorry,” I said as well and
tried to step away but she wouldn't let me.

“Hold out your hand,” she instructed. I couldn't believe I had just had a full frontal encounter with one of the most beautiful girls in the school. I'm sure I was blushing. I held out my hand. She held it with one hand and with the other took a marker and wrote her phone number on the palm of my hand. “Call me,” she said. “I want you to tell me everything.”

And then she turned and walked away. I stared in disbelief at the number she had written on my hand until I could eventually make my legs move and I walked off down the hall.

Nothing much
of what any teacher said that day stayed with me.
I started to get used to other kids staring at
me. And I began to daydream about how my life
would change. How it already was changing.

I'd like to tell you I had deep, serious thoughts about how I would use my good fortune to make the world a better place. But that wasn't the way it was. I thought about getting that dirt bike I wanted. A really hot Kawasaki. And a car. I didn't even have a driver's license yet but I would need a really nice car. Beyond that and some serious video games, it was all kind of foggy. What would I do with all that money? I didn't know.

Kayla was standing outside the door of my last class of the day and I have to admit, I wish she had left me alone. I couldn't just say that to her, though.

“I heard about Grant Freeman,” she said.

“He did it on purpose to make me look stupid,” I said. “I'm not going to let anyone make me look stupid again.”

“Let it go,” she advised.

“I'll try.”

We walked along in silence for a while until a carload of girls beeped and waved. I waved back and Kayla just shook her head. After a serious intake of breath she said, “I'm gonna lose you, aren't I?”

“What do you mean?”

“This is going to change you.”

“I'm still me. Nothing's changed but my luck and the amount of money in my bank account.” But I was lying and I knew it.

Kayla stared straight ahead and said nothing. By the time I said goodbye to her, there was only silence between us. And a wall. I don't know why it bothered me so much, but it did. I tried to slough it off but it made me feel really bad.

To make matters
worse, my parents were arguing when I walked in the
door. I heard them really going at it and I
didn't want to hang around. So I went back out,
walked about ten blocks to my bank and withdrew $1,000.
The teller didn't question me at all. Everyone knew who
I was now. I wasn't just the kid with $40
in his savings account. I didn't even know what I
was gonna do with the cash, but it felt pretty
cool having this big wad of fifties in my pocket.

Hey, the sun was out. I was a rich dude and I could go in any store, buy anything I wanted, go anywhere I wanted. Call a cab on my cell phone if I liked. Hell, I could call a limo. I could do that.

But I didn't.

Instead, I went into a Starbuck's and bought a large cappuccino. I think the girl behind the counter recognized me. She smiled at me like the girls in school. I handed her a fifty, accepted the change and gave her a ten dollar tip. She smiled some more. When I sat down by the window, I looked at the phone number on my hand.

Nope. Not quite yet. If I was going to call Taylor, I couldn't sound all nervous and wimpy. I needed a bit more courage.

Sitting there in Starbuck's, alone at a small table in a pool of sunlight, I started to see all the possibilities ahead of me. I began to see everything that money could buy. Having money had always seemed unreal to me. My future had always been a fog bank. It still was. But the fog was clearing.

Back on the street, an old guy with an empty coffee cup asked me for money, and I said I'd give him a big tip if he'd go into the liquor store and buy me a small bottle of Jack Daniels. I'd had a few drinks before, nothing serious. A few beers here and there, some booze that I sneaked from my dad's liquor cabinet. I don't know what inspired me now but I remembered how booze had made me feel and I liked it. I handed the guy a twenty and I followed him to the liquor store, where he went in and came back out with a small bottle in a brown bag for me. He went to hand me back the change and I told him to keep it. He smiled.

“Thanks, buddy,” he said. “That's the good stuff you got there.” As I turned to go, I handed him another twenty. I was feeling generous. I tucked the bottle in my book bag and started to walk away, the big wad of bills still in my pocket. After a couple of blocks, I flagged down a cab and took the easy way home. It was only when I was sitting in the back of the cab that I remembered I was now eighteen and could have walked into that liquor store and legally bought the bottle of booze in my backpack.