So Not Happening (35 page)
“How's the shoulder?” Lindy asks.
It hurts like someone's holding a blowtorch to it.
“Not bad.”
“Are you taking your pain pills?”
“Nah, something about forcibly puking them up last week makes me not want to down any more.” Just the thought makes me want to barf. “I see you're wearing one of the dresses we bought in New York.”
Lindy twists a piece of her flatironed hair. As soon as I get home, it's Nikes and sweats.”
“So how's Matt doing?”
“He's grounded for life for one thing.”
“Still not ready to declare your undying love and adoration?”
She smiles, her lips a nice shade of Chanel pink. “He needs a good friend. And that's what I'll be.” She winks. “For now.”
“Bella Kirkwood?”
I turn around at the tap on my shoulder.
“I'm Pam Penturf. Carson's mom.” She wrings a tissue in her hands. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did—exposing the truth about the football players.” Her voice breaks, and I awkwardly pat her arm. “I couldn't believe my son would kill himself. It's haunted me, you know. I've carried that burden around, thinking what could I have done? How could I not have seen it?” She daubs at her eyes. “I feel like he can rest in peace now—like we all can. Anyway, I just wanted to express my gratitude.” I'm wrapped in another hug. “You have no idea what you've done for me.” She holds the tissue to her face and hurries away.
I spot Luke standing with another group. His eyes catch mine. He nods toward Mrs. Penturf and smiles.
I ride home with Budge. Even he didn't think driving a hearse to a funeral would be appropriate, so I have the pleasure of seeing him behind the wheel of my cute little Bug.
“Hey, where are you going?” Budge turns into a subdivision instead of heading toward our old dirt road.
“Gotta make a quick detour.” He stops the car at a two-story house. “Won't take long.” And he bails out of the Bug.
I lightly rub my shoulder, lean my seat back, and close my eyes. Minutes pass.
I jolt awake when my door flings open. Budge stands there. A cat in his arms.
My cat.
“Moxie!” I grab her and hold her close.
“Yeah, she's decided to come live with you again. I... um, seem to have been healed of my allergies.”
I run my fingers through the cat's silky fur, a suspicious eye on my stepbrother. “Sounds miraculous.”
He cracks a smile. “Amen, sister.”
I
t's hard to digest a hot dog when you're looking at thirty- and forty-year-old men in spandex. Seriously.
“There's Dad!” Robbie claps his hands then whistles through his teeth at a volume that could shatter eardrums.
“Are you ready for a smackdown? Are you ready for a fight?” The crowd goes wild at the announcer's dramatic spiel. “Tonight in the Tulsa Athletic Arena, we present our regional championCaptain Iron Jack!”
Our family stands and yells. I lift up a sign with one arm.
“Hold on to your popcorn as he takes on the force from Biloxi—Mississippi Mud!” A man in a hideous poop brown Onesie circles Jake on the stage.
“Did I miss anything?” Luke Sullivan fills the empty seat beside me, and I have to look twice.
“What are
you
doing here?”
My mom reaches over me, waves at her new hero, then returns to yelling for Captain Iron Jack.
“Your mother invited me. Wants me to do another feature in our paper.”
“Fabulous,” I droll. Images of him crashing through the cabin door and yelling my name flutter through my mind. A faint memory of him holding my hand in the ambulance. Waking up in the hospital and seeing his worried face.
“You know”—he leans in closer—“we haven't really had a chance to talk since everything happened.”
Mmm, he smells good tonight. Or maybe I'm high on wrestler sweat fumes. Yes, that's definitely it.
“I just wanted to thank you for, um, you know, saving my life.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “It was the drugs. Had I been thinking clearly...”
He opens his ever-present messenger bag and pulls out a paper. “I just submitted this to a national contest—sponsored by Princeton University.”
I look at the words. My article on the football scandal. “Are you serious?”
Luke nods his dark head. “It was a great piece, Bella. And when I read it, I learned something about you.”
This ought to be good. I cross my arms and wait for the zippy insult. “And that is?”
“You . . . are a writer.”
“I'm a—“ I blink hard as the words circulate in my brain. Below us Jake twirls Mississippi Mud over his head.
“Writer.” Luke's eyes shine brilliant blue in the dimmed lights. “I'm sorry I doubted you. I honestly didn't know you had it in you.”
That makes two of us.
“This was your moment, Bella. You went through the fire and came out on the other side. I'm proud to have you on my newspaper staff.”
His hand touches mine as I hand the paper back. “Do you say that to all the girls who save your life?”
Luke's laugh is rich and sends happy chill bumps along my skin. “Just you, Kirkwood. Only you.”
“And thanks for rescuing me from Jared.” My face flushes with heat. “It's not every day a guy breaks down a door for me.”
My editor in chief winks. “Don't get used to it.”
We watch the rest of the match, cheering and booing at all the right moments.
And life is all about right moments, isn't it?
Okay, so Truman isn't Manhattan. And I'll never get used to stepping around cow pies in the yard. Or being ten minutes late to school because the neighbor had to take his tractor for a ride.
And back in August I had no idea why God would punish me with this place, with this life. But like Luke said, I guess it was my moment. I was meant to be here all along. And who knows where this path will lead? Maybe by this time next month I'll have forgotten all about Macy's and Times Square and love nothing more than a trip to Target and peaceful walks through our pasture with Betsy the licking cow.
Yeah.
That is so not happening.
E
very bookis a group effort. I couldn't do it without the help of so many in my life. I would like to thank:
My heavenly Father. I stay tired. I stay stressed. I stay hunched over a keyboard. But I also remain amazed and humbled and awed. Thank You for giving me the opportunity to share the coolness of Christ.
My family for putting up with my end-of-deadline moodiness and outrageous demands for food delivery and for reminding me to brush my hair and shower during the final weeks.
My friends for listening to me gripe about my family harassing me about showering and brushing my teeth.
My students who consistently come up to me and say, “Please put me in your book.” It's so sweet. My next series will focus on a girl named KelseyRaynaKarlyKensleeJohnJamieCourtneyAllieSydney SueJayson. Should be a big hit.
All those who follow my blog at jennybjones.com. I appreciate you stopping by to read all about my snow addiction, my cat woes, my inability to turn away from fajitas, and other fascinating items from my thrilling life.
My lifelong hero, Carol Burnett. Though you will never read this, you are funny personified and made a huge impact on my life. Though I will always think the role of Annie should've gone to a young unknown named Jennifer Jones, I will forever hold you in the highest regard.
Everyone at Thomas Nelson for giving me a chance—a big chance. I'm so proud to be part of the team.
