Get Lucky: A YA Anthology Read online

  Get Lucky

  A YA Anthology

  Ali Dean

  Kristen Kehoe

  Cassie Mae

  Tessa Marie

  Kelly Oram

  Ginger Scott

  Contents

  Doubles Love

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not

  Kennedy

  Gage

  Kennedy

  Gage

  Kennedy

  Gage

  Kennedy

  Gage

  Kennedy

  Gage

  Kennedy

  Gage

  Kennedy

  Gage

  Kennedy

  Gage

  Kennedy

  Gage

  Kennedy

  Gage

  Epilogue

  Stroke of Luck

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Someone I Used to Know

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Sixteen Kisses

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Four Letter Words

  Swim

  Give

  Take

  Want

  Show

  Real

  Luck

  About the Authors

  Doubles Love

  By Ali Dean

  Chapter One

  “Deuce,” Tabor Julian calls, throwing a ball in the air before slamming it with his racket. The game’s at a tie, but if I win this game, I win the match.

  The serve goes to my forehand, and I’m ready for it. My racket sends the ball straight down to the edge of the court, and Tabor scrambles to recover from serving position to get behind it. He gets there on time, but barely. The ball he sends back over is high, perfectly set for my attack. I rush forward, catching it in the air with my racket, and slamming it to the side corner. Tabor reacts quickly, but his feet aren’t fast enough. He reaches out for it and the racket meets the edge the ball, but it doesn’t make it over the net.

  I’ve got him at match point. The Hillcrest High guys’ tennis team has gathered along the edge of the court to watch, and I try to ignore Jesse Kendrick’s eyes on me as I move into position for Tabor’s next serve.

  It’s only practice, but Tabor’s one of the top players on the guys’ team, and neither of us want to lose. Tabor has more at stake, of course, including his pride. No guy wants to lose to a girl.

  My eyes drift to Jesse of their own accord, and he nods at me, his arms crossed. He’s impressed with my playing, I can see it in the way he tries to hide his smile. If I was any other girl, he’d wink, maybe. Not in a sleazy way, that’s not his style. No, Jesse’s the kind of guy who makes a girl feel special when he winks at her, whereas most guys look like idiots. I wouldn’t know about Jesse’s winking first hand, but the guy couldn’t creep out a girl no matter how hard he tried. Wholesome, sweet, caring, and genuine. Oh, and a total brute on the tennis court. That’s my Jesse.

  “Your ad,” Tabor calls out, bringing me back to the moment. It’s my advantage, and match point.

  His serve is a conservative one, lacking power, and I return it with a perfectly executed drop shot. He’s not expecting it, since I usually return serves with hard hits to the back corners. The ball bounces a second time before Tabor can reach it, and he heaves a breath, defeated.

  We shake, as etiquette dictates, but his lips are tight. He murmurs “Nice match, Mackenzie,” and I know it takes effort. He’ll get over it. It was hard won, and my coach, Amber Radford, pulls me aside to tell me so. She rehashes the match with me only briefly before sending me to the showers. The rest of the girls’ team is long gone, and the usually boisterous locker room is quiet as I let my muscles loosen in a hot shower.

  Though I’m not looking forward to dinner, I hurry to dry off and change, knowing I’ll only make it worse if I’m running late. As I hoist my gym bag over my shoulder and make my way out of the locker room, I hear voices.

  “There’s no such thing as luck on the tennis court.” I’ve heard coach Radford say it at least a hundred times, but, this time, the words are coming from Jesse, and they aren’t directed at me. “Mackenzie took the match because she’s a kickass player, and it was fair and square. I watched the whole thing.” Jesse’s consoling Tabor, the junior who I just took down on the court. It was a close match, I’ll give him that, and, if he wants a rematch, I’m willing to give it another go. Calling it luck because he was beat by a girl? Not cool.

  I turn the corner and emerge from the locker room, where Jesse and Tabor are standing around with a few other guys on their team. Jesse looks up and smiles, and the rest of the group follows his gaze.

  “Where are you headed, Mac?” Jesse asks, his eyes flicking over my white sundress.

  “The club,” I say, resigned. I’m not going to elaborate in front of this group, and, judging by Jesse’s furrowed brow, he already has a decent guess. “I’m meeting my mom,” I add as I pass him, confirming what he’s already guessed.

  His hand snakes out to mine, stopping me in my tracks. “You’ll be over later tonight? Emma said she was having some girls over.” He speaks quietly, but the rest of the guys are watching us. I know that people have speculated about Jesse and me, but, for the most part, it’s well known that he’s just my best friend’s older brother. Even if I wish he could be more.

  Nodding, I squeeze his hand. I’m over at his house more than I’m at my own, which is just a few blocks away. We live in one of the nicest neighborhoods in Hillcrest, South Carolina.

  I can feel the guys’ eyes on me as I walk away, down the long hallway that leads to the Hillcrest High parking lot. My mother insisted on buying me a BMW for my sixteenth birthday, despite my efforts to point her toward a more practical choice. The only consolation at driving a luxury car that wasn’t paid for by one cent of my own earnings (or my mother’s), is that most of the cars in the student lot at Hillcrest High cost more than America’s average household income.

  When I enter the country club dining room ten minutes later, it’s no surprise to find a man sitting beside my mother at a window table. He’s probably in his late fifties, nearly twenty years older than my forty-one year old mother.

  “Mackenzie, darling.” She stands to greet me with an air kiss. “This is Roger Carmichael.”

  Roger rises to shake my hand, and I play along.

  “Roger, this is my daughter, Mackenzie Bell.” Of course, she introduces me with the last name of her first and most prominent husband, Marcus Bell. He divorced her when he discovered she was pregnant with another man’s child: me. The whole town knows it. But, I still don’t know who my real dad is. My last name remains Bell, while my mother’s has changed multiple times.

&nb
sp; “Lovely to meet you, Mackenzie,” Roger says with a charming smile. “I’ve read so much about Hillcrest’s tennis star in the papers. Please, have a seat.”

  As I listen to my mother talk to Roger about an upcoming golf tournament and gala, and he attempts to include me in the conversation, I decide that Roger’s nice enough. Personality-wise, he’s pretty harmless, but I don’t know enough about the rest of the package to make an accurate assessment of the damage potential.

  After the waiter clears our salad plates, my mother rests her fingers on my arm, and I know what’s coming before she begins with, “Roger and I have some news to share with you, darling.”

  “I’ve asked your mother to marry me,” he tells me with an expectant smile. I wonder what her plan is for lucky husband number five. It all depends on his net worth, I suppose.

  “Great,” I say dryly. “Congratulations. When’s the wedding?”

  Roger shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and my mother lets out a high-pitched giggle. “Well…” she begins, and Roger speaks at the same time.

  “My divorce isn’t final yet,” he explains sheepishly. “The lawyers are still hammering out the details, and my wife, ex-wife,” he amends, “is drawing things out unnecessarily.”

  “Right, I see.” So my mother was the other woman. Is the woman. Wonderful.

  The main course arrives then, but I’ve lost my appetite. As soon as it’s acceptable to get up without causing a scene, I’m saying my goodbyes. Outside, my feet bring me over to the tennis courts, where I find that a ball machine is still out, fully loaded and calling my name. When turned on, the machine shoots out tennis balls on regular intervals, allowing players to hit without an actual person on the other side.

  It’s nearly dark, but I grab my duffel and racket from the car, change back into my tennis outfit, and make my way over to the court. The clothes stink from my earlier match, but there’s no one else around on a Friday evening in March. Everyone at the club is inside, dining. It’s just me, a racket, the court, and one tennis ball after the next coming my way. Just what I need to let out all my frustration over my mother’s newest conquest.

  The lamps flick on automatically after several minutes, reminding me that it’s getting late, but I keep going, picking up the balls and refilling the machine when it’s empty. When my forehand arm gets tired, I switch to back hand, feeling a satisfied release of frustration each time the strings connect with the ball. I start to forget about my mother and Roger, the past four ex-husbands, and the father I’ll never know, as I focus on hitting the ball into specific places along the court. Far right corner, far left corner, drop shot, middle of the court, doubles alley.

  When the machine runs out a third time, I toss my racket to the side and sit down in the middle of the court, letting my head fall between my knees. An urge to cry rolls through me, despite my physical exhaustion, but I don’t give in. It wasn’t until husband number three that I realized the danger of getting attached, of imagining my future family and father figure. Thinking that my mom would change, and be a real mom, each time she remarried. But, even then at age ten, I still couldn’t help but want husband number three to like me, to be excited about another “new start.” By now, I know well enough what’s ahead, and that Roger won’t be around for long. I’m better at staying distant and detached, though, clearly, as I heave breaths in and out and try not let the tears fall, I’m not entirely immune.

  My body aches in a good way when I finally get up and walk back to my car, now one of the only few in the lot. I drive right to the Kendricks’ house, not wanting to dance around my mother, or worse, my mother and Roger, if they’re home. Several cars line the street, and I remember how Jesse mentioned that Emma was having a few girls over.

  “Mac!” Emma’s voice calls out from the open garage. “Where have you been? And, why are you still dressed from practice? I thought you had dinner with Mother Dearest?”

  “What are you doing in the garage?” I ask, just as she opens the fridge where they keep all the booze. Oh. It’s going to be that kind of Friday night. “Paul and Laura out of town?”

  “Yeah, visiting my grandparents in Savannah. They told us we could have a few people over, so girls’ night tonight and then Jesse gets to throw his rager tomorrow.” She rolls her eyes. “I am not getting involved in that. You remember what happened last time he did, right?”

  She hands me a case of beer, and two bottles of wine, before loading her own arms with booze. “Uh, yeah. That was a shit show. I’m surprised people haven’t caught wind that you guys are parentless, and started showing up on their own after the party in October. That will go down in Hillcrest history, I bet.”

  People from surrounding towns showed up, and it got a little out of hand, to say the least. It’s a good thing each home in this area of town is on an acre of land, or the cops surely would have been called by the neighbors. Jesse lost his car for two months for those shenanigans, and he took the brunt of the parental backlash for us. Really, it was all his idea. Not that Emma and I were totally innocent. We might play tennis well, and get decent grades, but we both like to party.

  “Well,” Emma drawls out the word as we head inside. “We kept it under wraps for just that reason.”

  “Yeah, wait a second. How did I not know about this?”

  “Relax, Mac, it’s not like I was purposefully keeping you in the dark. You’ve been super MIA this week. Why does Coach Radford always have you scrimmaging the boys, anyway? I mean, I know why, but it sucks. And, our schedules totally don’t mesh this quarter. I feel like I never see you.”

  “Emma, I slept in the room across from yours almost every night this week. You were the one ‘studying’,” I air quote. “Into all hours of the night with Lincoln what’s-his-face.”

  She giggles, and then hushes me. “Shush, Jesse doesn’t know yet and I want to keep it that way for as long as possible.”

  Right. Jesse.

  “He’s home? I thought it was girls’ night.”

  “I think he’s still upstairs, but I haven’t see him.”

  We head out back to the patio, where most of the girls on our tennis team are hanging out, and they cheer when they see what we’re carrying.

  “Mac, I saw you kick Tabor’s ass like, four hours ago. Where have you been, and why are you still hanging out in your tennis skirt?” Our team captain, Nadia, throws the same question at me that I never answered from Emma.

  “I had a hot date,” I say with a shrug, snagging one of the beers and popping it open. The girls let out a collective huff of disbelief. I don’t date. It’s sort of a thing. I guess. Whatever. I never want to be anything like my mother. “I’ll go shower now, princess,” I tease Nadia with a wink.

  She might be a tough player on the court, but the girl is a total, well, girl. She changes shirts halfway through matches because she doesn’t like being sweaty, and reapplies makeup in the middle of practice. We give her a hard time for it, but she doesn’t care. The girl likes what she likes, and is proud of it. Me? The dresses only come out for dinners at the club or other rare occasions.

  I’m clenching my teeth, thinking about Roger and his divorce, and I forget to knock on the bathroom door. Big mistake. Jesse is standing in front of the sink, holding a toothbrush, and wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. Very low. Sucking in a breath, I mumble an apology and close the door, but he puts a hand out.

  “No biggie, Mac. What’s up? You just getting home?”

  I try really hard to maintain eye contact, but they keep drifting down. “Yeah. I was gonna shower, but I can wait.”

  He frowns. “Where’s the dress you were wearing earlier? Did you play again?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I admit on a sigh. I rub a hand over my face, and let it all out. “Dinner with my mother got me wound up. I had a little session with the machine to blow off steam.”

  Jesse’s frown deepens. “You okay?” He puts his toothbrush down and takes a step forward, scrutinizing me.


  “I met husband number five.” My voice shakes, and I don’t bother trying to hide it. “Well, only fiancé at this point, given that he’s still married. Hasn’t even finalized the divorce.”

  “Fuck,” Jesse whispers, and pulls me into his chest. His hair is still wet, and a few drops fall onto my forehead.

  “My mom’s a homewrecker,” I mumble into his shoulder.

  “It doesn’t matter, Mac.” His hand smooths my blonde braid, and then rubs small circles on my back, as I take deep breaths. I’m not going to cry over this. I won’t. “Hey,” he whispers, pulling away to look at me.

  “It doesn’t matter, okay? We’re your family, Mac, you know that. Me, Emma, Mom and Dad. It’s us, alright? You don’t need her or the men in her life.”

  I nod, knowing he’s right, but also that he doesn’t really know how much it hurts. She loves the men, and the chase, more than me. She always has. I’m the reason she lost Marcus Bell. I’m a mistake. Something she can use to make her seem more trustworthy to future husbands, I guess, but not much more useful than that. She likes that she can call herself a mother; it gives her a reason to do nothing more than play golf and socialize.

  And, then, I realize that Jesse’s brown eyes have softened and he’s running a thumb along my jaw line, trailing it across my bottom lip. My eyes drift closed at the sensation, and then he snaps out of it and pulls back. We could never… go there. Like he said, the Kendricks are the only family I have. I can’t mess that up.

  Chapter Two

  The shower does nothing to erase what just happened with Jesse. What was that? I keep touching my bottom lip, where he touched it, and wondering if I’m crazy. He was totally coming on to me, wasn’t he? Jesse almost always has a girlfriend, rarely for longer than a couple months, and then he’s single for a few weeks before getting a new one. I’m pretty sure he’s between girlfriends right now, not that I’m paying close attention or anything.