Get Lucky: A YA Anthology Page 12

  He moves so quickly that I don’t have time to react. One minute he’s in front of me, slack jawed and still, and the next I’m being tickled to death. His fingers dive into my sides, and my knees give out at the same time that a high-pitched squeal erupts from me.

  “Gage, no.” I think I say the words, but my laughter is so much that it comes out sounding a lot more like a gurgle.

  “Designer fruit?” he says, those fingers inching up to my ribs and sending me into anticipatory fits of giggles. My arms are clamped to my sides in a lame attempt at defense, and my knees are pulled up to my chest, smashing Gage’s arm between the tops of my legs and my stomach while he holds me up with one arm and tortures me with the other.

  I’m laughing so hard; there are cramps in my stomach. “I take it back,” I hiccup. “It’s manly. Kiwi is manly.”

  Gage stops tickling me. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

  I’m still shaking with laughter, my legs like jelly, completely useless; he’s still holding me up like it takes no effort. “Manly. Kiwi. You. Not designer,” I sputter out.

  “That’s what I thought.” Then he’s shifting, swinging me up until he’s cradling me against his chest with one arm around my back, the other under my legs. “Since that’s settled, let’s go blow our budget on some quality time together.”

  Gage

  Week 4, Part 2: Some Beach

  I have always loved the beach.

  Even though I’ve always lived in Southern California, and have always had access to the water, I’ve never gotten tired of it. Sitting hip-to-hip on a sweatshirt I found in the backseat, I stare out at the night-darkened water with Kenny.

  “When I said blow our budget, I meant maybe take you to dinner or the movies, somewhere I actually spent money on you.”

  Kenny licks her spoon and shakes her head. “You bought the ice cream.”

  “I don’t think seven dollars is going to send us into the red, Kenny.”

  “Kennedy. And seven dollars for some people could mean the difference between a meal for two days and no meal at all.”

  “Not the budget speech again. I’m begging you.” Her elbow connects with my ribs, and I let out a grunt. “I take it back. You can go over the budget again. Just don’t hurt me.” She laughs, and I feel it in my chest like I do every time I make Kenny happy.

  I finish off my cone, and lean back on my hands, purposefully angling my body a little so my shoulder is resting behind hers, blocking her from the wind. She’s little, and I can see the goosebumps on her bare legs. “Can I ask you something, Kenny?”

  She finishes her own ice cream, setting the empty cup and spoon in the sand before wrapping her arms around her legs. “You’re always asking me something, Christensen.”

  “Life-partner, remember?”

  She rolls her eyes. “What’s your question, life-partner?”

  “Why were you so against this project? Was it because of your family?”

  Kenny is still for a minute, knees to her chest, arms anchoring them there. “Partly.”

  “And the other part?”

  She flicks her eyes to me, and then away. “I guess I’ve gotten used to controlling things… It’s easiest to do that when I control the people I’m around. I can’t control you,” she says, finally looking at me again. “That’s dangerous.”

  My heart is beating a mile a minute, and my body is tense. Leaning forward, I curl my arm around her waist and bring my left hand to her face, tilting Kenny’s chin up so she can see me without the shadows. “Why is it dangerous?”

  And, then, Kenny breaks my heart. “Because some of us were meant to be alone, and it’s hard to remember that when you’re with me.”

  I don’t slam my lips against hers the way I want to—I wait, patiently, for her to see my intention and accept it. “I’m going to kiss you again.” She nods, and then my lips are on hers, my body rolling until we’re laying on the sand, her beneath me, one of my hands at her waist, the other in her hair.

  Kissing Kenny, tasting the salt of the sea and the sugar of her ice-cream on her lips while my body presses against hers, I fall in love with the beach all over again.

  Kennedy

  Week 5: It’s a Girl!

  Me: She won’t stop crying.

  Gage: Are you asking for help, Kenny?

  Me: April has the midnight shift at the ER. Brad has to wake up in three hours. I’ve been walking for an hour around my room. The kids all have school tomorrow and I don’t want her to keep them awake.

  Gage: I knew you would need me. I’m on my way.

  Me: It’s 1 a.m.

  Gage: Life-partner, remember? And she’s our baby. BRT

  My body sags with relief when I see the lights of Gage’s truck flash in the front window.

  I open the door so he can walk right in, reveling in it when he pulls me close, despite the baby between us. She whimpers again, and he pulls back, grinning down. “So, she’s not exactly as easy as your siblings, huh?”

  I want to glare, but I can’t. The relief that he’s here to help is too great. “She won’t stop crying. I was getting so desperate, I almost put her in a closet, but then I remembered what Ms. Moyer said, how they can detect abuse and neglect, so I called you.”

  He raises his brows. “Glad to know relying on me is one step up from child-abuse.” Taking her from me, he brings her up on his shoulder like he would a real baby. The doll that has become our daughter for the next five days continues crying. “Come on, Cal, you’re gonna be okay.”

  “Cal?”

  Gage grins, patting her back. “She needs a name.”

  Adorable that he thinks of these things—not that I’ll tell him. “Why Cal?”

  “Cal Ripken, Jr. He played for the O’s? Baseball player?” I shake my head. He rolls his eyes. The baby cries again, and he jiggles her before he holds out his hand for me. “Come on. We can take her for a drive, so she doesn’t wake your family up.”

  I stand in my spot, amazed, relieved and all around happy despite being ready to tear my hair out only seconds before. “Thank you.” He pauses, his smile confused, and I lean forward on my toes and press my lips to his, kissing Gage because I can. Because I want to. Because I need to.

  “Thank you. For coming here when I needed you.” Dropping back down to my feet, I wait for him to open his eyes and look at me. “You’re a good life-partner, Gage Christensen.”

  He smiles, linking our fingers before tugging me out the door toward his truck. “You have no idea, Kenny. No idea.”

  But I do. An ache blooms in my chest, and I realize just how much I’ve come to rely on Gage, and just how much I’m going to miss him next week when our partnership is over.

  Gage

  Week 5, Part 2: Don’t be a fool, wrap your... you know how the rest goes

  Having a baby sucks. If there was a perfect PSA for abstinence or safe sex, this week has been it.

  Dear sweet baby Jesus, I do not want a child anytime soon.

  I’m so tired, I can barely see straight. Kenny and I have been walking Cal every night, taking her for a drive, taking turns snuggling her because, apparently, even a plastic baby knows how to cry if she isn’t getting the attention she wants. I haven’t focused this much on anything other than baseball since Call of Duty: Black Ops was released.

  Or since I laid eyes on Kenny.

  The bonus of having a fake-baby together? More time spent with my lovely life-partner. Every night this week, since Kenny had to ask for help, she has taken Cal after school, sitting in the bleachers at my practice, doing homework with the baby strapped to her chest in a little carrier April pulled down from the attic because Cal cries every time she’s put down. When practice is over, I take them both home. I’ve had dinner with her family a couple of times, and, tonight, she’s having dinner with mine.

  I don’t want a baby, but I sure don’t mind having Kenny. I think I have her, that is.

  I shift a little in my seat, eyeing her and wonderi
ng what she’s feeling. When we’re alone, she’s a little more relaxed—kissing me back—though she has only initiated that one time and that could have been more in gratitude than desire—holding my hand, and hugging me. But never at school, no matter how often I lean down to hug her, kiss her, or hold her hand, and never has she said anything about what’s going to happen when this week is over and we aren’t required to spend time together. That unsettles me, and has a weight plummeting in my stomach.

  “Let me take that baby.” My mom stands from the table where Kenny and I have been trading the baby back and forth, while we do our best to eat the tacos Mom made.

  “Oh, you don’t have to,” Kenny starts, but Mom waves her off and already has her arms under Cal, lifting her from Kenny’s lap.

  “Hush. I don’t mind playing fake-grandma while you get something to eat. Besides, this is exactly what Gage did to us. Joss is lucky to be here—he made such a fuss we weren’t sure we could handle another.”

  Kenny eyes me, amused. “Demanding even before you could talk, huh?”

  I grin and swing my arm over the back of her chair. “I like to think of it as motivated. When I know what I want, I don’t stop until everyone else knows, too.” I can’t tell if she understands that I’m talking about her. Kenny’s cheeks turn pink, and she ducks her head to focus on her plate, though she doesn’t eat anything else.

  Later, we go up to the den, and I struggle to change Cal’s diaper, which is difficult because my hands are so big and her plastic legs are hard to maneuver. Kenny makes sure we feed her, and that it registers, and then Joss joins us and we play Sorry while Kenny and I trade the baby back and forth, jiggling her and walking her while she screams at us.

  Joss leaves halfway through the game, citing insanity from the noise.

  Kenny yawns, bouncing up and down, and swinging the baby lightly. “Why don’t we stay here tonight?” I say. “We can put in a movie while we wait the little one out.”

  She hesitates briefly, and then she nods. Thirty minutes later, she falls asleep in the corner of the couch during our movie, Cal on her chest and not crying for once. I scooch further down next to her, wrapping an arm around her middle to bring them both closer. She turns into me just the slightest, sighing until her nose is pressed against my neck, and I wonder if my future could ever really be this perfect.

  Kennedy

  Week 6: I Just Wanna Dance With You

  “Are you sure I don’t look like a raccoon?”

  “No.”

  I glare at Gia, who rolls her eyes. Taking a q-tip, she grabs my chin and tilts my face up, running the cotton under each eye. When she’s done, I look in the mirror and breathe a sigh of relief. They are still lined—it’s just less.

  Blinking a few times, I make sure the lashes aren’t sticking together, and that nothing dusts off onto my cheeks.

  “Thank you,” I say, when I turn away from the mirror.

  “You’re welcome,” she says. “Don’t forget to step into your dress—if you put it over your head, you might smear.”

  I slip out of my robe, and throw it on my bed. Gia holds out my dress for me, a black strapless tube that stops just below my knees, and leaves my arms and shoulders bare. When I step into it and hold it up, she drags up the zipper in the back.

  I turn to the mirror, and, not for the first time, I feel a little nauseous about going to a dance with Gage. Our five weeks are up. We present our project at the end of next week, but there are no rules or guidelines telling us we need to spend time together this week. When he asked me, I wondered if he was joking.

  “Hey, life-partner, want to go to the spring fling with me?”

  We were at lunch one day, his friends there, too, because now I sat at a table with Cam and about half the baseball team, and everyone looked up at once. “I—” My voice wavered and I had to swallow, trying to not blush with all of his friends staring. “We already finished our five weeks together.”

  And then he smiled—that cocky, happy, make-me-fall-in-love-with-him smile. “I know. I wasn’t asking for the project.”

  And, just like that, we’re going to a dance together. He still calls me life-partner, but it feels like more. Which is why I’m a little nauseous.

  “Maybe I should have picked the pink one. This dress is so plain.”

  “Simple,” Gia corrects. For whatever reason, the minute I told her I was going to the dance, she took it upon herself to make sure I looked the part. I have to admit, I’m grateful. April’s at the hospital late, and, even if she were here, she’s about as stylish as me. Without Gia, I might have shown up in a jean skirt and Target t-shirt.

  “Shoes.”

  I take the black heels she hands me, thin straps over the ankle and toe, a lethal looking spike at the heel. “I might die in these.”

  “They’re only two inches, Kennedy. You’ll be fine.”

  I clip them and stand, wobbling when the doorbell rings.

  “I’ll get it,” Gia says. On her way out the door, she pauses, looking back. “You look nice, Kennedy.” And then she slips out, leaving me to get down the stairs alone.

  I hear Gage talking to the boys when I head down the stairs. Gia is the first one I see, standing off to the side, smiling, as Brandon and Rylon reenact a war they had earlier. Macy is standing next to Gia, a princess tiara on her head, and a wand in her hand. When she turns to look at me, she claps her hands.

  “Hey,” I say to the room at large, descending the last few steps.

  My eyes find Gage’s as he stands from his crouch in front of them. He’s wearing a black button down shirt, open at the collar, and tucked into black slacks. His belt and Vans are black. “We look like Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

  “Better,” he says, always so cocky. Then, he holds his hand out to me. “Kenny, you’re gorgeous.”

  “Ha,” comes my nervous laugh, but I link my fingers with his and hold on tight, because this moment, the one with my eyes on his and our fingers joined, this is one I don’t ever want to forget, no matter what happens.

  “April asked me to take pictures,” Gia says. We nod and pose, laughing when Macy wants to pose in one with us.

  When we finally say goodbye, Gage opens the door, but I turn to Gia and reach out, giving her a one armed hug. She blinks, uncertain, like me. We share some things… but this feels like more. Today, we aren’t foster children under the same roof. Today… we felt like sisters.

  Then, I walk out and hold onto Gage, shuffling to his truck until he cites time change because I’m going so slow. Swinging me up, he carries me the last few feet, depositing me in the passenger seat.

  When he goes to buckle me, I grab his cheeks because I can. He raises a brow, always a challenge. And, then, I press my lips to his… warm, sure, perfect.

  * * *

  There are three things I know after I’ve been at the dance for an hour: I haven’t been missing anything, I’m now certain heels are modern day torture devices, and I am definitely in love with Gage Christensen.

  I even like some of his friends.

  We’ve been dancing, much to my dismay, because Gage apparently loves to dance. And everyone knows this. Everyone but me, that is.

  “That’s not a move.”

  He shakes his hips, turns and grabs mine to wiggle back and forth. “Sure it is. Everything I do is a move. I’m athletic—light on my feet.”

  “And so humble.”

  The smile that’s been blinding me since we left gets even larger. “Know who you are, Kenny. And let everyone else know it, too.”

  His words hit me a little. They don’t hurt… but I wonder if I’ve been honest, really let him know who I am. He knows I’m a foster kid—that however great the home I live in is, it’s not mine, nor will it ever be. The people who raise me get a paycheck from the state to do so until I turn eighteen. The sister I hugged when I left tonight… she and I are not blood related. We’re tragedy related—two girls whose parents couldn’t put down the bottle long enough to raise
their children.

  “Kenny, what’s wrong?”

  I look up and realize we’ve stopped dancing, and that Gage is holding onto me, looking at me with concern.

  Before I can tell him there’s something about me he should know—like the fact that my mom killed a family in the town I used to live in—Cam sidles up. Behind him, a guy wearing a white oxford and blue pants smiles.

  “Well, hey there, beautiful people. Fancy meeting you here.” He opens up a little, and motions to Mr. Blue pants. “This is Greg.” And then he beams, and lights up the world. “My date.”

  Gage

  Week 6, Part 2: I’m an Idiot

  Cam introduces us to his date, and we all talk for a bit. I try not to smother Kenny, try to keep playing it cool and only hold her hand, but the look she gave me earlier has my stomach in knots and my mind racing.

  We don’t have to be here together. I made a joke out of the way I asked her, but then she said what she did, and I had to tell her something. Still, it wasn’t everything. I want it all with Kennedy Russo, and I’m not sure how to ask her.

  More like I’m scared out of my mind that she might reject me. Her expression from earlier isn’t doing anything for my confidence.

  After a minute, I excuse myself, pressing a kiss to Kenny’s temple despite my raging nerves. I can’t stop myself—she’s here, she’s mine, and I need to touch her.

  Walking toward the restroom, I shake off the feeling of unease, joking with guys who stop me along the way. When I walk into the bathroom, there are a few guys in there, some by the mirrors, some by the urinals. I recognize all of them.

  “Hey, twelve-gauge, your girl’s looking good tonight.” I nod at Lorenzen, our pitcher, and walk over to the sinks to talk. A conversation about stats and batting percentages in a dirty bathroom seems like a perfect way to get my head on straight.