Get Lucky: A YA Anthology Read online

Before he finishes, I’m on my toes, arms wrapped around his neck. He is quick to reciprocate, unsatisfied with just a hug. When his lips find mine, we sink in, breathing each other in, saying sorry in a way that makes everything else smaller.

  His arms stay around me, his lips mold to mine, and finally—finally—I let myself fall all of the way for Gage Christensen. And what a fall it is.

  Leaning back, I look right at him. “I trust you, Gage. More than anyone. And the name’s Kenny.”

  His smile is blinding and beautiful, and I can’t help but rise to my toes and kiss him all over again. “People are watching, Kenny.”

  I nod. “Yes, they are. Lucky for you, I don’t mind.”

  Stroke of Luck

  By Cassie Mae

  Chapter 1

  The Summer of Love (but not for me…)

  Penny

  We pass under the giant archway that says Camp Eagle, my heart thumping in my chest and my smile widening behind my EOS lip balm. If I wasn’t wearing my brand new, crisp and clean instructor’s uniform, I’d jump out the bus window and happy dance on the nearest green.

  The girl next to me accidentally elbows my ribs and says a quick, “Sorry,” when I turn around. She’s new, and by the way her fingers are twisting around and around her white Callaway, I can tell she’s a raging bundle of nerves.

  Is it bad of me to think this is awesome? It’s the perfect opportunity to practice my skills as a leader. I’ve been to this camp every year since I was six, and all my instructors were great at calming me so that I could really hone my skill as a golfer. I had a different teacher every year, but they were all patient and knew exactly the right thing to say.

  Well… not all of them. Jensen wasn’t exactly patient with me last year, but he gets a pass because I didn’t make it easy for him.

  I put on an encouraging smile and twisted in my seat so I’m angled toward her. She’s probably like, ten, maybe eleven. No one’s in a group uniform yet, other than the instructors, so her nervous hands are resting on a pair of washed out jeans. She flicks her gaze to me quickly before shooting it in another direction, her cheeks splashing red.

  “First year?” I ask her, keeping my voice light. She nods, and I playfully elbow her in the arm, something I normally wouldn’t do, but my instructors always put off the “friendly” vibe, so I figure I can do the same. “This camp is the best. We golf all day, have activities and dances, and then there’s the food.” My eyes grow big. “You will not believe how good the food is.”

  Her mouth cracks into a shy smile. “I’m… I’m not a very good golfer.”

  “That’s why you’re here.” I relax back into my seat. “To learn.”

  She nods like she already knows that, and her eyes drop to my instructor badge. A feeling of authority washes over me, and, not gonna lie, it’s fantastic. For years, I’ve watched all the instructors help everyone out, and I longed to voice my opinion and give people advice. Not only that, but the instructors get to stay out later, have off-site nights, and the guys… yum. And the boy cabin is right next to ours. I’m determined to do it all this summer—work, play, love. It’s all written in my trusty goal notebook.

  The bus jolts, and the girl next to me braces herself using the seat in front of her. I let out a tiny chuckle and the thumping in my chest kicks up a notch as the bus driver stops at the front camp offices. The camp owners are out to greet us and the other three busses that pull in just behind ours.

  I’m one of the first off, clanking down the big stairs in my new golf shoes. I’d been using my mom’s old ones, but my grandma promised me that, if I made instructor, she’d get me these. My toes have thanked her a million times already.

  My eyes fall down the line of people in white polos, my back straightens, and my smile widens. I wave a “good luck” to the girl who was sitting next to me, and then I run over to take my place next to all the other instructors. Finally.

  I’m easily the shortest one here. Even if I stood on my tippy toes, I wouldn’t match the height of the instructor next to me—I think his name’s Josh. He gives me a friendly nod and a smile that reminds me of a romantic comedy I saw last week. I wonder how old he is. I’ve decided that all instructors over 20 will be off-limits. But under 20, watch out, boys. Some awkward flirting is coming your way.

  The other buses unload and the instructors on those meander over, some joking around already with each other. I scan their faces, keeping an eye out for dark skin, brown hair, and a big mouth. I hear him before I see him, which isn’t out of the norm, his laugh carrying over the bustle of the campers.

  Jensen’s been my camp buddy since day one. He sidled up next to me when we listened to the instructors our first year here. I thought he was this absolute rebel because he’d snuck in a pack of gum. My mom wouldn’t even let me chew gum when I was six.

  At that age, the camp was only a few hours a day and we got to go home every night. It was held at the Lucky Hills Country Club, and the people there were super nice, but very distracting. Jensen ate it up while I waved off most adult admirers and focused on lowering my handicap.

  When we turned ten, we headed to Camp Eagle, the next step in the program. Four weeks long, and that’s when golfing became more than just a sport. It’s a way of life. I was surprised to see Jensen last as long as he has—he’s got natural talent, easily the best golfer here, but he’s just so… unmotivated?

  Still, he’s got my back, and I got his. Every time I see him, I’m exponentially relieved he’s still around.

  He comes around the bus, holding a golf bag over his shoulder and laughing at something the kid next to him is saying. The kid’s probably like, twelve, and I can’t tell if Jensen looks taller because he’s grown so much since I last saw him or because he’s standing next to a kid who has yet to hit his growth spurt.

  I let out a long sigh, feeling the tension in my shoulders relax. I may be excited about being “in charge” this year, but it doesn’t mean that I’m not nervous. And the sight of Jensen is comforting in itself.

  His eyes catch mine, and he nods a goodbye to his new buddy before jutting a finger out right at me. Oh no.

  “Pah-Pah-Pah-Penny,” he sings, grabbing nearly everyone’s attention. I hide my face while he pop ’n locks, spinning around with his golf bag swinging. “Pah-Pah-Pah-Penny.”

  Josh is laughing next to me, and I shake my head, trying not to give Jensen the satisfaction of amusing me, even though he is.

  “Stop,” I say, through a smile.

  His arms go out like he’s disappointed I’m not going to dance with him. He wiggles his fingers, his eyes expectant. I shake my head harder, and his bottom lip goes into a faux frown.

  Some of the older guys clap for him as he moonwalks over, squeezing in between me and a very tall handsome instructor who I’m hoping is under 20.

  “Buzzkill,” Jensen teases, the whites of his teeth showing from under his dark lips. “Don’t be that instructor.”

  “What instructor?” I ask, falling easily into a conversation with him even though it’s been a year.

  “You know… the one with the club up her butt.”

  I drop my jaw in mock shock. “I’m going to be the nice one.”

  He makes a snoring sound, and I punch him in his arm. Oh… ouchie… When did a bicep come in?

  The corner of his mouth quirks up as I shake my fingers out, but he doesn’t get an egotistical comment in because the camp owners have brought the megaphones up to their mouths.

  They welcome us, and we sing the camp song. Jensen sings purposely off-key and messes me up, and then they go over rules. I try to look like I’m paying attention, but it’s hard with Jensen wiggling and humming next to me. I swear he doesn’t know how to stand still.

  The owners wrap it up and we golf clap, because that is our thing, and the instructors split off into groups of two to show the campers to their bunks. Jensen swings an arm over my shoulder and says, “Watch how it’s done, Padawan.”

  I
roll my eyes. “Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi.”

  His mouth splits open into a grin. “There she is.”

  We get our assignments, and I realize I’m shaking something fierce when I pluck the list of campers from the owner’s clipboard. I can barely read the names, so Jensen takes it from my trembling hands and grins as he looks at the top. “The ten-year-olds. We scored.”

  “Heck yeah!” I say, bringing up my shaky palm to smack his in a high-five. First year campers are the best—earlier curfew, simpler lessons, and less teen angst. I’ve got enough of that all by myself.

  We shake our butts at the two instructors who got put with the sixteen-year-olds, Jensen adding a smack to his while they give us the evil-eye. Jensen had me last year, so he knows just what a handful the final year campers are. Half of the time, he lounged around and watched me pitch a fit at his torture lessons. Since our friendship lasted through last year, I’m thinking it’ll probably last anything.

  Jensen hands the list back to me, so he can pick up the box full of polos for our first years. They get light green ones with a small stitching on the left breast that says 9 Irons. They’ve changed the colors; when I was a 9 Iron, I wore blue.

  The kids automatically take to Jensen, of course. He’s much better with the younger ones than he is the campers closer to his age. Maybe I have him to thank for getting this rotation my first year on the job. They usually give the newbies the Sand Wedges—the twelve-year-olds.

  The girl sitting next to me on the bus is in my group, and I smile while Jensen entertains them all with a rap rendition of the cabin rules. She still looks incredibly nervous, twisting her shirt around her wrists and trying to dance along with the rest of the kids, but not really getting into it. I decide I really like her. She shall be my protégé.

  The 9 Iron bunks are right by the owner’s offices, I’m sure for safety reasons. For campers like Jensen, that bunk was torture—hardly any room for rule-breaking. For people like me, it wasn’t so bad.

  We get them all settled, I learn that the girl’s name is Kira, and I make a rhyme in my head for me to remember it. Have no fear-a, it’s Kira. And the rest of the afternoon is for them to get to know each other while Jensen and I go over our course for them in the morning. Ain’t no rest for the wicked.

  After dinner, I’m so exhausted that I’m not sure if I even want to go to the instructors’ Meet N’ Greet they’re holding in the boys’ cabin. But, I know if I miss it, I’ll miss the “love” opportunity. It wasn’t until I was in my fourth year that I realized that most of the instructors hooked up at one point or another. I think Jensen had his fair share of flings, too. I want one. After ogling the instructors since I was old enough to ogle, I think I’m ready to finally kiss one. Or two.

  I don’t have time to chat up my bunkmates as we all quickly change and do our hair, but I know them from previous years. Sophie, an older instructor—meaning she’s over 20—lends me her flat iron because I was more concerned about bringing underwear than hair accessories. Praise the heavens, because, after running around all day, my hair was a hot mess. And I’ve got to look not only like I’m a catch, but I’m an old enough catch. My height doesn’t help, so I’ve got to use what I got.

  Adjusting the one out of three sundresses I brought just for nights like this, I step off of the front porch.

  And fall flat on my butt.

  My eyes shoot up around me, praying that no one saw my display of weak ankles. But, I hear Jensen laughing before I see him. Yeah… I should’ve known. I’m not that lucky.

  Chapter 2

  The Summer of Fun (But not for me…)

  Jensen

  There are a handful of girls in that cabin, ones I’m interested in, but my eyes are on my buddy flat on her rear in the grass. She whips her head around when I can’t keep my laughter under control, and her lips press into a thin line as she tries to keep her own amusement at bay.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” she pleads. She sticks her arms into the air, and I jog over to help her to her feet.

  “Your lack of coordination isn’t a secret,” I tease. Penny rumbles her lips at me, making a sound similar to a horse, and then brushes her light brown hair from her face. She gets prettier every year—I admit that my fourth year at Camp Eagle was mostly spent finding excuses to be around her. But I could never get her to look at me as more than a friend, so I gave up on it. Call me a slacker. Everyone else does.

  She blows out a shaky breath, and starts smoothing down the front of her yellow dress. My lips tilt up at the corner.

  “Who are we trying to impress?” I lilt, turning toward the cabin where our annual Meet ‘N Greet is held. I was the fresh meat last year, descended upon the second I walked in by all the instructors who could—in their words—finally have a shot. I’m not attractive in the conventional sense, but I got the goofy, extrovert thing going for me, so I had my choices. But even though the two girls I did hook up with were definitely hot, they weren’t fun outside of making out. Or… not as much fun as Penny, and I realized that every girl from here on out would be compared to her, whether I like it or not.

  Oh man, I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she’s suddenly surrounded by a bunch of wolves the moment we walk through that door.

  “Um… everyone?” she answers with a laugh. “I’m the newbie. Gotta prove I’m worthy of the white polo, right?”

  I snort. “Yeah… that’s what you have to worry about.”

  Her hazel eyes widen, and I notice a bit of mascara flicked just above her cheekbones. I blow out a sigh, resigning to my instinct to not let her embarrass herself—that’s my job.

  “Hold up,” I say, jumping in front of her. She topples off balance with the sudden stop in movement, but regains it quickly.

  “What? Do I have a bat in the cave?” She furiously starts rubbing her nose.

  I let out a chuckle. “Just a bit of raccoon eye. I got it.” I press my thumbs under her eyes and swipe at it. She looks up, locking gazes with me.

  “Get it all,” she says.

  “I’m trying. I might have to lick my thumbs.”

  “Don’t you dare Mom me.”

  My mouth tilts up, and I just can’t help it. I slowly stick my tongue out, and run it across the pad of my thumb. She squeaks and ducks away from me, but I get a good hold on her jaw. Her cheeks squish in my hand, and she’s laughing and sending out death threats. I give her one, wet swipe under her eye before setting her loose.

  “You will pay, Jensen Moore,” she says, wiping her face free of my saliva.

  “Hey, it’s off now.” I throw her a grin. “You’re welcome.”

  She does another horse rumble with her mouth, but I can see the smile under her bravado. This is the fun stuff I’m talking about. I’d look for it again this year, but I’m off the market for a while.

  “Hey,” I tell her in all seriousness (well, as much as I can muster). “All the guys are cool here, but steer clear of Toby.”

  Her brows turn in. “He’s nice, though.”

  “Also gay.”

  She does a silent, “Ooooh,” then laughs at herself. “If you are messing with me, I swear, I will punch you right in the gonads.”

  I put my hand over my heart. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll keep you all to myself.”

  She shoves my shoulder, but I wrap her up in a friendly side hug as we walk up the steps to the guys’ cabin. I can feel her shaking underneath me, and, as much as I’d like to just throw her inside and watch her pretty eyes bulge and her mouth drop, I can’t find it in me to be that cruel. So, I hang onto her for a little longer out here on the porch.

  “Hey, Penny,” I say after a minute, watching a few of the girl instructors pass us and head inside. “You call ‘fore’ and I got your back.”

  I feel her relax slightly against my ribs, and she looks up and nods once. Her eyes turn to the party inside, and I see her jaw set.

  Well, now that I know she’s all right… My hand finds the middle of her
back, and I push her into the thick of it. Last thing I see before she’s surrounded by male instructors is that jaw drop and wide eyes.

  Guess I am that cruel.

  * * *

  There’s no drinking on the property, and none of the staff even tries to sneak it. We were witnesses to what happened last year when Ludwig was caught with a bottle of Vodka he tried to pass as water. He was fined six hundred big ones, kicked out of the camp program, and lost his spot at the Camp Eagle tourney for instructors. The annual tournament prize is a spot on the PGA tour—not as a competitor, but still a chance to pal around with the big names. Ludwig was well on his way to being the winner last year, but, when they say no tolerance, they mean it.

  Becca Summers shuffles up next to me as I hold the non-alcoholic soda up to my lips. She smiles and lets her shoulder graze mine as she leans back against one of the bunks.

  “Yo,” I say.

  “Ho.”

  “And a bottle of rum.”

  She grins. “How was your year?”

  “The best,” I say, then take another sip of soda. Penny’s talking to Josh Isaacson, one of the older instructors. I should probably warn her that he’s twenty-two.

  Becca nudges me, bringing my attention back to her. “College?”

  “Gap.” I give her a smug grin. “Gotta have time for the PGA tour.”

  She raises a flirtatious eyebrow. “That so? Word is that Johnson’s got it in the bag.” She nods over at Chris, who is practicing his golf swing. Humility at its finest.

  “Well, I’m okay being the underdog.”

  She lets out a sing-song laugh. “I don’t think anyone thinks of you as an underdog, Jensen.”

  I feel the mood shift between us, and, heck, I’d take advantage in another time. Becca’s sweet, cute, and tall, and we can obviously have a conversation without awkward pauses, but I’m on a hiatus. I’m not joking when I say that I’m going to win the Camp Eagle tourney. It’s my last shot at it, after all.