Get Lucky: A YA Anthology Page 15

  I’m about to nicely brush off Becca’s advances when I catch Penny’s gaze across the room. She’s smiling at Josh, but she’s scratching her neck with four fingers, her eyes getting bigger every time she looks in my direction. I snort at her cuteness, and set my drink down on the bunk.

  “Catch you around the course tomorrow?” I ask Becca, and her brows go up in shock and confusion, but she nods. I make my way through the crowd to Penny and lightly grab her elbow.

  “Hey, man!” I say to Josh, raising my hand to clasp it with his. People are used to my loud interruptions, so I don’t get too much of a glare as he head-bobs back. “Look, I need to catch up with you, but do you mind if I steal the newbie? We haven’t exactly got our course planned out for tomorrow. You know me… it’s last minute or bust.”

  He shakes his head at me as I drag Penny away. “I pity your campers!” he shouts over the crowd. I give him the universal sign for “I don’t give a crap,” and manage to get Penny outside. She takes a deep breath, and leans up against the porch railing.

  “Ninth hole?” I ask her.

  She grins through her exhausted lips. “Ninth hole.”

  * * *

  Hole numero nueve. It’s the beast of all holes on this course—two sand traps, a large water hazard, and a par 3. Penny hates this hole; it’s the one that messes up her stroke every time we play. So we walk it, and she tries to memorize all the bumps and curves in the fairway.

  “I didn’t block you, did I?” she asks, running her hand over the edge of the rough. I swing my foot back and forth, and watch the water hazard ripple with the wind.

  “Nope,” I say, emphasizing the p. “There’s still time to ‘get to know’ people, if you catch my drift.” I tell her that more for her benefit than my own. Penny hasn’t been the most obvious flirter, and, because campers are off-limits, the sudden attention probably has her overwhelmed. I’m one of those embracers: take life as it’s handed to me, and she’s more scheduled. We used to joke that she’s the left brain to my right.

  “I don’t know.” She sighs, straightening from her crouch. “Maybe I’ll just focus on being an influential instructor.”

  I smirk. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “There’s satisfaction in that.” She bumps her arm into me, and starts walking over to the water. She keeps her distance though because she’s still convinced there are alligators lurking in the depths. I’m betting it’s just a bunch of Titleists.

  I let out a sigh. “We need a fun instructor, though.”

  “Bing, bing, bing!” she sings, gesturing toward me like Vanna White.

  “As flattering as that is… I gotta hang up my clown shoes this summer.”

  Her brows pull in. “Huh?”

  “I need to focus. Win the Camp Eagle.”

  She’s silent for a few seconds, tilting her head to the side. “Is this… your serious face?” She circles a finger around my nose. “I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Dedicated, serious, boring golf instructor, Jensen, at your service.” I humor her with a bow.

  “If this is boring, I’m seriously concerned about my personality.”

  “Ha!” I bolt out. “You are far from boring, Pah-Pah-Pah-Penny…” I sing her name, then raise my eyebrows and wait. She shakes her head, silently laughing as she tries to pop ‘n lock.

  “See, you can be fun.” I grin.

  “Only with you.” She stops dancing, tucking her hair behind her ear. I watch the movement, and feel the temperature rise around us, like God’s decided to turn up the heat.

  I shake myself out of the train of thought. “Well, if you feel like practicing your ‘fun’ teaching methods on me, I’d be happy to help.”

  “Because our teacher/student relationship worked out so well last year,” she teases. Her sarcasm is the epitome of adorable.

  She picks up a stray leaf, and twists it between her fingers. “Can I ask you something super embarrassing without you making fun of me for it?”

  “Probably not.”

  She huffs at my joke and starts stalking off. I laugh and grab her hand.

  “Wait, wait. I’m sorry. I’ll be nice.”

  She eyes me up and down, her skepticism melting when I give her my newly formed “serious” face.

  “Do you think I’m…” She drops her voice to a whisper, and mutters it to the fairway below our feet. “Good looking?”

  A short chuckle pops from my open mouth. “What?”

  She hangs her head. “Ugh… forget it.”

  “No, wait… hell, you can’t drop a question like that and expect me to be prepared to answer. Let me warm up to it, mkay?”

  Her mouth squishes together, holding back her amusement as I shake out my arms and legs, “preparing” myself for what I’m about to say. I throw in a couple of voice exercises in there too, just to hear her laugh.

  “Yes,” I say, setting my hands on her bare shoulders. “You are good looking, which is why that twenty-two-year-old was trying to get with you not a half hour ago.”

  Her eyes turn into perfect circles. “Josh is 22?”

  I laugh and put my arm around her. “Hey, five years is no big deal.”

  “Maybe not to you.” I feel her shiver, and I chuckle around a kiss to the top of her head. She pretends to wipe it off. “How old is the girl you were talking to?”

  “Becca?” I shrug. “Dunno. Doesn’t matter.”

  Her expression turns smug. “See?”

  I grin. “I’m not saying it doesn’t matter ‘cause of her age. Sayin’ it doesn’t matter ‘cause I’m concentrating on the Eagle this year.”

  “So, no… summer fling?” she asks, and her ears turn a light shade of pink.

  “Nah. Wouldn’t be fair.”

  “To who?”

  “To the girl. I mean, look at me.” I embellish running my hands up and down my torso. “I can’t guarantee they won’t fall in love, and, well, I won’t be back next year to pick up anything I’ve started.”

  She stops dead in her tracks, eyes jutting over to me.

  “What do you mean you won’t be back next year?”

  There’s a small dip in my gut as I take in her surprised expression. She reaches up to play with the light brown strands of hair resting just off her shoulder, and there’s a part of me that wishes I hadn’t said anything. But I knew there was no way I’d make it all camp without telling my best friend that I’d be moving on after these four weeks.

  “Well, I graduated a few weeks ago—”

  “So? Most of the instructors are graduates.”

  “And most are okay borrowing money to keep coming here,” I point out. “The instructor income just doesn’t cover the expenses I’d have to front.”

  Her mouth turns down at the corners. “Your parents won’t help?”

  “Oh, I’m sure they would. But I want to do this on my own.” I nudge her in an attempt to keep this conversation light. “I’m a big boy now.”

  She lets out a snort. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  We walk back the rest of the way with very on-the-surface talk, but I can tell we’re both feeling the weight of this being my last year. I hope it doesn’t ruin our time together, because she’s the best part of this camp, and I don’t want it to royally suck during these last few weeks that I’ll get to see her.

  Chapter 3

  All Work and No Play (Old habits die hard)

  Penny

  Oy, I should’ve packed more Tylenol.

  “Yeah, that’s good,” I lie my tush off as the 9 Iron, Barry, swings and misses for the umpteenth time this week. I understand that most of them have yet to pick up a club, let alone know how to use one, but I’m quickly losing patience.

  “Here,” I say, taking Barry’s driver from his hand. “You have to place your hands just so. Remember?” I prod. “We went over this yesterday.” And the day before that and the day before that…

  Barry watches, but his legs are wiggling and his eyes are distant. I blow
out a breath and hand the club back to him. “Okay, keep trying.”

  I take a step back, dodging his enthusiastic swing. He hits the ball this time, but it only goes about two feet in front of him. My shoulders slump, and I bring my gaze up to Jensen, who’s helping Deaton at the end of the line. Jensen starts swinging his arms like a monkey, trying to hit the ball with a driver that is not meant for a guy his height. He screeches and howls like an ape, and he’s got the entire end of 9 Irons rolling. So much for putting up his clown shoes.

  “You want to try to monkey swing?” he asks Deaton as I walk up. Deaton nods, reaching for his driver and ooh-oohing like Jensen was. He’s not able to hit the ball very far.

  “I see we’re working hard,” I tease Jensen low in his ear. The corner of his mouth goes up, but he doesn’t respond.

  “All right, man,” Jensen says. “You ready to try it like a human?”

  Deaton stops his monkeying around, and straightens his shoulders. He’s just about to swing back when Jensen quickly interjects.

  “Would a human hold a driver like that? Or are you still trying to play ape?”

  The kids laugh, and a smile plasters on my lips as Deaton concentrates to fix his form. When he’s sure he’s got it right, he checks with Jensen who nods, then he swings. His ball sores dead center, hitting the 150 yard mark.

  My eyebrows shoot clean off my face. All the campers let out a unified, “Whoaaaa,” and Deaton turns back to Jensen with a look of pure shock and awe.

  “Yeah, buddy!” Jensen fist pumps the air, and Deaton’s shock turns into a look of unbelievable joy. The campers crowd around Deaton and I nudge Jensen in the side.

  “Where was that when you were teaching me?”

  He gives me a look, smile still set on his big mouth. “Like you would’ve tolerated my monkey impression.”

  He’s right. I elbow him again.

  Then it hits me—that sudden gut-wrenching sadness that comes when I’m not expecting it, reminding me of the inevitable goodbye that’s coming at the end of the camp. Every day since Jensen told me this is his last year, it smacks me in the chest out of freaking nowhere. Sometimes multiple times a day. My smile drops into a frown, and I try to remind myself that he’s here right now, that we’ve still got three more weeks together, and I’m not going to spend this time with my best friend feeling sad.

  A whistle sounds across the driver’s range, announcing lunch time.

  “Remember, 9 Irons!” I call out as they scamper off. “Putting drills after lunch!”

  A groaned murmur runs over the group as they pass us, and I make a face because I’m just as sweet and awesome as Jensen, but he’s obviously the favorite.

  Kira accidentally hits the back of my calf with her driver, and then reddens when I let out an uncontrollable, “Ouch! What the…?”

  Her big eyes round and she squeaks out a tiny, “S-sorry, Penny.”

  I let out a chuckle. “No worries. Just watch where you’re swinging that thing.”

  She tries to smile, but can’t seem to get it right. She trudges off after the rest of the 9 Irons, shoulders slumped in defeat. Poor girl hasn’t been able to get the hang of it yet, and, since I haven’t gotten the hang of teaching yet either, I blame myself for that particular link in the chain.

  “Mmm,” Jensen hums next to me. “Time for food.”

  The guy is a garbage disposal. I secretly hate him for the better metabolism.

  The instructors eat in the staff cafeteria—a chance for the campers to talk smack about us while we dissect which areas the campers need to focus on. Or, at least, that’s what I’ve experienced in my week here. That and a lot of flirting, but none is directed at or by me.

  It is nice to sit with Jensen again—I missed out on that last year. Guess I’ll be missing out every year after this one, too.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” I say around a buttered roll. “I can hit a ball with my eyes closed, but I can’t teach someone how to do it?”

  Jensen takes a huge gulp of his apple juice. “Look,” he says, licking the juice residue off his upper lip. “All people learn differently. You gotta adjust to them.”

  I sigh. “By acting like a monkey?”

  He grins. “That was a shot in the dark. I had no idea if it would work.”

  “Lucky shot.”

  “Hey,” he says, scooting in closer when he sees Josh walk by. “It’s week one.”

  “Out of four,” I say. “Not a whole lot of time.”

  A long sigh floats from his mouth. I smell the apple juice, and a tug pulls on my heart that I’ve never felt before. It takes me a little by surprise, and I feel a sudden flush rise in my cheeks.

  “They’re learning something, even if it doesn’t seem like it, ‘kay?” His dark eyes flash with amusement. “Last year, I didn’t think one of my campers learned anything, and look at her now, sitting with the big leagues.”

  Yeah, I’m definitely experiencing something foreign in the chest and stomach region. I roll my eyes, hoping that I can roll away the feeling along with it, and push away my tray in case it’s something I’m eating.

  The rest of the day is used for putting practice, which all the 9 Irons are better at, probably due to the magic of miniature golf. Kira hangs around the edge of the green, swinging her putter aimlessly by her side as she watches everyone else try to get the ball in the hole first. I meander over, after showing Barry how to hold a putter (again) and park my butt on the faux grass.

  “You want to give it a shot?” I ask. She quickly shakes her head. “This part isn’t too hard,” I prod. “Have you been mini-golfing before?”

  She doesn’t answer. Her teeth snake out over her bottom lip and she nibbles on it while her eyes watch all the rolling balls on the green. I take a deep breath, and try a more proactive approach.

  “Come on,” I say, getting to my feet. “I’ll hit it with you the first few times.”

  “N-no. N-no thank you, Penny.”

  I give her scared face an encouraging smile. “I promise it’s not hard. We’ll do it together.”

  I reach for her putter, and she jerks away, her eyes growing big and watery.

  “I said I don’t want to.”

  The outburst has me jolting backward, and all the 9 Irons turn to watch our exchange. Kira’s gaze travels over all their shocked expressions, and I see the side of her neck turn bright red before she takes off toward the cabins.

  My breath comes back in a long gasp. I didn’t even realize I’d been holding it. Jensen starts after her, but I stick my hand up. I’ll most likely make this worse, but I still want the chance to make it better.

  I jog after her, keeping my distance so she doesn’t notice I’m following. That and so I can think of something to say to her. I’m sorry, for starters.

  She heads up the steps to her cabin, and I duck down, crouching up the stairs about a minute after her. My hand is in the knock position when I hear a sniffle and a croaky voice through the thin door.

  “God?” Kira croaks.

  I drop my hand. My heart thumps inside my chest, and I don’t want to interrupt prayer time or whatever, but my curiosity gets the best of me.

  “I’m sorry for yelling at Penny. Please don’t let her hate me.”

  Hate her? I’m surprised for sure, but I don’t hate anyone, let alone my protégé.

  “I don’t like… I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t want anyone to see. Mom and Dad spent so much money for this place, and I can’t let them down. But I’m too afraid to… I don’t want them to see how bad I am at this.”

  My heart is seriously breaking. Like being stomped on by a fresh golf shoe and pulverized. No wonder she’s been hanging back, why she snapped at me; she has golf stage fright.

  “Please help me do this. Please, please, please…”

  She drifts off into croaks and sobs, her voice becoming harder to hear. I carefully lean against the door, pressing my ear up to the wood and straining to listen to anythi
ng comprehensible. I can’t hear Kira, but I can hear someone. A lot of voices, actually.

  Then I get the distinct sound of Jensen’s laugh.

  In my haste to get away from the door so no one catches me eavesdropping, I trip and fumble over my feet, thudding on the porch as I topple off the steps. Jensen catches sight of me just as I hear the door to the 9 Iron’s cabin open, and I roll into a not-very-friendly bush.

  Kira’s footsteps are light, but the spikes on her shoes clunk against the wood as she carefully inspects the porch. I cover my mouth so I’m not breathing so loudly, and Jensen calls out just above me.

  “Hey, Kira! We’re swimming at the office pool tonight. You in?”

  She doesn’t answer verbally, but I take it she nods because Jensen says, “Sweeeet,” before telling all the 9 Irons to head into their cabin to get ready ‘cause they’re heading to the pool right after dinner. As soon as all the clunks and clomps stop on the porch, I hear Jensen’s quiet chuckles.

  “You can come out now, nosy.”

  I uncover my mouth and slowly crawl out, glad it’s Jensen who caught my duck and dive because I’d be a lot redder if it wasn’t.

  “Not a word,” I tell him as I dust myself off.

  He reaches up, and plucks a leaf from my ponytail. “Only if you say thank you.”

  I suck in a large breath, hold it, and then let it out in a loud raspberry. He pretends to wipe spit off his face while I give him a cheesy grin.

  “Always heartfelt gratitude from you.”

  I skip up and wrap an arm around his waist while he drops his over my shoulder. “That’s why you like me.”

  The words were meant as teasing, but there’s an ache in my stomach once they fall from my lips, that maybe I’d like them to be true. But that could be the high I’m on right now, because I know exactly how I’m going to help Kira. And I’m gonna need some of Jensen’s wit to pull it off.

  Chapter 4

  All Play and No Work (Old habits die hard)