Get Lucky: A YA Anthology Read online

  “See, this hole hates me.” I nod to her club. “You want to give it a try?”

  Her smile disappears. “I don’t think I can do it.”

  “I can’t either, but I gave it my best shot.” I press my hand into my pocket and grab a Callaway. Her wide eyes follow my every move as I tee her up. “Last one to get it in the hole owes the other ice cream.”

  The corner of her lip twitches, and she tentatively steps up to the tee. “Um… am I standing okay?”

  I tilt my head to the side. “Straighten your back a bit. Take a few practice swings.”

  She lets the club swing low and slow at first, getting a feel for its weight. Then she starts pivoting on her toe. I give her a few pointers as she gets comfortable with the position, and, soon after, she takes a deep breath and gets ready for the real shot.

  “The water is scary,” she admits with a laugh.

  “If you don’t think you can clear it, hit it left. It’ll take longer for you to go around, but you won’t have to worry about taking a drop.”

  She nods and adjusts so her aim is more toward the sand traps. Her laugh tells me she finds those equally as scary.

  It’s a few silent seconds while she concentrates and gets into the zone. I can feel the love and respect she has for the game—some campers you can just tell they’re here on Mom and Dad’s orders. But there are a rare few who are here for themselves.

  In almost slow motion, Kira brings the club back and then puts all of herself into the swing. The tink of the ball against the driver echoes around us on the empty course, and I squint out, hoping I don’t lose track of the white Callaway in the artificial light.

  It soars across the sky, impressive for such a small girl, and it thuds against the fairway. She still has a long way to go, but, right now, she’s closer to par than I am.

  “Wow,” she says, letting her club slide through her hands. She gives me a wide grin, one I’ve yet to see from her. “Was that… I mean… did I do okay?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say through a stunned chuckle. “Thought you said you weren’t that great?”

  A blush sneaks its way onto her cheeks, and she steps back so I can go. For just a moment, I can sense a new air of confidence in her, and it fills me from toe up.

  I definitely owe Jensen big.

  * * *

  Kira and I are practicing long putt shots when suddenly the overhead lights shut down. Crap! I’d completely forgotten about the time. I jam my hand into my pocket, and flick on my cell’s flashlight.

  “Kira?” I hiss into the dark. A small squeak comes from my right as she jumps, and we both laugh. “Kay, hold onto me,” I tell her.

  She tucks a couple fingers into the hem of my hoodie, and I use my phone to help get us back to the cabins. After fumbling with that and my clubs, Kira offers to carry everything while I lead. It’s pretty hilarious watching her with four clubs in one arm while the other clutches to my clothing. Yeah, next time I’m bringing a bag.

  We get past all the instructor cabins, ducking our heads below open windows. There are low grunts and whispered conversations sneaking through, and I wonder how late everyone plans on staying up. And I secretly wonder if one of those voices belongs to Jensen.

  A club slips in Kira’s hand, banging into my crown. I bite down on my howl of pain while she sends me silent apologies. We’re far enough into the camp now that I think we can get on without my flashlight, so I click that off and take back my clubs.

  “Penny?” she whispers, as we creep around the back of her cabin.

  “Hmm?”

  “Can we do this again? Tomorrow night?”

  I can’t control the smile of triumph. “For sure.”

  Then, I stop dead in my tracks. A dark figure is on the deck of Kira’s cabin. The height makes me instantly believe it’s an authority figure, and somehow they found out about our little rule-breaking excursion. I push Kira behind me, waving her around the back of the cabin, so she doesn’t get into any trouble, but a voice stops her from getting too far.

  “Tut, tut. I hope you didn’t leave a glass slipper out there.”

  A wave of relief washes over me, and Jensen leans forward, poking his head out into the moonlight. If it weren’t for younger ears, I’d probably cuss him out for scaring me.

  “Okay, hurry in there,” I tell Kira. “And not a word to anyone, ‘kay?”

  She nods, zipping her smiling lips like she enjoys being in on such a dubious secret. She sneaks past Jensen, who is still sitting up on the deck.

  “You playing guard dog?” I tease, and he gives me a half smile before putting a finger to his lips and looking down to his lap. I squint through the darkness until I can make out just what he’s gesturing to.

  “I think he was a little sun-fried today,” Jensen says, voice low. Deaton’s sprawled across the patio couch, head in Jensen’s lap as he holds a washcloth against his hair.

  “Oh no… he sick?” I ask, stepping up onto the deck and easing down on the free end of the couch. Deaton’s feet swing up and onto my lap, and I can feel the clamminess of the skin by his ankles.

  “Heat exhaustion, I think.” Jensen flips over the washcloth. “Knocked on my cabin about an hour ago.”

  “Did you take him to the nurse?”

  He shakes his head. “Deaton’s not a fan of doctors.”

  “But, if he needs one…”

  Jensen throws me a look like he’s not stupid. I gently push on his shoulder.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll stop lecturing.” I look down at Deaton. Besides the clammy skin, he looks okay at least. “You want help putting him to bed?”

  “Nah.” Jensen throws his arm over the back of the patio couch and, for some reason, the action gives me major tummy tickles. “Gonna stay with him in case he does need medical attention.”

  “All night?”

  He shrugs. “It’s nice out. Probably more comfortable out here than it is in there.” He nods to the cabin behind us, and I shift so that I can get my hoodie off. Jensen’s smile starts to fade a bit in the corners as I drape the hoodie over Deaton. It doesn’t cover all of him, but I’ve always found comfort in whatever covering I had when I’m sick.

  “So,” Jensen says, gaze drifting up from my hoodie. “How’d it go?”

  “Oh, I tanked on that hole.” I laugh. “But Kira didn’t do so bad. I owe her ice cream.”

  “Me too?” His hopeful eyes grow big in the moonlight.

  “Yes, if you want.”

  “I want.”

  “Good.” I nudge him with my shoulder. “I get off easy.”

  He’s quiet, which is unusual, and then I notice that I haven’t moved away from him. I didn’t just nudge him with my shoulder—I rested it there. The warmth from his torso sends a scorching fire up my spine, and I can’t seem to think clearly. This heat can’t be good for Deaton, who is still lying across our legs.

  Then, slowly and deliberately, Jensen’s arm drops. His fingers find the skin by my shoulder, and he strokes back and forth, back and forth. My breathing stutters in my throat, and I don’t dare look at him. You can’t kiss someone when there’s a sick camper in your lap. But I feel like that’s exactly what I’d like to do.

  It’s only a few seconds before I realize that it’s Jensen that I’d like to kiss.

  My body starts to tense up. My skin is getting clammy. I gulp and try to focus on my breathing, only half-noticing that Jensen is just as tense, just as clammy. Are we getting sick, too? It was really hot today.

  It’s such a different air around us than I’m used to that I’m desperate to find a topic to throw us back into our friendly banter. My brain spins on the wheel of conversation, and it takes forever to land on something because all I can think about is Jensen’s fingers giving me goose bumps in places I didn’t even know was possible to get them.

  “How’d you do it?” I blurt.

  His hand stops. “Huh?”

  “The lights. For the ninth hole.”

  He lets out a shor
t, nervous laugh, and then continues his harmless yet completely meaningful touch. “Talked to the owners about night practices for instructors.”

  “So, they know about it? They approved?”

  He shakes his head. “No… I mean practices for instructors. I told them I don’t have a lot of training time, and I’d like to be on my best game for the Camp Eagle.”

  “Oooooh,” I say, dragging out the word and feeling a little dumb. His touch is distracting my normally focused brain. “That’s smart. Are you actually going to practice?”

  He lifts a shoulder, momentarily breaking our contact before he settles back down. “Well, that was for you.”

  “You could go out there. We’re only using the one hole.” I fling an arm out. “Go use another one.”

  It takes him a second to answer. “Yeah… I don’t know. Seems like a lot of work.”

  His voice is light and airy, but I can sense a realness to his joking words. I wonder if he has any idea of what I’d give to be as good as he is. To be that naturally talented, and not only that, but to have so much charisma that he basically got the strict owners to bend the rules just for him. I’m equally in awe and hopelessly jealous.

  “Isn’t that why you’re here though?” I ask. “You said you’re giving up having fun this year so you could focus. What better way to get rid of distractions than to practice all alone? Just you, the club, and the ball.”

  “No more lectures,” he teases.

  “I’m not lecturing.” I flick my gaze up to meet his, and his fun, outgoing expression melts with the seriousness of my stare. “You’ve got a chance to win. Seriously, I believe that you will.” I drop the business act. “If you stop farting around.”

  His whole body moves as he laughs, and it somewhat wakes Deaton from his sleep. We wait with bated breath until Deaton relaxes back into slumber.

  “Well, maybe I’ll go out with you tomorrow night.”

  I swear there’s a different meaning in his words.

  “Don’t know if I’ll make it to midnight again, though,” I say over a yawn. “Can we schedule a nap for tomorrow’s lesson?”

  He squeezes my shoulder. “Go to bed.”

  “I don’t want to wake him up.” I point to how much of Deaton’s body is on me now.

  Jensen finds my head with his hand and coaxes me to his chest. My heart crashes around my ribcage, and, when I settle into him, I can hear his doing the same thing.

  “Night, Pen,” he says, and his voice rumbles in my ear, down to my stomach and sets up a butterfly exhibit. Even though he’s basically shot me wide awake, I pretend I’m still just as sleepy so that I can stay right here.

  Chapter 6

  An All-Dayer (well…sort of)

  Jensen

  This week shall go down in camp history as the “Seven Day Plague.” Turns out Deaton wasn’t the only one reacting to the heat; nearly half the camp dropped like flies, some worse than others.

  Penny got hit with it Tuesday night, cancelling her late-night lesson with Kira. I took the reins until it hit me on Thursday. Luckily, it was a short sickness, cured by shade and water.

  The sun during the week didn’t help anybody, though, so the owners and instructors who were lucky enough to dodge the heat bullet set up a place with air conditioning to basically separate the ill until it passed. Only one camper was sent home due to severe dehydration. The rest of us have been guzzling the water around the clock.

  As if the universe knew it was needed, I wake up Saturday morning to a thick cloud overhead. There’s no rain as of yet, but the atmosphere is definitely cooler. I quickly roll out of bed and get dressed. Gotta get some practice in before I become a human lightning rod.

  The course is wide open, campers taking advantage of the weekend with much needed sleep after such a horrendous week. I stretch my glove on, flexing to get my fingers used to the material. A very small part of me wishes I was back in my bunk, lazing and waiting for Penny to get up so we can, as she so delicately put it, “fart around” all day. Last weekend, I was the one to pull the fun out of her, and now she’s the one cracking the whip on me. (Though I’m not sure she realizes it.)

  The look in her eyes that night with Deaton hit me straight to the heart. Not only did it strike something in me I haven’t felt in… well, a long time, but it reminded me of why I was here. This is my last year at this camp, and I should take advantage of it. And even more than that, I want to give Grandpa something good to look forward to.

  I slide the driver out of my bag, the metal dull in the lack of sunlight. Grandpa bought me this set—surprised me with it before I got on the bus. He’s always been my biggest fan.

  “Remember, Jensen,” he said, brandishing the 5 iron. “We haven’t all been this lucky.” His eyes locked with mine, the wrinkles in his dark skin crinkling in the corners. “Appreciate it.”

  It was kind of a kick in the gut. He’d told me that every year, but this one, my last one, felt different. Like I really had taken this opportunity for granted. This isn’t a cheap camp. Most campers are country club members or sponsored. My parents are wealthy people, but Grandpa talks about the times when things were rough growing up. Dad sometimes brings it up, too. How work was harder to come by, how people were still getting used to the idea of non-segregation. Feels like another life. I suppose it was.

  I take a hard look at the brand new set of clubs: hundreds of dollars just slung over my back. Dad worked hard to get where he’s at. Me? I just sort of fell into it, and, once I’m out there on my own, no amount of goofy, charismatic charm is gonna get me to fall into it again.

  The clouds rumble overhead, and I tee up, checking the storm to see if it’s gonna be a problem. I can probably play one or two holes before it starts pouring.

  Blowing out a calming breath, I check my stance, adjust my hands on the club, feel the weight of the shot, and breathe in and out once more. The swing feels good in my hands, and it connects with the Titleist on the tee, sending it off into the distance, a yard or two away from the green.

  “It’s a par three,” I hear from behind me. I swivel around to see Penny grinning from under a bright green umbrella. “Think you’ve got this one?”

  Her lips are up in a tease, and I didn’t realize until just now how much I wanted her out here with me.

  “I’ll get her in two.” I hold my fingers up. “Feel like betting on it?”

  “Winner picks the activity for tonight?”

  My brows pull in. “Are you not teaching Kira later?”

  “It’s the weekend.” She dramatically gasps. “Is Jensen Moore seriously considering work instead of play?”

  I copy her gasp, clutching my chest. “Is Penny Buzz-Kill considering fun instead of flop?”

  “That is not my last name.”

  The clouds rumble again, and her playful expression turns into one of worry. I step up to my bag and hoist it over my shoulder.

  “Bet we get two more holes in before it starts raining.”

  Her bright eyes check out from under the umbrella. “I bet you don’t even finish this one.”

  A slow grin finds itself onto my face. “You’re on.” Then I take off down the fairway, her yelling injustices behind me.

  * * *

  The rumbles above turn out to be nothing but a tease. Penny and I spend the entire day out on the course, winning and losing the bets we keep making. I’ve won about 75% of them, but she calls cheating since it really is me in charge of the outcome. But, the more we challenge each other, the more I challenge myself to get a great ending score for the day.

  The sky’s getting darker earlier because of the thick clouds, and when I step onto the ninth hole for the umpteenth time today, I reach over and gently take the umbrella from Penny’s hand.

  “Watch it rain now,” she jokes as I fold it up. Her smile starts to falter when I stick the driver out to her.

  “Bet you make par this time.”

  A single eyebrow rises, and she tilts her head in amuseme
nt. “You want to lose?”

  “Nah, I think you got it this time.”

  She snorts, and it’s the downright cutest thing I’ve heard in my whole life. I suddenly notice how sweaty my palms are.

  Her shoulders lift as she takes a deep breath, and I whistle so she knows I’m about to toss a ball to her. She catches the Titleist, giving it a look because she prefers the Callaways, and then lets out that breath.

  “I’m going to bogey this hole like I always do,” she says, shoulders slumping. She takes a step up to the tee and starts her practice swings. I study her hard this time around. Usually when we play off this tee I focus on the surroundings—the water hazard, couple of sand traps, the slight curve on the green… I’d always found the vendetta Penny had on this hole amusing. But the look of pure joy when she finally makes par will probably be the sweetest thing I’ll ever lay my eyes on, and I really want to see it.

  “Hold up,” I tell her, and she straightens, letting the driver go still in her hands.

  Her eyes round as I step up behind her.

  “You’re looking at the water, aren’t you?” I ask just over her shoulder. She smells of lavender soap and honey shampoo, and I suddenly have to swallow.

  “Sort of,” she answers, her voice soft and shallow. “I’m looking at the flag sticking out of the hole.”

  Half my mouth picks up, and I carefully take her by the chin and move her gaze slightly to the left. “A little trick here,” I say. “Don’t look at the hole. You see those trees?”

  “The ones I shouldn’t aim for?”

  I laugh. “Yeah. I want you to aim for them.”

  “Thought you wanted to win?”

  And then her neck is twisting and her eyes are flicking up to meet mine, and I suddenly realize how close we are. How one small inch could allow me to inhale her exhales, how my hand has fallen from her chin but is still hovering over her, as if even this close is not close enough. My mind loses itself in her gaze, and I start wondering what her lips taste like, or how her hair feels, or if she smells this good on any given day. The things I don’t know already because we’ve never been more than friends. I know all the important stuff, but now I want to know everything, and it shocks me backward, making me pull away.