Gettin' Lucky (8 page)

He looked cute. I hated to admit it to myself, but he did. He must’ve gotten a haircut over the weekend; I could tell from the rigid lines of his sideburns. Jesse always hated the way he looked immediately after a haircut, but something about the goofiness of it, that week before it had really grown in a bit, was super appealing to me.

He saw me at the exact moment that I saw him. There was no chance to dime-turn out of there, feigning oblivion. I recoiled, which must’ve confirmed for him that I was, in fact, aware of his presence.

His eyebrows shot up—twin question marks.

He opened his mouth as though he was about to say something.

I couldn’t imagine what he would say. A weak apology would only add insult to injury. A deep, sincere apology would probably mess with my head. And a non-apology might just about tear me up.

Right, then. Nothing good could come of an encounter.

I channeled whatever minute reserves of
energy remained coiled deep within. It was much, much easier said than done.

Jesse’s eyes widened. Maybe this was difficult for him, too.

Good.

I sputtered out a weak little cough and tore down the hallway, stumbling slightly as I speed-walked off.

Awesome, Cass,
I thought, hiccupping as I ran.
You are so cool.

I pushed the voice in my head out as best I could. I was late enough for first period as it was.

Or so I told myself.

I made it to first period just as the late bell rang, sliding into my seat as I attempted to shrug off the asthmatic hiccups that had seized me as I—
let’s be honest now, Cass—
fled the sight of my ex-boyfriend. Also, my ankle hurt from when I had tripped. I rubbed it absently, feeling big-time sorry for myself.

“What’s up?” Kelly whispered urgently. I tried to shrug it off, but by this point, she knew me better than that.
“What?”
she insisted, this time reaching over her desktop
to poke me with her mechanical pencil. I noticed that her hair was done up in two elaborate braids down her back, Pippi Longstocking style. On anyone else, this hairstyle might have looked seriously insane, but Kelly, as usual, managed to walk that fine line between cute and mildly threatening.

“Ow.” I rubbed my elbow where she had poked it and glared at her. “I didn’t need that. Jesse encounter,” I offered by way of short-handing the situation. Though the sharp pain in my elbow had, in fact, distracted me from the dull throbbing of my ankle.

“Oooh.” She sucked her breath in appreciatively. “Rough. In that case, I apologize for my violent outburst.”

“Apology accepted,” I said primly, sitting back in my seat.

Albon came in a few minutes later, and class progressed without much fanfare. I took the opportunity to sink into a little mind-movie of my own. Suddenly I was that chick from that eighties movie, the one who borrows her mother’s white leather outfit for the rockin’house party but spills some crazy drink on it. Obviously she can’t afford to have it cleaned or replace it, so she
lets the dorkiest guy in school pay her to pretend like he’s her boyfriend. Shockingly, he turns out to be pretty cool, and after much mayhem, they end up together.

In my version, I was the popular cheerleader chick. I mean, for
real,
the popular cheerleader chick. Not just some random stray that Alana had adopted and launched to wild high school celebrity. That left Jesse to be the social outcast. A stretch, sure, but hey—it was my mid-morning fantasy.

And since it was
my
fantasy, Jesse’s social fate was all mine to manipulate to my heart’s content. Who cared if I ruined my mom’s best outfit that I
totally
stole without permission? Who cared if I couldn’t afford to have it fixed? Not I, that was for sure. Mom and I (‘cause in this little alternate reality, my mom was still around, and she was the cool type of mom who has absolutely no qualms about sharing her slammin’wardrobe with her favorite—and only—daughter) had closets full of amazing outfits. She wouldn’t even notice that this one was gone. So I had no need for Jesse’s money, or Jesse’s desperate grab at A-list status. Ours was not exactly a cutesy little love story.

Rather, it was a vision of revenge: pure, sweet, and unfettered.

I reveled in it. At least until Albon roused me with a brisk slap of his palm to his desk.

“For your next project,” he announced, “you will be required to work in groups.”

Who in the what now? We’d had a huge test on “the birth of the Hollywood blockbuster” just before winter break. To be dropping another major assignment on us now? During the bleakest, boringest months of winter? So what if we didn’t have snow in Vegas; that was just cruel and unusual.

Albon smirked as the usual rash of hushed protests broke out among my fellow classmates. “As we’ve discussed, the production team and crew is one of the most integral aspects of making a successful movie. It may seem obvious, but trouble on the set can sink even the most promising films.”

Huh? What was he getting at? His ramblings, though accurate enough, were really only relevant if we were going to be making a movie.

“Over winter break you were expected to read chapter six in your anthology:
‘Getting Technical.’ You should be familiar with the basics of camera work and film technique.”

Very sneaky, Albon.
A quick glance around the classroom revealed exactly how many students had done the reading. Thankfully, I was one of them. My odd obsession with movies and pop culture had finally come in handy.

“There will be four to a group,” he continued. “All self-selected. But choose wisely. The fate of your film may depend on it.”

We were making a movie? How cool! All at once, my enthusiasm for the project overrode my panic at the thought of working in groups. I hadn’t been in a position to group off since Alana and I were still friends. Of course, Katy and Alana immediately scootched their desks together territorially, scoping out the rest of our classmates for potential cling-ons. I saw Katy shoot a wistful glance in my direction, but I immediately swiveled in my seat so that I was out of her line of vision. Ugh. I
so
didn’t need her pity.

A hand clamped down on mine. “You can be my little Spielberg junior.”

It was Kelly, who was now in the process
of sidling her entire desk closer to mine in a manner that paralleled Katy and Alana. I felt a pang of—what? Nostalgia? Relief? Excitement? Who knew. I couldn’t quite identify it, but I decided to go with it.

“We need two more,” I stated.

Kelly rolled her eyes. “
Clearly,
Elliot is in our group.” She signaled to him like an air-traffic controller bringing in a 747. Even with his myopia, Elliot couldn’t miss Kelly’s spastic gesticulations. He wandered over toward us, ever-present messenger bag at his side. I giggled when I noticed that, despite his precise scientific calculations on Saturday, his nose had turned a healthy shade of pink.

“I should warn you, I really don’t know too much about movies,” he said, pushing his glasses back up his sunburned nose.

“Well, that’s okay,” I said cheerfully, pleased with my new group. “I do.”

“We’ve got to find one more helpless victim,” Kelly pointed out.

Elliot shook his head. “It won’t work. There are an odd number of kids in this class.”

We looked around the room. Sure enough, it seemed as though everyone else
had already paired off into their happy little quartets.

Kelly shrugged. “I guess we’re on our own.” She wrinkled her nose. “Bummer. I think that means we’re each going to have to do one-fourth more work.”

“Or one of us could just do double,” Elliot pointed out.

“Either way,” I chimed in, abstaining from offering a quick little equation of my own.

“You don’t mind?” Kelly asked me, surprised. “Seriously, it could take us a lot longer to finish our movie with only three people.”

I shook my head. “We’ll get it done.” According to Albon, a local electronics outlet had offered to loan us the cameras and stuff, yet another perk to being a magnet school. And I was pretty sure it wouldn’t take us too long to master iMovie.

“You sound pretty confident,” she observed.

“Well, you know,” I replied, extremely matter-of-fact, “three has always been my lucky number.”

This was true, based on the fact that my grandparents had married on March 3.
Threes had been a theme at their wedding, which I thought was sort of adorable. It was kind of a nice way to counter the old jinx of bad things happening in threes.

Elliot sighed. “That’s not the most scientific way to go about these things, you know,” he said.

“No,” I agreed. “It’s not.”

Fortunately, that seemed to be a sufficient explanation for Elliot. For now, at least.

Friday night was poker night. As usual, Dad had no qualms whatsoever about letting me go to Kelly’s. I was starting to feel more than a little bit guilty about deceiving him, sure—he was such a great, understanding dad—but at the same time, I was feeling cheerier lately than I’d been feeling in weeks. I rationalized the dishonesty to myself by clinging to the idea that it was for the greater good. My theory seemed all the more plausible when I found a penny faceup in the parking lot of the Venetian. I mean, that’s always a good sign. I’m a huge believer in the lucky penny.

“I brought the guacamole,” I said, holding a huge Tupperware container out as
Kelly pulled her front door open. It was my specialty, one of my only culinary talents.

“Great,” she said, eyeing the monstrous batch. “That’ll come in handy if there’s, like, a flood or whatever and we’re forced to hole up underground for a week or so.”

“Oh, it’ll never keep that long,” I teased, waving my hand in her face.

I was the last to arrive, and I couldn’t help but note that I felt much more comfortable walking into the living room, where everyone was gathered, than I had at my first poker game. I guess it helped to have spent time outside of school with Elliot—I was starting to slide him firmly into the “friend” category. He offered me a shy wave as I placed the guac on the coffee table and broke out a bag of chips to go with.

“Homemade?” james asked, looking dubious.

“It’s the only thing I know how to make—other than microwave popcorn, and even that’s touch and go—but trust me, I make it well,” I assured him.

“She’s not lying,” Andy shrieked enthusiastically, shoveling the dip into her mouth slightly maniacally.

“Can I get you something to drink? A
Diet Coke?” Kelly offered, dropping a can neatly next to me on the table before I could even answer her.

“Have you been practicing?” marcus asked me, manhandling the deck of cards as his lips curled into a smarmy smile. I couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but for some reason, there was always something smarmy about Marcus. He was even less appealing to me with Dorito-breath, a condition with which he was currently afflicted.

I glanced at Elliot, who briefly made eye contact but quickly looked away from me. “Yup,” I said. “A little bit.”

“Awesome,” Kelly said, settling into her seat and sliding the dealer button in front of her. “Then I guess we can get started.” Marcus dutifully slid the deck over to her.

It was like the World Series of Poker. Or, at least, in my mind it was. It was a good hour before anyone folded for real. James moved all-in on a semi-bluff straight draw with an ace and a ten after a kingqueen-queen flop. Marcus called quickly with an ace and a king, and took the pot with a pair of kings when two blanks fell on the turn and the river. James was a decent sport about it, though. Probably because at
that point he was only down thirty bucks. This was my kind of crowd—they knew how to cut their losses.

A short time later, Andy was low on chips and moved all-in with a suited ace and a seven. Marcus was holding an ace and a king and was only too thrilled to call. Marcus may have been a good poker player, but he was kind of a slimeball, I was starting to realize. And the Dorito-breath was in full force. The flop came ace-king-nine, Marcus’s two-pair held up, and Andy went out. She was slightly less gracious about it than James had been, but we managed to placate her with a healthy dose of guacamole.

Kelly hoped to get head-up against Marcus—I think mainly because his cackling was starting to seriously creep her out—but drew to a disadvantage when her turn at being dealer was over. After that, her confidence was shot. She was out of the game, but offered to deal for the rest of us.

Suddenly, our game had been reduced by half. And I was one of the three left standing (or, um, sitting). I couldn’t believe it. I looked around the table. Elliot’s face was impassive. Marcus looked
extremely pleased with himself. The moment was tense.

Kelly slapped two cards down in front of each of us. Marcus slid his lucky charm—a silver chip he’d gotten as part of a custom set—and looked at his hand. He chuckled to himself.

Subtle. Not.

Elliot lifted the corners of his cards tentatively. His face was a blank, completely inscrutable. I couldn’t help but admire his poker face.

My cards were crap.

We each tossed a few chips into the pot. I couldn’t get a read on anyone else’s hand. I mean, Marcus was pretty much
always
grinning like a big weirdo.

The flop was useless to me.

Marcus raised, guffawing to himself.

Elliot raised, impassive as ever.

I paused. Tapped my fingers on the table. Took a sip of soda.

And folded.

“Yes!” Marcus cried, slamming his fist down on the table.

I glared at him. “Hey, it’s an improvement over last week,” I said, crossing my arms defensively over my chest.

“That’s why he’s being such a jerk,” Kelly said, shooting daggers of her own out of her eyes. “Because you’re finally a threat to him.”

“Oh, hey, come on, now,” marcus protested. “Let’s not get carried away here.” He chuckled. “A threat.”

“Maybe I’m not a contender just yet—,” I started.

“But she’s sure holding her own as a player,” Elliot chimed in. “I mean, she kicked
your
butt for a few rounds of betting, right?”