Lucky Me (10 page)

“You want me to scratch your back?”

“No. You can play a game with me.”

“I don't have a phone. What are we gonna play? Tag? Red light, green light? Hide-and-seek?”

He got up and went inside. “Fine,” I said. “I'll count to twenty, and then I'm coming to find you.” I started counting, and I felt ridiculous, like a ten-year-old. “. . . Nineteen! Twenty! Ready or not—”

He came back outside, ducking as he passed through the door. “What? ‘Ready or not' what?” He sat again and put boxes on the table: dominoes, Scrabble, and checkers.

“Umm, I was going to say— Never mind. You seriously want to play a board game?”

“We don't have a pinball machine anywhere nearby. And I love these games. Which one do you want to start with?”

“Checkers, I guess. You might have to remind me how to play.”

Finn looked at me like I was crazy. “You don't know checkers?”

“I do. I just kinda forgot. But I'll remember when you tell me.”

We played until Paddy came out in his green, one-piece footy pajamas and told us it was past midnight.

I went into the lily room and took the empty twin bed. I fell asleep to the sound of Mrs. Buck's snoring.

I
woke to the smell of bacon frying.

Mrs. Buck was nowhere to be found. I quietly walked down the hall in my socks and saw Finn on his stomach on the small couch. His feet extended over the armrest.

I left him sleeping and went into the kitchen, where I heard voices—as in
two
. Mrs. Buck flipped a deck of cards in a game of solitaire. Paddy started singing.

“Who were you talking to just now?” I asked Paddy.

“Talking? Don't be silly. Just me singing.” He flipped bacon. “You slept well, did ye?”

“Yes, sir. Very well. Thank you.” They didn't fool me.
Mrs. Buck had been talking to Paddy. I'd just caught her cheating on her silent retreat.

Paddy poured me orange juice. It was thick and pulpy. (I like it thin and watery.) “I'm preparing you a full Irish breakfast,” he said. “I hope you're hungry.” Something sizzled. “Where's your friend? Still sleeping? Go and fetch 'im, or his eggs'll get cold.”

Finn appeared before I could get up, rubbing his eyes.

Paddy said, “There you are, sleepy one. Sit yourself down.” He spooned an undercooked sunny-side-up egg onto each of our plates. (I like them scrambled and well done.) Then he opened the oven, stepped up on a little stool, and took out a cookie sheet of biscuits. He gave us each two. From another frying pan he lifted two slices of browned tomato each, and finally he served several thick pieces of very fatty bacon. The whole breakfast looked undercooked and—what's the right word?—soggy.

Finn and Mrs. Buck dug in.

I ate the biscuit. I broke the egg yolk and swished some stuff around on my plate to make it look like I'd eaten the rest. Finn saw what I was doing and took one of my slabs of bacon. Paddy caught him.

“Somethin' wrong, m'dear?” Paddy asked me.

“No, no,” I said. “It's a lot, and I'm not very hungry.”

“You need to fatten your little self up. A bird never flew on one wing, you know. I'll make y'another egg,” Paddy Flanigan said. Before I could protest, I heard an egg drop into the hot pan.

Suddenly Paddy screeched. At first I thought he'd seen Finn snatch another piece of bacon off my plate and he was offended. But then he yelled again, too forcefully for it to be about bacon. Finn jumped up to help him. The sleeve of his shirt flamed at the stove's burner.

Finn kicked the stool over to the sink and pushed Paddy onto the stool so he could reach the water that Mrs. Buck already had running. Tears ran down Paddy's face. “Oh, dear. Oh my. Am I scarred for life?”

Finn looked at Paddy's wrist. “It's a little red, but that's all.”

His words calmed Paddy. “Thank you, lad.” He sniffed back a tear. “I'm going to dress it. You help yourselves to more juice.” He shuffled down the hallway.

Finn said, “That was close.”

“Too close,” I said. “You know what that was all about as well as I do. We have to hurry and find Anna O'Toole
right away. Can we go? Now? Like
right
now?”

Finn didn't protest but shoved another piece of bacon into his mouth and wrapped a biscuit in a napkin. “I'm ready.”

Mrs. Buck pointed to herself and held up two fingers.
Me too.
She put the playing cards into her pants pocket.

W
e drove away in the soup can. Mrs. Buck tapped the horn, and we all waved to Paddy. Then Mrs. Buck took out the goggles and big headphones, put them on, and moved her lips to the song on the radio.

“What if Paddy Flanigan had gotten seriously hurt?” I asked Finn as we sat smooshed in the back of the soup can. “What if his house burned down all because he was making an egg for me?”

“But none of that happened. He had an accident. His shirtsleeve was too long. And we were there to help. That's a good thing.”

Did he seriously believe that or was he just trying to make me feel better?

“I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if my curse hurt you.”

“That's okay, because you're not goin' to hurt me, and if you did, by accident, I'd get over it,” he said. “I might not let you play my Alien Attack arcade game for a little while, but I'd get over it eventually.”

I smiled, but I was still worried.

“Why don't you look out the window for the lost sheep,” he suggested. “It'll keep your mind off the chain letter.”

The fields to either side of me were filled with white wool. “There are a ton of them. Finding one with a red ribbon is probably impossible.”

“That's why it's an honor. If it was easy, just anyone could win.”

I pointed to a group of sheep. “Why do those sheep have blue paint on their fur?”

“It's wool, not fur,” he said. “Farmers let their sheep wander all around the countryside, so they mark which ones are theirs with a color or a brand.”

“What if the farmer who is blue decides to go out one day and paint a few thousand extra sheep blue?”

“You mean like to nick them?” Finn thought. “No one has ever actually done that, as far as I know.”

“Finn, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure. Shoot.”

“If you live and get tutored at the castle, where do you make friends?”

“I do a lot of volunteering with some other guys my age.”

That didn't get me exactly what I was looking for. “What about
other
friends?”

“Like who?”

I think I blushed.

“Are you asking me about girls? Like, do I have a girlfriend?”

I shrugged and lowered my voice, although I was pretty sure Mrs. Buck couldn't hear a thing with those gigantic headphones. “I was just curious.” I didn't want him to think I was interested for me, but maybe for a friend. Like, CiCi would probably ask me, and what would I tell her?

“I know some girls. I like them, as friends, but none as a girlfriend. I mean, I
like
girls, just not one certain special girl right now,” he said.

I moved my face toward the open window. The car was silent.

Suddenly the road disappeared into a field of white. Hundreds of sheep were crossing the street in front of us. Mrs. Buck slowed down as they surrounded us. She honked and inched the car forward, but they didn't move. She
honked again. Nothing. These were stubborn sheep.

Mrs. Buck put the car in park. Finn rolled down his window and let the warm sun shine on his face. The smell of burning peat filled the car. I was getting used to it now. I reached into my purse for my phone, but remembered it wasn't there.
Bummer!

“We could be here awhile,” he said. “Why don't you tell me stuff about you now.”

“Me? Okay. I study hard to get good grades so I can get into a good college. I want to be a doctor, I think. I practice my Irish dancing for twenty minutes each night—”

Finn interrupted, “Why twenty?”

“That's my lucky number times two.”

“Of course.”

“I go to church on Sundays, eat five servings of fruits and vegetables each day—”

“Why five?”

“That's what's recommended.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I floss every day, go to sleep by ten o'clock.”

“Why ten?” he asked.

“That's my bedtime.”

“Gotcha.”

“And I guess I just try to be a good person,” I added.

“What about fun?”

I said, “I have fun.”

“If you say so,” he said, and smirked.

“Really, I do. My bestie, Carissa, and I go to the movies, bake cookies, go ice-skating, and one time we went indoor go-karting. It turns out that I'm an amazing race car driver. If I don't become a doctor, I may go into race car driving professionally.”

“I would like to see you drive a race car or—what did you call them? Go-karts?”

I explained the finer points of indoor go-karting to Finn.

“I guess you do have fun.” The sheep started to move very slowly. “What else?”

“Um, I think I covered everything.” Well, I'd left out hanging out at the Donut Hole, shopping, makeup, and getting mani-pedis and hair done, because I didn't think he'd appreciate those kinds of things.

“What about a boyfriend?”

“I don't have a boyfriend.” The road cleared enough for Mrs. Buck to move forward a bit. The car jolted into gear. “Good to know,” he said under his breath with his eyes on the fields.

J
ust before noon we returned to the center of the town of Newcastle and got out to walk around. The streets were packed with people. Half wore orange jerseys and waved orange flags and bandannas. The other half wore green and waved green flags and bandannas.

Mrs. Buck found a table and spread out her cards.

Finn and I walked toward the mob. Finn tapped the shoulder of a sweaty guy in an orange shirt. He had mud in his hair and on his legs and arms. “Is the tourney over?”

“Yeah. We won!” he yelled. “We beat da team Dingle. Crushed 'em like a clove of garlic.” He sounded like the guy from Wilmington Pizza.

“Ask him about Anna,” I whispered.

He heard my accent. “You American?”

“Yeah.”

“You like rugby? This is not football, or what you call
soccer
. We play a real sport. You hear of it?”

“Yes,” I said. “I've heard of rugby.”

“Well, all right!” He held up a high five for me, and I smacked it. “Yeah! Hang out and celebrate. There is plenty of free crisps and soda for everyone!” He was scooped up by teammates and thrust onto their shoulders.

The crowd lifted him and chanted, “Enzo! Enzo!”

I guessed he was Enzo. He called down to me, “I scored da winning goal!”

“Congratulations!” I yelled back. Enzo was carried away into the crowd.

It was really loud with chanting, singing, and music. Finn got close to me and spoke right into my ear. “Looks like fun. Let's hang out. Get a soda?”

“Okay. But we're looking for Anna.”

“Got it.” Finn went off to grab us something to drink.

I walked around in search of Anna in the huge crowd. Someone stepped on my foot, untying my shoelaces. As I bent down to tie them, someone tripped over my back, and the next thing I knew, Enzo was on the ground next to me.

Someone asked him, “Are you okay?”

Someone else yelled, “Call an ambulance!”

Enzo stood up slowly, rubbed his head and his lower back. “No worries. I'm a tough rugby player.” Blood dripped from his hairline.

Finn returned with two Cokes, stopping short when he saw Enzo. “Look what I did,” I said. “We have to find Anna O'Toole before something else bad happens.”

I was pushed and shoved and found myself among the green team, the ones who'd lost the rugby game, but you'd never know it. They were covered in crusty mud, arm in arm, singing songs of victory. Someone threw an arm over my shoulder and included me in a row of high kicks, which I was good at, but I had to find Anna.

A girl shouldered her way into the team with fists full of warm soft pretzels. She looked a little older than me and was tall and muscular. Her hair was short, the same color and wavy-frizzy as mine. Her eye was swollen, her lip was fat, and drops of dried blood were around her nose. She was
très
muddy. Everyone took a pretzel and patted her on the back.

I asked her, “You played too?”

“Of course. GIRLS RULE!” Her voice was high and
girly. It didn't match her tough and dirty appearance. “Want a pretzel?”

“Sure. Thanks.” I took one. “I'm Meghan.”

“Hi, Meghan.” She took a huge bite of the pretzel. “I'm so hungry.” She took mustard packets out of her pocket. “You like mustard?” She opened one and squeezed it into her mouth.

“Sure,” I said. “On my pretzel.”

She opened another and squeezed it onto both of our pretzels.

Someone in a green shirt called, “Where is our MVP? Where's our most valuable player?”

Another player yelled, “Anna! Where's Anna?”

Anna?

T
he girl with the mustard called back, “Yoo-hoo. I'm over here.” She wiggled her fingers and tilted her head in a cute way, which was weird, considering she looked like a boy covered in mud.

This was Anna?
I took a closer look. Of course this was Anna! Besides the age and height difference, and the cuts and bruises, it was like I was looking into a mirror.

“There's our girl!” A guy put a ridiculous green-and-white beret on her head. The way her hair stuck out underneath it made her look less like a punching bag and more like a girl.