Lucky Girl by Jamie Pacton (novels for beginners txt) 📕

eyes are wide as he stares at the tape I’ve destroyed. He looks like he’s putting together the pieces of a puzzle.

I don’t have time to think about what that might mean, though, because at that moment a police siren splits the night. Holden grabs his phone and his bag from the desk. “Did you call the police?”

“No! Did you?” I continue to tear apart the pieces of tape, as if that could somehow erase what was on it and what Holden saw.

“Why would I call the police on myself? Somebody must’ve seen you two coming into the store.” Holden’s voice is scornful. The sirens are coming closer.

“Go!” I shout to Bran, who’s standing with his mouth open, stunned into silence by the last few moments. I shove him out the office door. As we run through Wanda’s, Holden on our heels, I stuff the remains of the VHS tape into my bag, nearly slicing my hand open on the hedge trimmers I most certainly didn’t need to bring.

We burst through the front door as a pair of police cars scream up the street, headed toward us. Holden takes off running down the alley.

“Jane! Let’s go!” Bran grabs my hand, and we race off in the opposite direction, darting through yards and past houses, hoping not to get caught.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

WE BURST THROUGH BRAN’S FRONT DOOR, NOT SLOWING DOWN until we’re in his room. Drawing in ragged breaths, I collapse on his floor.

Bran lives near downtown in an old converted church, and his bedroom is in a loft built into the steeple tower. Between running away from the police and dashing up the flights of stairs to his room, I think my heart might explode. I haul air into my lungs and glance out his window. From this high up, all of Lakesboro is visible, including the two cop cars outside of Wanda’s.

Bran slams his bedroom door. Outside, the sounds of police sirens recede.

“Jane,” Bran says, as he unzips his coat. He flings his hat across the room. “What’s going on?” He’s trying to keep his voice even, but it’s not working. He’s pissed.

“What do you mean?” I try to look nonchalant. I shrug my backpack off and lay it on the floor. Streamers of VHS tape hang from it. Percy, the orange cat who was sleeping in Bran’s room, starts batting at the tape.

Bran grabs one of the magnetic ribbons and shakes it. “What do I mean? Why did you smash the tape rather than let us watch it? What is this strange, gross thing happening between you and Holden? Why are you so distracted you keep forgetting things? Are you okay?”

I let out a long breath. He’s right about all those things. But when they’re piled up like that, it feels like far too much. I shake my head.

“I’m not,” I say in a very tired voice. I cover my face with my hands. “I’ve had a rough week or so.”

Bran plops down on the floor beside me. “You’re the lotto winner, aren’t you?”

I turn to him, wanting to deny it. Wanting to run out of there or to keep lying, but I can’t. Not anymore.

“How do you know?”

“Jane. I’ve known you since we were twelve. Give me some credit.” Bran gently moves my hands away from my face.

“You’re a very good investigator,” I say in a strained voice. “Yes, I’m the lotto winner.”

A jagged, incredulous laugh explodes out of Bran. “You’re really worth millions of dollars?”

I nod miserably. “Only if I can figure out how to get someone to cash the ticket for me. Because I bought it as a minor, and if the lotto commission finds out, then not only am I not rich, but I’m also a criminal.”

Bran lets out a slow breath. “Can’t you just give it to your mom?”

I groan and stretch my legs out in front of me. Wouldn’t it be magical if things were that easy?

“Can you even imagine the bullshit she’d buy?”

“Oh my God, it would be so much.” Bran scrunches up his forehead, like he’s seeing the piles of stuff in his mind.

I nod and continue. “I have no doubt she’d purchase entire thrift stores in one fell swoop. We’d have, like, a barn stuffed with wedding dresses. Or a museum of photo coasters. Or who knows what else.”

“Maybe a warehouse full of sad-clown paintings?”

“Most certainly at least a basement full of them.”

“And don’t forget all the dolls. You definitely need some creepy dolls at your house.”

“Shut up,” I moan. “Don’t ever mention that again, and especially not to my mom.”

We both laugh, which drains some of the tension from between us.

“But you could use this money to do a lot of good,” Bran says softly. “And get your mom some help.”

“I know,” I reply. “I know she needs help and this could get us there, but I’m still figuring it out. My grandma doesn’t want anything to do with the money, and my mom’s not an option. I wish you were eighteen.”

“Me too,” he says. “What a mess.”

We’re quiet for a moment. It’s a comfortable silence, a familiar one. A silence that feels like home, as we both think our thoughts. “Are you mad at me?” I ask eventually in a small voice.

Bran leans his head on my shoulder. “I’m annoyed—because we could’ve celebrated together, and then I wouldn’t have gone on the news like an ass and said we’d find the winner—”

“Technically, you did find the winner.”

Bran laughs. “Technically, yes. Though I don’t think I can break the story and use it on my internship application. But, no. I’m not mad. You’re my best friend, and this is stressful. Plus, I know you. You need to retreat and figure things out, unlike some of us who go charging in and trying to solve things ourselves immediately.”

Something in me lifts, like a great weight being let go. It’s a gift to have someone who knows me so well. “You’re the best. Are you sure you’re not