Isn’t She Lucky

Prologue

Fourteen Years Ago

“Kase, throw the ball,” Giada says across the football field, her familiar voice reverberating across the yard, straight to my eardrums. It’s soothing. Loud, but soothing nonetheless.

I’m standing here with the football in the strong grip of my right hand, looking at her.

I’m in a trance. Completely infatuated. Giada Gardner is not only my best friend.

She’s my everything. I completely adore her – have since we were eight.

The age where boys and girls pretend to loathe each other while their bodies prepare for puberty, only we didn’t have those issues.

I like her. She likes me. We’ve never spoken these words of like to each other.

It was heavily understood, and what’s understood doesn’t need to be said. It just needs to…be.

We’re teenagers now, fourteen to be exact, and I know this fact to be true: I don’t know what love is, but I know what it feels like.

It feels like her .

Her laugh.

Her voice.

Her innocence.

Her optimism.

“Kase!”

Her impatience .

“Hold on, girl. You ain’t ready for this.”

With Giada, I’m my happiest.

With her, I feel joy in my heart.

With her, I’m king of the world – this world of privilege I was born into, where money is no object, but it could never do for me what she could. It has no blood running through it. No life. Nothing about it makes my heart leap in my chest. I don’t adore it. Don’t value it.

Don’t love it.

“Kase, throw the ball, already! It’s about to rain. Hurry up! What are you doing? Are you like, malfunctioning or something? Jeez.”

“You ain’t gon’ catch it anyway.”

“I guess we’re never going to find out,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest that I’ve secretly watched grow over the years.

She’s blossoming right before my eyes into this beautiful butterfly, and she probably doesn’t realize it.

I’m not close enough to see her facial expressions, but I know her sweet little lips are pouty.

It always makes me smile when she’s wound up.

When she does that neck-snapping thing. I know all of her mannerisms. I’ve made it a point to.

We don’t go to the same school. We don’t even live in the same city, so every minute we spend together, I use it to my advantage to learn everything there is to know about her.

“Kasim!”

“Okay, okay.” I cock the ball back and launch it like I’m Cam Newton circa 2015 when people used to call him Superman and he was ‘dabbing’ all across the field, pissing people off with his newfound confidence.

Giada is good at judging which direction she’d have to run and how far, so she takes off, dives for the ball, and catches it right before she hits the ground.

“Ouch,” I say quietly, but a slow smile forms on my face.

I love that in her. The pure grit to chase down a football and toss her whole body at it.

Her tomboyish ways haven’t diminished now that we’re teens, yet she still has a sweet, softer side that I’m privy to.

She wears cocoa butter lotion and shimmering body sprays.

Her lips stay glossy and she even paints her nails on occasion.

Ain’t nothing like a girl who’s pretty and can run a forty effortlessly without complaining about sweat.

She’s the girl who stole my heart. The friend I thought I’d never have because none of the kids at my school thought I was cool enough to hang out with me.

Yeah, I was the quarterback of the football team, but I wasn’t what you would call social or a team player.

I was good at faking. I was better at isolation.

It was so bad, my parents tried to put me in therapy. Then Giada came along.

My therapy.

She’s the girl I know will grow into the woman I will marry the first chance I get. The first chance we get. I feel that strongly about her.

And she has no idea.

But the like is there. It’s mutual. It’s omnipresent, and it has staying power.

“Man, that was a rocket, Kase. If you play like that next year, it’s gon’ be a wrap!”

She throws the ball back to me – a perfect spiral. I’m always impressed by how far she can throw. She’s good. Too good.

A drop of rain splatters on my face. Way back on my parents’ property is where we are. The estate is massive, and if we’re going to make it back to the house before the sky opens up, we need to get moving.

“Come on, G,” I tell her. “We gotta go. It’s about to pour down.”

“Okay. Beat you there,” she says, then takes off.

I tuck the football beneath my left arm and sprint to race her. She’s fast. The rain is coming down a bit faster, too.

Laughing while running with all her might, she says, “Oh my God. Hurry up, Kase! We’re going to get drenched.”

We’re still hauling it across the expansive lawn. At times like this, I wish we hadn’t gone out so far, but we did. We didn’t have to, but I chose to since I like having her all to myself. Far back to where my parents nor her mother can see us. It’s just us. Me and her. My ace. My best friend.

We almost made it to the house before the torrential downpour got us. It’s coming down so heavy, I can hardly see how to make it to the porch, but somehow, we do. We climb the stairs, open the back door, and then proceed inside.

Giada’s all giggles when we step into the mudroom. She’s not upset or pouting about her drenched hair. She’s full of joy even when we’re completely drenched. Our clothes are so wet, you can wring water out of them.

“I don’t have any extra clothes,” she says. “And my mom is going to freak out if she sees all this water on the floor.”

“Your mom will be fine. Take your shoes off and come with me.”

“Kase…”

“Trust me, G. Come on.”

“Okay,” she whispers loudly.

She steps out of her sneakers and socks, then follows me into the laundry room.

I close the door, walk over to the folded towels, and take one from the stack, handing it to her.

She takes it, wipes her face and hair, and then peels off her shirt like I’m not even in the room.

She slides her shorts down her legs, leaving nothing on but her undergarments – pink panties and a white bra.

I’m caught in a trance. I’ve never seen her like this, but something about her undressing in front of me without a care in the world gives me a feeling of elation. She’s that comfortable with me.

My eyes feast on her body – the curves I’ve never seen nor could see beneath the baggy clothes she wears.

She’s shapely – still skinny, but she has an actual dip in her waist that curves into hips.

And her damp skin looks soft. The tomboy is really a delicate girl full of grace, softness and vulnerability.

She finally covers her body with the towel, wrapping it around her like she just got out of a pool.

I blink out of my trance and walk over to the stash of clean clothes and find a pair of my shorts and a white T-shirt for her.

She drops the towel, pulls the shirt over her head, and then spends a little more time squeezing water from her hair.

I take off my shirt and shorts, slipping on dry clothes quickly, and then I walk over and take her left hand into my right and say, “Let’s go before we get in trouble.”

“Why would we get in trouble?” she asks. “Oh, for tracking water inside?”

No. For being alone like this. For watching each other undress. For the thoughts running through my mind about kissing you. About feeling you in my arms. About one day, making you my wife.

“Um, yeah,” I say. “Tracking water…let’s hurry up and clean it up before your mom sees it.”

The door swings open. As if caught in the act, I quickly release her hand when I see her mother standing in the doorway with a mop.

“What the—?” she asks partially. The look on her face is one of terror. You’d think she caught us kissing or something.

“Hey, Ms. Gardner,” I say.

“Wha—what are y’all doing in here?” Her tone is accusatory as if she knows we were up to something. We weren’t, but her face…

She looks like she’s a breath away from having a small heart attack.

“Ma, we got caught in the storm and came in here to get some towels to dry off,” Giada says.

“What are you wearing?”

“My clothes got wet. Kase let me borrow some of his.”

She looks at me and her eyes narrow. I’m waiting for the subsequent line of questions – like, where did Giada change clothes? Why were we hiding in the laundry room? How long we’ve been in the laundry room?

She says, “Your hair is drenched, child. Didn’t you see the clouds rolling in? You should’ve been back inside.”

“Yeah, but what’s the fun in that, Mom. Lighten up. It’s just water.”

“Water that I’ll have to mop up. You two left a trail from the back door straight to here.”

“I apologize Ms. Gardner. I’ll clean it up,” I offer.

“No, you won’t. I work for you, remember?”

“You don’t work for me, ma’am. You work for my parents.”

“Same difference,” she tosses out. “How do you think your mother would feel if she sees you mopping the floor—something she hired me to do?”

“I’ll explain to her what I did.”

“You mean, what you both did,” she says, throwing a hand on her hip and narrowing her eyes at Giada.

I hadn’t meant to get her in any trouble, but her mother looks like she’s ready to blow a fuse.

“Ma, do you think Mrs. Noble will let me use her hair dryer?”

“She will,” I answer before her mother has a chance to.

Her eyes move from Giada to me. They narrowed further than they had before – to slits. I really don’t think this lady likes me.

“You don’t need a hair dryer,” she responds. “Get your things so we can go. Your hair can get dry in the car.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Giada. It’s all my fault. Please, don’t make her leave.”

“Kasim, we’re leaving because your mother just arrived. I’m done for the day.”

I search the wall for the time, my eyes landing on the clock above the washer. It’s a little past six. I hadn’t known the day escaped us, but that’s how it is when I’m with Giada. Time doesn’t exist.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Ms. Gardner says.

“Okay,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment.

I don’t want to say goodbye to Giada, but I never do.

If she could stay here forever, that would be a dream come true for me, but she can’t stay.

She has to go home, and I’m left alone yet again, counting the hours, the days, minutes, and seconds until we can be together again.

“Bye, Kase. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”