“How did he die?”
“Heart attack. He was really healthy—but I guess he had stress from work, or something. My mom always says if he hadn’t worked so hard, he’d still be here. She cries about the money we have. She gives it away to charity, says she wishes we were poor and that he were still alive. And sometimes I forget he’s dead and I look for him. Sorry. You probably don’t get it.”
“I do get it,” Lucky said. And then she added her lie, like a matching earring. “My mom died, too.” The made-up story flowed easily from her lips. She didn’t even feel guilty for it, because she wanted this so badly. When she was done talking, Steph reached for her hand and squeezed. The sun was almost down now. In the sky, a star flickered on, then held. Lucky squeezed Steph’s hand back; a tear slid down her cheek. She wasn’t crying because she was sad, and she wasn’t crying for her mother. For once, she was crying because she was happy. She had made a friend.
* * *
“All right, so let me get this straight,” her father said the next night. “I’m still Virgil, but you’re Andi for short. We’re from Lansing. Drove here for an end-of-summer treat. Came up through Toronto for fun, went to the top of the CN Tower. Your mother died last year. A rare blood disorder. It’s brilliant, Lucky. Really, it is.”
“I wasn’t trying to be brilliant. I was just telling you in case you talked to her. I didn’t want you to mess up my story. She’s my fr—”
“I was chatting with her mother earlier. Name’s Darla. I arranged that the four of us are going to have dinner. Guess we’re not on vacation anymore, kiddo. We’ve got a job now. These people are loaded. Darla was wearing a tennis bracelet at the pool, for God’s sake. Still wearing her ring but, thanks to you, I know she’s a widow. Anyway, we’re meeting them in half an hour and we have a little more of our story to get straight. We’re going to tell them you’re sick, too, with the same rare hereditary blood disorder that killed your mother. That I can’t afford the treatments, that coming here was a wish you had and I wanted to grant it because—well, I just don’t know how long you’ll live.”
“Dad. Please, do we have to? Isn’t the one lie enough?”
He was fixing his tie in the mirror, but now he turned to her, perplexed.
“But we’re only here for the week. Then we’ll move on, as we always do, and you’ll never see her again. She’s not your friend. This is our job! Remember, we might be flush now, but our luck is always changing. And money doesn’t last forever. I spent a hell of a lot of it on this week.”
Lucky hung her head. “You said we were on vacation! You said that’s all it was!”
Her father sighed and sat down beside her on her bed. “When an opportunity presents itself, you have to take it, kiddo. Or someone else will. I thought I taught you that. You can’t let your guard down, ever. Not even when you’re having fun—especially when you’re having fun. Now come on, get moving. Fix your hair and dry your face. We’re due downstairs.”
* * *
The next morning, Lucky sat at the edge of the pool and dipped her toes in. The concrete scraped at her thighs. Steph plopped down beside her and Lucky turned to look at her, trying to memorize her so she’d never forget this. Steph’s hair cascaded down her shoulders. She had freckles on her nose, a crooked grin—but she wasn’t smiling now.
“It’s school next week,” Steph said, glum, as she put her feet in the water beside Lucky’s. “Summer’s almost over. I can’t believe it.”
Lucky searched for a response, but then Steph realized something and frowned. “Sorry. You don’t get to go to school. You’re homeschooled. Because you’re—”
In that moment, Lucky really felt it: sick. She felt ill at the idea of pretending to be sick to this person she was supposed to see as a “mark” but who she wanted to actually be able to call a friend. A real one. She felt sick all through her body, like she really did have the same rare blood disorder she had lied and said had killed the mother she had never actually met.
“I’m not sick,” Lucky said. The words burned out of her throat. Was she really about to betray her father, to go against his story? They’d have to leave the hotel. Right away. She’d never see Steph again. But still. Soon she was never going to see her again anyway—and, worse, her supposed friend was going to remember Lucky, remember this, for the rest of her life.
“My dad just says that,” Lucky continued, staring up, directly at the sun, willing it to burn her eyes blind. “I’m not sick. I’m fine. Perfectly healthy. Nothing is wrong with me.”
Steph turned. She reached forward and put her hand on top of Lucky’s. “Really?” she asked.
“Really,” Lucky answered.
Steph paused for a moment, considering. Then she said, “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Lucky said, and now she was crying. “It’s not okay.”
“I get it. You want to pretend you’re fine so that you will be fine. I heard my mom on the phone with her bank. It’s supposed to be a surprise, but she’s going to give your dad the money he needs for those procedures. You’re going to get better. Isn’t that great?”
Lucky was seeing black spots now. “Your mom shouldn’t do that—”
“Oh, Andi. It’s okay, we have lots of money. You’ll be able to go to school now. Maybe.” Lucky felt tears streaming down her cheeks to her jawbone, plop, plop, onto her collarbones. “Maybe you’ll move closer to me, maybe you’ll move to Bellevue and we’ll live near each other. I know my mom would like that. She really wants to see your dad again. And we’ll go to the same school, and it will be just perfect. And maybe”—she was grasping Lucky’s arm now—“our parents will get married. And we’ll be sisters. Come on, imagine it!”