Struck Read online

  Struck

  Struck

  Deb Loughead

  Orca currents

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  Copyright © 2009 Deb Loughead

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Loughead, Deb, 1955-

  Struck / written by Deb Loughead.

  (Orca currents)

  ISBN 978-1-55469-212-5 (bound).--ISBN 978-1-55469-211-8 (pbk.)

  I. Title. II. Series: Orca currents

  PS8573.O8633S87 2009 jC813’.54 C2009-903353-4

  Summary: When Claire starts to experience success she’d never dreamed possible, she worries that a magical event is the cause.

  First published in the United States, 2009

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2009929367

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Cover design by Teresa Bubela

  Cover photography by Getty Images

  Author photo by Steve Loughead

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 5626, Station B

  Victoria, BC Canada

  V8R 6S4

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 468

  Custer, WA USA

  98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  Printed on 100% PCW recycled paper.

  12 11 10 09 • 4 3 2 1

  For my sister, Joanne Orsini.

  Contents

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter one

  It was one of those days when you don’t even want to step outside—a bleak and windy Sunday in November. And of course my mom asked me to run to the store. She was craving clam chowder. Clam chowder, of all the stupid things! The New England kind. Not the Manhattan kind. And she wanted it, like, right away.

  “There’s some money in my purse, Claire. It’s in the hallway on the table.”

  She wasn’t even looking at me. She was flopped on the sofa with the clicker in her hand, flipping through the channels.

  “Why can’t you go, Mom? I’m kinda busy right now.” Why don’t you get out of the house yourself for a change? You’re getting so fat and lazy! That’s what I really wanted to snap back at her. But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. They’d been hurt enough lately.

  “My arthritis is acting up again,” she said. “My feet are killing me.” This was her usual excuse. She used to cope with it and just carry on with her day—before Dad left, that is. Ever since then, she’d been housebound. And at fifteen, I didn’t want a stay-at-home mom anymore. She needed to get out and get on with her life. But Dad packed her zest for life into his suitcase and took it with him. I didn’t miss him at all, but she sure did.

  Besides, I had better things to do that day than running errands for my mom. I had a math test to study for, and I needed to pull up my lousy marks. I also wanted to memorize a dramatic monologue for an audition at school. Oh, and there was daydreaming about Eric. That was always a priority. He was stuck in my head like a burr on your sleeve. There was nothing I could do to shake him off.

  The only problem was, I didn’t stand a chance. Eric was going out with my number one rival, Lucy. She was one of the most popular girls at school—one of those girls that you never feel cool enough to be friends with. Lucy wins at everything by hardly even trying, and she is always surrounded by a flock of friends. I’d secretly wished she would be my friend. But Lucy and I had never been close the way my best friend Seema and I were. Lucy and I talked sometimes, during drama and English class, and said “hi” in the halls, but that was about it.

  Sometimes I had fantasies about putting that girl out of my misery. But that’s all they ever were, crazy, twisted fantasies. Like, what if she walked a little too close to the edge of the stage one day and “accidentally” fell off and broke her ankle? I’d have to take over her role in a play—and I would totally rock the part. I wished I could control my vivid imagination, but it just wasn’t happening.

  I left for the store just as the first fat raindrops started to pelt my head. A mushy mixture of rain and snow, they felt like icy needles on my scalp. I hurried along the sidewalk, thinking about my mom the entire time. I thought about the way she didn’t care about herself and about her lack of interest in anything these days. She’d turned into a boring lump. I would never let my life turn out like hers. I would never be like her.

  Dad had ditched us a few months earlier because of what he called a “midlife crisis.” Mom seemed to be curling into herself like a snail into its shell. She hardly ever showered, she hardly ever moved. I didn’t miss Dad’s lousy moods or his hair-trigger temper. Or the way he used to grab Mom by the arm and squeeze until he left a bruise. I sure couldn’t figure out why she missed it.

  Her face was always a blank mask, her eyes dull and staring. She was always sighing. Oh, and asking me to run to the store to pick up random stuff that she had a craving for. Sometimes it was weird, like a jar of pickled herring, or a box of instant mashed potatoes. I’d have to drop everything I was doing and run to the store. Just like today.

  Why, I wanted to ask her, does your suffering have to interfere so much with my life? Why can’t I talk to you about some of the things that are bugging me so much these days? Why is it always about YOU? But these days mouthing off didn’t even make her flinch, she was in such a sad headspace.

  My life was in need of a major overhaul too. But I had no idea how I could possibly change it. There’s not much you can do if you suck at math. I could study harder, maybe, but that had never worked for me in the past. And how do you “get the guy” when there’s so much competition out there. It was the same thing with that coveted role in the play, the one I was going to audition for. I knew I didn’t stand a chance.

  The clouds were low now and purple as a bruise. Shivering, I began to run toward the main street. As the slushy rain spattered my face, curse words spilled from my lips for forgetting my umbrella. I stopped on the corner and waited for a break in traffic before stepping off the curb. For an instant I imagined how guilty my mom would feel if I got struck by a car while I was on an errand for one of her dumb cravings.

  When I reached the plaza a few minutes later, I spotted it right away, stuffed into a trash can outside the supermarket doors. Thinking back, maybe I should have just run right past it.

  I stopped to check it out. It was an umbrella in gorgeous rainbow shades, like stained glass or a kaleidoscope. Someone had left it there in the can. Broken, I thought. I spun a glance around to see if anyone was watching, then yanked it out by the curved handle and snapped it open.

  It was perfect. I closed it, tucked it under my arm and hurried into the store. When I stepped out a few minutes later, it was as if someone had opened a drain in the sky. I popped the umbrella open and started walking, dreading the sight of Mom sprawled on the sofa when I got back. Of course she would be wai
ting for me to deliver her food.

  I spun the umbrella in my hands, dwelling on all the stuff that was bothering me. It seemed as if everything was going wrong for me. Sometimes I thought I might be turning into my mom—as if her bad luck was rubbing off on me. If only, somehow, my luck could change. That’s exactly what I was thinking when it happened.

  First there was a brilliant flash of what could only have been lightning. I shrieked as a sharp pins-and-needles jolt shot up my arm. I was so shocked that I dropped the umbrella. My hands were shaking, my whole body vibrating. And my heart was thumping hard. It felt almost like a brush with death!

  I looked up at the sky waiting for the coming thunderclap. But it never came. I frowned as I wiped the raindrops from my face.

  Cripes, that was close! I thought, picking up the umbrella. And too weird! Must be climate change messing things up. The curved handle felt warm for some reason. I shook out my arm trying to shake off the odd tingly sensation I’d been left with. I took a couple of deep breaths and the trembling subsided. Then I looked around.

  Everything else was just carrying on as if nothing had happened. Cars kept right on swishing past on the rainy street. People hurried along the sidewalks, hunched against the lousy weather, rushing to get out of the rain. Nobody else was staring at the sky. And nobody was staring at me either. No one had noticed the bizarre bolt that had just given me such a jolt.

  Within a few minutes I pretty much forgot about it myself. My mind wandered back to Mom on the sofa and my jerk of a dad. And everything I had to get done that day. And Eric.

  chapter two

  When I stepped inside, I left the umbrella in the front hallway to dry.

  Mom wasn’t on the sofa where I’d left her, where she’d spent so much time the last few months. I could hear the shower running, and the sound of her voice—singing. My mom was singing in the bathroom. I didn’t hear that every day! I wandered down the hallway and stood outside the door. She shut the water off, and then I knocked.

  “Be right out, Claire.” In a moment she opened the bathroom door, smiling. She had a towel wrapped around her hair and looked cozy in her bathrobe. “Ah, that feels so much better.”

  “I’ll bet,” I couldn’t resist saying aloud.

  “Where’ve you been?” she said. I narrowed my eyes.

  “Where you sent me an hour ago. At the store. For clam chowder. Remember?”

  “I did? Hmmm. Well, I’m not really hungry right now. Have some yourself if you want, Claire. I’ve got other stuff to do. I’ve got a plan. I’m going to see if I can find myself a job.”

  “Huh?” was the only word I could manage.

  A plan? You’ve got an actual plan to find a job? This I’ve gotta see!

  “You know how I always wanted to work as an esthetician?”

  How could I possibly forget? Mom loved doing manicures and pedicures and often practiced on me and my friend Seema. She gave us facials too, and neck and shoulder massages. I always figured she’d missed her calling. But whenever she mentioned it, Dad told her she’d never be good at it and asked who’d look after the cooking and cleaning if she went out to work. Once he’d shot down her dreams, she wouldn’t talk about it for a while.

  “Well, I’m going out right now to apply at a couple of the local salons,” she said.

  “You are? Mom, that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you,” I told her.

  “Thanks, sweetie. I figure it’s about time I got the heck out of here.”

  “That is so cool,” I said. “But what happened? I mean, when I left for the store a while ago, you were stuck to the sofa like you never planned to get off.”

  “I don’t know really,” she said. “It just hit me all of a sudden. This voice in my head was saying: Enough sitting around and moping. Get on with it, Anna. I was struck with this brilliant plan, this bolt, right out of the blue.” Mom headed toward her bedroom, humming.

  A bolt right out of the blue? It was like what just happened to me with the umbrella. But it couldn’t be. Getting zapped by lightning couldn’t possibly change your life. Could it? Quite a coincidence—a very weird one.

  That afternoon I didn’t think any more about the bizarre coincidence. I had bigger problems to focus on, like the math quiz I had to face.

  I slumped into my desk chair and flipped open the math textbook. I unwrapped one of the chocolate bars I’d just bought and chomped down on it. If anything could soothe my math worries, it was a chocolate and caramel explosion in my mouth. I stared at the jumble of numbers, waiting, as usual, for my mind to go blank as soon as I tried to solve the first problem. Numbers. How I despised them!

  But something was different. When I looked at the page it was as if all the pieces had suddenly fallen into place, and I got it. I actually got it! I shook my head, trying to figure out why it was all making sense now. Huh?

  I sat hunched at my desk under the lamplight, scribbling answers. I raced through each problem without a hint of hesitation. I zoomed through the math unit without stopping—until the sound of Mom’s voice shook me back to reality.

  She was still singing. And I was getting every math question right. Before I had a chance to consider the weirdness of it all, the phone rang.

  I grabbed it before my mom could.

  “Hello?”

  “Claire? Is that you? You sound so much like your mom now.”

  Great. The one and only jerk. What could he possibly want today?

  “Oh. Hi, Dad. What’s going on?” I said.

  “Did you enjoy our nice little dinner last Thursday night?” he asked.

  Our nice little dinner. Right. A greasy burger and limp fries at some lame fast-food outlet. I spent Thursdays after school at my dad’s apartment. I’d sit at the kitchen table doing my homework while he watched sitcom reruns and drank a couple of beers. We always ordered a pizza, and then he drove me home. Now he thought he was some kind of hero because we’d eaten at a restaurant for a change.

  “I’ll never forget it,” I told him in a flat voice. I think I heard him snicker.

  “So is your mom home?” he asked.

  “Yeah, she’s here.” I said. “Why?”

  “Because I want to talk to her.”

  “Why do you want to talk to her, Dad?”

  “I don’t need to explain that to you, Claire.”

  “Who is it, honey?” Mom was standing in my bedroom doorway. She was dressed to go out. The last thing I wanted was for Dad to say something rotten and spoil her good mood.

  “It’s Dad. Should I tell him you’re on your way out?”

  Her face sort of lit up. Bad sign. I didn’t want her to get all hopeful, the way she always did after she talked to him. He was probably just going to sweet-talk her so she’d forgive him for missing another child-support payment. Then she’d crash on the sofa again when he let her down, the way he always did. He never followed through on anything.

  “No, I’ll talk to him,” she said. I handed her the phone without saying good-bye to him. “Rick?” I heard her say as she walked toward her bedroom. “How are you anyway?” Her voice practically dripped honey.

  I didn’t want to hear the outcome of this call. So I went back to studying math. I was still getting every answer right! As much as math suddenly made sense to me, nothing else did. That lightning bolt flashed in my mind for an instant. The randomness of it. I shivered.

  Extremely weird.

  chapter three

  Be careful what you wish for. Why did I keep hearing those words in my head?

  I couldn’t stop thinking about it from the instant I opened my eyes Monday morning. When I pulled a chair up to the kitchen table for breakfast, Mom’s sparkling eyes and smug smile were no help. I hoped that it had nothing to do with Dad’s phone call. It was true that sometimes I half wished he hadn’t walked out on us, because Mom had been miserable. But she wasn’t exactly a bundle of joy before he left either. Usually, when I weighed the possibilities, I decided that she’d most likely get ove
r him some day.

  “Why do you look so happy this morning?” I asked her as she munched on a piece of toast and scanned the newspaper. Mom rarely got out of bed before ten, and she spent most, if not all, of the day in her bathrobe. Today she was already dressed in nice clothes.

  “I just feel good today, for a change. Aren’t you happy for me, Claire? Why do you look so suspicious?” She sipped her coffee, watching me over the rim of her cup. “I’m happy because I’m moving forward, going out to a couple more salons to fill out applications. Taking the bull by the horns, taking control of my life. For once!”

  “That’s good, Mom.” I tried to muster some enthusiasm about this new positive attitude of hers, but there was this gnawing uneasiness that I couldn’t deny. Why had this all happened so suddenly, and what did it mean?

  As soon as I pushed through the front doors at school, I knew something was wrong. Groups of kids were talking together in hushed tones. There was a strange buzz in the air that sent a jolt of dread right through me.

  Within seconds my best friend Seema was in my face, her dark eyes wide and worried. “Did you hear what happened, Claire?” she said.

  I was afraid to ask, afraid to hear what she might be about to tell me, but I said it anyway. “What do you mean, Seema?”

  “To Lucy. Yesterday during that freak snow- and rainstorm.”

  Uh-oh. Now I really didn’t want to know. I wanted to spin around and bolt straight out the door.

  “I was out in it for a while too. It was nasty,” I said. “So…something happened to Lucy?”

  “Yeah. She slipped on the porch steps at her house. Fell and struck her head on the concrete. She’s still in hospital. In a coma.”

  My stomach flipped. I’d been thinking about Lucy yesterday. And not in a good way, either. Just before I got struck. Gulp. But it couldn’t be. Could it?

  “Like what…what time?”

  “What time?” Seema stared at me as if I’d sprouted a third eye. “What does that matter? It was midafternoon, I think. You know, during the storm. What were you doing out in that lousy weather, Claire? Claire?”