So Over My Head (39 page)

BOOK: So Over My Head

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“Yeah. She had lots of offers, but she took the full ride from Tulsa University.”

I blink. “That’s funny. I thought you just said—”

Budge grins. “I did. My Ruthie-poo is one humble genius. Turns out she pretty much set the curve on the ACT last year. And of course, every college wants her for her unicycling ballet skills.”

“Of course.” I laugh and clap for my friend as she leaves the stage.

“Did you see the paper today?” I ask Budge.

“Yeah, great article, you two. Pretty cool to get published on the front page of the
Tulsa World
. Wouldn’t you know Stewart would end up singing like Justin Timberlake in tight undies? And to think, Cherry’s parents had entrusted Betty with the key to the will, but Betty hid the key to keep Red away.”

“And Alfredo,” Luke adds. “I guess we’ll never know if he really did fall in love with Betty.”

“I think he did.” Even though the jerk nearly killed me, I still believe there’s a good heart in there somewhere. And love just found him unexpectedly.

It happens to the best of us.

I lean into Luke’s side and stare at the clouds lazily rolling along overhead. Truman, Oklahoma—who would’ve thought this would be home sweet home? Jake will start his new job next week as a commentator for World Wrestling Television. The show was furious that he left, but when my story hit the press, and the world knew why Jake left his match that dark night, America fell in love with my wrestling stepdad. And soon WWT was calling and begging him to come back. And he did. On his terms.

Dolly proposed to Mickey last night at Sugar’s diner over a piece of lemon chiffon pie. That’s right—
Dolly
proposed. Mickey and Cherry said yes.

And then there’s me.

I don’t know what will happen with my Dad. We’re talking more now, but it’s still awkward. Seventeen years is a long time to know someone—but not really know them. So we’re working it out. And now that’s he’s the temporary parent of an eight-year-old, he needs my support. Actually he needs the support of the entire National Guard, but so far they haven’t returned his calls.

And I’m just taking it day by day—my relationship with Luke, my attempts to get a raise in my allowance for that new Chloe dress, and my new decision to keep my nose out of other people’s business. It’s just too risky! After all, God has given me a lot to live for.

The graduates toss their hats in the air, and my eyes nearly bug out of my head when I see Ruthie’s helmet take out a science teacher on its descent.

I curl my arm around Luke’s waist and walk toward the seniors to hug some friends.

“Excuse me.”

I turn at the tap on my shoulder and smile. “Yes?”

A teenage girl steps close. “I’ve heard all about you, and I think I have your next job for you.”

“Oh, no.” My laugh is a tinkling bell on the wind. “I’m out of the business.”

The girl doesn’t move. “I think my boyfriend is cheating on me, and I want you to investigate.”

Luke’s smile is slightly indulgent. “She’s retired.”

“Yeah, I can’t help you.” I’m walking the straight and narrow path.

“Oh.” Her face falls. “That’s too bad. My aunt is a buyer for Gucci, and I was going to pay you in purses.”

I eye her shiny green bag with appreciation. “Well . . . we could at least talk about a down payment.”

To some God gives the gift of encouragement, of teaching, maybe of mercy. But to me? Nosiness.

And I’ve never been one to turn a gift away.

acknowledgments

I
f I had to write a book by myself, I’d still be scratching incoher-ent sentences in a one subject notebook. It takes a lot of people to throw these things together, and I’m grateful for every soul who had a part.

It is with huge amounts of gratitude that I thank:

Natalie Hanemann, my fabulous editor at Thomas Nelson. Thank you so much for all you’ve taught me and for putting up with all my crazy emails and ramblings. And for understanding my pain and heartache over any video with Jillian Michaels’ name on it. But we are gonna be so toned this time next year. (Okay, you will. I have too much of a dependent relationship on Ben and Jerry’s. But I’ll cheer you on from afar.)

Jamie Chavez, another amazing editor. I’m so lucky to work with this dynamic duo, and Jamie, I appreciate the friendship, the travel advice, and for pointing out all the dumb mistakes I make every book. Like how there aren’t three days in a weekend. But you have to admit—it’s a nice idea.

My family. Things always get crazy during deadline crunch time, and I’m so glad you haven’t locked all your doors and windows so I’d move on to another family. Thank you for embracing the inevitable fact that you are stuck with me. And that I require lots of chicken and steak dinners.

My friends. For still talking to me after I turn into Deadline Medusa. Y’all are the best. Thank you for the laughs, the movie nights, and all our traveling adventures. And for tolerating my airplane takeoff/landing freak outs. It’s not that I’m scared. I’m just dramatically concerned.

Chip MacGregor, the best agent and Ameri-Scotsman on the planet. Your zippy one-liners make my day, and your career advice is top-notch. I can’t imagine entrusting these big dreams to anyone else. Thanks for believing in me. (Hum Josh Groban as you read this paragraph for maximum effectiveness.)

Erin Valentine, once again you have been such a huge source of help and support. Thank you for prereading the sloppy drafts, even when they make no sense and require a PhD in crazy to even read through it. I couldn’t do this without you.

The sales and fiction staff at Thomas Nelson. Thank you for everything you do, and for making the job of writing books so worthwhile. I love you guys!

My blog family at
jennybjones.com
. You guys are the most awe-some Web family ever, and I love hanging out with you every week. You seriously brighten my days.

My readers, the most amazing people on the planet. A handful of years into this writing life, and I still cannot figure out why any-one would read my little stories. Voodoo? Trance? Brainwashing? I dunno, but please don’t find the antidote. I’m grateful to every one of you and pray for you often. Thank you for being a part of the ministry of fiction. Pass it on.

Jeff Spivey, funeral director extraordinaire and former class-mate. Thank you for answering my questions about burials without even blinking an eye. I don’t know how I can repay you for the information on digging up bodies, but if you figure out its favor equivalent, give me a shout.

Tony Humphrey, a hero of a fireman and medic. I appreciate the help with answering my questions. Thanks for lending me your expertise. And for not laughing at my crazy inquiries. Or turning me over to the police . . .

Finally, a huge acknowledgement to God. Every book takes me on a spiritual theme. I intend it for the characters, but somehow I get pulled in along for the ride. I’m so grateful for all You’re teaching me and the countless ways You’re blessing me. God is good. All the time. (Pass that on too.)

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