The Secrets of Attraction (16 page)

“I don't know. I guess—I'd thought about it before, but it's always been you and me ag—”

“Against the world,” I finished her sentence. “That's great, Mom, but I didn't really have a choice in that, did I?”

“Madison, please. I wanted to tell Paul, I did, but I wasn't lying when I told you that it was the wrong guy, right time. I knew I wanted you, could handle raising you on my own, but I also wanted to keep Paul as a friend. I think . . . I wasn't sure he would have been able to handle it and I didn't want to face that sort of rejection.”

“Was he mad when you told him the other day? Is he . . . is he upset that—” I couldn't voice what I wanted to say because in all of it, the virtual Pandora's box of emotions this announcement had opened, the last thing, underneath it all was this—did he want this? Did he want . . . me?

My mother reached across and took my hand, and I didn't resist.

“He's angry at me, Madison. Not you. It's an adjustment for all of us, but the news was happy.”

Relief blurred my eyes; tears I hadn't even known I was holding in rolled down my cheeks. I swiped them away, sniffled. That was why I hadn't told anyone. I wanted to be sure he was okay with it too. To go from not knowing who your father was to knowing that he didn't want you were two different things.

“Were you really worried about that?”

I nodded, swiped my cheek. My stomach growled—maybe I was hungry, or maybe letting go of such a heavy thing had emptied me out. I grabbed a plate from the cabinet and filled it with bhel puri and tandoori chicken. Mom handed me a fork as I sat down.

“He was surprised. And hurt. And—”

“What I don't understand is, if you're such great friends, why didn't you think he could handle you being pregnant?”

She exhaled slowly, staring out the small curtained window to the yard. “Paul was different then, Mads. I'm not sure he would have taken the news the same way. He got this dream job and his hub was based in Spain. We went to Atlantic City to celebrate. We saw this indie band he'd been following, and played roulette and craps—we won—and it was . . .” She looked out the window again, but instead of being wistful or sad, she fought a smile, chuckled to herself. “One of those nights you never forget.”

I nearly choked on my food.

“I know it's weird to talk about it like this, Madison, but I wasn't sure I'd see him again once he moved.”

“So you asked him if he could . . .” I said, suddenly conscious of what an intimate question I was asking.

“No, it wasn't formal or anything, it just happened. It was—”

“Please stop, I think this is about all I can handle right now.”

“Isn't it better to know we were friends who loved each other, instead of someone random who disappeared?”

“I'm not sure,” I said. “It just— It would have been nice to know that he was my father.”

“What do you think of when you think of Paul?”

“I don't know . . . doughnuts? Airplanes? Loud Springsteen music?”

She laughed. “Exactly. Fun stuff. I was afraid that if you'd known, you'd pay more attention to the time he wasn't here than to the time he was, and it didn't seem fair to either of you.”

Now
my
head hurt. I just wanted to stop thinking.

“I'm sorry I didn't answer my phone before; that was total douchebaggery on my part.”

“You don't have to use that word—'

“It fits, though. I didn't answer on purpose. I wasn't ready to talk about it. Can we just eat now, Mom? Please? I just want to eat, take a hot shower, do my homework. Be normal. This is all I can handle for now. Is that okay?”

She picked up her fork. “Yes, but you know anytime you have any questions—”

“I know where you live,” I said.

After dinner I holed up in my room with my computer and the memory card from the Sadie Hawkins Dance. For the first time since that night, I was excited to look through the pictures, to see if there was anything portfolio- or yearbook-worthy.

The first few were awful, blurry, random crowd shots that made me worry the whole night had been like that. What had I been thinking? Then I saw the one of Wren and Gray, which was . . . sweet, sexy. Their foreheads touching, Wren had a soft smile on her face; Gray, too—they were both in the same blissful, secret world behind their closed eyes.

I scanned through some more. The selfies Zach and I took made my heart ache—we leaned into each other, cheek to cheek and grinning. Before he'd said
that thing
. We made a pretty scorching couple. Why had I gotten so annoyed that he showed up at Mugshot? Why couldn't I just say what he wanted me to say?

The shots of the hallway with the glowing balloons were striking, I knew I could play them up with some effects and turn the photos into something special. A definite portfolio piece. The one of me, Wren, and Jazz was adorable, one that even Piper would approve of—we'd captured a perfect moment, the three of us smiling, arm in arm but in a casual way. Maybe I'd have to give Grayson photo credit. I went back to the beginning of the pictures, to the first one of Wren and Gray, ready to start editing.

I pulled up the cropping tool, selecting the space I wanted to focus in on, when my eyes fell upon something in the background. Not something . . . someone. Jesse. He was up against the far wall, staring into the crowd. A few clicks and I came in closer on his face. It wasn't crystal clear, but his features were plain as day. He was looking at something, or someone; his gaze seemed too fixated to be spaced-out. I studied the way his jacket hung on him, the line of his jaw, how his hair swept across his forehead. I got up from the bed to grab my sketchpad and a pencil off my desk.

You're supposed to be finding pictures for the layout.

My pencil scratched across the paper as I blocked out the dimensions of the sketch.

Jesse McMann was an interesting subject.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

“TAKE IT FROM THE TOP,” I SAID.

“Again, dude? Come on,” Tanner said. “Can't we break for a minute? I'm spitting dust here.”

“Two and a half weeks until we play, we have two songs down, last I checked that's not a set. We're outta here in twenty, T, you can make it. Maybe if you took off the hat.”

“Nope.”

Grayson wiped his brow along the sleeve of his Batman shirt. “It is kind of hot in here.”

Practice had become too intense for my garage—twice a week was about all the neighborhood could handle before someone called to complain. We decided to pool some work cash and spring for space at Lot 23, a warehouse turned rehearsal studio between an oil refinery and strip mall on the far end of town beyond the old rails. They had four rehearsal rooms, and Plasma was taking up one of them too. Small town, even smaller rehearsal space, we were bound to run into someone we knew. The competition made us work harder.

Tanner lifted his strap over his head. “I'm gonna pass out, Jess, just let me grab a water.”

“Fine,” I said. “Hurry.”

I strummed the opening of the next song, turned to Grayson. He'd come prepared, at least—chugging from a water bottle he brought with him. After sipping he trickled some over his hair, shook it out, and laughed. I had to give him props—I'd never seen someone work so hard or make that much progress in such a short time. He attacked it.

“You really think we'll be ready?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I kept thinking about that jar on Declan's desk—
If you're gonna blow it, blow it big!!
We sounded better—would we be our best by Whiskey? Probably not, but we'd go down trying. The door creaked open.

“Now we're down to fif—” I stopped. “Hannah?”

“Hey, Jess. I saw Tanner in the hallway.” She smiled. Her presence lightened the room—a butterfly coming in through an open window. My knee-jerk reaction to seeing her pissed me off—my nerves turned to live wires. Would that ever stop?

“What are you doing . . . oh, I guess . . . Plasma,” I said, answering my own question.

“Yep, getting ready for the battle,” she said, peering behind me.

I turned. “Oh, Hannah, that's Grayson, our new drummer. . . . Grayson, Hannah.”

Grayson nodded at her and stood up. “I'm gonna see what's taking Tanner so long. Be right back.”

She was silent, toeing the floor with the tip of her boot, until he left the room.

“You never came here for our practice,” I said.

“You never asked me.”

“I never thought I needed to.”

“Don't start, Jess. I just wanted to say hi.”

“And ask why I haven't contacted Duncan about the song.”

“Maybe. I guess. But now I know why you haven't given it to him. You're doing the battle too.”

“No, we're not. We didn't get the entry form in on time.”

“But Tanner,” she said. Just then someone shouted, “Douchebag!” through the hallway. We both turned as a cacophony of voices stormed closer and closer to the room. Tanner barreled in, followed by Duncan, Kenny Ashe, then Grayson, who lingered in the doorway, observing.

“So you are doing the battle,” Duncan said. “Guess that's why you're still holding on to what's part mine.”

Hannah stepped back, closer to Duncan. It was a small movement, but one that felt like she was letting me know where she stood. The live wires in my chest sizzled momentarily. I wanted to roar, to make them all spontaneously combust and splatter against the walls, but I had no idea what he was talking about.

“No, we're not. We're playing Whiskey Business in a couple of weeks,” I said. Duncan flinched. He'd been so pumped to play there when we sent Deck our CD.

That's what you get for boffing my girlfriend.

“Then you're not doing the battle?” Kenny asked. In a parallel universe, I'm sure Kenny and I were great friends. I admired his playing, and he had this rasp in his voice when he sang that I envied, but he was all technique, methodical. I could play by ear and it pissed him off so much that the one time we tried to be together in a band, it didn't last after one practice.

“No.” “Yes.” Tanner and I said it together.

“Tanner?” I said.

He nibbled the side of his lip before speaking. “I put in the entry form.”

The battle meant nothing to me anymore. We had a real gig, we didn't need this high school pissing contest where it always felt like it was more about who you knew than how you played. I was about to say as much, that we just wouldn't show up and I'd give Tanner the fifty bucks for the entry fee back, when I saw Hannah lean into Duncan. They stood there . . . waiting.

“Then I guess we're doing it,” I said. “What's the big deal?” I could see plainly what the big deal was—they didn't want the competition. And Duncan wanted the song, but
part his
? Fuck that.

Tanner grinned and let out a
“Whoop!”

“Stupid hat,” Duncan said, pulling it off Tanner's head as he left. Kenny and Hannah followed him out. Hannah gave me one last lingering look, which I returned with a stony glare. Tanner was still grinning as they left.

“Why didn't you tell me?” I asked when they were gone.

Grayson bent down and picked up Tanner's hat.

“Geez, dude, this hat is rank,” he said, tossing it to him and wiping his hand on his jeans. Tanner caught it and slipped it back onto his head.

“Because you were all depressed and shit, and I knew you would pull that tortured-artist crap. And I wanted to be sure this worked out.”

“Am I
this
?” Grayson asked.

Tanner punched his shoulder and smiled. “Yup.”

“Tortured-artist crap?” I said.

T's face contorted into an exaggerated grimace and he clutched his hands to his chest. “
I can't play, it's not fun anymore, Hannah ripped my balls off when she left me and the world has no meaning. . . .
You know, all that stuff that spills out after a few vodka lemonades.”

“Okay, okay,” I said.

“When is it?” Grayson asked.

“After the Whiskey—first week in April.”

“We don't have to do it. It's just a stupid contest,” I said. “I just couldn't back down when they were standing here.”

“No, I'm in. That was hard-core,” Grayson said. “I've only played in basements.”

“Then we've got fifteen minutes, let's do it,” I said.

“Why don't we stay longer? I don't think there's anyone coming in after us,” Tanner said, pulling his bass strap over his head.

“Can't do it tonight.”

“But dude, the battle? Whiskey Business? We need to practice,” Tanner said. “You're not on tonight, what gives?”

“Have to go see a girl about a logo.”