The Secrets of Attraction (21 page)

“No, really, you don't need to pay. T, give them a few before they go. We'll get those drinks to you in a minute.” Jesse peered behind us at the growing line.

I grabbed my mother before she shouted out my bra size and social security number too. I had a thing about birthdays—I mean, they were fine and all, but for some reason they left me feeling a little down—like I was always anticipating something bigger to happen. We found a table for two over to the side, right under the neon Mugshot sign.

Five minutes later, Jesse placed two wide-mouthed cups in front of us. Chamomile for my mom and Mexican hot chocolate for me. There was a flower shape in the foam. I smiled as he went back behind the counter.

“So.” She placed the cup down on the saucer, leaned on the table, and took a breath.

“You start training next week.”

“Yes, it's a six-month program—the most intense parts on are the weekend, so there'll be at least a weekend a month that I'll be out more than I'm home. You're okay with that, right?”

“Yes. Did you have to hit up my summer program fund?”

She played with her bangs, running her fingers through and swiping them to the side. “No, I told you I'd never touch that. Paul sharing half the expenses has really helped. That's part of what I wanted to talk to you about. Are you still interested in the summer program at Pratt?”

“I'm, well . . .” Pratt was about three times the price of NJDI; I was interested, but Paul living with us couldn't have freed up that much cash. “I'm fine with the Design Institute. I think I have a really good shot at a scholarship.”

“But you don't need it now, I spoke to Paul—”

“Mom, I wish you hadn't.”

“He wants to help.”

“I don't want his help, okay, not for this, it feels weird. Like—” I didn't want to say what I was thinking.

“Like what?”

“Like the only reason you decided to say something was because we were a little strapped for cash.”

She cringed at the words.

“Is that really what you think?”

“No. It's just a lot to take in, like I'm magically supposed to think of Paul in a different way, and I'm forcing it. I keep expecting something to change, to make me think of him as . . .” I was suddenly aware of the crowd at Mugshot, the noise—this seemed like too heavy a conversation to have with hot chocolate.

My mother took my hand. “Mads, he feels the same way. Helping you pay for school feels like something concrete that he can do.”

“I guess.”

“Just think about it, I won't push it.”

Pratt. Damn. I remember drooling over the program description. The challenging classes. Living in New York. A taste of what life would be like in college. Then I saw the price tag. Yee-ouch. Too steep. . . . But the experience. Would it really be so awful to accept some personal funding?

“How is everything?” Jesse came over to the table, a small Mugshot shopping bag in his hand.

“Excellent as ever.”

“Here's the shirts,” he said.

He stood there between us, smiling—waiting, it seemed, for something to do so he could linger. I liked it. He finally spoke.

“Hey, are you coming to see us Saturday night?”

I took a sip of hot chocolate, my mother's eyes on me too. I felt a slight stab of guilt for not thinking of Zach in this equation. It's not like I'd never done things without him before but that word, those three freaking words, suddenly made me feel tied down. And I hated it. Of course I was going to Whiskey Business, already thought about what I'd wear, but with each second that passed I felt a little rush of power. Jesse wanted me to be there. I put my cup down.

“Can't wait.”

“Jazzy, hold still.” One more swipe of liquid liner, some mascara, and she was done. I'd picked an eye-shadow combo of golds and greens that made her dark eyes stand out. The effect was mysterious stranger.
Rawr.

“Let's see,” Wren said.

Jazz batted her lashes.

“Wow.”

She walked over to my vanity mirror to take a closer look.

“You don't think this is too much? It's itchy. What if I forget I'm wearing it and rub my eye? I'll look like someone punched me.”

“For a run? Yes, too much. For a dark club on a first date with a running partner you think is hot? No.” I dabbed some sparkly gloss onto my lips. Done.

“It's not really a date—it's a ‘Let's meet there' kind of thing. When he heard Gray was playing, he said he'd bring a few friends too. So, I don't know.”

“What friends? Lax team guys?” Wren asked.

Jazz shrugged. “Hey, what about Zach, is he meeting us there?”

“Nope.” Zach had texted me throughout the day. His indoor league game had been postponed and he was prowling for something to do. I was too pumped for a night out with my friends. It sounded mean and I knew it, but ignoring was not the same as lying, right? I couldn't handle the love question tonight.

“Gray texted. They're turning the corner now.” Wren shoved her phone into the front pocket of the teeny-tiny skirt she'd purchased during our Sadie Hawkins spree. She wore over-the-knee boots, so only a sliver of skin showed. It was not her usual look, but all those months of yoga had given her the sort of curves guys drooled over, and she rocked it. I had cut the collar off the Yellow #5 T-shirt, so it hung open over a black cami, and I paired it with denim cutoffs and black studded boots. No one would question us about being over eighteen.

We grabbed our coats and thundered down the stairs. Mom and Paul were in the living room.

“Wow,” Paul said as we met him at the landing. He pulled out his phone. “Let me get a picture.”

“Paul, it's not prom.” I laughed. My mom walked over and stood next to him, arms crossed. If I didn't know better, if I was just some stranger looking in on the scene, I would think they made a nice-looking couple. They looked like parents, about to see their kids off for the night. Which I guess they were, but not really.

“C'mon,” Wren said, pulling us together. We mugged for the camera until we heard footsteps on the porch. Jesse peered through the window.

“All right, gotta run.”

“Time, Mads.”

“Before midnight?”

“Sounds fair. Have fun.”

“Not so much fun that I have to bail you out,” Paul said. My mother elbowed him as I closed the door.

Jesse smiled when he saw me.

“Hey, look, I'm representing.” I gave him a quick peek of the shirt before closing my jacket.

“Cool.”

“Nervous?”

“It's that obvious?” There were two cars in front of my house, well, one car—Gray's POS-mobile, and a monster Surburban. I knew which one I'd be traveling in.

Grayson stood near the Suburban, one arm casually slung around Wren's shoulder. Jazz waited next to them, peeking in the SUV and probably doing the math on which car she'd end up in herself. The side door was open, and Tanner sat on the edge, elbows on knees, chin propped up by both hands. Gray reached into his jacket pocket and pulled away from Wren for a moment.

“Here, lovelies,” he said, holding out three cards to us. He took the first one and held it under the streetlight.

“You are Kenzie Renegar tonight, Mads,” he said, handing me the ID. It looked like an authentic driver's license with my picture. There was a hologram and everything. I didn't want to know where he got it.

“And you, Jazzy, are . . . Diara Jones. And last but not least, Wren is Olivia Green.”

“And what CW cast were these names stolen from?” I asked.

Gray laughed. “I didn't request names. They should be fine—just lie low with them, you know, don't call attention to yourself. You probably won't be carded—just think of them as insurance.”

“Walk in with us, carry something, no one will stop you,” Jesse added.

“Are we going or not?” Tanner stood up and climbed into the middle seat.

“Shotgun.” I grabbed Jesse's arm. “If that's okay.”

“Yeah, it's great.”

Jazz looked at Wren and Gray. “Do you have room?”

“Half the backseat is yours if you want it,” Grayson said.

“All right, so we'll meet there—you know where it is?” Jesse opened the front door and held out his hand to me.

“Yep, see ya in twenty.” Grayson, Wren, and Jazz walked back to the car.

I took Jesse's hand for support and climbed into the front seat.

“I'm stoked you're here,” he said, before closing the door.

“Me too.”

We pulled into the cobblestone back alley behind Whiskey Business and the guys began to unload the equipment. Wren grabbed a cymbal. Jazz and I grabbed mic stands and we walked in following Jesse's lead. The guy holding the door open for us didn't say anything but copped an eyeful as we each walked by. We were in.

“Grab a table, we got the rest of this,” Jess said after we deposited the equipment on the stage, ending our short stint as Yellow #5 roadies. The guy who'd been holding the door came over to us. On closer inspection, he was a bit of a fox. Midtwenties, blond hair, yellow shirt with a Yoo-hoo logo on the front. It stretched taut across a subtly buff chest. Strong arms. Uh-oh. Moment of truth, Kenzie. Think eighteen.

“Hold out your wrist,” he said. Wren was the first to put her arm out, and the guy wrapped a purple band around her wrist. Followed by Jazz, then me.

“Eighteen, right?” He smiled as he secured the tab.

“Yep.” I had the feeling he knew the truth and didn't care.

“What can I get ya? Once it starts filling up, table service stops, but anything for now?”

We ordered a round of Cokes. Whiskey Business was the sort of club I'd dreamed about hanging out in. It's like you could feel the ghosts of nights-out past still echoing through the space. A crackle of anticipation was in the air—the emptiness just waiting for another incredible night to happen.

“This is going to be awesome,” I declared.

“What if we are the only three here?” Wren asked. We looked around at the empty space. I thought about what Foxy Yoo-hoo Dude said.

“Nah, it's early, it'll fill up,” I said. At least I hoped it would, for Jesse's sake.

An hour later, Whiskey Business was packed so thick we couldn't see the bar from our table anymore. Jesse, Grayson, and Tanner were still in back, but a tall guy in a leather kilt came out every so often to announce when they'd be on. We still had fifteen minutes. Jazz's phone went off.

She swiped for her messages. “He's here.”

Jazz waved her phone over the sea of heads. Logan broke through the crowd, followed by Luke Dobson and another guy with shaggy hair. They each had a beer in their hand. Guess they knew the same guy Grayson did.

Okay?
Jazz mouthed to Wren. Gray's old friends weren't exactly friends. They were more like frenemies from a past life. Wren shrugged.

Grayson came out from the back and edged his way through the crowd on the dance floor. The moment he laid eyes on Logan, Luke, and the shaggy blond dude, he cracked a smile.

“Andy, what are you doing here?” He clapped him on the shoulder.

“Heard you were playing. Thought we'd check it out.”

“Cool.” Gray looked at me. “Mind if I steal Wren?”

“Haven't you already?”

He laughed. Wren got up and took his hand, ignoring the guys. “Be right back.”

Andy and Luke drifted into the crowd. Logan grabbed Wren's chair and moved it toward Jazz. They leaned into each other. I took out my phone just so I had something to occupy myself while they chatted. Three texts from Zach.
Gah
. I shut down the screen without reading them. When it was obvious that Wren's
Be right back
was more like
Be back never
, I excused myself from Jazz and Logan's first date. No fucking way was I going to be third wheel.

“I'm going to find Wren,” I said. Jazz nodded. I inched into the crowd, shouldering and shuffling and pushing my way through, until I spotted Wren, up front, stage left, arms crossed and waiting for the show to start. I bumped her.

“Be right back?”

“Sorry—Gray's nervous about tonight. Him,
nervous.
He needed a pep talk.”

“Is that code word for something else?”

She smiled. “I knew you'd find your way over here. Is Jazz okay?”

“Yep. So far, first date is looking fine.”

The guy with the leather kilt and black motorcycle boots strode onto the stage followed by Gray, Tanner, and Jesse—who looked more like they were on their way to detention than leading the crowd in a good time. Tanner appeared particularly freaked, his eyes blank, then Gray said something to him and he laughed. The room was electric, ready to party, but I had the feeling it was not easily impressed, or maybe not drunk enough.

Wren squeezed my arm. “Oh, god, they have to be good, right?”

“Of course, they're gonna kill it,” I said.

Jess lost his queasy look once he pulled his guitar strap over his head. His features sharpened under the blue stage lighting as he strummed a little and stepped on a pedal by the mic stand. He stood a little taller, sussing out the crowd until he saw me. He smiled, but it wasn't that sweet, trustworthy smile. It was somewhere between a sneer and a smile that said
I'm about to throw it down, wanna come
? That smile torched my insides.

“Hey, hey, what's up, Whiskey Business?! Give it up for a band you'll be seeing more of if I have anything to do with it . . . Yellow Number Five.” Leather kilt guy lifted his arms up and the crowd went insane.

Jesse turned around and stalked up to the mic.

“S'up, Ho . . . bo . . . ken . . .” he said, before launching the band into an Arctic Monkeys song. I kept bracing myself for some screw-up, a sour note, some weird misstep, but they were awesome.