The Secrets of Attraction (36 page)

“It won't. It never does,” Tanner said.

“Okay, gather in,” Gray said, motioning for us to huddle.

“Dude, I was serious about the chanting feeling . . . not right.”

“I was lacrosse captain, just huddle, it brings a team together, and we are about as not together as you can be at the moment.”

“Fine, but if you start telling me to breathe deep—”

I jabbed Tanner to stop it. The three of us put our hands out and brought them together.

“Now what?”

“Someone say something inspiring . . . as front man, Jess, I think that falls to you.”

My mind was blank. What to say? Two months earlier I'd wanted to give up, and here I was with a viable band, both Tanner and Gray were better than they thought they were. We could be great. Blow them all away. That was it. . . .

“If we're gonna blow it, blow it big.”

“From the Whiskey . . . cool, I like it,” Tanner said.

“Me too. So on the count of three . . . um, ‘Blow it big.'”

“Do we—”

“Just say it.” Gray shot Tanner a look.

“One . . . two . . . three. . . . Blow it big!”

We pulled our hands away, and Grayson howled. Tanner punched the air a few times.

“Let's do this.”

I could never be sure at what point it happened, when Stage Jesse took over, but it was something I could always count on. The fear of failure, the nervous anticipation, and the energy of the crowd all converged and fueled me. The last piece of the puzzle was my Fender. I put the strap over my head and ran my fingers across the strings. Gray slid into his seat, giving me a stick up that he was ready. Tanner nodded. I stomped my foot, holding the guitar close to my body, and walked up to the mic.

“S'up, Bergen Point . . . are you ready for some Yellow Number Five?”

There was a cheer, but not a loud one.

I screamed into the mic, “Are you readeeeeeeeee?”

I didn't wait to hear a louder response, just launched into “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and the crowd was infused with the music, a wave of people under our control, at least for the duration of our set. I looked over at Tanner; he grinned, tassels on his hat whipping around with his movement. We owned the stage and it felt fucking amazing.

We went into the next song, a “Say Anything” cover, without breaking. I scanned the faces in the crowd, now more visible, looking for her. She was there, her face flashing green, then blue, in the stage lights. A smile when our eyes met that fired up my confidence. I played for her. For me. For everyone. We drove the song hard, Gray ending with a thrash of drums. Tanner waved me over.

“Do it now,” he said.

“No, I can wait until the end.”

“No, do it now, but it better be friggin' amazing,” Tanner said.

Grayson nodded, taking a gulp from a water bottle. I switched guitars, pulling the strap of the acoustic over my head. I hadn't given much thought to how I was going to introduce the song. Only knew I wouldn't say her name. The rest I was winging.

“Gonna slow it down a little . . . This next one is a Yellow Number Five original. Kind of the world premiere.”

“You suck!” someone yelled.

Was it a mistake doing it now that everyone was so pumped? Screw it.

“Thanks,” I said, laughing. “This one's for, um . . . well, she knows who she is.”

Brilliant, Jess.

I fumbled with the opening chord, my mind suddenly empty. Blowing it big was one thing, fucking up completely in front of a room full of people who could remind me on a daily basis was another. I stopped strumming, took a breath, and found Madison in the crowd. She smiled. It was all I needed.

I strummed, feeling the buildup to the opening verse. . . .

I closed my eyes, lost myself in the words and the melody. I was in the meadow, under the stars, filling the space, my mind a montage of visions of her—her hands in my hair, her face at Fallingwater, that sketch in her room, the fight in my VW—as I sang. Everything. The good, the bad, the best. When I opened my eyes, I saw that Tanner had pulled up a lighter app on his phone, inspiring others to do the same.

Madison's eyes were riveted on mine, her head tilted slightly; she stood stock-still in the swaying mass. She knew the song was for her. The crowd broke into applause as I strummed the last notes. We had a moment, an exchange, the two of us alone in the crowd, before I had to dive into the rest of the set. I wished I could say I knew what she was thinking, that we had telepathically communicated our mutual desire, but when the moment was over, I was just as unsure as I'd been at the start. I switched guitars again, the worry of what she really thought of the song threatening to paralyze my ability to play. She liked it, that was sort of evident, but how did she really feel about it? I pushed it out of my head as I called out the next song.

The final two songs were a blur. We'd practiced so much they were automatic and we finally loosened up and acted crazy. Me and Tanner stalked each other across the stage, jumping now and then. Laughing, even. By the time we finished, we'd wrung out the gymnasium.

At least it felt that way.

The stage crew helped us break down our stuff and we loaded it into the 'burban just as the fourth band took the stage. The stress from before the show was gone, I was relieved—the set had gone well, we'd played our best. That was winning enough for me. I hoped Tanner and Gray felt the same. A new kind of anxious tightened my throat as we walked back into the gym. Had Madison liked the song?

The fourth band was in the middle of their set as we hit the gym floor. Wren spotted Gray first and waved him over. Jazz beamed at Tanner. Madison wasn't with them. My stomach took a free fall.

“You guys were awesome!” Wren screeched over the band. Gray pulled her in for a kiss. I looked at Jazz.

“Where's Madison?”

She leaned in toward me and cupped a hand around my ear. “She had to run home.”

My playing high deflated in seconds. “What? Why?”

Jazz shrugged. “She just said something like, ‘I have to go, call me if you go out after,' and then she was gone before we could stop her.”

“Was she pissed off or anything?”

She shook her head as Tanner joined us.

“You were great,” she said to him, punching his shoulder.

He pulled on his hat. “Works every time.”

Why would she have to leave? Had she hated the song that much?

The crowd suddenly felt thicker. I pulled on my collar, trying to cool down, looking around the gym on the off chance that Jazz maybe hadn't heard Madison right. That maybe she was just at the back of the gym, waiting for me.

“Hey, do you mind if I bail?” I asked Tanner. He crossed his arms.

“I'll try to make it back before they announce everything.”

“No you won't. You sure you don't want to be here for the results?”

“Not really. In my mind, we won.”

Tanner laughed. “I guess I can catch a ride with Gray. You better come out after. A plate of disco fries is the least of what you owe me for tonight.”

“Tanner, thanks, man. For everything.”

“Yeah, yeah, you better, like, name your first kid after me or something,” he said.

I pushed my way through the crowd and out into the hallway, checking my messages hoping to find one from Madison. Nothing.

“Jess.”

I spun around at my name.

Hannah stood behind a table of cupcakes. There were two other girls with her, in front of a sign that read:
SUPPORT THE ARTS! $1 CUPCAKES
! They stopped talking as I came over.

“Hey,” I said.

“You guys were the best,” one of the girls said.

“Thanks.”

“There's still two more bands to go,” Hannah said. “We're rooting for Plasma, remember?”

The girl shook her head and held out a cupcake to me. “You guys are still the best. Here, on the house.”

“Nah, I'm good,” I said.

“Do not refuse her cupcake,” the other girl said, taking it from her and holding it up to my face. I laughed.

“Well, um, okay.” I took it from her. “Thanks.”

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Jess?” Hannah motioned for me to walk over to the side with her. I followed. We stopped in front of a bank of lockers. She leaned against one and smiled at me.

“I'm kind of in a rush.” I said.

A crease formed between her brows. “You're leaving? You're not even going to watch Duncan?”

“No, I'm sure they'll be great.”

“Guess you're not afraid of the competition, then.”

I shrugged. “I don't know, not really thinking about it. I just . . . We played our best. It's not really a competition to me—doesn't matter who wins.”

“Your song was beautiful, Jesse.”

My mouth went dry as she reached up and ran her fingers under the lapel of my jacket. She had this sparkle in her eyes for a moment, but then pulled her hand away quickly, like she suddenly realized she shouldn't be touching me.

“Thanks, I really have to—”

“So did you write it the other night? Your notebook looked pretty blank, was just . . . wondering . . . It was so pretty . . . the way you introduced it . . .” she said, looking down at her feet. “Are you really powerless against me?”

Holy crap.

She thought it was about her.

The kind thing might have been to ignore it, I guess, but I couldn't. I should have been happy, this is what I'd wanted for so long, for her to come back to me, but she'd been right about the breakup. Maybe I had a lot to do with it, but we'd both been too a little too comfortable. It was time to move on. I could feel that now.

“Hannah, I . . . There's someone else. You know, that girl you met the night at Mugshot? Madison?”

The look on her face jabbed me in the gut.

“Oh . . . I . . . I'm sorry, Jess,” she said.

I had no clue what to say to her. Whatever doubts she'd been having about Duncan were something she had to deal with on her own. As much as I still cared about her, I wasn't ready to dole out relationship advice. Still, I didn't want to leave it at that, without saying something upbeat. I didn't want her to feel like shit over any of it.

“The song Plasma is playing, the one Duncan wanted so bad . . . just, you know . . . listen to it. There was a reason he wanted it. You'll like it. I promise.”

Her eyes brightened. “Thanks. Um, Madison seems really nice. I hope you guys are happy.”

“Thanks. Me too.”

“Banana girl, you're fraternizing with the enemy, come back!” The cupcake girls called to us.

“Bye, Jess.” She walked to the stand without looking back.

This felt like good-bye.

I dashed out the door to find Madison, hoping the song didn't actually scare her away. Sometimes you just had to have faith in grand gestures.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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THE SONG WAS FOR ME. I KNEW THAT. AND I WASN'T
running away—I hoped Wren and Jazz made sure Jesse knew that when they saw him after Yellow #5's set. I wanted to see him after the battle, and I would, but I had to do something first before it was too late.

Thankfully, the night was warm—winter finally giving way to spring—and it was pleasant walking across town. I stopped at the bakery. I'd made it just as they were about to close, buying the last of the good doughnuts, the one sure thing that Paul and I shared. Well, the second, I guess. We shared Mom, after all.

I wasn't about to let Paul get away with not saying good-bye to me. I wasn't an architect yet but I was the architect of my own life and this not-saying-good-bye crap set up a weak foundation.

Jesse's song—seeing him alone, vulnerable, voice and guitar—reminded me that being an open book, sharing what was inside, was an uncertain leap. Scary but necessary. I didn't quite understand what had come over me as I watched him. Or maybe it was something that had been gradually happening since I met him. Jesse poured out words that cut me straight to the core. I couldn't help but melt, my heart firmly and sappily on my sleeve. Maybe only Jazz and Wren knew the song was for me, but it felt like everyone in the Bergen Point gym had.

I climbed the stairs to my house two at a time, still harboring the tiniest hope that I'd burst in on Mom and Paul in a lip-lock, they'd profess their love to each other and me, and we'd be a family and live happily ever after just like my birthday wish.

No such luck.

“Madison, I thought you were out for the night,” my mother said.

The two of them were in their usual spot in the dining room, each with a glass of wine, half-eaten pizza still in the box between them. I lifted up the grease-stained white bag for Paul to see. He grinned and raised his glass to me before taking a sip.