eighteen
AT THE SIGHT OF BROOKE clutching Brady Swift’s arm to her chest like a child cradling a beloved stuffed animal, Max was torn: Part of her wanted to thank Brooke for sparing her any further uncomfortable one-on-one conversation with Jake, and the rest of her wanted to pull out Brooke’s hair for dragging Max into their evening and thus into something that would hurt a very nice guy’s feelings.
You mean, more into it than you already were, her subconscious needled her.
Shut up, Max scolded it.
“Bro!” Jake said, filling the silence by leaping out of his seat and raising a fist for Brooke to bump. “Ha! Get it? You’re Brooke? And you’re my bro? What are you doing here?”
Brooke burst into a gale of innocent laughter that Max had heard often enough to know it was forced. Apparently she was leaving all her actual acting energy on the Warner Bros. lot.
“Brady and I were going to go to the movies, but I realized I just couldn’t possibly not come out and support my beloved sister’s boyfriend,” Brooke gushed. “How amazing to randomly bump into you two!”
You lying liar who lies, Max thought. You have been planning this since you woke up this morning.
Brooke pulled Brady toward the table. Designed for two, it was extremely tight quarters for twice that, and Max found herself squashed between the boys. Brady smelled faintly, warmly, like soap. “Brady, this is my dear friend from school, Jake Donovan,” Brooke said. “Brady is my love interest in Nancy Drew.”
Max shrank back as the boys reached across her to shake hands.
“Nice to meet you,” Brady said, then turned his outstretched hand to Max as if to shake hers.
“Oh, my God, Brady, that’s Max,” Brooke said, chortling.
Max smiled weakly and watched as recognition and then, briefly, shock washed over his face. “Whoa,” he blurted. “What did you do to your hair?”
“A return to the natural look for Maxine,” Brooke narrated. “Doesn’t she look great?”
“Of course,” he said, a little wistfully. There was something in his eyes, deep down, that seemed a little confused. “Sorry, that was unsmooth. I just… liked the green.”
“Me, too,” Max admitted before she could help herself.
“Well, it’s good to see you anyway,” he added, with another glance at her head. “But I should have known you’d be here. You two are attached at the hip.”
Jake burst into laughter. “You,” he said to Brady with a jaunty finger gun, “are one funny dude.”
“I… don’t get it,” Brady said, looking from Max to Brooke, whose nostrils were flaring—a sign Max had learned meant trouble. In this case, they were like a tiny SOS, asking Max how to get them out of this one. “I see them together, like, every day.”
Jake kept on laughing and shaking his head. “Man, you should do stand-up.”
“Jake, you are as unobservant as ever,” Brooke said lightly—and very quickly. “Apparently, the increase in head injuries at the high school football level really is causing serious problems.”
“You play?” Jake asked Brady.
“I tried, but I could never throw a spiral. My dad said I looked like I was trying to throw an egg.”
“Bro, it’s easy, you just put your pointer finger on the—”
“You two stay here and chat. We’ll go get drinks,” Brooke said, grabbing Max’s arm. Max opened her eyes really wide at Brooke, hoping this would convey the message Do you really think we should leave them alone? But all Brooke did was open her eyes wide in return.
“Fine. We’ll be right back,” Max said. “Jake, why don’t you tell Brady that story you were telling me about the… handgun thing?”
“Oh, right! The pistol offense! Okay, so…” Jake turned to Brady, a look of adorable enthusiasm on his face, as Brooke dragged Max across the darkened club’s uneven wooden floorboards. Max hated siccing Jake and his football obsession on Brady, but it was the only way she could think of to distract Jake from asking Brady why he thought she and Brooke were so buddy-buddy, when in fact everyone at Colby-Randall knew they couldn’t stand each other.
“What are you really doing here?” Max snapped at Brooke, as soon as they reached the long wooden bar.
Brooke waved at the bartender. “What do you mean?” she said blithely. “I really did think Molly could use my sisterly support. Where is she, anyway?”
“Backstage with Teddy,” Max said. “And you are a terrible liar. I told you not to make this a double date.”
“Two couples happening to find themselves at the same concert is not a double date. It is a coincidence,” Brooke insisted. “Besides, I really need your help.”
“I knew it,” Max said, resisting the urge to throttle Brooke with one of her long blonde curls as the bartender looked expectantly at them.
“Two Cokes, a Diet Coke, and…” Brooke looked at Max questioningly.
“A lemonade, and you’re paying,” Max said. “What happened? This had better be good.”
“Well,” Brooke began, fanning both her hands out—a gesture that Max knew meant she was about to launch into one of her more complicated tales.
“The short version,” she interrupted. “We can’t leave them alone for long.”
“Okay, you’re right,” Brooke said. “Everything was going fine. We went to this amazing little Indian place Brady picked out where you actually get to sit on these fabulous throw pillows and there’s a fire pit, and I wasn’t sure what to get that wouldn’t stain my teeth, so—”
“Seriously, this is the short version? Is the long version a three-day television event?”
“I had to set the scene!” Brooke protested. “Anyway. The flash cards were working great, right? That whole bit about not being able to take that guy from the Hunger Games seriously because his name is terrible—what was it? Something with bread.”
“Peeta,” Max supplied. “It sounds so dumb out loud.”
“Exactly! He ate that up. I even used your line about it making you want to dip things in hummus.”
“Okay…” Max said, sensing things were about to turn left.
“And then we were talking about places we’d traveled, and he was going on about Mount Rushmore, and he asked me which one of the presidents on there was my favorite, and that’s not on the flash cards, Max,” Brooke said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “So I made up some answer about Justin Bieber and he sort of laughed, and then he asked if I’d ever been to Paris, and I accidentally said yes, since, you know, I’ve seen it in tons of movies, so I figured I could wing it, and then he asked me this question about the Paris catacombs, and I had no idea what he was talking about….” She heaved a sigh. “I just panicked, and then I felt really stupid. I whiffed it.”
“Calm down,” Max said. “It’s going to be okay. You don’t need to know everything, Brooke. No one knows everything.”
“You do,” Brooke pouted, handing the bartender a credit card.
Max laughed. “Brooke! I’ve never been to Paris. I couldn’t have had that conversation, either. You just need to chill. Make up a story about a crepe stand or something.”
Brooke bit her lip. “I just don’t want to look like an idiot,” she admitted. “I freaked out, and I figured you could fix it.”
“Well,” Max finally said, feeling satisfyingly magnanimous, “first dates are hard.”
I should know.
“But you and Jake seem to be having fun,” Brooke said, handing Max two drinks.
“Oh, sure,” Max said vaguely, not wanting to get into gory detail with someone whose loyalties were not guaranteed. She was saving that conversation for Molly.
Brooke took a long look at Max. “You look great,” she said. “I can tell Jake is really digging you. I hope it works out.”
Max felt the frost layer she’d put up start to melt. Brooke wasn’t all bad—a little schemey, maybe, but it seemed to come from a place of insecurity. Maybe she really just needed the help. Besides, she’d sworn th
is was just for show with Brady, and she’d made good on her other promises, and she was being nice…. It would only be a few hours. Max gulped and resolved to make it through without exploding.
When they got back to the table, the boys were laughing so hard that Jake actually smacked the table with the palm of his hand.
“Did you understand that story?” Max hissed as she slid in between the boys, under Brooke’s chattering.
“I’m an actor,” Brady replied under his breath. “Okay, so I’ve been needing to talk to you about the script my agent got the other day. Two words: possum farmer.”
“Are you up for the possum or the farmer?”
“Even better. The possum farmer’s blind son. Who is… wait for it… a possum whisperer.”
“Have them throw in a prosthetic limb and your Oscar is in the bag,” Max cracked.
As they smiled at each other, Brooke hooked an arm possessively though Brady’s. “You should show the script to me,” she said. “I have a lot of experience. I read all Daddy’s scripts.”
“Okay, sure,” Brady said. To Max, he added, “You are going to love how awful it is. There’s this particular kind of soil, right, and—”
Jake made a loud pshaw noise. “Nah, man, nobody wants to watch a movie about dirt,” he said. He nudged Max flirtatiously. “Maybe you should write him something.” Then he turned to Brooke and Brady and said proudly, “Max was just telling me how she wants to be a writer.”
“She mentioned that. I think it’s great,” Brady said. “We need another Great American Novel.”
“Yeah, but nobody reads books anymore,” Jake said, curling his hand around Max’s and squeezing. “Not when there’s Twitter.”
“I don’t know; I feel like I need something more pretentious,” Max jumped in before Jake could expound on that. “Like an obnoxiously navel-gazing indie flick starring, like, Zach Braff and Maggie Gyllenhaal and that random third Olsen sister.”
“No, no, go the other way—sell out and do a Michael Bay movie, those are the best,” Brady said. “Transformers 5: More.”
Max pretended to think about it. “I would be really good at coming up with multiple scenarios in which people get crushed by robots.”
“And then the hero launches the Eiffel Tower into space to plug a hole in the moon.”
“And the president is played by Julianne Hough.”
“And then the moon explodes over the Super Bowl!”
That last one was Jake. He threw up his fist for a celebratory bump. Max blinked. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Brooke seemed bored and had crumpled her drink straw so much that it looked more like a question mark. Max had forgotten the two of them were even there.
“Right!” she said, covering by making a fist and thumping Jake’s. He grabbed it and unfolded it, twining their fingers.
“That’s my girl,” he said fondly. “Max is super hilarious.”
“She is,” Brady agreed.
Jake pulled Max to his chest for a snuggle. Flustered, she stared straight ahead, trying to look pleasant. She couldn’t help chancing a peek at Brady. He was smiling as amiably as ever, although she did detect a bit of bemusement in his eyes. What was he thinking?
“So, when are the bands going on?” Brooke chirped, springing to life and nuzzling Brady’s shoulder with her cheek.
“Soon, I think,” Max said, trying not to look at them so she could concentrate on stringing words together. “Teddy told me the first band is supposed to play at nine, and then Mental Hygienist goes on… third? Or fourth?”
“I haven’t seen a show here in ages,” Brady said, looking around the dark, cramped club with fondness. “Brooke, you saw Super Diamond here last year, right?”
Brooke looked blank.
No, that was me, Max thought. And that was also not on a flash card.
“I think I read that on your blog,” Jake said. “In that post about jumpsuits.”
“I hate jumpsuits,” Brooke said, clearly relieved to be back on safer ground.
“Unless they’re being worn by the world’s greatest Neil Diamond cover band, obviously,” Max said, nudging Brooke’s shin.
“Oh, yes! Of course!” Brooke said. “Super Diamond. He is… so super.”
“They,” Max coughed.
“They are so super,” Brooke corrected herself. Brady shot Max a perplexed look out of the corner of his eye, but Jake seemed distracted by his cell phone. “Gosh, I’m so spacey tonight,” Brooke continued. “I must be dehydrated.”
She took a huge sip of her Diet Coke.
“So Brooke was just telling me that you’ve been to Paris,” Max said to Brady, as Jake unexpectedly slung his arm around Max’s shoulders.
“Yeah, my parents took me a couple years ago, after I booked my first national ad. It was kind of an ‘I hope you’ve enjoyed living rent-free because now it’s time to get your own place’ present,” he said dryly. “It’s an amazing city.”
“I’ve never been,” Max continued. She felt the weight and warmth of Jake’s arm pressing down on her. “I’ve heard the Louvre is really worth the trip,” she added, looking pointedly at Brooke.
“Oh, it is,” Brooke said, flashing Max a grateful smile. “But the better thing is this, um, crepe stand across the way…”
Brady shot Brooke an eager smile. “Banana and Nutella!” he said. “I wonder if we went to the same cart.”
As the two of them chattered about crepe fillings, Jake let out a happy murmur.
“Brooke’s boyfriend seems nice. You should see if he wants to come to the spring football scrimmage. He really wanted to see the pistol offense in action, and playing against ourselves is my best shot at winning,” Jake said with a self-deprecating wince. “And he can keep you company in the stands. I always reserve the best seats for my girlfriend and my parents. They’re…”
As he talked, Max felt a pang. They’d been dating—if that’s what this was—for about three hours, and already she was on his personal pep squad in the bleachers, when deep down she knew she’d rather be in her room writing, or talking about Paris with Brady. But Jake was so sweet, so attentive…. Max resolved to get through the rest of the night as convivially as she could, for both their sakes. Give it one more chance. Besides, how much weirder could it get?
“And then there’s Homecoming,” Jake was saying, still stroking her arm. “We should rent a limo. Magnus’s dad got us a stretch Hummer for the winter formal, and it had a hot tub in the back. We all took it up to Mulholland and parked it for a while. Way romantic.”
Max felt his eyes burning into the side of her face. It was alarmingly similar to the sensation she got when she knew guys in the car next to her at a stoplight were checking her out.
“I’m having such a good time,” he husked, leaning toward her. “I’m so glad we did this.”
Oh, my God, is he going to kiss me?
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God, Jake Donovan is kissing me.
Max was so stunned by the feeling of Jake’s lips on her own that she had already pulled away from him and leaped off her bar stool in a panic before she even processed that she’d moved at all.
“I just remembered, I have to go backstage and wish my brother good luck before he goes on,” she stammered.
“Good idea,” Jake said, beaming. “Let’s go say hi. See you on the flip side,” he said to Brady and Brooke, who were still discussing crepes, acting like they hadn’t noticed a thing.
Max could barely manage not to make a horrified expression. She needed distance from Jake so she could piece together what her head and her heart and her mouth were all screaming at her. But he was so damn agreeable there was no way around taking him with her, so she grabbed Jake’s arm and turned to look for the entrance to the backstage area—she had no idea where it was, and she probably wasn’t on the list to get back there, anyway. All she knew was that kissing Jake made her feel off-kilter and uneasy, and she didn’t think she wanted to do it again tonight, at le
ast not in public. In front of Brooke. And Brady. Who now thought she was dating this beautiful dunderhead instead of on a date with him. The distinction was suddenly important to Max.
Instead of finding the backstage door, Max saw Molly heading in their direction, but with an expression on her face that Max knew meant she a) had seen the kiss and b) was unsure if Max felt she needed to be rescued or not.
“Molly!” Max yelled, waving. “Over here!”
“They’re about to start,” Molly said, joining them. “I felt like too much of a groupie hanging out backstage all by myself.”
“We were just about to go back there,” Max sputtered. “I didn’t even get to tell Teddy to break a leg.”
Molly shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. He’s really nervous. He wouldn’t have even heard you. I could have told him I was having Jay Leno’s love child and he would have been totally fine with it.”
Max looked around the club, which was by that point crammed with teenagers, adults who looked like they might be in the record industry, and, in the far corner of the room, Magnus Mitchell and Chaz Kelly. She prayed they wouldn’t come over to fist-bump Jake or anything. Especially if they’d seen him kiss her.
God, what if they saw him kiss me?
“Where’s Brooke?” Molly asked. “She just texted me that she was here.”
“She and that dude were sitting over there,” Jake said, pointing. “But I don’t see them. Maybe they went to buy a T-shirt.”
“Um, right, yeah,” Molly said. “Brooke loves T-shirts. Listen, is it okay if I hang out with you guys? I don’t want to be the fifth wheel or anything, but I feel like if I’m standing alone at the front of the stage people will think I’m pathetic.”
“Please hang out with us,” Max said.
“We’re only two wheels, anyway,” Jake pointed out. “Like a bike. You will make us a trike.”
Molly shot Max a wry look as the curtain opened and the host of the event—an MTV regular Max recognized from the time she fell asleep watching a Jersey Shore marathon and woke up to see him leading a roundtable discussion about Sammi and Ron—welcomed them all to the contest.
Messy Page 18