“Are you the Madison who designed the logo?”
Madison lowered her eyes and laughed. “Guilty.”
“Love it, and Jesse’s hair, too.”
Did she have to mention the hair?
“Thanks.”
“Make sure you settle things with Deck. He was looking for you. See you at home.” They waved as they made their way to the front and out of the bar.
“Dude, maybe we should go break down, before Diara starts dancing on the bar again. I don’t feel like having anyone question her about her ID. Know what I mean?” Grayson said.
Once the Suburban was loaded, we went back inside to Declan’s office.
“There you are,” Deck said, taking out bright orange earplugs as he pushed away from the desk on his rolling chair. “Once that techno shit starts playing I have to put these in. Gotta do what brings ’em in, though.”
It was the first time he’d said anything that reminded me that he was my parents’ age. “Yeah.”
“Yellow Number Five.” He stood up and handed me the cash. I flipped through the bills—tens and twenties—and counted two hundred.
“There’s too much here,” I said, handing him back two twenties. He held up his hand.
“We did great tonight, consider it a bonus. Are you guys up for a date in May?”
“Hell yeah,” I said.
“Cool, I’ll put you down—second week. Hey, did you ever see this?”
He waved us over to the wall of pictures. Gray and I stood before it, scanning the photos.
“Recognize anyone?”
“That’s Dad,” I said, pointing to their band picture. The five of them stood in various poses, leaning against a brick wall. My father was shirtless under a denim jacket and tight black pants. I’d seen pics from his band days, but not this one. He was so thin, and looked bored, but in a determined way—if I didn’t know him I would have assumed he was pretty badass.
“Is that, wait—” Gray pointed at a picture of Declan with his arm around a girl. She had long hair and was leaning back, laughing.
“Whoa.” I laughed and inspected the picture again. I knew my mother had hung out with Backtalk, she and my dad talked about it from time to time, but I’d never seen pics of her. Especially with Declan.
“You know she used to sing backup when she was bored.”
“My mother. Sing?”
“Yeah, she had a sweet voice, too. Never wanted to do more than that. She was too practical.” Declan stared at the picture in a way that made me wonder how close they actually had been. No. Fucking. Way.
“Well, um, we’re heading out.”
“See you in May.”
In the hallway, I handed Gray his share of the take. He paused a moment and counted it.
“It’s all there,” I said.
“Oh, yeah dude, I know. Never been paid to play. Feels kind of sweet.”
In all the excitement, the nerves, the desire to get it right, I’d forgotten about that feeling. He was right. It did feel pretty sweet to get paid for something that I loved to do.
“It does. Doesn’t it?”
We unloaded at my house first, then hit the Starlite diner, which was so crowded they didn’t have a spot for six. We had to split up into two booths across from each other. Me and T on one side, Jazz and Madison on the other in a booth for four, while Wren and Gray sat in the booth for two near the window. Even though they sat across from each other, they were one unit, legs entwined, hands clasped across the table, as they read through the menu. There was familiarity there. Closeness. Comfort. I felt my wrist, a phantom buzz from the missing infinity band.
Madison already had her menu closed. When our eyes met, she looked away. God, I would have given anything to relive that moment onstage at Whiskey Business. The way it felt to have her look at me like that, like she couldn’t look away. Here in the diner with the bright lights and the clanking of dishes and laughter, I felt too exposed to just stare at her. How could it have felt like we shared a secret in a crowded room, but here we couldn’t hold eye contact for longer than a few seconds? She fiddled with the paper ring around her silverware.
After we placed our order, Jazz put her arms on the table and her head down. She looked content in Tanner’s hat.
“So how much did you have to drink, Diara?” Madison asked.
Jazz sat up. “Only two itty-bitty beaker . . . no, wait, test-tube thingies of some really sweet-tasting blue stuff. I’m still a little buzzed, but I’ll be fine after I eat. The girl in the tiara—the one getting married—just handed them out from this little rack. I was talking to her about Logan, and she told me to lighten up and live a little.”
“Wait, what about Logan?” Wren asked.
Jazz waved her hand. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Talk. About. It.”
“Diara has spoken,” Tanner said. Jazz convulsed with laughter.
“Ugh, don’t make me laugh.”
The waitress came back with our order. Two plates of disco fries and rye toast with jam. Madison had a hot chocolate with a mountain of whipped cream.
“Check out this shoddy barista work. Amateurs.” She took a spoonful of whipped cream from the top. I laughed.
Tanner grabbed his plate of disco fries and dug in. Jazz wrinkled her nose.
“Those look like a stomachache waiting to happen.”
“Nah, these are the best. What’s with the rye toast and tea? Are we dropping you off at the nursing home after this?”
Jazz laughed. “Training, Tanner. That plate of grease would probably take me about twenty laps around the park to burn off.”
“Food of the gods, Jasmine. Live a little.” He held out a forkful of fries dripping with gravy and cheese to her.
“You know my real name.”
“Yep, like the rice.”
Jazz snorted, putting her hand up to her mouth. Tanner waved the fork at her again.
“Suits you better than Diara. Going once . . .”
She took the fork out of his hand and nibbled at the tip of a fry before scarfing the rest of it.
“Mmmm . . . this is . . . No way.”
“See, told you.”
Madison arched an eyebrow at their exchange, then looked at me.
“Stranger things,” she said.
I touched my fingertips to hers, across the table. She didn’t snatch them away. Her eyes met mine again. She had smudged dark eyeliner on that made her eyes look so damn blue it was like they were lit from within. I kept waiting for her to glance away, but she didn’t.
“What happened with Zach?” I asked.
“You saw that?”
“Well, no. He was there and now he’s not.”
“We broke up,” she said, sliding her fingertips over mine. We weren’t exactly holding hands, but it was something. Her touch made every cell in my body buzz. Don’t smile. Don’t smile. My mouth betrayed me. She pursed her lips to the side, fighting a smile, and looked away.
“I’m going to make it up to you—the birthday thing,” I said.
“You don’t have to,” she said.
“Yes. Yes I do.”
She tapped her fingers on mine. “I’d like that.”
FIFTEEN
MADISON
“MADISON, THESE PHOTOS ARE PERFECT.” PIPER stood over our proposed Sadie Hawkins layout, a rare grin across her face. “I love this one, it’s such a standout.”
She pointed at the photo of the balloons, the one with the word choice. I’d edited it so the word stood out, and the way the shot was angled, the balloons looked otherworldly in the background. I’d put in a mix of photos in the layout, some student candid shots, the band, and some more esoteric shots. I also snuck in the one of me, Wren, and Jazz, hoping Piper would be okay with it. She wasn’t one of those “Let’s make the yearbook photos about the yearbook staff” people.
“Thanks, I think so too.”
“I thought these pages would be a throwaway, but it’s one of my favorite layouts in the book so far. T
his picture might be a bit much,” she said, pointing at the one I’d been worried about. “But maybe I’ll let it slide.”
She moved on down to the next group of staffers. Wren was busy on her laptop, working on some copy for the page on the fall fund-raising walk.
“Hey, I forgot to send you something.” I attached the picture of her and Grayson from the dance to an email and hit send. I’d cropped Jesse out of her photo but kept the original intact. Every so often I pulled it up and studied it, imagining what he’d been witnessing when the photo was taken. I was dying to ask him about it, but the other night at the diner didn’t really seem like the proper place. I’d noticed he wasn’t wearing that infinity bracelet he used to wear—maybe that had something to do with it? My stomach still turned to jelly whenever I thought of our fingertips touching.
Wren gasped. “Mads, I love this picture. I didn’t even realize you took it! I’m making it the wallpaper on my phone.” Jazz peeked over at Wren’s laptop and smiled.
“Yes, too bad I didn’t have a camera the other night. You can see a lot through a camera, like things people don’t want to tell you.” Jazz glanced away when I said this, busying herself with more typing.
Wren and I had dished our versions of Saturday night via text all weekend and every day since, but Jazz had remained quiet throughout. And really, out of the three of us, she hands-down had to have the most different version of the night. The most she’d said was that she didn’t want to talk about it. We were close to wearing her down, though.
“It can’t be that bad,” Wren whispered, leaning in.
Jazz chewed her bottom lip and moved closer to us, sliding her laptop along to create a barrier, under the guise of doing work. She ducked behind it and spoke.
“Nothing happened, okay? That’s the embarrassing thing.”
“Why did Logan just leave?” Wren asked.
“And were you really cool with it? That’s what he told me outside,” I said.
She pressed her lips together, maybe trying to keep the story in still, but finally relaxed. “Yes, I was cool with it. Everything was fine when he first got there. We held hands, talked—well, as much as you can talk over the music. He wasn’t really into the band and then his friends wanted to leave. They were going to a party at a brownstone that these girls at the bar invited them to.”
“He said he asked you to go. Did he?” I wished I could go back to that moment I’d watched Logan leaving and stick out my foot to trip him.
“Yes, he said I could get a ride home with them, but I wanted to stay with you guys. When he left it was like a whole different night. I tried to make it up front, but the crowd was too much, and those girls from the bachelorette party kind of took me in.”
“You should have texted me, I would have found you,” Wren said.
“I don’t know, it was fun being someone different, like, maybe I could be Diara Jones for a night. Diara did blue shots and danced on the bar and completely forgot about Logan. You know, he’s cute, we talk, and I really like him as a running bud, but there’s no . . . magic.” When she said magic she brought her hands together and then slowly apart, wiggling her fingers a bit, in what I imagined was supposed to represent sparkly, magical love glitter.
“You watched Sleepless in Seattle again, didn’t you?”
She laughed. “No. Haven’t been romcom-ing it lately. I’m sick of pining for some meet-cute that probably won’t happen but I don’t know, isn’t that how it should be, at least a little bit? That something you can’t quite put your finger on? I feel like we’re both just kind of forcing it, because he’s a boy and I’m a girl and that’s what we’re supposed to do. No one has written the script about good friends, have they?”
Wren and I both shrugged.
“Anyhow, after I did those blue shots, I started feeling dizzy, and ran into Tanner and he walked with me outside for some air. It was cold, so I took his hat. Do you know that’s his grandfather’s hat? He was the one who got him into the bass.”
Wren grinned. “Holy crap, you are totally crushing on Tanner.”
Jazz bit back a smile, her eyes darting between us. “No, not really.”
“Jazzabelle, you’re blushing.”
“He makes me laugh. It was like, one question about his hat and he kind of cracked open into this whole other person. I’m not saying it was magic or anything, but I wasn’t analyzing every move wondering if it meant something. It felt nice. C’mon, you both know what I’m talking about. I saw you and Jesse holding hands, Mads, not sure why I’m under a microscope here.”
“We weren’t holding hands,” I said. “Just . . . touching fingertips.”
“Whatever it was, you guys looked into it,” Wren said. “How cool would that be if we dated guys from the same band?”
“Decidedly not cool. What would happen if one of us broke up, then what? We couldn’t hang out?” Jazz said.
“Ha! So you are thinking about it,” I said.
“No, not really. I’m not saying I want to start anything with Tanner, but it was a bit of a jolt, to see him in a different way.
“And now I’m meeting my platonic but foxy run buddy to try to shave five seconds off my five-K,” she said. “Wish me luck.”
She packed up her laptop and gave us a small wave as she went out to her locker. I stared at Wren.
“Tanner and Jazzy? You think?”
“That would be . . . interesting, but I’m more curious about what Jesse wants to do on your birthday. Did you find out yet?”
“No, he said not to worry, he’s doing all the planning. What could that even be? Free chai for a year?”
Wren smiled.
“Do you know something?” I asked.
“Only that you really want to do more than touch fingertips with him.”
Since Paul was flying a client to Chicago for the weekend and my mother was starting her RYT 200 intensive teacher training, we skipped our Thursday yoga in order to celebrate my birthday early. I picked Arturo’s, our go-to special-occasion-casual-but-elegant place. We ordered our usual cheese-smothered garlic bread and fried calamari with pepperoncini, which we dug into.
“Omigod, this is so good, but I bet I’ll still be tasting this on Saturday. Hope I don’t reek for Jesse.”
“Are you sure that’s really the way you want to spend a good portion of your birthday—in a car?”
“Mom, for the tenth time, yes. I’m so ridiculously stoked for this.”
When Jesse told me he’d make it up to me for singling me out at Whiskey Business with “Happy Birthday,” I expected at most a movie, cake, a free chai at Mugshot. Instead he’d asked me if I wanted to go to Fallingwater, the house designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.
Mind = blown.
The downside was that it was five hours away.
The upside was that we were spending the night at his aunt’s house.
The downside was the number of phone calls it took to plan it all. My mother and his mother, my mother and his aunt, the three of them at one point talking so long I thought for sure we’d be in on a vacation share in LBI with them during the summer or spending national holidays together.
Of course, my mother had wanted to make sure that said aunt really existed and that Jesse and I wouldn’t be spending the night in a motel. Then there were my calls to Wren and Jazz. What to wear? Was this too much? Should I really consider doing something so big with someone I’d only just started hanging out with? It was all slightly embarrassing, but completely worth it. For the first time in a long time, I was so flippin’ excited for my birthday, but I wasn’t sure what it had to do with more—seeing Frank Lloyd Wright’s work up close and personal or spending all that time alone with Jesse. Both, I supposed.
After my pre-birthday dinner, we stopped by the bakery for a small vanilla buttercream cake and then went back to the house.
“So what first, presents or cake?” My mother set the cake down in the center of the dining room table.
“Present
s? Today?”
“I guess we have an answer,” Paul said. He disappeared into the living room and came back with a large, flat package tied with a blue ribbon. My mother’s grin stretched across her face as Paul handed me the present. I had to shove away from the table to make room for it. My heart raced as I untied the ribbon and ripped away the tissue paper.
It was an art portfolio.
I ran my hand across the soft, smooth leather. My initials, MP, were stamped into the front. I’d been keeping my things in a binder with page protectors; this was probably more extravagant than I needed at the moment, but it was perfect.
“Your mother and I picked it out, but if you really don’t like it—”
“I love it,” I whispered, opening it up and imagining how I would fill it. Slipped into the second page were a few papers that were stapled together.
An application to Pratt’s summer program.
My throat tightened; the initial unease I felt when I spoke about being handed this sort of money danced in my gut. I’d talked myself into accepting NJDI as my only option, that it was what I wanted, what I needed, that earning it was a noble thing. I still believed that, but this? The love I felt at that moment overwhelmed me, filled me up so much that my eyes itched with backed-up tears. They believed in me. They really wanted this for me.
My mother cleared her throat. “Mads, we know how you feel about this, but we really think, if this was your first choice, you should reconsider.”
“Think of it as sixteen years’ worth of birthday presents; when you look at it that way, it’s really not that mu—”
“I’ll do it,” I said. “I’ll apply, I’ll go. I . . . Thank you.” I placed the portfolio to the side and sprung up to give Paul an awkward, seated hug. He laughed and patted my arm, then I went over to Mom.
“You won’t regret it, sweetie, really, you’ll see.” I threw my arms around her, pressed my cheek against hers. We rocked for a minute until she stepped back.
“And wait, there’s more.”
“Really?”
“More” turned out to be a set of colored sketching pencils and a pair of boots I’d admired at the mall. I even allowed them to sing “Happy Birthday” to me, softly and without any additions like “a pinch to grow an inch” or a countdown to how many birthdays I was celebrating. It all felt right somehow. The three of us there. A family—maybe with the seams showing, but still . . . together.
The Secrets of Attraction Page 17