Crush Control

by Jennifer Jabaley

  The pretty, forgot-her-name girl danced around with her hands in a fist. Yellow Jacket danced around with his swollen tongue hanging out of his mouth, and Hayden danced with the mousy-haired girl at the back of the crowded lawn. And Taylor Swift continued to sing “You Belong with Me.”

  The performance was a success. I did it. I made it happen by myself. In the crowd, I saw Max, laughing and having a good time and I felt a zing of satisfaction. I had made my mark on this new school and on Max. And finally, I felt like I was emerging from the shadows.

  9

  The next day, Georgia invited me over to work on our English assignment but also, I think, to get the gossip about Jake’s party. Georgia’s mom answered the door with a broom in her hand. I followed her inside. The house was immaculate and orderly. They had moved in just three weeks before we did but there wasn’t a cardboard box in sight. Pictures were hung on the walls. Knickknacks adorned the shelves; small table lamps and perfectly placed stacks of magazines sat on the end tables.

  Georgia’s mom shuffled me upstairs to Georgia’s room. She opened the bedroom door to reveal a haphazard, cluttered mess. Every inch of wall was covered with posters except the top six-inch border, which was stenciled with movie quotes. In one corner of the room sat a leopard-fur lounge chair, while in the opposite corner a four-foot-tall bust was draped in dozens of costume necklaces, beads, and pearls. There were two TVs—one mounted to the wall and the other resting on top of the dresser. And under the window was a huge knee-high black patent leather boot used as a flowerpot, with an overgrown spider plant crawling down the sides. Lying on her bed in the middle of all the clutter, was Georgia.

  “Hey!” Georgia popped her head up off her pillow.

  Georgia’s mom pulled out a rag from the pocket of her sweatpants and dusted the top of her dresser. “You’d think if you knew you were having company . . .”

  “Ma,” Georgia said. “I hardly think Willow cares if there’s a little dust.”

  Georgia’s mom huffed then closed the door behind her.

  I walked over and ran my fingers over the piles of necklaces hung around the fabric-draped bust. “Wow, that’s a lot of necklaces.”

  “Yeah, well, we moved here to take over the Worthington Diamond Center so I have a lot of inventory at my disposal. You can try some on if you want.”

  “Oh,” I said. I looked at the oversize beads and dangling charms. They were definitely more suited for my mom. “It’s okay. Thanks, though.”

  “So,” Georgia asked eagerly, “how was the party? I hate that I missed it. I can’t believe my mom made me go to my aunt Lynne’s birthday party.” She huffed. “Was the night a success?”

  “I don’t know,” I said as I pulled my copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream out of my bag and placed it on her bed. “I mean, it was obvious that Max liked the show—I saw him laughing and smiling and he gave me our secret signal.” I tapped the side of my temple.

  “What’s that?” She made a face.

  “It’s a thing we used to do when we were kids. It’s special.”

  Georgia readjusted herself on her bed. “Okay, so he had fun, but then what?”

  “Well,” I started, but Georgia held up her hand to stop me.

  “What?” I asked.

  She held her finger to her lips to hush me. Listen, she mouthed. Outside the bedroom door we heard heavy breathing. She’s trying to eavesdrop. “Mom?” Georgia called.

  Georgia’s mom opened the door with a basket of laundry on her hip. “I’ve got your laundry,” she said cheerily.

  Georgia gave me a look that said, Yeah, right.

  “Need anything?” Georgia’s mom asked.

  “Nope, we’re good,” Georgia answered.

  Georgia’s mom took a few items out of the basket and placed them on top of the dresser. Then she heaved the laundry basket up with a grunt and shuffled away with her slippers skidding across the shiny hardwood floors.

  Georgia got up and closed the door after her. She rolled her eyes. “Continue.”

  I told her about Minnie’s contact lens debacle, and I told her about how Max seemed to be smiling right at me through the whole show. “After Hayden acted on his hidden feeling, I swear I caught Max staring at me with, I don’t know, longing in his eyes. But then when he drove us home—me jammed in to the backseat again—it was weird . . . stiff. I don’t know. Strained.”

  “He’s confused,” Georgia said. “It’s a classic love triangle . . . like Peyton, Lucas, and Brooke on One Tree Hill. Or Joey, Dawson, and Pacey on Dawson’s Creek. Even Bella, Edward, and Jacob in Twilight, although none of you is a vampire or a werewolf.”

  We heard Georgia’s mom shuffle by the door again. “You watch too much TV!” she called.

  “MA! Privacy!” She got up, opened the door, and craned her neck out into the hallway, but her mom had already disappeared. As Georgia walked back toward the bed, her face twisted up and she shook her head. “Maybe you should just forget about Max.”

  “Forget about Max?!” I didn’t mean to shout. “He’s my BEST FRIEND!”

  “I don’t mean forget about him all together. I just mean—be his best friend. Let him figure out what he wants with Minnie or with you, and if it’s meant to be . . .”

  I sighed and leaned back against a Pretty Little Liars poster. “I’m tired of waiting,” I said. “My whole life I’ve been waiting. Waiting to break out of my mother’s shadow. Waiting until Max and I could be together in the same city and,”—my shoulders slumped—“I just never imagined it like this.”

  Georgia looked sympathetic. “You need a distraction. Hey!” Her eyes lit up. “You should date Quinton! He’s so hot.”

  “Oh my God, he looked so good last night,” I said. “But come on—why would a guy like Quinton . . . want me?”

  Georgia held up her hand again and I quieted. We heard breathing at the door.

  The door inched open and Georgia’s mom stuck her head through the crack. “I’ve got some iced tea?”

  “Okay,” Georgia said. “Thanks.”

  Georgia’s mom scuffled in, pulled out two napkins, and placed two large glasses of iced tea on the desk. She looked over at us on the bed, two copies of Shakespeare lying between us, unopened. She swallowed, smiled a tight, closed-lipped smile in my direction. “You’re a pretty girl,” she said. “And I can tell just by listening to you that you’re smart. Don’t ever let yourself feel second best.”

  “MA!!!”

  Her mom shrugged her broad shoulders and threw her hands up in an innocent gesture. “That’s all,” she said, turning back toward the door.

  “I’m so sorry,” Georgia said.

  “It’s okay.” I laughed and thought that sure, I was glad that my mom respected my privacy, but it was kind of nice, too, to have someone reassure you with such confidence.

  “Okay, sure, Quinton is like . . .” Georgia returned to our conversation.

  “Totally out of my league.”

  Georgia didn’t disagree. She got up and brought the glasses of tea over to the bed. “But, he seems really fascinated by you.”

  “He’s fascinated by hypnosis, not me.” I took a sip of the sugary sweet tea and thought of something. “At the end of the party he did come over to me. He touched me on the shoulder and said, You’re so funny.”

  “Oh my God!” Georgia popped up. “Was there any squeeze of the shoulder or just hand placement? And how did he say it? Was it like, You’re so funny my abs hurt from laughing and you should have a late-night program on E! or was it like, You’re so funny and I totally want to practice my football moves and tackle you right now and kiss the crap out of you?”

  I bit my lip. “Maybe somewhere in between.”

  Georgia gasped. “How could you not tell me this?”

  “I don’t know. I was too busy trying to figure out the situation with Max.”

  Georgia giggled. “I don’t think Quinton is dating anyone.”

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “This is ri
diculous.”

  “Oh my God,” Georgia panted. “Who knows—maybe Quinton is your destiny. Or”—she stuck her finger in the air—“it’s the perfect plot twist to make Max jealous.”

  This made my ears perk up. Would Max be jealous? And would Quinton ever really date me?

  “Think about it,” Georgia said with a satisfied look on her face. “Ron and Hermione started out as childhood friends in Harry Potter, right? But each time one of them started dating someone else, the other would get jealous. Jealousy is used all the time to bring out that perfect lightning-bolt moment needed for a good plot twist.”

  “Hmmm,” I mused, somehow thinking all of Georgia’s character knowledge might be relevant to my life after all.

  “Oh yeah. And Ron and Hermione did wind up together, you know. I mean, it took seven books, but eventually they got married and had two kids.”

  I nodded slowly and thought about jealousy. Maybe Max just viewed me as his best friend—the girl from his childhood. But if he saw me date someone, it could be just the lightning-bolt moment he needed . . .

  “You could live happily ever after,” Georgia said, and I smiled.

  “Okay.” I picked up A Midsummer Night’s Dream. “So tell me more about this crazy love triangle.”

  Monday morning I texted Georgia: When Max picked me up this morning he was all smiles—totally normal.

  Of course he was. Minnie wasn’t there! she texted back.

  In English class, Mrs. Stabile announced that we were going to break into our groups again to discuss the themes of love and magic in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  Georgia, Mia, Quinton, and I pushed our desks together and pulled out our notebooks.

  “So,” Mia said, immediately jumping into the assignment. “Lysander immediately falls in love with Helena because he’s totally under the influence of the magic love spell.”

  “Right. So . . .” Georgia turned toward Quinton. “Are you excited for the football game this weekend?”

  Mia’s forehead crinkled at the departure from academics. Or maybe she was just perplexed that an unknown would talk to a popular football player with such ease.

  Quinton smiled a winsome smile. “Sure.”

  Georgia nodded. “I can’t imagine how you balance it all—honors classes, football, girlfriend . . .” She was as subtle as her mother.

  He cocked his head to the side. “I’m a hardworking student. I’m a fantastic football player and I’m a freaking awesome boyfriend. But I’m not going to lie to you.” His smile widened. “I haven’t managed to pull off all three at the same time.” He shrugged. “So I know my limits. That’s why I have a strict no-dating-during-football-season rule. Don’t want to be a boyfriend if I can’t be the best. Or maybe”—he leaned in a little—“maybe I just haven’t found the right girl who makes me want to make the time.”

  The three of us just sat there, silently swooning. Then Georgia kicked my shin under the desk.

  “But what about you?” he asked me. “How did you manage your schoolwork and do a show like that when you lived in Vegas?”

  “Oh, I managed.” I tried to adopt a mysterious tone. God forbid they knew about the permanent butt imprint I had created on my favorite seat in the library.

  “The show was so funny,” Quinton said. “The way you were able to make people just do things.”

  “Yeah,” Mia said. “Like Hayden is dating Sarah now. Did you know that?” It wasn’t clear who she was asking. Surely not me or Georgia; she’d never really addressed us beyond the schoolwork.

  I thought of hot Hayden, all blue eyes and boulder biceps, and the mousy-haired girl in the far corner of the audience. A mismatched couple anywhere, but especially in high school, where social status was so crucial a pyramid could be diagrammed in a matter of minutes.

  “He probably never would have asked her out,” Mia said. “It’s not like she’s . . .”

  “In his league,” Georgia said and kicked me under the desk again.

  Mia abruptly turned toward Georgia, shocked, maybe, that she was being so blunt. From under the desk I heard the soft click click click of Mia nervously changing the colors on her pen. “You made that happen,” she said softly, looking at me. “You . . . erased his fear.”

  I felt a small burst of pride. Really, I was just trying to entertain, to make people laugh and show Max how much fun I could be. I never realized I could potentially change someone’s life. It felt pretty amazing. To help mold destiny.

  Mrs. Stabile walked by and Georgia spouted something about artificial affection and the power of the love spell. The bell rang and we all gathered our things to go.

  In the hallway, Max waved to me. I was about to go over and talk to him but Quinton walked over to Max and asked him something. Max burst out laughing and I felt all jittery inside. Could they possibly be talking about me? I walked behind them, analyzing the way each walked. Quinton: smooth and relaxed, his chin up, arms swinging, hips sauntering with long strides. Max: quick paced and light, with a spring in his step and his broad shoulders squared.

  Mia was walking to my right and Sadie ran over toward her. They were both wearing their cheerleading uniforms for a pep rally later that afternoon.

  “So,” Sadie said. “I heard that next week they’re taking nominations for Homecoming Court.”

  Mia smiled that stage smile I’d seen at Jake’s party.

  “Why even have a contest, right?” Sadie laughed. “Just give the crowns to you and Jake!”

  As if on cue, Jake rounded the corner. Mia turned her stage smile his way. “Hi sweetie!”

  “Hey.” He leaned down and pecked her on the lips, and she looked like she would levitate with happiness. It looked like they’d resolved whatever argument they were having.

  I walked into the bathroom. A few minutes later, I was just about to exit the stall when I heard someone come in and go over to the sink. Then the person began making a big ruckus, struggling with something. Whoever it was fumbled and grunted and huffed in exasperation. I took my hand off the flusher and for some reason, found myself peeking through the crack between the door and wall. To my surprise, it was Mia. She rummaged through her book bag and pulled out a small plastic case, unzipped it, and pulled something slim and shiny out. Oh my God, what was going on? Was she doing drugs? Did the perfect queen bee have a needle?

  I flung open the bathroom door. “Stop!” I commanded. “You’ll ruin your life!”

  “What?” She turned toward me and I saw her face, all flushed and rosy, tears streaming down her porcelain skin. She looked so different—still beautiful—but in a much softer, vulnerable way. Like a Jane Austen heroine who just lost her lover. She was holding a needle—a sewing needle—and a spool of white thread.

  Mia quickly patted the puffy areas under her eyes and stood a little straighter.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, walking out of the stall.

  For a minute she held her all-business facade like she was about to say, I’m fine, perfect, but then suddenly she just . . . cracked.

  “No,” she said. “I’m not fine.” She grabbed her skirt. “It caught on my ring and ripped this huge hole.” She spread the pleats of the skirt and showed me a three-inch gap of fabric. “I was going to sew it, but I only have white thread and the skirt is gold, and at first I thought it would hide under the pleat, but when I do a high kick”—she frantically started kicking her leg in the air—“it’s like totally noticeable. And we have the pep rally this afternoon.” She burst into tears.

  I stood there completely dumbfounded. I was uncertain what to do. But then I remembered when I was the one crying in the bathroom and Georgia stayed with me and how much I appreciated that. But Mia hadn’t exactly indicated that she was interested in a friendship with me. I tentatively took a step toward her. “It’ll be okay,” I said, but Mia sat on the ground, still crying. “It’s just a skirt. And it’s fixable.”

  She looked up at me with her weepy eyes, and I got the distinct feeling it was
n’t just about the skirt.

  I sat down next to her. “What’s wrong?”

  The warning bell rang. Mia inhaled sharply. She quickly started to gather her things.

  I opened my purse and pulled out a safety pin. I held it toward her. “Maybe you can pin it from the inside just until you get home and can properly hem it?”

  She hesitated for a minute, then took the pin and nodded. “That’s a good plan.”

  I smiled a small smile.

  “Thanks,” she said. She flipped the edge of her skirt, secured the fabric with the safety pin, and turned it back down. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked.

  “Aren’t most people nice to you?”

  “I guess . . .” She tensed. “I don’t know . . . it’s sort of a fake nice.” She was quiet for a minute. “It was genuinely nice what you did for Hayden and Sarah,” she said softly, her Southern accent echoing against the tiled walls. “I don’t think they’d be together if not for you. He might have worried what his friends would say, but you took away his fear. . . .” She looked at me and I saw how clear her green eyes were—lucid, like a transparent stalk of celery. She stared up at the ceiling, looking away from me. “Could you do that for me? Erase my fears?” she whispered.

  “Um,” I stammered, completely thrown off guard. “I’m not sure what you mean? You have fears? You’re the head cheerleader and the most popular girl in school. You’re perfect!”

  A fresh swell of tears filled her eyes. She scanned around again, looked under the stalls, although clearly no one had entered the bathroom. “That’s just it,” she said, her voice catching. “Everyone expects me to be perfect. I do most of the complicated tricks in the tumbling routines and on the squad. But they just keep wanting more and more.”

  “Okay,” I said, unsure where she was going.

  “Well . . .” She blinked fast, looking increasingly desperate. “The team wants me to do this flip off the top of the pyramid, and I hate heights.”

  “You’re a cheerleader and you hate heights? Isn’t that kind of . . . paradoxical?”