Senior Week Crush

by Maggie Dallen

  As if reading my thoughts, Jack said, “You wouldn’t just be doing me a favor. Think of Dylan.”

  My head whipped to the side to see his expression. His eyes were hooded. He had that lazy, half lowered eyelids thing going on. But even so, I could see something. A spark of him… knowing. As if to confirm my suspicion, he added, “Just think of how much time the two of you will spend together.”

  It was the smirk that followed that really clinched it. He knew. Flames shot into my cheeks. Jack knew that I had a crush on Dylan. I went from nervous to flustered to panicked in the span of a heartbeat.

  “I’ve got to go.” I fumbled for the door handle and scrambled to catch my cardigan before it slipped out of my hands in my haste.

  “Wait, Layla—”

  Dimly aware that he hadn’t used the nickname I despised, I turned back once my feet hit my driveway. “I need to think about it, okay? I’ll talk to you in school.”

  And then I slammed the door before he could respond.

  I ran to the the house and it wasn’t until I was safe inside, out of Jack’s view, that I stopped to catch my breath. Leaning against the front door, I dropped my book bag and inhaled deeply. My hands were shaking from a mix of nerves, excitement, embarrassment, and…what? Something else. All I knew was that I was rattled. This could be my opportunity to get close to Dylan.

  Or it would be my great opportunity to completely humiliate myself in front of him and every other senior at Midland High.

  Chapter Three

  “What do you mean, you didn’t say yes?” Amy poked her head out from behind an easel, her red frizzy hair formed a halo around her face as it fell from the haphazard bun she was holding up with dry paintbrushes.

  It was my study hall and on the second to last day of school so our teacher gave use free reign to do as we pleased. Which meant painting for Amy and overanalyzing every word out of Jack’s mouth for me.

  “You’re missing the point. He knows.” My eyes widened meaningfully but Amy’s attention was back on the painting.

  “So Jack knows that you have a crush on Dylan. Big deal. It’s not like it was a secret, right?”

  Her words sparked a paranoia that had been brewing ever since I got out of his truck. “Does everyone know? Do you think Dylan knows?”

  The panic in my voice was enough to snag Amy’s attention once more. She pushed her glasses up her nose, smearing a bit of paint on her cheek in the process. In true Amy style, she paused to give the question serious thought. “I think it’s only obvious to people who know you well.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, okay. I mean, that’s okay. My friends can know.”

  But Amy was already back on the original topic, like a dog with a bone. “So why didn’t you say yes?”

  Her nose scrunched up in confusion and when I opened my mouth to explain, I couldn’t find the words. I’m a singer. I sing. It’s what I do. But singing in character was different than singing as me. I’d already tried explaining this to Amy but she hadn’t understood and repeating myself wasn’t going to make it any clearer. How do you explain to an extrovert that you hate being the center of attention? When I was in plays, it wasn’t me the audience saw, it was the character. But if I did this, if I joined Dylan’s band, it would just be me up there. In front of our classmates and who knows how many strangers.

  Amy’s expression shifted from confused to concerned. Apparently my fear was written all over my face.

  Reaching out a paint-smudged hand, she squeezed my knee. “Hey, if you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.”

  I nodded. She was right. Of course, she was right. But….

  “What if this is my chance?” Even I could hear how shaky my voice sounded. “With Dylan, I mean.” As if there was any doubt.

  I could practically see Amy resisting the urge to roll her eyes. She leaned back in her seat with a sigh. “Look, you’re the one who believes in destiny and fate and all that crap, right?”

  I nodded. I did, I really truly did. I knew it made me sound like a flake, but I believed that things happened for a reason and that true love conquered all.

  “So if this is destiny,” Amy continued, “then you’ve got to go for it, right?”

  I blinked at my best friend in shock. Amy didn’t believe in destiny, but I knew what she was doing. She was using my own logic against me.

  And she was right.

  Much as I believed in fate, I also believed that the universe tested people. It didn’t just hand you everything you wanted on a silver platter. You had to show that you truly wanted it, that you deserved it, that you were willing to fight for it. Destiny was a double-edged sword like that. It was what allowed fate and self-determination to co-exist. Or at least, that was how I saw it.

  Amy’s grin was smug. She knew me too well. Well enough to play into my own philosophies to get me to do something.

  “You suck,” I said on a sigh. She laughed as she started to gather up her art supplies. “Just telling you what you need to hear.”

  “You’re right. I can do this.” I pushed my shoulders back in the hope that looking confident would make me feel confident. “It’s just singing, right?”

  Amy nodded.

  “And this is the universe’s way of putting Dylan and I together. This is our chance.”

  Amy made a noncommittal sound of agreement. She might like the idea of me joining the band but she clearly still wasn’t sold that Dylan was my fated soulmate. That was fine. She would see the truth eventually.

  What mattered was that I knew we were meant for one another. And the universe had handed me a gift. The only price was my bravery. I could do it. For Dylan, I could be brave. I could conquer my fears.

  With that thought in mind, my pulse started racing. I was really going to do this. I was going to say yes.

  The terrifying image of me alone on stage threatened to make me puke up my lunch.

  Stop it. Don’t be stupid. You won’t be alone on stage, you’ll be with Dylan.

  That helped the nervous churning a bit. If I was going to get through this I just had to keep my eye on the prize. I would focus on Dylan and all the time we would be spending together.

  I sucked in air and the nausea receded a little more. I could do this. I grabbed my bag off the ground and started toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Amy called.

  I didn’t even turn back around. “To find Jack and tell him I’m in. If I don’t do it now….”

  The door shut behind me before I even finished speaking but Amy knew me well enough to know how it ended. If I didn’t take this leap of faith now, I would let fear win and I’d never get my chance with Dylan.

  I didn’t find Jack between classes and there was no sign of him at lunch. Come to think of it, I didn’t think I’d ever seen Jack in the cafeteria. Amy waved to me from our table toward the back, where she was deep in conversation with two of our friends from drama.

  If he never came to the cafeteria for lunch, he had to go somewhere. Our school had an on-campus policy, which meant students weren’t allowed to leave the grounds during lunch, not even seniors. He had to be around here somewhere.

  The confidence I’d felt in the art room was rapidly fading. Much as I tried to hold on to thoughts of Dylan and me on the road together, or Dylan and me backstage, or Dylan and me alone in a hotel room together…. the nerves were resurfacing with a vengeance.

  It was now or never. I had to say yes before it was too late. My hands were shaking, my palms a clammy mess. Despite the air-conditioning, a trickle of sweat made its way down my back.

  Thoughts of Dylan flew out of my mind as the terrifying image of being on stage torpedoed into my brain. Me. Just me. Singing alone. No hiding behind the mask of a character, no acting out the emotions of someone else. Me. My emotions. Just me.

  Oh God, I was going to hyperventilate.

  I turned and fled from the cafeteria, heading toward the wing that housed the school’s music, arts
, and theater departments. Whenever I was stressed or anxious, sitting in the theater always helped. It grounded me and reminded me of who I was. I was Layla James—actress, singer, and soon-to-be Broadway star.

  Before I made it to the double doors of the auditorium, I heard it. A guitar.

  Someone was playing guitar in one of the school band’s storage rooms. I knew who would be in there before I even approached the door. There, through the half open doorway, I saw him.

  I couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped. Of course Jack was here. It was fate.

  His head shot up when I took a step into the room and for a second I paused, feeling uncertain, like I was interrupting a private moment. But then, in a heartbeat, I saw the recognition in his eyes, and he gave me that lopsided smile of his. “Lay lady lay.” His voice was low and husky and I was suddenly extremely aware that we were alone in this little room, which was better known as a place to make out than a place to actually play music.

  My mouth went dry and I desperately tried to swallow.

  He was waiting for me to speak and I realized how I must look to him. Barging in on his private practice time and standing here like a floundering fish, gaping at him as I gasped for air. What was I doing here? For a second I couldn’t remember. I was overly conscious of Jack’s eyes on me and of his fingers that had paused mid-strum on his guitar.

  “Layla?” His voice, or maybe just his use of my real name, brought me back to reality. What was I doing here? I was committing to destiny. I was saying yes to Dylan and our future together and I was not letting fear stop me from my fate.

  “I’m in.” The words were almost inaudible. His expression didn’t change and for a second, I didn’t think he’d heard me. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’ll do it. I’ll sing.”

  When he still didn’t react, I added, “If you still want me to.”

  The little smirk gave way to a grin that was genuine and not even a little mocking, which put me at ease a little. But just a little.

  “Welcome to the band, lay lady lay.”

  Chapter Four

  I took a step back toward the door, so I was once again half in and half out of the room. “Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you at rehearsal.”

  Of course, I didn’t know when their next rehearsal was but I just wanted to escape. I needed to breathe. There was no oxygen in the tiny music storage room, just an overabundance of testosterone, thanks to Jack’s presence, and a whole lot of trombones.

  Jack shot up out of his seat, the guitar dangling from one hand as he moved toward me. He moved so fast, I didn’t have a chance to back away. I stood there like a deer in headlights as he came to a stop mere inches in front of me. Before I could protest, he reached past me and shut the door.

  No! Air. I needed air. But Jack was grinning down at me, seemingly unaware that I was suffocating and so nervous my legs were trembling.

  “What are you doing?”

  His grin widened and for the first time I saw why so many of my female classmates had crushes on Jack Abrams. I mean, I’m not blind. I noticed he was attractive the first time I saw him at Beth’s birthday party—but I never really got the appeal until now. I just figured those girls who fawned all over Jack had a bad boy complex, but now, up close….there was no denying his sex appeal.

  Maybe it was the lopsided grin—way more appealing than his typical cocky smirk—or maybe it was the way he seemed so at ease in any situation. Like right now. We were stuck alone in a tiny room but Jack had that lazy look about him, like being trapped in an oversized closet with a relative stranger was an everyday occurrence.

  And maybe it was. Maybe he was here to meet somebody. Or maybe random girls came wandering down this hall in search of him on a regular basis looking for a hook-up. Or maybe he thought I was here because I wanted to hook up. Oh God, please say he doesn’t think that I—

  “Let’s get started.” Jack’s command interrupted my paranoia spiral before it could really get underway. He turned back to the seat where he’d been sitting when I’d arrived and nodded his head toward a folding chair to his right.

  His words hit me a little belatedly. Let’s get started. As in… band practice? As in… now?

  “But—” I started.

  He ignored me as he threw the guitar strap over his shoulder and started rummaging in his bag for something.

  “The rest of the band isn’t here,” I finished, stating the obvious.

  He pulled a notebook out of the bag and started flipping through it, seemingly unaware of my panic. I wasn’t ready for this. I was just going to say yes today. I needed time to mentally prepare before I actually did it. Besides, the whole point of any of this was to get close to Dylan, not Jack. So I said it again. “The rest of the band—”

  “We don’t need to rehearse with them yet.” He looked up and he must have seen some of my panic because he added, “Don’t worry, we’ll fit in a rehearsal with them before we play live.”

  A rehearsal? As in, singular? “So just one rehearsal with the rest of the band?”

  His attention was back on the notebook in his hand. A small frown caused a crease to form between his brows as he scoured the book for something. When he spoke, he was paying more attention to the book in his hands than to me. “Don’t worry, Dylan and Herman can keep up if we need to make any key changes. The most important thing is that you learn the songs before we head out on the road in a few days.”

  A few days. The panic reached epic proportions. What had I done? They were leaving for the shore that weekend, which meant I would be performing live in front of strangers this week. This was insanity. Lunacy. Clearly I’d made a mistake.

  Jack must have found what he was looking for because his frown eased and his head shot up. “Here.” He thrust the book in my hands. “Here’s the first one.”

  My hands were shaking as I clutched the book. I glanced down to see notes scrawled across the page. I held it a little closer to see if I could make out the chicken scratch and wondering what on earth I was supposed to do with this. From what little I could read, it looked like lyrics. What did Jack expect of me? This wasn’t sheet music. There were no notes for me to sight read or even any indication of what key it was in, let alone the tempo or the melody. There was nothing here but words and even those were so hastily scrawled that I could barely make them out. Oh, this was going to be so much worse than I’d thought. I was in over my head. I had no idea how to be a lead singer of a band. I didn’t even listen to modern rock. I listened to Joni Mitchell and Cat Stevens, for God’s sakes. I wasn’t sexy or flamboyant or charismatic or anything else a lead singer was supposed to be.

  Jack’s voice cut into my panic attack. “Sorry.”

  The word was startling, particularly given its speaker. I looked up sharply to see Jack watching me, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he flashed me an apologetic smile.

  “Sometimes I forget how terrible my handwriting is.”

  He looked so adorably… normal. Self-conscious like every other student in our class. That glimpse of a humble, normal guy gave me the courage to be honest.

  “I don’t know what to do.” To my horror, the words came out in that weird squeaky voice that was a recent phenomenon in my life. Up until yesterday I was fully capable of creating sounds with my mouth without sounding like a whistle.

  Jack’s hand stopped rubbing his neck as he considered me.

  I shifted from foot to foot as he wordlessly studied me, ignoring my nervous outburst and watching me like I was an alien who’d just arrived on the planet. For one second, I wished I could put myself in his shoes and see what he saw. Whatever his final judgement was, there was no indication in his expression. He just plopped back down on the seat, rearranged the guitar on his lap and nodded toward the folding chair again.

  “Let’s get started.” He said it again as if the last sixty seconds hadn’t happened.

  Annoyance was a welcome feeling after battling nerves all morning. “I don’t know what
I’m doing,” I said again, but this time my voice sounded almost normal and I shoved the notebook back toward him.

  He didn’t take it. Instead, he gave me that smirk that I hated and nodded toward the empty chair.

  I swear to God, if he said ‘let’s get started’ one more time….

  But he didn’t. He started strumming a few chords to a song that I recognized. It was one that his band played often. I’d always liked it. It was a slow number—a ballad, I supposed, if rock music had ballads.

  Then, to my complete and utter surprise, Jack started to sing. Softly, almost under his breath, he started to sing the lyrics which, I realized, were the same ones written in the notebook.

  The heat in the storage room seemed to skyrocket until I was uncomfortably hot. He wasn’t looking at me, but staring off to a distant point on the floor as his hands moved over the guitar. Something about the softness of his voice or the way that it wobbled uncertainly made him seem vulnerable. Exposed.

  He wasn’t a great singer. He wasn’t the worst I’d ever heard but he wasn’t great, and he wasn’t trying to be. But he also wasn’t being over-the-top bad like he had in his truck. He was just being himself and that right there… that was what terrified me. I couldn’t do that. Not in front of people and certainly not in front of him.

  Unsure of what to do, I focused my eyes on the words on the page, reading the words that he sang. They were beautiful. Poetic. I’d never really listened to the lyrics before—partly because I couldn’t stand Brent’s voice, but also because the way he sang made the words difficult to decipher.

  The song was about a breakup. It was heartbreaking in its simplicity but combined with the melody, the effect was haunting. Two words I would never have used to describe the song when it had been sung by Brent.