Crush Control (10 page)

But I spotted a different chain with a small turtle charm. I clasped it around my neck. “I'll wear this one.” The shell had little green stones that sparkled when they caught the light.

“It's so small.” Mom scrunched up her nose. “And it blends right into your dark shirt.”

But I didn't care. I liked that the turtle's head was just barely poking out of its shell. That's what I was going to do tonight. Emerge.

“So what time is Max picking you up?” Mom asked.

“Any minute.” I had casually mentioned to him that Quinton and Mia had invited me to Jake's party. If he was surprised that top-of-the-pyramid people had befriended me, he made no indication. He said he planned on going to the party, and if I'd feel more comfortable going with him than showing up alone, he'd love to pick me up.

“Max is here!” Mom called as the sound of his truck filled the house.

I grabbed my bag and waved good-bye.

“Have fun!” she called as I flew out the front door.

I sank into the passenger's seat and buckled my seat belt.

“You look great,” Max said and smiled. He looked great too. Better than great, in his khaki shorts and white T-shirt that made his skin look so tan. He backed down our driveway and cranked the radio. I was feeling great; I was excited about the night, I was sitting here with Max, and the song on the radio was fun. I started moving my head along to the beat. Max looked at me slyly.

“You like this song?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah” I said. Max was so into music, there was no way I was admitting I'd never heard it before in my life.

“You actually
know
this song?” he teased. “I thought all you listened to was Cher.”

“Hey!” I pushed him lightly. “Not by choice.”

I don't think he bought it. I was a Top 40 pop queen and it would take him hours—no, days—to deprogram my brain and introduce me to some of his music choices.

“I'm going to make our car rides all about music education for you,” he said. “I'm going to whip up a mix CD this weekend of decent music—some old school like Nirvana, Chili Peppers, maybe throw in a little Oasis and Pumpkins.” Max was all excited, nodding his head and smiling. “Weezer, the Killers, 311, the White Stripes . . .”

I smiled and laughed. My heart swelled with the possibility that I had been right—that Minnie had been a distraction for him, a placeholder until I arrived.

He jerked the truck to the right and pulled up a driveway.

I looked around. “Where are all the cars?” I asked. “We're not the first people here, are we?”

“No, this isn't Jake's. I told Minnie we'd swing by and pick her up.”

“Oh,” I said, trying not to visibly deflate.
What the hell? He was just flirting with me—wasn't he?
Suddenly, I felt awkward, like a total third wheel.
I guess I was wrong.
I was just his friend. Minnie was his girlfriend. “I didn't mean to intrude.”

“Hey, I offered to take you. I
want
to take you.” He smiled.

Why?
I wanted to ask.
Because you love me and want to be near me? Or because I'm new in town and you wanted to help out a friend?
I was so confused.

Minnie floated down her front steps, her short skirt bouncing up around her thighs as she skipped (skipped!) across the driveway. She seemed so light and effervescent—like a glass of champagne, and all at once I felt very unfeminine. Sure, I was a good companion, like milk is for cookies, but I didn't make your nose tingle. No wonder Max was surprised at the pink in my room. I made a mental note to wear more skirts.

Max got out of the truck to greet her, so I got out of the car too, and I stood pathetically against the car door while they kissed. I turned my back and stared at the puffy white clouds in the sky starting to turn a pale shade of petal pink as the sun set.
A pink sunset. How romantic. Let me go vomit.

Minnie came over to my side of the truck. “Hi!” She beamed. “Love those jeans. So flattering!”

“Thanks,” I muttered.
Did she have to be so darn nice?
I opened the door and started to climb toward the backseat.

“No, no,” Minnie said. “You should sit up front. You were here first—you have automatic shotgun!”

“No, it's fine,” I said. “You have a skirt on—you don't need to be climbing all over the place. I'll be fine back here.”

“Well . . .” She hesitated for a moment. “Okay,” she relented.

I climbed into the backseat. “Do you have enough room back there?” she called over her shoulder as Max started the truck. “He's such a slob! There's junk everywhere!” She reached over and playfully rubbed his head and I felt the palm of my hand burn. I wished I could feel his soft scalp under my hand.

“Willow,” Max called over the thumping bass. “Minnie's taste in music is just as bad as yours. Maybe worse! She likes”—he looked over at her and used his free hand to pat her knee affectionately—“
country
music.”

“It's not that bad,” she said, laughing, “if you'd just give it a try.”

“
All my exes live in Texas
,” Max sang in a thick, put-on drawl.

Minnie laughed and I counted all the ways that sitting in the backseat, nestled between a mountain of CDs and a dumbbell, watching my best friend, my soul mate, touch and laugh and flirt with the most adorable girl I'd ever seen, was pure torture.

Max jammed on his brakes and my head flung forward and knocked against the back of Minnie's seat.

“Sorry!” Minnie said, as if she was the one who drove recklessly.

“Are you okay?” Max turned to look at me.

I pointed to the windshield. “Could you please keep your eyes on the road?”

“We're here,” he said, throwing the truck into park.

I looked out the window and gawked. It's not like I never went to parties back in Vegas—of course I did. I lived for my friend Lauren's annual Halloween party. But the parties were small, intimate—twenty or so of us crammed into an apartment, filtering out onto a balcony into the desert heat.

But here it was like the entire school had taken over—not just the two-story expansive brick home of Jake Gordon, but the partiers had spilled out into the entire neighborhood. Cars haphazardly lined the driveway—some half-parked on the grass—and snaked down the curb of the street as far as the eye could see. The girls wore skirts and tank tops and the guys wore shorts and T-shirts. People overflowed out of the house, littering the lawn with their red plastic cups.

Max came over to the passenger side of the car and offered a hand to help me out of the backseat, and I noticed with utter inferiority that Minnie showed no signs of jealousy. There was not even a morsel of concern in her mind that Max could be attracted to me.

We walked side by side, Max cluelessly nestled between two girls who loved him, up the long driveway. Halfway up, Trent bounded over and high-fived Max. Immediately they started talking about music. Another guy, big and sweaty, with flushed cheeks, barreled over and pressed cold red cups into our hands.

“What's up guys?” Sweaty Guy asked and joined the conversation between Max and Trent.

Minnie turned toward me and asked if Worthington was very different from Vegas. But I could barely respond, because panic overtook me when I realized we were staying there—outside—in the sweltering, oppressing humidity. It would only be a matter of minutes—seconds, really—until my hair frizzed up and resembled a rat's nest.

I told Minnie that Worthington was very different from Vegas but that right now the humidity was the change that was causing me the biggest problem. “I can't take this muggy weather,” I said, tugging at my hair. “And what was I thinking, wearing jeans?”

She laughed then turned to talk to another girl who'd walked up.

The sweaty, flushed-faced guy looked at me. “So you're the girl from Vegas?”

I nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Quinton Dillinger is, like, telling everyone that you're going to do a hypnosis show tonight,” Sweaty Guy said. His name was Conner.

Max craned his neck away from his conversation with Trent and looked toward me. “You are?”

“Are what?” Minnie asked, turning back toward me.

“She's going to do hypnosis tonight,” Conner answered excitedly.

“Well, I'm not sure,” I said noncommittally. I thought back to my mom's pleading eyes, her emphatic request to leave that life behind.

“Really?” Max asked, a huge grin breaking across his face. He turned toward Conner. “She's hilarious. Hilarious.” He told him that he had seen our show when he visited Vegas many years ago. “I promise you,” he said enthusiastically, “you guys are in for a treat.” He shook his head affectionately at me. “It's always exciting when you're around, Willow. You know how to have fun, how to throw a little adventure into life.”

I couldn't help but notice a small line crease between Minnie's eyebrows as her face shifted into a slight show of concern. And I looked her over, standing there in her bouncy skirt and sandals, and suddenly something occurred to me. Minnie, fresh and feminine, genuinely kind and a little ditzy, might just be a little bit boring. I looked back at Max, still smiling at some recollection of mischief we'd gotten into together. He didn't have to know that I had become a little boring too. He still believed my Photoshopped life. Now I had a chance to make that life a reality. I reached up and felt the turtle charm. Time to emerge. Take a chance.

Minnie was watching Max smile at me.

Then suddenly Minnie grabbed at her eye and called loudly, “Oooh, my eye! I've got something in my contact!”

“Here.” The girl beside her reached into her pocket and pulled out some eyedrops. “I've got some solution.”

“Oh,” Minnie said, sounding both surprised and disappointed. “Well, I . . . I need a mirror.” She grabbed Max's hand. “Max, walk me to the bathroom? I can't see!”

He took her hand obediently and gently led her across the grass, weaving between partiers.

What just happened?
I watched as Max opened the front door and led her inside.
Something
had happened, that was for sure. And that's when I knew I had found my opportunity. I could show Max everything he'd been missing. Fun. Excitement. Adventure. And I could start by doing a hypnosis show tonight.

“I'm going to do it,” I said to no one in particular. I was abandoned, standing alone at a party where I hardly knew a soul.

Conner, the sweaty guy, patted me on the back. “Awesome!”

And I did think briefly about my mother and her sad, beseeching eyes. But Mom was a romantic. She would understand that I was just taking the necessary steps to open the door to true love.

“You're going to do it?” Quinton asked.

“Sure,” I said nonchalantly, as if I wasn't defying my mother in every way. My heart played bumper cars in my chest, slamming back and forth into various organs as I tried to calm my nerves, tell myself I could do it. No big deal. I'd channel my mother and everything would be fine. Better than fine, because I'd be reminding Max of my adventurous spirit—something maybe, just maybe, he was missing.

“What will you need?” Mia asked, very businesslike. I half expected her to whip out her four-color pen and create a list.

“Um, a stage?” The sound of the words made me shiver.
A stage. My stage.

She nodded and began to walk up the driveway and around the house.

The mahogany-haired girl, Sadie, walked over to Mia. I recognized her from the previous day in English class. “Hey girl,” she said to Mia.

“Hi.” Mia adopted a much lighter tone than the one she had used with me.

“Love your skirt,” Sadie said.

“Thanks.” Mia smoothed the sides of her painted-on, metal-embellished black skirt. “Did you tell Riley about the new song?”

Sadie nodded. “Total approval.”

“Whew.” Mia smiled. “Thanks.” She started to walk again, and I followed, feeling a little bit like a dog. I couldn't quite get a handle on Mia. She wasn't mean to me, and I didn't exactly feel invisible, but she seemed very wary of me for some reason.

“So,” she said, turning toward me. “How exactly is it that you became friends with Quinton?”

“We sort of . . . bumped into each other at the park.”

She looked me over with an intrigued expression, like she wondered if
bumped into each other
was code for
bumping and grinding.
I almost jumped in to correct her, but then I decided to let Mia wonder if I was the kind of girl Quinton would go for. It was thrilling to even pretend of the possibility. This was my reinvention, after all. I followed her behind the house to the backyard, where there was a large brick patio—perfect for a stage. Several people stood around a stone fire pit where an actual fire was sizzling—a fire! In this heat! Insanity! But the flickering yellow and orange flames sent waves of amber light into the darkening sky, and it did set a nice mood.

Mia scanned the area in planning mode when a burly guy, tall and gorgeous—looking a little like Taylor Lautner—walked over. His eyes were semi-closed under thick black eyebrows and he wore an expression like maybe the English language was too hard to muster right now.

“Hey sweetie!” Mia cooed, reaching up to stroke his mammoth bicep. “Are you having fun? Do you need another drink?”

I realized this must be Jake—Mia's boyfriend.

He shook his head.

“Your party is
great.
” Mia tilted her chin up at him—maybe waiting for a kiss, or maybe just trying to close the gap in their height difference. “I mean, like,
everyone
is here. Everyone!”