The Secrets of Attraction (11 page)

The gym floor was thick with people in front of the stage dancing to a craptastic version of “What I Like About You.” Kenny was breathless as he sang—probably from jumping around the stage like an idiot. We wove our way through the mob, stage lights flashing red and green and purple over the crowd. Madison stopped to chat with a few people, then held the camera in one hand over the mass of heads and started snapping random pictures. The flash made my vision spotty. We made it to the far wall, where she finally let go of my hand.

“So are they friends of yours?” she yelled, gesturing to the band and rocking a little to the beat.

“Not really—that's our old drummer. Just checking out the competition,” I yelled back. She nodded. The gym was less crowded than it appeared from up front. Most of the people were toward the stage, with a few stragglers hanging around the perimeter of the room. Tanner was still MIA. I checked my phone. Nothing.

“Hey, I'm going to find my date. You okay?” Madison asked.

I wouldn't have minded hanging out with her some more, but yelling at each other over the music wasn't exactly the perfect situation to get to know someone. Oh yeah, and the fact that she was here with someone made the whole thing a bit inconvenient.

“Yeah, thanks for helping me.”

“You still owe me that chai.” She waved as she walked off into the crowd. What guy would be idiot enough to let her out of his sight at a dance?

I leaned against the wall and finally spotted Tanner. He was dancing with Tori Ashe and her friends. I guess he threw the lying-low plan out the window. I laughed. He looked a little spastic, but it worked for him. I'd forgotten that Kenny's sister went to Sacred Heart, which probably helped with them getting the gig. One thing Kenny had was connections. I tried to be objective—just a dude listening to a band. They weren't that bad and the crowd seemed to like them.

Then I saw her.

Hannah. She was in a dark dress, hair down, and moving to the music, her face lit up red. Green. Purple. I hadn't thought about seeing her or if the band could bring dates. Anytime I thought I was over it, that she hadn't crossed my mind in a few hours—
zap
. This awful jolt Tased me. Maybe it hurt a little less.

Or not.

I fiddled absentmindedly with the infinity band—okay, bracelet—that I still wore . . . for her. For us. Hoping.

“Come on, Jess, just get them. One for me, one for you,” she'd said. We'd been walking around the street fair for a while, browsing the table of, like, the tenth jewelry vendor we'd seen.

“Guys don't wear bracelets,” I'd said, even though I knew I was going to cave.

“What's that big-ass ugly thing you've already got on?”

“That's a wristband. There's a difference.”

“So call it a wristband—pretty please, sugar on top, and all that stuff,”

The look in her eyes was worth the forty bucks. Worth a million.

I hadn't taken it off since that day. Even at my worst moments, when I hated HannahDunk more than I thought I could hate anything, it was still on my wrist. I tugged at it and looked away.

The band finished the song with a crash. Kenny breathed into the mic—
Back in ten!
—and the guys walked off. I sent Tanner a text where to find me; I didn't want to walk over there to his dance circle. I'd seen enough. We could pick the shittiest drummer and still be better than Smegma. Booming dance music blared out of the speakers and the crowd swelled as some rapper sang about talking dirty. My head pounded with the beat. My jacket felt tight. The edges of the room blurred. Madison was suddenly in front of me.

“Couldn't find him,” she said. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I just . . . hate this music.”

“I know, right?”

“Mads! I'm free!” Wren scurried across the dance floor to us. “Where's Jazz? I haven't seen her since we got here.”

Madison shrugged.

“Duuuuude, did you get a load of . . . hey, Thursday Girls,” Tanner said, joining us. His stunt on the dance floor must have given him some swagger because I'd never seen him so laid-back in front of these girls. “So what'd you think, they suck, right?”

“Pretty much,” I said.

“Who, the band?” Wren asked.

“Yeah,” T said.

A tall guy crept up behind behind Wren, putting his finger to his lips. Madison pretended not to notice him. Wren jumped as he wrapped his arms around her, then laughed. The “ball-and-chain” . . . wait. He looked at me.

“Grayson?”

“No effing way,” Tanner said, realizing his number-one drummer choice was wrapped around the girl he'd drooled over for a month.

“Hey, how do you know—” Grayson said.

“Jess works at Mugshot, we go there after yoga.” Madison motioned back and forth between us.

The five of us stood there, kind of nodding to the overpowering beat and just looking at one another, searching for something to talk about. I knew what was coming, could feel the subject swirling there in the center of us, building up energy. Grayson spoke first.

“So did you ever, um, you know, find anyone?” His eyes darted from me to Tanner.

Grayson was not my first choice; the other dude, Plasma's old drummer, was technically better and more experienced. Tanner, on the other hand, thought he'd want to come in and take over, whereas Grayson would be a better fit for
us
. We were at a stalemate, but standing there, having Grayson ask me point-blank, my gut told me a different story. It craved action. Forward motion. I looked at Tanner.

“Um, yeah, you, well . . . you saved us a phone call,” I said.

“What?”

“Can you practice with us tomorrow?” I asked.

“Yeah, definitely.”

“What do you think?” I asked Tanner.

“Great.”

“So you can vouch for this guy,” I said to Madison.

“Me? Um, I guess he's all right. His car is awful, though.”

“Thanks, Mads,” Grayson said, grinning.

I looked at Grayson. “Guess you're in.”

“The band for this sort of sucks, don't they?” he said.

“Yeah.” I already liked him. This was the right decision. He gave us each an enthusiastic handshake to seal the deal.

The music changed to a slower groove. The crowd split apart, some people pairing off like magnets, a few leaving the floor or awkwardly standing there. Madison searched the dance floor, looking for her idiot date no doubt. She fumbled with the camera.

“No more interviews or cookies, right? We can dance?” Grayson asked, holding out his hand to Wren. She grinned, took his hand, and it was like they were already dancing. He brought his forehead down to hers, her hands clasped behind his neck, up into his hair as they curled into each other, eyes open.

“Sickening, isn't it?” Madison said, tilting her chin toward Grayson and Wren. She said it with a smile, like she didn't really think it was sickening at all but felt like she needed to say something since we were just there gawking at them. They kissed. She walked out to the center of the floor and took some snapshots of them. I looked away.

Bam
.

Duncan and Hannah swayed into my view. They weren't pressed together like Grayson and Wren, but their arms were around each other and Duncan was talking, a smile on his face. Hannah leaned into him and whispered something in his ear. He laughed and then brought her in closer. She put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. I could not look away. There was no jolt this time. More like an empty ache, pressure, like someone was slowly pushing the air out of my lungs. They were happy. They didn't even know or care if I was there. Their relationship had nothing—
nothing
—to do with me.

Madison walked back over to me.

“I think we should go,” Tanner said.

“You're leaving already?” Madison asked.

A chestnut husk stuck in my throat; the room was hot again.

“Yeah, we've seen enough, right, T?”

“Yep.”

“Well if you need to sneak into Sacred Heart anytime, I'm your girl,” she said.

I pushed open the side door, and a cold gust shot in. Madison shivered.

“I'll keep that in mind, thanks.”

We walked out into the night, silent as we went back to the car. My ears still thrummed with the sound of the gym, my mind still numb from the reality of what I'd seen. I yanked off the infinity bracelet, stopped short of tossing it to the curb, and shoved it into my pocket. No more pining, for fuck's sake.

“You're okay we went with Grayson?” I asked Tanner.

He nodded. “Why, because he's with Thursday Girl? We have a drummer. I'm on top of the world.”

“Because if you had a problem with it, we could—”

“I like the dude, Jess. He's a good fit. Plenty of fish in the sea. Did you see me dancing with Tori Ashe?”

I laughed. “Yep, but isn't that a conflict of interest?”

“Or sleeping with the enemy. That sounds hotter. What changed your mind about Grayson?” he asked as we reached the VW.

“Dunno. Game-time decision, I guess.”

“So it had nothing to do with him being six degrees of separation from the little blonde? And that might mean she could possibly show up somewhere we're playing?”

“Nah.”

We got into the car and sat a moment while it warmed up. Was Madison the reason I suddenly thought Grayson was a good match? Of course not—he was good, and we'd grow as a band, on common ground. I knew that's why T wanted him—the other guy was
too
good . . . as ridiculous as it sounded. There was something I had to admit, though.

“I mean, it wouldn't suck if she came to see us.”

Tanner smiled and looked out the passenger's-side window. “I knew it.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

“I
'
LL KEEP THAT IN MIND, THANKS,” JESSE SAID
before exiting.

I crossed my arms for warmth, watching him leave after his friend. I had the weird urge to follow and see what Broody Barista did in his free time. Running into him had been such an unexpected surprise in an otherwise meh kind of a night. The door closed with a clunk. I walked over to it, running my hand along the cold push bar—one swift motion and I'd be out. Not that I really wanted to leave—the night had barely started. And this dress was far too fabulous to just roam the streets in, plus I still hadn't gotten any decent photos or slow-danced with Zach.

Why was I making a list of reasons to stay at the dance?

School dances always sounded better than they actually were. Why not call it what it really was: Friday night all dressed up trying to be something it wasn't. No matter how much balloon art filled the gym, it still boiled down to a room with blue padded walls, retracted basketball hoops, and the faint smell of rubber and Simple Green where we'd be slapping around a hockey puck in class on Monday. Seeing it as a romantic place was hard, even with the mood lighting.

Except . . . watching Wren and Grayson—the building could have come crashing down around them and I doubt they'd have noticed. They really were
that sickening couple—
annoying and sweet and in their own world. I took a few pictures of them, then wandered deeper into the crowd, ignoring the disappointment that threatened to bring down my already precarious good mood. There was nothing that sucked more than searching for your date during a John Legend song. Where was Zach?

I made my way to the front of the gym to see if there were any interesting shots—I'd been wary of the dance assignment at first but realized it could be a great opportunity to build my portfolio. Photography was not my thing but my art teacher had said a diverse portfolio showed that you weren't afraid to take risks. That what these art programs wanted to see most was your potential.

Earlier in the year, I'd taken some artsy shots at the Sacred Heart Founders Festival between the spokes of a Ferris wheel that had won a ribbon in the fall art show. Granted, there wasn't much competition. I looked around for something out of the ordinary, anything I could see with a different perspective. As I brought the camera up to my face. Zach's grin appeared in the frame.

“Where have you been?” he asked, grabbing my hand and leading me toward the dance floor.

“Zach,” I said, taking quick little steps to keep up with him. “Slow down.”

I adjusted the strap so the camera was to my back, like a purse—it had really become the clunkiest of accessories. We found an empty space in the center of the gym. He drew me close, hands sliding up my arms, his fingers tracing my shoulders and trailing down my bare back. I clasped my hands behind his neck, keeping my eyes on his.

“Where was
I
? Where were you?”