The Secrets of Attraction (31 page)

The Sadie Hawkins layout was pulled up on her laptop. I managed a smile. Out of everything I'd done for the yearbook so far, this made me most proud.

“So no final tweaks or changes? We can put this to bed?”

The three of us looked at each other and nodded at Piper. “Excellent. There's something else I'd like to tell you. It's not completely official—well, not until the end of the term—but I wanted to let you know I'm recc'ing you three for editorial positions next year. This doesn't mean you can slack or anything. I'm telling you as incentive to keep up the good work.”

“Well where's the fun in that?” I asked. “Aren't there any perks?”

“You'll find there are a lot of people who suddenly want to be your friend—not that I take advantage or anything.” Piper grinned. “I'll have more assignments next meeting. You're finished today if you'd like leave early.”

That was perk enough for me at the moment. We collected our things and walked out to the locker bay.

“I'm already thinking about all the ways I can make Ava Taylor suck up to me,” Wren said, grin so wide it made my cheeks hurt just looking at her.

“We don't have the job yet,” Jazz said.

“Don't be a buzzkill. We should celebrate—how about an after-meeting chai or something.”

“Can't today—I'm meeting Logan for a run.”

“Really? So this friend thing with Logan is really working out,” I said.

“Yeah, weird, huh? It's like, after we hooked up, we realized we're better as friends.”

“Can't kiss to save his life?” I closed my locker and put on my jacket.

“Mads.”

Jasmine laughed. “Nah, he knows what he's doing.”

“You can really just be friends even after you swapped spit?” Wren asked.

“It's weird, I guess, but I'm trying to take a play out of the Madison Pryce handbook.”

“I have a handbook? News to me. You should loan it to me sometime.”

“You know what I mean—I've always liked the way you can be cool, not let the physical stuff mess with your head. Logan's been a great running partner. Keeps me on pace, challenges me on the trail. Kind of better than a boyfriend right now. Beats always running with my dad, too.”

“I'm impressed.” I was flattered she looked at me as a sort of relationship guru, but that was far from the truth at the moment. Everything about Jesse messed with my head. I envied her blind enthusiasm.

“I'm just, you know, experimenting. We'll see. Hey, I switched my schedule this week at my mother's office, so I can go to yoga—why don't we just have our celebratory chais after class then?”

“Do you mind?” I asked Wren.

“No, sounds perfect.”

“Great, see you later,” Jazz said, trotting up the stairs, gym bag in tow.

Wren stuffed the rest of her books into her messenger bag and twisted the combination dial on her locker.

“Ready to slum it on the bus?” she asked. Now that Yellow #5 was practicing every day, she was back to being ride-less after school, at least until after the Battle of the Bands was over.

“Lead the way.”

We climbed the stairs from the locker dungeon and went out through the side doors. Spring was on its way to being sprung—new buds forming on the trees that lined the driveway of Sacred Heart—but there was still a bite in the air. I pulled up my collar, wishing instead I'd worn Jesse's jacket. After finding that number in the pocket, I couldn't bring myself to touch it, let alone put it on. It was still in a heap on my bedroom floor. No handbook page for that one.

“So does Jesse think they have a chance on Friday?” Wren asked.

“Haven't talked to him since the weekend.”

“Why? I thought you said you had a great time.”

“I did, it was, like, best-time-of-my-life good, but . . . there's something I didn't tell you. Something I feel supremely stupid about.”

We walked a few feet in silence. I'd told both Wren and Jazz about how great the weekend had been, and about the weirdness with my mother, but I left out the napkin, and what I did when I found it. I'd been burning to spill my idiocy to someone, but I still felt, well, idiotic about it.

“And?”

“I called Zach.”

Wren stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “What?”

“He texted me happy birthday, and I called him.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Self-sabotage?”

“I don't get it, you said you had such a great time.”

I looped my arm through hers and leaned closer to her as we walked toward the bus stop. “I found a girl's phone number in his jacket pocket. On a napkin from Whiskey Business. And . . . I called it.”

“Madison Pryce. You're jealous?”

“Shh,” I hissed, looking around as if someone really cared about what we were saying. “I think I am, was, anyway—wouldn't you be?”

Her face scrunched in thought. “If the number was still in his pocket, what are the odds he even used it?”

I hadn't thought of that.

“What happened when you dialed the number?”

“Nothing, the girl on the other end didn't sound like she even knew his name.”

“So, that's why you called Zach?”

“I'm not sure why I called Zach. It wasn't like one of our, you know, sexy-times calls. We talked. It was friendly. Normal. He's already with that sophomore from the Sadie Hawkins Dance that was drooling all over him. And the thing is—that didn't even bother me. Why would a napkin with a phone number drive me to such batshittery but I was all like, ‘Hey, that's great, you make a nice couple,' when Zach told me about that girl?”

Wren smirked.

“What?”

“You really don't see it?”

Of course I saw it, but I didn't get it. At all. We crossed the street with arms still looped.

“Zach's hot and fun, but you guys never had that
thing
.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you hang on to the other person's every word because everything they say is one more piece of their puzzle. Zach's puzzle wasn't that complicated. I think that's why it was easy for you to keep your distance. Deep down you craved a bit more than that—even though you pretend you don't.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you're a pretty complicated puzzle yourself. Like attracts like. The secret of attraction.”

“I'm not sure I can handle all this angst. What would you do if you found a girl's number in Grayson's pocket?”

“I trust him, maybe it seems naive, but I do. He loves being in this band—and I know he'll probably get his share of numbers, but at the end of the night, he's with me. And when he's with me, he's completely with me. So I don't think of all the other stuff. That may be a direct quote from the Madison Pryce handbook. You should take your own advice. The guy is smitten, Mads, so what if a girl gave him her number? Fuck jealousy. It's a waste of time.”

“So is ‘fuck jealousy' from the Wren Caswell handbook?”

She laughed. “Sure. Let's make T-shirts.”

When I got home, I took out my leather portfolio and laid out all the pieces that I wanted to include in it. The sketch of my floor plans for an extension on our house. The logo for Yellow #5. My prize photo of the Ferris wheel from the fall. The
choice
photo from the Sadie Hawkins dance that Piper had to take out of the yearbook. There was a pastel landscape from art class, and I'd taken a photo of my Popsicle stick version of the Hearst building to showcase my model-making skills.

Then there was the sketch of Jesse—I wasn't sure if I wanted to include it. Was it too personal? I guess that was what art was all about. Getting your heart and soul on the page for all to see. I'd always had such trouble drawing Zach's face right—was it because I really hadn't seen him—wasn't interested in his puzzle enough, like Wren had said? I let my eyes go unfocused as I stared at my work, dreaming up the order that I'd put them in for the most impact, wondering what pieces were strong enough to include. The process made me so unsure, but it thrilled me too.

When I thought I knew where to start, I opened the portfolio. The Pratt application fell out. I picked it up and read over the first page, which was just a form for basic information: name, address, emergency contact. I let my focus blur, the lines becoming swirls on a white background, and dreamt of what it would be like to go there over the summer.

Was I ready for Pratt? Is that what I really wanted?

I knew that's where I wanted to go after high school.

Wouldn't it be better to do something different before then?

I did have a choice. I could delay going to Pratt—go somewhere and gain some experience and build up my portfolio. Sure, NJDI was smaller, but so were the classes. And if I was being upfront with myself—earning my own way would mean more to me than someone swooping in to pay all my bills. Maybe it would be a mistake to turn down the money, but it would be my mistake.

There was a knock on the front door, then a turning of a lock.

“Hello?” a male voice called. Paul.

“Why are you knocking?”

He stepped inside, but kept his jacket on, the door slightly ajar.

“Didn't want to just barge in . . . busy?” he asked.

“A little,” I said, chewing my thumbnail and eyeing my work again. My concentration was broken, though. Paul walked over and surveyed the table.

“Feel like going for ride?”

“I'm sort of in the middle of this.”

“It won't take long. There's something I want to show you.”

“Um . . . yeah, sure.” I grabbed my jacket, turned off the lights, and followed him out to his car.

Our first stop was the bakery—the one with the good doughnuts. Five minutes later he returned with the telltale grease-stained white bag and drove to the park, down to the bottom by the bay. I got out of the car, bracing myself against the wind coming off the water. It felt good to be outside. Like everything that had been bothering me would expand to fill the space. What could he possibly want to show me here? I'd thought we would probably end up walking on the path by the water, but instead Paul sat on the hood of the car, fished out a doughnut, and took a bite. I leaned next to him. He held out the bag to me.

“Can I call this dinner?”

“Wouldn't be the first time I did that.” He laughed.

We sat and ate as a tugboat sliced through the bay. He put the bag on the hood of the car and swiped his hands clean.

“When I was a kid, and everyone was over there playing soccer or flag football,” he said, motioning to the sports fields behind us, “I'd be over here watching those planes take off and land from Newark airport. Watch, that one is going to turn, that's heading to Florida.” He pointed to the sky, my eyes followed.

“Lucky.”

“And that one?” he said, pointing to a plane that was headed out over the Manhattan skyline. “That one's going to France.”

“How do you know?”

“Can see the Air France logo.”

I laughed, took another bite. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

“Seems like the kind of thing a father would tell his kid.”

I got the sense that Paul was trying to have a moment with me, something significant, parental. Had he been coerced?

“Did my mother put you up to this?”

He turned sharply to me. “No. I know it's her late night, I was coming over to make dinner anyway, thought you might want some company.”

“I've survived her late nights on my own for a long time.”

“Sorry about that.” He rustled open the bag and reached in for another doughnut. Multicolored sprinkles. He offered me the bag. I shook my head.

“You don't need to apologize. I don't need you to rescue me. I'm fine on my own.”

“Rescue? The last thing you or your mother needs is rescuing. I just thought it would be nice to spend some time together. Especially since—” He stopped for a moment, stood up. “Madison, I've changed my mind about the summer. I'm leaving. I've got a job offer in San Francisco—”

“What?”

“I don't know how to do this. The father thing.”

“You haven't even tried.” My voice caught in my throat. The anger behind the words startled me. I think it startled him, too.

“Before . . . when you asked me why I knocked?”

“Yeah?”

“I know how to be that casual guy, the one who shows up and surprises my friend and her daughter with great meals, and gets to hang out and tell stories and come and go as he pleases. And for a little while I can pretend that there are actually people who look forward to being with me, people who matter.”

“We do look forward to being with you. You do matter. Why leave now that you know you're part of the family?”

“That's just it. Now that I'm supposed to belong there, I don't feel like I do. You and your mother are this unit. You're a family already and I'm––”

“My father.”

“But what is that, anyway? I haven't earned it.”

I didn't know what to say to that, maybe because it was the truth.

“I'm not sure I can ever forgive her for something this huge,” I said. “I don't get why she didn't tell us sooner.”

I zipped my jacket up to my chin, crossed my arms. It was getting a bit much having a heart-to-heart outside. I wanted to be home, putting my portfolio together. This father thing wasn't something that could be sorted out in a night over a couple of doughnuts.

“I was really angry at your mother, Madison. You're right, it's a huge thing to keep from us, but after a while, when I stopped being so pissed off about it, I realized something. She's not vindictive. I have to believe it was hard for her, too. She didn't tell us because she genuinely thought it was the right thing. And the more I thought about it, remembered what I was like back then, I think she was right.”