The Secrets of Attraction

by Robin Constantine

  “Feel like getting some grub?”

  “No,” he said.

  “C’mon, you’re always up for something.”

  He shook his head. We drove a few blocks in silence.

  “Maybe pizza,” T finally said.

  “Leaning Tower?”

  “Anywhere but there,” Grayson chimed in from the back.

  “Palermo’s, then?”

  We finally agreed on something. Palermo’s was open 24/7 and it looked it. The place had a layer of grease over everything and the jukebox only had songs from the eighties, but it had the best damn pizza this side of the Hudson. We ordered at the counter and sat at a table near the back. Tanner ripped off the paper from the end of his straw, then blew the rest of it directly into my face for a bull’s-eye hit.

  “Okay, I deserve that. You’re right, the song’s not ready for the Whiskey. And I’m sorry I gave it to Duncan without asking—I should have run it by you.”

  “Why? I didn’t do anything for it.” Tanner pulled the hat off his head and shoved it in his coat pocket.

  “T—”

  “No, look, I’m not saying I didn’t want to punch you for saying that, but you’re right. Sometimes I wonder why I’m even playing anymore—it’s not like it’s gonna get me anywhere.”

  “Who says you need to go anywhere with it?” Grayson asked.

  “Why do it at all?”

  The order-up bell rang.

  “I’ll get it.” Gray went up to the counter and came back with the pizza. Tanner’s question still unanswered on the table.

  “What if we suck next Saturday?” Tanner pulled apart the paper plates and handed me one.

  “Is that what this is about?” I asked.

  “We’re not gonna suck,” Gray said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because we just worked our asses off for the past three weeks and I think we sound pretty damn good. Are we the next Nirvana? No, but who is? And what’s the big deal if we suck anyway? At least we’re playing somewhere. You know why you’d never heard of me before? Sticky Wicket couldn’t even get out of the basement. So this? For me? I may as well be playing the Beacon. It’s gonna be fine.” Gray wolfed half his slice, and looked from me to Tanner, waiting for a reaction.

  “If we’re gonna blow it, blow it big,” I said.

  Tanner laughed. “What?”

  “Something I saw in Deck’s office—you know, just go for it and if it sucks, so be it.”

  “Exactly—you know, when I auditioned for you guys I had no clue if I could handle this. Sometimes you just have to throw yourself into something. I didn’t worry about why you would or wouldn’t pick me.”

  “That goofy-ass Muppet shirt did not help,” I said.

  “My Animal shirt? Dude—it’s old-school, what’s not to like?”

  “Just don’t wear it Saturday.” I bit into my pizza.

  “If we’re really confessing—he picked you because you know Madison.”

  “T.”

  Grayson cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “No,” I said, taking a sip of soda. “Okay, maybe. Did you see the logo she designed?”

  “You were my first choice,” Tanner said.

  “Who was my competition?”

  “No one, we’re just messing with you,” I said.

  “Some dude who played ‘Tom Sawyer.’”

  “Damn, Neil Peart? I wouldn’t have picked me,” Grayson said.

  “He was a show-off,” I said.

  “And he didn’t know Madison,” Tanner added.

  “Tanner, quit it.”

  “Any girl you let make you look like that you must have a boner for.”

  Grayson had to cover his mouth when he laughed.

  “I like it,” I said.

  “I’ve seen more stylin’ merkins, Jess, come on.”

  “Says the dude with the ancient toboggan hat.”

  “What’s with that, anyway?” Grayson asked.

  Tanner shrugged. “My lucky hat. That’s all.”

  “So, Madison? She’s cool. You should go for it,” Gray said.

  “We’re just friends. I’m focusing on the Whiskey. After that we’ll see.”

  THIRTEEN

  MADISON

  MOM HAD LEFT ME A MESSAGE TO MEET HER AT the yoga studio. Wren bailed because she needed to study for a monster chem test. I planned on getting to class before everyone else so I could grab some prime space up front. The eight-block walk to yoga helped clear my head, got my blood pumping. I stole a quick peek through the Mugshot window to see if Jesse was working. He was behind the counter with Tanner. A smile stretched across my face. Chai or Mexican hot chocolate tonight?

  I fully expected to be the first one in the studio for class but was surprised to see my mother in scorpion pose, being assisted by Leif. His hand supported the small of her back, lips moving with words that sounded like humming from where I stood. I waited in the doorway until she finally came out of the pose, one foot and then the other. They turned to see me, and my first instinct was to bolt—it felt like I’d walked in on something private, but both of them smiled.

  “Mads, you’re here early.” Mom’s face was flushed pink, her hair held back with a tribal-print headband. She looked radiant. Ten years younger. Leif smiled at me.

  “Ready for some heart openers?”

  “I, um, guess so.”

  Leif padded out to the front desk. My mother wiped down her face with a towel. I unfolded my sticky mat next to her. “When you said to meet you I just assumed you were stuck at work.”

  “Oh, no—there’s an advanced class before this one; I wanted to see if I could handle it.”

  “Oh.” For some reason, her taking a class without me bothered me. When she first started, she’d practically bribed me to come with her. It was cool she’d found something to throw herself into, but at the same time it felt like she was moving on from me. Why hadn’t she asked me to come?

  “You’re taking our usual class too?”

  “Leif told me this is going to be more of a slow stretch tonight. Will you catch me if I topple over?”

  I remembered what Wren said—how my mother rocked mermaid pose. I hadn’t really noticed, until now. Yoga wasn’t a competition; you weren’t supposed to compare yourself to anyone else, but Mom excelled at it.

  “You made scorpion look easy.”

  “Did I? My arms were shaking, I thought I was going to flop on my head.”

  “Couldn’t see that from where I was standing.”

  She tossed the towel onto her mat, grabbed her water bottle. “So if I was leading a class, I wouldn’t look out of place?”

  I shook my head. Friendly chatter filled the studio as people arrived for class. I walked over to the prop station and grabbed a strap and a block, then sat down cross-legged on my mat.

  “Teacher training starts next week.”

  “Wow, already? I thought you were just thinking about it.”

  “Why don’t we go next door after class, hang out instead of getting our drinks to go. Catch up, sound good?”

  “Sure.”

  Seeing Jesse, his dark hair sticking out of his baseball cap, made a grin that started somewhere in my toes break out across my face. It could have been wishful thinking, but I swear his smile widened ever so slightly too when he saw me.

  “Hey, I have something for you.” Tanner pointed at me and disappeared into the back room. I furrowed my brow at Jesse while he rang us up. Tanner came back holding a light yellow T-shirt. He fanned it out over the counter.

  “The logo, wow.” I couldn’t say anything else—my work right there on the shirt. It was such an odd feeling to have something that had existed in my brain on a T-shirt for the rest of the world to see. I knew Jess had said they were going to use it for promotional stuff, but I didn’t think he meant this. It was pretty cool.

  “That looks great.” My mother ran a hand across the logo. “Are you selling these?”

  “Not sure
yet, we might just give them out—get our name out there,” Jesse said. “You can take a few if you want.”

  “Really?”

  “Consider it an early birthday present,” Tanner said.

  “Not too far off.” My mother picked up the shirt and hummed with approval.

  “It’s your birthday?” Jesse asked.

  I flinched at the question. “No—”

  “Maddie’s, in two weeks,” my mother said. “Do you have an extra small? I’ll buy one.”

  “No, really, you don’t need to pay. T, give them a few before they go. We’ll get those drinks to you in a minute.” Jesse peered behind us at the growing line.

  I grabbed my mother before she shouted out my bra size and Social Security number too. I had a thing about birthdays—I mean, they were fine and all, but for some reason they left me feeling a little down—like I was always anticipating something bigger to happen. We found a table for two over to the side, right under the neon Mugshot sign.

  Five minutes later, Jesse placed two wide-mouthed cups in front of us. Chamomile for my mom and Mexican hot chocolate for me. There was a flower shape in the foam. I smiled as he went back behind the counter.

  Mom took a cautious sip of her hot tea.

  “So,” she said, placing the cup back on the saucer and leaning toward me.

  “You start training next week.”

  “Yes, it’s a six-month program—the most intense parts are on the weekend, so there’ll be at least a weekend a month that I’ll be out more than I’m home. You’re okay with that, right?”

  “Yes. Did you have to hit up my summer program fund?”

  She played with her bangs, running her fingers through and swiping them to the side. “No, I told you I’d never touch that. Paul sharing half the expenses has really helped. That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about. Are you still interested in the summer program at Pratt?”

  “I’m, well . . .” Pratt was about three times the price of NJDI; I was interested, but Paul living with us couldn’t have freed up that much cash. “I’m fine with the Design Institute. I think I have a really good shot at a scholarship.”

  “But you don’t need it now, I spoke to Paul—”

  “Mom, I wish you hadn’t.”

  “He wants to help.”

  “I don’t want his help, okay, not for this, it feels weird. Like—” I didn’t want to say what I was thinking.

  “Like what?”

  “Like the only reason you decided to say something was because we were a little strapped for cash.”

  She cringed at the words.

  “Is that really what you think?”

  “No. It’s just a lot to take in, like I’m magically supposed to think of Paul in a different way, and I’m forcing it. I keep expecting something to change, to make me think of him as . . .” I was suddenly aware of the crowd at Mugshot, the noise—this seemed like too heavy a conversation to have with hot chocolate.

  My mother took my hand. “Mads, he feels the same way. Helping you pay for school feels like something concrete that he can do.”

  “I guess.”

  “Just think about it, I won’t push it.”

  Pratt. Damn. I remember drooling over the program description. The challenging classes. Living in New York. A taste of what life would be like in college. Then I saw the price tag. Yee-ouch. Too steep. But the experience. Would it really be so awful to accept some personal funding?

  “How is everything?” Jesse came over to the table, a small Mugshot shopping bag in his hand.

  “Excellent as ever.”

  “Here’s the shirts,” he said.

  He stood there between us, smiling—waiting, it seemed, for something to do so he could linger. I liked it. He finally spoke.

  “Hey, are you coming to see us Saturday night?”

  I took a sip of hot chocolate, my mother’s eyes on me too. I felt a slight stab of guilt for not thinking of Zach in this equation. It’s not like I’d never done things without him before but that word, those three freaking words, suddenly made me feel tied down. And I hated it. Of course I was going to Whiskey Business, already thought about what I’d wear, but with each second that passed I felt a little rush of power. Jesse wanted me to be there. I put my cup down.

  “Can’t wait.”

  “Jazzy, hold still.” One more swipe of liquid liner, some mascara, and she was done. I’d picked an eye-shadow combo of golds and greens that made her dark eyes stand out. The effect was mysterious stranger. Rawr.

  “Let’s see,” Wren said.

  Jazz batted her lashes.

  “Wow.”

  She walked over to my vanity mirror to take a closer look.

  “You don’t think this is too much? It’s itchy. What if I forget I’m wearing it and rub my eye? I’ll look like someone punched me.”

  “For a run? Yes, too much. For a dark club on a first date with a running partner you think is hot? No.” I dabbed some sparkly gloss onto my lips. Done.

  “It’s not really a date—it’s a let’s-meet-there kind of thing. When he heard Gray was playing, he said he’d bring a few friends too. So, I don’t know.”

  “What friends? Lax team guys?” Wren asked.

  Jazz shrugged. “Hey, what about Zach, is he meeting us there?”

  “Nope.” Zach had texted me throughout the day. His indoor league game had been canceled and he was prowling for something to do. I was too pumped for a night out with my friends. It sounded mean and I knew it, but ignoring was not the same as lying, right? I couldn’t handle the love question tonight.

  “Gray texted. They’re turning the corner now.” Wren shoved her phone into the front pocket of the teeny-tiny skirt she’d purchased during our Sadie Hawkins spree. She wore over-the-knee boots, so only a sliver of skin showed. It was not her usual look, but all those months of yoga had given her the sort of curves guys drooled over, and she rocked it. I had cut the collar off the Yellow #5 T-shirt, so it hung open over a black cami, and I paired it with denim cutoffs and black studded boots. No one would question us about being over eighteen.

  We grabbed our coats and thundered down the stairs. Mom and Paul were in the living room.

  “Wow,” Paul said as we met him at the landing. He pulled out his phone. “Let me get a picture.”

  “Paul, it’s not prom.” I laughed. My mom walked over and stood next to him, arms crossed. If I didn’t know better, if I was just some stranger looking in on the scene, I would think they made a nice-looking couple. They looked like parents, about to see their kids off for the night. Which I guess they were, but not really.

  “C’mon,” Wren said, pulling us together. We mugged for the camera until we heard footsteps on the porch. Jesse peered through the window.

  “All right, gotta run.”

  “Time, Mads.”

  “Before midnight?”

  “Sounds fair. Have fun.”

  “Not so much fun that I have to bail you out,” Paul said. My mother elbowed him as I closed the door.

  Jesse smiled when he saw me.

  “Hey, look, I’m representing.” I gave him a quick peek of the shirt before closing my jacket.

  “Cool.”

  “Nervous?”

  “It’s that obvious?” There were two cars in front of my house; well, one car—Gray’s POS-mobile, and a monster Surburban. I knew which one I’d be traveling in.

  Grayson stood near the Suburban, one arm casually slung around Wren’s shoulder. Jazz waited next to them, peeking in the SUV and probably doing the math on which car she’d end up in herself. The side door was open, and Tanner sat on the edge, elbows on knees, chin propped up by both hands. Gray reached into his jacket pocket and pulled away from Wren for a moment.

  “Here, lovelies,” he said, holding out three cards to us. He took the first one and held it under the streetlight.

  “You are Kenzie Renegar tonight, Mads,” he said, handing me the ID. It looked like an authentic driver’s licen
se with my picture. There was a hologram and everything. I didn’t want to know where he got it.

  “Jazzy, you are Diara Jones. And last but not least, Wren is Olivia Green.”

  “So what CW cast were these names stolen from?” I asked.

  Gray laughed. “I didn’t request names. They should be fine—lie low with them, you know, don’t call attention to yourself. You probably won’t be carded—just think of them as insurance.”

  “Walk in with us, carry something, no one will stop you,” Jesse added.

  “Are we going or not?” Tanner stood up and climbed into the middle seat.

  “Shotgun.” I grabbed Jesse’s arm. “If that’s okay.”

  “Yeah, it’s great.”

  Jazz looked at Wren and Gray. “Do you have room?”

  “Half the backseat is yours if you want it,” Grayson said.

  “All right, so we’ll meet there—you know where it is?” Jesse opened the front door and held out his hand to me.

  “Yep, see ya in twenty.” Grayson, Wren, and Jazz walked back to the car.

  I took Jesse’s hand for support and climbed into the front seat.

  “I’m stoked you’re here,” he said, before closing the door.

  “Me too.”

  We pulled into the cobblestone back alley behind Whiskey Business and the guys began to unload the equipment. Wren grabbed a cymbal. Jazz and I grabbed mic stands and we walked in following Jesse’s lead. The guy holding the door open for us didn’t say anything but copped an eyeful as we each walked by. We were in.

  “Grab a table, we got the rest of this,” Jess said after we deposited the equipment on the stage, ending our short stint as Yellow #5 roadies. The guy who’d been holding the door came over to us. On closer inspection, he was a bit of a fox. Midtwenties, blond hair, yellow shirt with a Yoo-hoo logo on the front. It stretched taut across a subtly buff chest. Strong arms. Uh-oh. Moment of truth, Kenzie. Think eighteen.

  “Hold out your wrist,” he said. Wren was the first to put her arm out, and the guy wrapped a purple band around her wrist. Followed by Jazz, then me.

  “Eighteen, right?” He smiled as he secured the tab.