The Secrets of Attraction

by Robin Constantine

  You come in like a storm.

  I was writing a song, without even realizing it. My fingers burned to bring the sound to life.

  When I got home, the house was quiet. My parents were parked in front of the TV watching a movie where dragons battled an army in the desert. I leaned over the top of the couch to say hello, but they were both sound asleep with Ty’s baby monitor on the end table next to them. I backed away quietly and went upstairs. There was a sliver of light coming from Daisy’s room. I poked my head in.

  “Hey, I’m home,” I said.

  She looked up from her book. “Yeah, so.”

  I laughed; her enthusiasm killed me. “Night, Daze.”

  I flicked on the light in my room and closed the door behind me. My acoustic sat in its stand, abandoned since HannahDunk. I took off my hoodie, grabbed the guitar, and sat on the edge of my bed. All went silent in my brain. I put down the guitar. Grabbed my phone. Sent a few texts to Madison, hoping some interaction would inspire me. Nothing.

  I called and left a voice mail.

  She’d probably changed her mind about having tea with her mother. Her phone could be dead.

  Or possibly you should calm the fuck down and stop acting like a drooling love zombie.

  I picked up the Yamaha again, wishing I were one of those divinely inspired musicians who could come up with a song in an hour. The guitar had fallen out of tune. It took a few seconds to hit that sweet sound, but when it got there, I started strumming, trying to pin down the melody in my head.

  Eyes alight with fire.

  Another line.

  I grabbed my song notebook from my desk, opened to a fresh page.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Yeah.”

  Mom stood in the doorway, her eyes darting across the bas-relief my dirty clothes formed across the floor. “Jess—this room.”

  “Oh, sorry, I’ll clean it. Did I wake you?”

  She came in and sat on the foot of the bed. “Nah. I thought I heard Ty stirring. How did I miss you come in?”

  “You guys were sleeping, I didn’t want to bother you. Must have been some movie,” I said.

  “Your father picked that out. Anytime I get a moment to sit still, I end up falling asleep these days. Tax season, ugh. I wanted to make sure you got in okay.”

  “Yep, I’m in.”

  She nodded, looked around the room again. “So . . . are you going to tell me how the weekend went? Or am I just going to have to get the skinny from Aunt Julia?”

  I laughed and strummed.

  “Like you haven’t already.”

  “You know me, yes, we talked, but it’s only because you’re so tight-lipped.”

  “Madison liked it, a lot.”

  “And I heard you guys took a little moonlight stroll.”

  Aunt Julia. Nothing was sacred.

  “See, I don’t need to tell you anything. Did Aunt Julia say anything else?”

  “Only that it was nice to see you happy. She thought you and Madison made a very cute couple.”

  “We’re not a couple, yet,” I said, not even sure what I meant. I knew that I needed to take things at a glacial pace, but my heart had other ideas.

  She saw my notebook and smiled. “Writing again too, I see.”

  “Trying to.”

  “It’ll come. Don’t try so hard, sometimes the best stuff pops up when you’re unfocused.” She stood up.

  Musical wisdom was usually Dad’s forte—hearing this from her made me think of what Declan said that night at Whiskey Business.

  “Mom.”

  “Yeah.” She paused at the door. I tried to picture her as that long-haired girl from the photo in Deck’s office. My mother, so straight-laced and organized, who could spend hours poring over tax returns and find it a challenge, didn’t exactly strike me as a singer, backup or otherwise.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me you sang with Dad’s band?”

  She laughed, leaned against the doorjamb. “Who told you that?”

  “Declan. The picture in his office.”

  “That’s another life, Jesse. Wow. God, Deck used to play some real awful places, and whenever my friends weren’t around, I’d sing backup to avoid getting hit on.”

  “And you never thought to do it more?”

  “I could carry a tune, but it really wasn’t my thing. Declan’s the one who wanted me to take it more seriously, there were some clubs he wanted to play where it was a plus to have a girl in the band. I went to one of his voice lessons with him—the one we were talking about with the voice coach who said, ‘If you’re gonna blow it, blow it big’—and I couldn’t stop laughing. Kind of pissed him off—so that was my short-lived singing career.”

  “Was Dad there too?”

  Mom looked up, chewed the side of her lip before speaking. “I knew Declan before your father, Jess. Backtalk was together for a year before your father joined.”

  I’d only assumed in the band stories that my father told that Mom was always—well, I knew that’s how they met but . . . the picture from Declan’s office came to my mind.

  Holy effing shit.

  “Mom, what are you saying?”

  She actually giggled and waved her hand at me.

  “I can be tight-lipped too, Jess. Good night. Keep it down. And make sure you pick up this room at some point this week.”

  “Good night, Mom.”

  I strummed the guitar again, playing around, letting the words collide in my brain. I picked up the pen and scribbled a few more lines.

  Then it hit me.

  Dad was freakin’ Duncan.

  “Must have been one helluva weekend if you were inspired to write a song, but I don’t see how we can make it sound good by Saturday, especially if you’re still working on the lyrics.” Tanner plucked at his bass. We’d been practicing for just about an hour at Lot 23 and still couldn’t get the song to gel the way I wanted it to.

  “John Lennon wrote ‘Across the Universe’ in a night,” Grayson said.

  “Dude, thanks, but I’m not John Lennon.”

  “Just saying, it’s not impossible.”

  “And I’m saying it is impossible, if we want to win the battle. And I don’t want to just win, I want to crush Kenny,” Tanner said, playing the bass line to Pink Floyd’s “Money” and grinning.

  I wanted to win the battle and crush Kenny too, and an original song would give us an edge. There was more to it, of course. Whether I’d admit it to the guys or not, the song was for Madison. The few words I had seemed so ordinary and disconnected that I was close to scrapping the whole thing. You come in like a storm. . . . What did that even mean?

  “We know Plasma is going to do an original, so—”

  “Don’t bring that up. You’re the one who gave our song to Duncan, Jess,” Tanner said.

  “And I’m trying to make up for it with something better. Just take it from the bridge.” We started again, but it sounded pretty much like three dudes making noise. Gray went off a bit on the drums and stopped. What had sounded amazing in my head and on my acoustic was not translating. It was so damn frustrating.

  “Sorry, start again,” he said.

  “No, you guys are right. Let’s just run through the set we did at Whiskey, and I’ll work on the song later. Maybe if it comes down to it, I can just do it solo on the acoustic for the battle and we can have it finished for when we play out again in May.”

  “We can’t win if you do the song on your own,” Tanner said.

  I thought for a minute he might be screwing around, but his face was serious.

  “What?” I asked.

  “It’s in the rules. Every person in the band needs to play or you’re disqualified. Unless you’re a solo act, of course, and you’re not, so, we all need to play if we want to win.”

  “That’s a stupid rule.”

  “Yeah, well, Kenny’s neighbor probably made it up.”

  I didn’t like giving in so easily, but I let it go for the moment. W
e concentrated on playing the set we’d done at Whiskey Business once through. We’d really gotten it down—so comfortable we were able to riff off one another. It felt good to get lost in the music, to not think about life outside the rehearsal space for a little while, because no matter how incredible the weekend had been something didn’t feel right.

  Madison had not returned my calls—even though I told her she could call at any time. I’d texted again before school—to make sure things were cool with her mom—and she just texted:

  yes.

  That’s it.

  Not: Yes, stud.

  Or: Yes, amazing rock god who inspires me to draw pictures.

  There weren’t even any silly emojis.

  She didn’t owe me any sort of explanation, but she’d said she didn’t want the weekend to end, didn’t she? That seemed pretty straightforward. Enthusiastic. My mind flipped through the entire weekend, the tour of the house, sitting by the fire, the ride home, everything had been perfect. A glimpse of what we could be. Or at least it felt that way to me. What if things had been too perfect, like we’d created some small space in time that was ours only, and now, back in reality, it couldn’t stand up? Maybe I wanted too much at once. Maybe I was freaking her the fuck out with overtexting.

  “Again?” Tanner asked when we finished the set.

  “Nah, have to meet up with Wren, practice tomorrow, right?” Gray said.

  “Tomorrow.”

  We loaded up the equipment in our cars and headed out. Tanner and I grabbed a quick bite at Burger King before I drove him home. I knew better than to allow T in my car with food. He spread out in the front seat, reclining it a bit, leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head.

  “So, are you and Madison, like, a thing now?”

  I shrugged.

  “Because I know the real real reason you want to do that song.”

  “Tanner, don’t start.” I turned onto Avenue C.

  “Jess, we’re finally at a place where we’re decent again, probably better than that, I don’t want to see you get all wrapped up and moody over a girl. Been there, done that, running out of vodka. She’s great and all—so are her friends—but I dunno, you don’t have to let it get to you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When you do something, you do it a hundred and ten percent, and I think maybe it’s the band’s turn to get that. Be with her, have fun, but dude, don’t, like, cut her name into your arm or anything. I’m not up for the fallout.”

  “There won’t be any fallout, T. I know how to keep it light.”

  “Yeah, right. ’Cause writing a song for someone is light.”

  I couldn’t argue with him about that.

  “Hey, so what do you think about Jasmine?” T asked.

  “What about her?”

  “We hit it off that night at the bar. She’s cute. Funny. Obviously has a hidden wild side. Wren mentioned she was into movies, so I thought, maybe we could, you know, all go out or something. After we crush the competition; we need to keep focus, of course.”

  I laughed. “But wait, Tanner, what about giving a hundred and ten percent to the band?”

  “Dude, please. I can always spare at least forty percent for the chicks. I know how to multitask.”

  “Wow, you’re a true ladies’ man,” I said as we pulled up to his house. He got out and shifted the seat to grab his bass from the back.

  “Welp, you’re the songwriter, Romeo.”

  That remained to be seen.

  TWENTY-ONE

  MADISON

  RED BULL AND CHIPS AHOY! WERE NOT CUTTING it in yearbook today. My mood was a complete flatline. I sat, head down, waiting for Piper to hand over our next assignments while random thoughts scrambled around my brain.

  It was Wednesday and my mother and I were still not on pleasant speaking terms. I wasn’t sure if she was just giving me space, letting me find my own path to forgiveness, or if that Buddha statue had secretly been something she’d wanted to bring on Antiques Roadshow and she was heartbroken it was now in smithereens in our garbage can. We spoke, but it was day-to-day details. We hadn’t even dished about my weekend.

  And then, Jesse.

  My feelings for him were too raw, new. I hated the way I’d acted about that stupid napkin. Yellow #5 had been on fire at Whiskey Business—why wouldn’t he get some attention? Getting so close to him, in such a short time, was scary. Pushing him away was much easier. Now I was in control. Only it didn’t make me feel any better.

  “Sadie Hawkins girls, can I talk to you for a minute?” Piper had her serious editor in chief face on. I glanced at Wren and Jazz, who both threw me perplexed looks. We got up and walked to Piper’s desk. She motioned for us to come around to her side to look at something on her computer screen.

  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 to 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 rideless after school, at least until after the Battle of the Bands was over.

  “Lead th
e 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 I’d worn Jesse’s jacket instead. 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.”