“Thanks. Me too.”
“Banana girl, you’re fraternizing with the enemy, come back!” the cupcake girls called to us.
“Bye, Jess.” She walked to the stand without looking back.
This felt like good-bye.
I dashed out the door to find Madison, hoping the song hadn’t scared her off. Sometimes you just had to have faith in grand gestures.
TWENTY-FIVE
MADISON
THE SONG WAS FOR ME. I KNEW THAT. AND I WASN’T running away—I hoped Wren and Jazz made sure Jesse knew that when they saw him after Yellow #5’s set. I wanted to see him after the battle, and I would, but I had to do something first before it was too late.
Thankfully, the night was warm—winter finally giving way to spring—and it was pleasant walking across town. I stopped at the bakery. I’d made it just as they were about to close, buying the last of the good doughnuts, the one sure thing that Paul and I shared. Well, the second, I guess. We shared Mom, after all.
I wasn’t about to let Paul get away with not saying good-bye to me. I wasn’t an architect yet but I was the architect of my own life and this not-saying-good-bye crap set up a weak foundation.
Jesse’s song—seeing him alone, vulnerable, voice and guitar—reminded me that being an open book, sharing what was inside, was an uncertain leap. Scary but necessary. I didn’t quite understand what had come over me as I watched him. Or maybe it was something that had been gradually happening since I met him. Jesse poured out words that cut me straight to the core. I couldn’t help but melt, my heart firmly and sappily on my sleeve. Maybe only Jazz and Wren knew the song was for me, but it felt like everyone in the Bergen Point gym had.
I climbed the stairs to my house two at a time, still harboring the tiniest hope that I’d burst in on Mom and Paul in a lip-lock, they’d profess their love to each other and me, and we’d be a family and live happily ever after just like my birthday wish.
No such luck.
“Madison, I thought you were out for the night,” my mother said.
The two of them were in their usual spot in the dining room, each with a glass of wine, half-eaten pizza still in the box between them. I lifted up the grease-stained white bag for Paul to see. He grinned and raised his glass to me before taking a sip.
“Pizza and doughnuts, this is quite a send-off,” he said.
“Were you really going to leave without saying good-bye to me?” I placed the bag on the table and pulled out a chair. Paul put his glass down. My mother rested her chin on her hands and waited expectantly for him to answer.
“And don’t give me ‘I’m not into good-byes.’ I think that’s sort of Parenting 101—you say good-bye to the people you love when you leave. Especially your kids. Especially me.”
He looked between my mother and me. “Okay, I can do that.”
“There’s something else,” I said.
My mother gave me the same expectant look she’d given Paul.
No turning back now.
“I did some research about summer programs in California and I thought, well, maybe I’d apply someplace out there.”
“The one at Cal Poly?” Paul asked.
“No, the one at Berk—wait, how do you know there’s one at Cal Poly?” I looked at my mom, who was chuckling and shaking her head.
“After we spoke the other day, I looked into it, I thought I’d toss the idea out to your mom, see what she thought first. I know how important it is for you to earn your way.”
“I’d have to earn my way into Berkeley. I think I still have time to get everything together.” I stopped, looked at my mother. “Are you okay with this if I get in?”
She smiled. “I think it would be great, for the both of you. And I guess I would have to maybe fly out at some point. Ugh, a vacation out west, how awful would that be?”
“The three of us in the city by the bay again,” Paul said, lifting up his wineglass. “That would be something.”
The three of us.
It sounded weird but nice.
Not exactly what I’d wished for on my birthday but it was a start.
Going to diner. Need a ride?
I was about to answer Wren’s text when I got another one.
never mind
What did that even mean? I hoped it meant what I thought it did. Moments later I heard footfalls on the front porch. My heart jumped into my throat and I sprung up from the table, crumbs from the doughnut I’d eaten falling to the floor.
“Wait, no good-bye peck on the cheek for your old man?”
I laughed. “Old man?”
“Yeah, I don’t like it either.”
“Let’s stick to Paul.”
I ran back and gave him a kiss on the cheek, Mom, too, just as someone knocked. “Don’t wait up,” I said, heading out, and right smack into Jesse.
“Hey.”
He smiled, shrugging his shoulders up to his ears. “Hey.”
His hair was all over the place from flipping it around as he played, but the disheveled look worked on him. I resisted the urge to run my fingers through it.
“What are you doing here? Is the battle over? Did you win?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“That you won?”
“No, why I’m here.”
I felt oddly shy remembering the song, the words, the way they made me feel.
“Come on.” I led him down the stairs to the first landing, and motioned for him to sit.
“I came to see if you wanted to hang out,” he said, perching on the concrete step. I eased onto his lap, eating up every moment of the surprise on his face.
“Yes, I do, but first . . . Jess, that song . . . you . . .” Every word I came up with sounded cheesy, or strange or horribly inadequate to describe how his song touched me. How it made me feel. How I felt about him.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you for the song, for being here, for Fallingwater, for hot chocolate, for being kind even when I wasn’t . . . for everything.” I touched my lips to his. His mouth was soft and warm. I closed my eyes, letting myself drift into the feeling, that even if it was just for a moment, everything was the way it was supposed to be. This was right. He drew me closer to him, encircling me with his arms while I wrapped mine around his neck.
I never wanted to come up for air.
The diner was noisy and packed with people when we walked in. Jesse had his arm around my shoulders as we scoured the tables to see if we could find the other members of Yellow #5 who were supposedly somewhere in the crowd. I saw Wren and waved. They sat at a big circular table in the back, menus still spread out in front of them.
“Finally, you’re here to share in our victory,” Tanner said as we got closer.
Jesse stopped. “Victory? What do you mean?”
“Do you want to tell him or should I?” Tanner looked at Gray.
“I think you should be the one.”
“Come on, one of you say something already!” Jazz said.
“We won.” Tanner grinned, pulling the ear flaps of his hat down. “Lucky hat.”
“What? How?” Jesse pulled out a chair for me, but I nudged him onto it and plopped down on his lap again. Wren wriggled her eyebrows at me. I wrapped my arms around Jesse’s neck and smiled.
“I guess the judges didn’t read the rules.”
“And since Plasma came in second they are contesting it, so we can’t claim we’re the winners yet, but yeah, win or not, the crowd loved us,” Gray said.
“Wait, why would they contest it?” I asked.
“I wasn’t supposed to play the song solo. It was against the rules,” Jesse said.
“So then why did you?”
He touched his head to mine. Everyone at the table was looking at us—in truth, I didn’t care. The old me, the PDA-loathing me, finally realized that maybe when it was right, being in public was irrelevant, because it felt like we were the only two in the room. Warmth rushed through me as his lips brushed my ear.
“Because I had to play it . . . for you.”
“And you risked losing?”
He looked at me, his eyes so intense and steady, like all this time he knew something that he’d been waiting for me to understand. I pressed my lips to his, ignoring the clapping at our table, shutting out everything else but us, this moment. It was scary and sexy and fun.
And real.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you, dear reader, for spending some time in Madison and Jesse’s world; I hope you enjoyed your stay! If you’re the sort who turns to the acknowledgments first, you should know that this book in your hands would not have been possible without the following excellent people:
Tamar Rydzinski, agent extraordinaire, I’m so lucky to have you and Laura Dail Literary Agency in my corner, two words can hardly contain my gratitude.
Donna Bray, dream editor, you have the knack for saying the right words, just when I need to hear them. Thank you for helping me shape a rather unwieldy manuscript into this novel, and for believing that I was up to the task.
There are so many people at Balzer+Bray/HarperCollins who’ve toiled on behalf of my work—a million thanks for being such a brilliant and dedicated team, with special shout-outs to Viana Siniscalchi, you’re simply the best; Erin Fitzsimmons, for another cover I want to hug; Caroline Sun, for your patience and mad publicity skills; Nellie Kurtzman, for your marketing prowess; and Bethany Reis and Brenna Franzitta, for the amazing copyedit.
Thank you to Meg Wiviott for fresh eyes and words of encouragement.
Thank you to the writers from the Montreat weekend, who laughed at all the funny bits—Kip, Patty, Lauren, Juliana, Jen, Mary Ann, and especially to Jro, for letting me crash your party in the first place. Great food, good wine, laughter—let’s do it again soon.
Thank you to the stupendously talented One Fours, for wisdom and laughs and for sharing this wild, wonderful ride. I owe my sanity to you. Group hug. We made it!
At one time or another, the following individuals have offered honest critiques, gentle advice, shoulders to cry on, or are just plain awesome—so blessed to have crossed paths with Cindy Clemens, Laura Renegar, Judy Palermo, Janice Finnell, Brianna Caplan Sayres, Gale Sypher Jacob, Megan Miranda, Megan Shepherd, and Kasie West.
Thank you to my Gurls, for memories old and new and for your unwavering support, even during a blizzard.
Thank you to Mike, Jan, Dylan, and Grace for road-trippin’ with me in the name of research. It’s the journey, not the destination!
Thank you to my family for being a safe haven in an uncertain world, especially Mom, my number-one fan and unabashed book pimp.
And finally, a ginormous fireworks finale of a thank-you to Jim, for giving me the space to follow my dreams, for knowing when I need a break (sometimes better than I do), for making me laugh, every single day, and for just for being you. My heart is yours. Always.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PHOTO BY DEBORAH TRIPLETT
ROBIN CONSTANTINE is the author of The Promise of Amazing. A born-and-raised Jersey girl who moved south so she could wear flip-flops year-round, she spends her days dreaming up stories where love conquers all, eventually, but not without a lot of peril, angst, and the occasional kissing scene. You can visit Robin online at www.robinconstantine.com.
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BOOKS BY ROBIN CONSTANTINE
The Promise of Amazing
The Secrets of Attraction
CREDITS
Cover art © 2015 by JASMIN KILIC
Cover design by ERIN FITZSIMMONS
COPYRIGHT
Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THE SECRETS OF ATTRACTION. Copyright © 2015 by Robin Constantine. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2014952619
ISBN 978-0-06-227951-4
EPub Edition © March 2015 ISBN 9780062279538
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