“When people think of hypnosis, they think of a zombie—someone compelled to obey no matter what’s being asked. But that’s not at all correct. Actually, when we hypnotize our volunteers, they’re not asleep—they’re alert the whole time. They’re just deeply relaxed. When they’re that relaxed, they tend to be highly suggestible. If someone tells them to do something, they embrace it wholeheartedly. Fear and embarrassment just . . . evaporate.”
A devilish grin played on Quinton’s lips. “So you could make people do, like, whatever you wanted.”
I loved the sound of that—such control. I never really thought of it that way before, maybe because it was always Mom throwing out the commands. But I didn’t tell them that. I smiled and enjoyed the spotlight. “Within reason,” I said.
“Awesome,” he said, and Mia and Georgia nodded in agreement.
Mrs. Stabile clapped her hands together in a sharp smack, interrupting my moment in the limelight, and told everyone that class was about over and that each group was to write a one-page homework assignment on what we discussed. The bell rang and everyone quickly gathered up their things.
Mia picked up the colorfully diagrammed paper and inserted it into the pocket of her notebook. She stacked her books into her bag. “I’ll e-mail you the history notes after I type them tonight,” she said to Quinton.
“Thanks,” he said.
“I’ll call you tonight,” Georgia offered to me. “We can work on the assignment together.”
“Thanks,” I said, still not knowing much more about A Midsummer Night’s Dream than the complicated love triangle.
“So when are you going to show us some of this hypnosis?” Quinton asked, startling me. He tossed a backpack onto his broad, football-sculpted shoulders.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “It’s not like I could do anything here at school.”
“What about this weekend at Jake’s?” Quinton suggested, looking at Mia.
“What?” Mia asked, clearly taken aback.
I recalled Georgia’s pyramid, with Mia and Jake at the top.
“It could be fun,” Quinton said. “Different, at least.”
Mia just stood there frozen as swarms of other students passed us on their way out of the room.
“No, no,” I said, waving my hand at the suggestion. “I don’t want to crash.”
Georgia eyed me curiously, standing just ahead of us, pretending to walk toward the door but obviously eavesdropping.
“Plus, what if I did hypnosis and someone got mad at me because they were embarrassed?”
“Or,” Quinton interjected, “it could be really funny. Because as I recall, outrageous antics sort of follow you around.” He gave me a crooked smile. He was so persuasive in a charming, cocky sort of way.
“I guess . . .” Mia squinted at me a little then looked over at Quinton, clearly not knowing the story of our encounter at the park. She started to move toward the door, maybe indicating that the conversation was over.
“Well, either way,” Quinton said to me, sounding like he was losing interest. He started to follow Mia toward the door.
And I knew I had to act now. If I hesitated, like I had on the porch with Max, the moment would be lost. I could lose a key opportunity to redefine myself. Instead of being the sideline girl, I could be invited to a top-of-the-pyramid party where I could have a chance at the spotlight for real.
“Okay,” I said, following behind them quickly. “I’d love to go to the party.”
“Cool,” Quinton said.
Mia smiled tightly. “Well, great.”
We walked into the hallway and the three of us went our separate ways. As I walked on to my next class, the realization hit me. I had done it. I had taken a chance. A surge of happiness floated up my spine. I was on my way.
When I got home, I flung my bag onto the counter and immediately dove into the stacks of DVDs lined up in the media cabinet. My heart pulsed because somewhere around sixth period I had realized my fatal error. Sure, excluding Mom from the stories today at school was exhilarating but now—the idea that they wanted me to do a hypnosis show was sobering because I had never actually done the hypnosis. Well, there was the one time when I attempted to hypnotize Max but he fell out of the tree before I could actually tell if he was truly under.
I had been onstage for five shows a week for years—I knew the routine, I knew the sequence of events . . . but could I do it? It felt like the first time I took Mom’s car and drove on my own. I had been to my favorite Chinese restaurant a billion times, but had I ever really paid attention to how we got there? Could I make all the correct turns and find the right streets when it was just me behind the wheel?
I found a copy of one of our recorded performances and popped it into the DVD player with a notebook in front of me, pen poised to take notes. I watched my mother stand in front of the volunteers with confidence and control. “You’re going to think it’s not working,” Mom said with a little smile. “You’re going to think you’re not hypnotized.” She walked closer to them. “Close your eyes. Breathe in and out. Relax.”
I watched onscreen as the volunteers obeyed her every command. Such power. I wondered if anyone would ever follow instructions from me.
I had just propped Oompa on the coffee table and was improvising a trial run when the front door swung open. Mom walked in and stopped, frozen in the foyer.
“What are you doing?” she asked. She walked over and looked at herself on TV. She seemed lost in thought for a moment; then she turned the TV off. “Why are you watching that?”
I stood there like a thief caught red-handed.
She looked at Oompa sitting erect on the table, wide-eyed and a little dazed.
“Were you . . .” She bent over and snatched the fat dog into her arms. “Were you trying to hypnotize Oompa?”
“No, no,” I lied. “He was just so . . . homesick and I was trying to, um, make him feel better. Thought I’d let him watch the show and bring back some old memories.”
Mom’s mouth cocked into a doubtful expression. “Oompa never saw any of the shows, Willow.”
I dramatically hit the side of my head with my hand. “Right! Silly me.”
Mom said something into Oompa’s ear then put him back on the ground, and he ambled away, zigzagging across the carpet like he was confused. “Willow,” she said seriously, “what’s going on? You’re not going to show people this? Try and impress people or, God forbid, try and perform, are you?”
I threw on a big shocked expression. “What? No!” I waved my hand through the air as if to say, How ridiculous. “I’ve already made friends—no need to impress anyone. There’s this other new girl, Georgia—she’s really nice and she’s calling me tonight to help with homework. And there’s this guy, Quinton, and he invited me to a party this weekend.”
Mom seemed somewhat satisfied by this. “And Max? You two are all right? Even with Minnie in the picture?”
I nodded. “He picked me up and dropped me home from school. So maybe you were right—he will make time for me.”
She nodded. “Tell him I got that filter thing replaced in the car. Good thing he spotted it—the repairman said it was ready to go.” She kicked off her heels—black stilettos today—and wandered over to the wicker basket on the kitchen counter. She pulled out a bag of Otis Spunkmeyer cookies and tore it open, still looking at me suspiciously. She took a bite of a small cookie and swallowed, her gaze never leaving me. “I just really want to leave that life behind, okay? It was fun, sure, but like I said, it’s time to grow up, use my potential, do something respectable. I don’t want anyone around here to know about us performing in Vegas. Last thing I need is for one of Grandma’s snobby friends from the garden club finding out.” She ate another cookie and looked a little sad.
I knew that Grandma had kept Mom’s hypnosis show a secret. It had always made Mom upset that Grandma was embarrassed of her. I saw a small hint of red work its way across her cheeks. She examined the cookie wrapper as t
hough she’d developed a sudden interest in the caloric content.
“Mom,” I said softly, “even if the show in Vegas wasn’t something that Grandma liked, still, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. People loved it. They loved you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t need a pep talk, Willow. I just want you to promise me that performance hypnosis is a thing of the past. The only hypnosis in our lives now is the more respectable kind that I use at work for therapy.”
I looked at her soft, honey-colored eyes lined in ebony, and wondered if she was rehearsing for when we would see Grandma and Grandpa. I nodded. “Okay,” I said. “No hypnosis.”
And I wondered who I was going to disappoint: her, my new friends . . . or myself.
7
Saturday evening, I stood in my bathroom in my jeans and black top. I added another layer of black liquid liner to the rim of my eyelids, but all it did was make my pupils look darker, more bizarre. So I soaked a Q-tip in makeup remover and washed it away. Instead I asked Mom if I could borrow one of her necklaces.
“Sure, honey,” she said and rummaged through the pile of chains and beads on her dresser. She held up a thick silver chain with a round, heavy charm. She laid it against my chest.
I cringed. “It’s kind of big and heavy.”
“Geez,” Mom teased. “Take a little fashion risk for once.” She put the necklace down and picked up another.
But I spotted a different chain with a small turtle charm. I clasped it around my neck. “I’ll wear this one.” The shell had little green stones that sparkled when they caught the light.
“It’s so small.” Mom scrunched up her nose. “And it blends right into your dark shirt.”
But I didn’t care. I liked that the turtle’s head was just barely poking out of its shell. That’s what I was going to do tonight. Emerge.
“So what time is Max picking you up?” Mom asked.
“Any minute.” I had casually mentioned to him that Quinton and Mia had invited me to Jake’s party. If he was surprised that top-of-the-pyramid people had befriended me, he made no indication. He said he planned on going to the party, and if I’d feel more comfortable going with him than showing up alone, he’d love to pick me up.
“Max is here!” Mom called as the sound of his truck filled the house.
I grabbed my bag and waved good-bye.
“Have fun!” she called as I flew out the front door.
I sank into the passenger’s seat and buckled my seat belt.
“You look great,” Max said and smiled. He looked great too. Better than great, in his khaki shorts and white T-shirt that made his skin look so tan. He backed down our driveway and cranked the radio. I was feeling great; I was excited about the night, I was sitting here with Max, and the song on the radio was fun. I started moving my head along to the beat. Max looked at me slyly.
“You like this song?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah” I said. Max was so into music, there was no way I was admitting I’d never heard it before in my life.
“You actually know this song?” he teased. “I thought all you listened to was Cher.”
“Hey!” I pushed him lightly. “Not by choice.”
I don’t think he bought it. I was a Top 40 pop queen and it would take him hours—no, days—to deprogram my brain and introduce me to some of his music choices.
“I’m going to make our car rides all about music education for you,” he said. “I’m going to whip up a mix CD this weekend of decent music—some old school like Nirvana, Chili Peppers, maybe throw in a little Oasis and Pumpkins.” Max was all excited, nodding his head and smiling. “Weezer, the Killers, 311, the White Stripes . . .”
I smiled and laughed. My heart swelled with the possibility that I had been right—that Minnie had been a distraction for him, a placeholder until I arrived.
He jerked the truck to the right and pulled up a driveway.
I looked around. “Where are all the cars?” I asked. “We’re not the first people here, are we?”
“No, this isn’t Jake’s. I told Minnie we’d swing by and pick her up.”
“Oh,” I said, trying not to visibly deflate. What the hell? He was just flirting with me—wasn’t he? Suddenly, I felt awkward, like a total third wheel. I guess I was wrong. I was just his friend. Minnie was his girlfriend. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Hey, I offered to take you. I want to take you.” He smiled.
Why? I wanted to ask. Because you love me and want to be near me? Or because I’m new in town and you wanted to help out a friend? I was so confused.
Minnie floated down her front steps, her short skirt bouncing up around her thighs as she skipped (skipped!) across the driveway. She seemed so light and effervescent—like a glass of champagne, and all at once I felt very unfeminine. Sure, I was a good companion, like milk is for cookies, but I didn’t make your nose tingle. No wonder Max was surprised at the pink in my room. I made a mental note to wear more skirts.
Max got out of the truck to greet her, so I got out of the car too, and I stood pathetically against the car door while they kissed. I turned my back and stared at the puffy white clouds in the sky starting to turn a pale shade of petal pink as the sun set. A pink sunset. How romantic. Let me go vomit.
Minnie came over to my side of the truck. “Hi!” She beamed. “Love those jeans. So flattering!”
“Thanks,” I muttered. Did she have to be so darn nice? I opened the door and started to climb toward the backseat.
“No, no,” Minnie said. “You should sit up front. You were here first—you have automatic shotgun!”
“No, it’s fine,” I said. “You have a skirt on—you don’t need to be climbing all over the place. I’ll be fine back here.”
“Well . . .” She hesitated for a moment. “Okay,” she relented.
I climbed into the backseat. “Do you have enough room back there?” she called over her shoulder as Max started the truck. “He’s such a slob! There’s junk everywhere!” She reached over and playfully rubbed his head and I felt the palm of my hand burn. I wished I could feel his soft scalp under my hand.
“Willow,” Max called over the thumping bass. “Minnie’s taste in music is just as bad as yours. Maybe worse! She likes”—he looked over at her and used his free hand to pat her knee affectionately—“country music.”
“It’s not that bad,” she said, laughing, “if you’d just give it a try.”
“All my exes live in Texas,” Max sang in a thick, put-on drawl.
Minnie laughed and I counted all the ways that sitting in the backseat, nestled between a mountain of CDs and a dumbbell, watching my best friend, my soul mate, touch and laugh and flirt with the most adorable girl I’d ever seen, was pure torture.
Max jammed on his brakes and my head flung forward and knocked against the back of Minnie’s seat.
“Sorry!” Minnie said, as if she was the one who drove recklessly.
“Are you okay?” Max turned to look at me.
I pointed to the windshield. “Could you please keep your eyes on the road?”
“We’re here,” he said, throwing the truck into park.
I looked out the window and gawked. It’s not like I never went to parties back in Vegas—of course I did. I lived for my friend Lauren’s annual Halloween party. But the parties were small, intimate—twenty or so of us crammed into an apartment, filtering out onto a balcony into the desert heat.
But here it was like the entire school had taken over—not just the two-story expansive brick home of Jake Gordon, but the partiers had spilled out into the entire neighborhood. Cars haphazardly lined the driveway—some half-parked on the grass—and snaked down the curb of the street as far as the eye could see. The girls wore skirts and tank tops and the guys wore shorts and T-shirts. People overflowed out of the house, littering the lawn with their red plastic cups.
Max came over to the passenger side of the car and offered a hand to help me out of the backseat, and I noticed with
utter inferiority that Minnie showed no signs of jealousy. There was not even a morsel of concern in her mind that Max could be attracted to me.
We walked side by side, Max cluelessly nestled between two girls who loved him, up the long driveway. Halfway up, Trent bounded over and high-fived Max. Immediately they started talking about music. Another guy, big and sweaty, with flushed cheeks, barreled over and pressed cold red cups into our hands.
“What’s up guys?” Sweaty Guy asked and joined the conversation between Max and Trent.
Minnie turned toward me and asked if Worthington was very different from Vegas. But I could barely respond, because panic overtook me when I realized we were staying there—outside—in the sweltering, oppressing humidity. It would only be a matter of minutes—seconds, really—until my hair frizzed up and resembled a rat’s nest.
I told Minnie that Worthington was very different from Vegas but that right now the humidity was the change that was causing me the biggest problem. “I can’t take this muggy weather,” I said, tugging at my hair. “And what was I thinking, wearing jeans?”
She laughed then turned to talk to another girl who’d walked up.
The sweaty, flushed-faced guy looked at me. “So you’re the girl from Vegas?”
I nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Quinton Dillinger is, like, telling everyone that you’re going to do a hypnosis show tonight,” Sweaty Guy said. His name was Conner.
Max craned his neck away from his conversation with Trent and looked toward me. “You are?”
“Are what?” Minnie asked, turning back toward me.
“She’s going to do hypnosis tonight,” Conner answered excitedly.
“Well, I’m not sure,” I said noncommittally. I thought back to my mom’s pleading eyes, her emphatic request to leave that life behind.
“Really?” Max asked, a huge grin breaking across his face. He turned toward Conner. “She’s hilarious. Hilarious.” He told him that he had seen our show when he visited Vegas many years ago. “I promise you,” he said enthusiastically, “you guys are in for a treat.” He shook his head affectionately at me. “It’s always exciting when you’re around, Willow. You know how to have fun, how to throw a little adventure into life.”
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