She exhaled. “I know. But I need to do this trick if we’re going to win the upcoming competition and I don’t want to let the team down, let my parents down.” She looked at the floor and her eyes got glassy again. “I Googled hypnosis yesterday and found that people use hypnosis to lose weight, to stop smoking, and, I don’t know, it worked so well with Hayden’s inhibitions I just thought maybe hypnosis could be the answer—to not be afraid of this flip.” She was talking very fast. “But I didn’t know if I could trust you. I mean, I didn’t know anything about you, what your true intentions were, so I decided against it. But now . . .” She fingered the safety pin on her skirt then looked up at me. She spoke very softly. “Could you help me?”
My mind raced. She wanted my help. Me. The most popular girl in school wanted something from me. Something that I could deliver. Couldn’t I? I wasn’t sure, but if I could, it might change destiny like with Hayden and Sarah. It could change Mia’s destiny but also mine. I could be Mia’s friend. I could be popular in addition to being memorable. And that felt pretty powerful.
Mia walked over to the mirror and quickly applied some make-up around her eyes. The bell rang. She looked at me expectantly.
There was the tingly feeling of endless possibilities coursing through my veins. So I smiled and said, “Well, I’ve never done anything like that before. But I’d love to try.”
She smiled and opened the door. We walked out together into the hallway and raced off to our next classes.
10
Later that day, after Max dropped me off at home, I snuck into my mom’s room in the hope of finding some information I could use to help me with Mia’s hypnosis. After all, Mom was working at the Headache Clinic, using hypnosis to help control pain. She had to have some information about how she’d made the leap from performance hypnosis to hypnotherapy. As I opened the bedroom door, I felt a pang of guilt knowing how much Georgia hated that her mom invaded her space. And my mother was so mindful of mine. But we’d always been so close; there had never been anything to hide until now. Now that I was doing exactly what she’d asked me not to do. A sour swell of guilt dropped into the pit of my stomach.
The door creaked open and I crept in quietly, even though the house was empty except for Oompa, who was trailing me with a quizzical look in his eyes. Mom’s bed was unmade and a pile of dirty clothes was strewn on the floor. I instinctively picked up the clothes, separated out the delicates, and put the rest in the laundry basket.
On the nightstand, next to the old metal lamp we bought at Pottery Barn, was a stack of textbooks. Hmm. I walked over and picked up the top text, Basics of Hypnotherapy. As I flopped onto her bed and cracked open the cover, there was a loud thumping sound followed by a tinny rattle. I looked up, half expecting a cop to be standing there, all uniformed with his silver badge shining, arresting me for trespassing. But I was still alone. Except for Oompa, who had flexed his stumpy legs into his best imitation of guard dog position.
Then I realized the room was filled with silence. More silence than I could remember. Panic sprouted inside of me when I concluded that the gentle hum of the air-conditioning had stopped. I got up and knelt down at the vent. I placed my hand over the grate. Nothing. Instantly it seemed like the room got hotter. I looked out at the smoldering sun, the sizzling beams of light shrouding our house with intense August heat. Okay, don’t panic. It’s probably just a fuse. I got up and started to search for the fuse box.
In a matter of minutes, the air inside the house began to feel stale, suffocating. I could feel the nape of my neck dampen. I decided to go look in the garage for the fuse box when, from down the hall, I heard a commotion in my bedroom. I suddenly feared our house was being robbed. They turned off the air to suffocate us then they’ll rob us blind! I snatched up Oompa and was darting toward the front door when I heard someone shout my name: “Willow!”
“Ahhh!” I screamed, pulling Oompa in front of my face like a shield. But it was just Max, walking out of my bedroom. “What are you doing?” I asked, all out of breath.
“I tried the front door but it was locked. You left this in my car.” He held up my cell phone.
“Oh, oh.” I felt myself breathe again. “The air-conditioning went out and then I heard all this racket and I thought someone was attacking me.”
“By shutting the AC off?”
“Well, it didn’t seem so ridiculous in the heat of the moment. I’m trying to find the fuse box.”
“Did you try the garage?”
“I was just heading there.”
We walked to the garage, where we located the switches and, much to my dismay, realized the fuse was not the problem. By the time we walked back into the house, the temperature had risen a few degrees. Oompa was plopped on the cool kitchen tiles, with his paws splayed out in an X, a little puddle of drool under his panting tongue.
I called my mom and left a message. Five minutes later she texted back that the repair man couldn’t make it until tomorrow.
“You’re not staying here!” Max said. He pulled out his phone, called his mom, and the next thing I knew, I was packing a bag to stay over at Max’s house.
“Wait,” I said before we left. I ran back into Mom’s room and put the textbook back on top of the stack on her nightstand to disguise my snooping.
“Why are you reading your mom’s books?” Max asked.
And so I made him swear to secrecy; then I told him about Mia’s request. Saturday night at Jake’s house, Max had been all enthusiastic about me doing hypnosis, but there, standing in my mom’s room, he wrinkled his forehead up in concern. “I don’t know, Willow,” he said. “It’s one thing to do fun party tricks, but now you’re talking about controlling someone’s mind—their thoughts.” His face was serious, in such stark contrast to his usual joking demeanor. And I didn’t like it. I didn’t want him to put a damper on this newfound opportunity I had. So I tried to turn it into a joke.
“Hey, did you know I just read that you can hypnotize someone in ten seconds with just a sharp handshake?” I playfully reached for his hand. “Max,” I said in a low, put-on voice, “I will hypnotize you. . . .”
But he didn’t think it was funny. He yanked his hand away. “Quit it, Willow, I’m not kidding. Do you want to mess with someone’s mind? Years from now Mia could be off somewhere at college having a good time and suddenly she’ll hear your voice in her head? Do you want that?” He had a weird look in his eyes—not exactly mad, but not exactly happy, either.
I pulled my hand back to my side. “Geez, take it easy. I was just kidding.”
“About Mia?”
“No, not about Mia.”
“I just think you’re making a mistake.”
He started for the door and we were silent as we left my house, which was hot and stuffy now. I followed him out to his truck and climbed in. Oompa jostled his way into the backseat with a loud, disapproving grunt as he teetered atop a messy pile of CD cases. Max laughed at the dog, breaking the silence between us, and reached back to scratch Oompa’s ears. And the awkwardness was over—it evaporated and it was just us again.
Max’s mom was at the stove, apron on, spatula in hand, with the aroma of spice wafting around her. She hugged me fiercely and said Mom and I were welcome to stay as long as we needed.
“Oh, the AC repair man will be by tomorrow,” I said. “But thanks.”
A thin, forced smile formed on her lips and I didn’t quite understand why she looked so sad. But when Max disappeared to talk to Minnie on the phone, I called Mom and her voice was just as thin and forced as Max’s mom’s smile.
“What?” I asked her.
She sighed. “The repair man said it was going to be two hundred dollars just to come look at the system, then most likely five hundred dollars or more to fix it if it’s a simple problem.”
“We’ll just have to use the emergency fund,” I suggested. She was quiet. I felt a pang of anxiety. I didn’t like my new lack of access to the finances. “Did you use the e
mergency fund?”
“Yes,” she answered, not telling me how she’d squandered the money I had diligently hoarded for years. But it wasn’t like I could demand answers. It was, after all, her money. “Sorry,” she answered sounding guilty, like she was proving Grandma right. “I can’t go into it now, but you just have to believe me that I’m doing the best I can.” She sounded like she was going to cry.
I couldn’t stand the sound of defeat in her voice. “No big deal,” I said. “So we’ll buy some fans, okay? It’ll be fall before we know it.” I did my best to sound positive, not thinking that if I had to live in an un-air-conditioned home, I might as well just dye my hair pink and sell it as cotton candy at the homecoming parade, because the frizz would never cease.
She was quiet on the other end except for a small, quivery inhale.
“It’ll be fine, Mom. Plus, tonight, we can slumber-party at Max’s!”
“Yes,” she said, and I could hear the tiniest bit of a smile in her voice. “Yes, we can.”
We hung up, and since Max was still in his room on the phone with Minnie, I found the Montgomerys’ couch and chatted with Max’s mom. A few times, when Mrs. Montgomery had her head in the fridge and we weren’t talking, I heard Max’s voice through the wall. It kind of sounded a little irritated and I wondered if they were fighting. I wondered if they were fighting about me. Was Minnie jealous that I was there? But fifteen minutes later, he emerged from his room looking calm and happy, so I concluded I must have been wrong. I sighed. She wins, even when I’m in person and she’s just a voice on the phone.
“Hey, come here,” Max said. “I want to show you something.”
I followed him into his room. His bed was unmade and the pillows had been tossed to the floor. Over his desk was a framed poster of dogs playing poker. His iPod was set up in a docking station, and small box speakers were mounted in all four corners of the ceiling. In the corner of the room was a huge five-piece drum set in wine red with two sixteen-inch gold cymbals. I walked toward them, taking the long wooden drumsticks in my hand. Then I noticed sheet music resting on the stool. In Max’s scratchy handwriting there were music notes and words scribbled.
“Oh,” I said, putting the drumsticks down. “Are you writing a song?” I started to reach for it but Max raced over and snatched the sheets off the stool. “Oooooh,” I teased. “Is it a love song for Minnie?” I reached around his waist and grabbed for the papers.
“Quit it,” he said, angling the music out of my grasp.
“Oh, I love you soooooo,” I mocked, reaching around the other side.
“Stop!” Max said, sounding serious but laughing. He stretched his hand way out of my reach.
“Oh, it must be really mushy.” I climbed onto his chair and reached for his hand but he snatched it away so fast I lost my balance and fell off the chair, pulling him with me.
“Willow,” Max cried, dropping the music sheets and reaching for me. The white sheets of paper fluttered through the air as I crashed toward the ground and Max fell on top of me.
I could feel his heart thumping against my chest. I could feel his lungs expanding and contracting with every breath. I could feel the weight of his body pressing against mine. His lips were inches from mine. His breath smelled like Orbitz spearmint gum. He wouldn’t stop looking at me.
“Is everything okay in there?” Mrs. Montgomery called. Footsteps approached. Quickly Max scrambled up off of me. I sat up, dizzy from both the fall and the circumstances.
Mrs. Montgomery poked her head in. “You all right?”
“Just took a tumble,” I said. “I’m fine.”
Max gathered up the sheets of music off the ground and swiftly shoved them into his desk drawer.
“Dinner’s ready,” Mrs. Montgomery said.
“Great.” Max smiled and followed her out like he was eager to get away from me or from the situation. Away from his feelings. And again, the moment was lost.
My mom walked in and we all sat around their circular table. Mrs. Montgomery served chicken quesadillas and rice.
Max looked across the table at me and I held his stare. What just happened?
“Remember that time,” Max’s mom said, “when the kids were seven and they got sent home with a note from their teacher for talking too much in class so they decided to run away?”
“And we got a call from Ann Marie Gallagher,” Mom interjected. “She had picked them up in front of the BP gas station, all sweaty and exhausted because you two thought that ‘running away’ meant you had to actually run.” Mom and Mrs. Montgomery laughed and laughed. Max looked at me again, but this time the smile was different. Less desire, more reminiscent. Definitely a friend smile.
“And Willow’s backpack,” Mom continued, “was all appropriately packed with fresh underwear and toothpaste and a map but the only thing Max had packed to take with him for the rest of his life was his drumsticks and a box of fudge Pop-Tarts!”
We all laughed. I remembered that night well, even without the constant replays. Mom had unpacked my bag and told me that no matter how upset I was, I couldn’t run away from my problems—that distance wouldn’t solve anything. But less than one year later, Mom packed up our apartment and we took off for Vegas, putting a two-thousand-mile separation between Mom and her problems. Some example.
After dinner, we all cleared the table. I was loading silverware into the dishwasher when Max walked into the kitchen holding a stack of plates. He playfully bumped his hip into mine. “Hey,” he said. “Watch it.”
I bumped him back. “Sorry, tight quarters.”
He reached over my arm and dumped the four plates into the dishwasher.
“No,” I said. “If you put them this way, there’s more room.”
“Why do we need more room?” Max asked. “Are you planning on entertaining some gentlemen friends tonight?”
I smiled devilishly. Jealousy is a great plot twist. “Never can tell.”
Max held my stare for a beat; then he reached down and began rearranging the cups on the top rack. “Well, then, by all means, let’s make room.”
Mrs. Montgomery walked past us. “You kids,” she said breezily, but I caught Mom eyeing our exchange with a touch more scrutiny. I wondered if she could see past my false bravado and see how desperate I was for Max to adore me?
Mom was snuggled under the covers with her textbook, so I crept out into the living room, figuring I’d watch some TV. Max sat on the couch in a pair of loose white karate bottoms and a blank white T-shirt. He looked up and smiled at me.
“Like your jammies,” he said.
Suddenly I felt very exposed. I wondered if he could tell I’d taken off my bra. I crossed my arms over my chest and sat next to him. He looked down at my loose cotton shorts. They were periwinkle blue and covered with pastel-colored hearts. I wore the matching short-sleeve top.
“Like the hearts,” he said.
“Yeah, well, this is what I like to sleep in.”
“So you’ll dream of romance?” he teased.
“Maybe,” I said and wondered if he’s purposefully brought up the topic. Maybe he wondered if I’d purposefully worn the hearts. Had I?
“Look,” he said. “The way the shirt wrinkles here, it looks like one of your hearts is broken.
I looked down.
“Have you ever had a broken heart?” he asked seriously. “How come we’ve talked about everything but I’ve never really heard about any of your boyfriends?”
Because I’ve been waiting for you.
I’d liked boys, sure. I’d even dated a few. But it was always pathetic, really. It never lasted long, and mostly we just held hands and made out a little. Nothing special. I never ever felt the way I felt now, with Max.
“So have you?” he asked again. “Had your heart broken? Other than that asshole Logan in eighth grade, of course. He doesn’t count.”
“Right,” I said. “He doesn’t count.” Except that’s when I realized I loved you. “Yes,” I finally answ
ered. “I have had my heart broken.” And it was true. My heart is breaking right now thinking that you don’t love me back. “What about you?”
He shook his head slightly. “I don’t think so. Not really. I mean, I’ve been dumped—remember Caryn in ninth grade? Whew, that was awkward . . . but crushed? Nah. I don’t think so.”
“You’d know if you had,” I said.
“So why don’t you tell me about it?” he asked.
I looked into his blue eyes. Once upon a time there was a boy. His hair was the color of coal, his eyes the color of faded denim. His smile, carefree and inviting, was the one thing that made me brave. It was quiet for a moment, just the soft hum of the air-conditioning blowing through the vent above us.
“What happened?” Max asked softly, intently.
“The boy I loved chose someone else.”
We stared at each other. In the background, Conan made jokes about a politician. Max reached over and took my hand. I slumped into the couch and pretended to watch TV but all the while I wondered, Are you holding my hand to console a friend, or have you felt the connection all night, too?
Early the next morning I was stumbling to the hall bathroom when I heard whispers from the living room. My heart sank at the thought of Max and Minnie sitting on the couch together, holding hands, Minnie the window climber this time—sneaking over sometime in the middle of the night. But when I pressed myself to the wall and snuck a glance, it wasn’t them. It was Max’s mom and my mom, sharing a large navy blanket and talking.
“I wish I could lend you the money,” Mrs. Montgomery said. “If I had it.”
“No.” Mom shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m just going to call today and see if it’s too late to cancel the registration check.”
“No, Vicki, you can’t. That’s too important.”
Mom sighed. “Well, maybe I can return that video equipment.” Her mouth twisted. “Do you think they’ll take it back if I’ve opened it?”
Max’s mom sighed and pulled the blanket up under her chin. “I don’t know.”
Crush Control Page 10
