Crush Control

by Jennifer Jabaley

  Max and I crossed the auditorium. We climbed up the bleachers toward the top seats where Trent and Conner waved to Max. Garage band musicians at a cheerleading competition? There really was school spirit here. I quickly spotted Georgia and flagged her over. Her eyes darted from Max to me; then she raised her eyebrows suggestively.

  “He made me a mix CD,” I whispered, as Max said hi to his friends.

  “Oh my God. Thoughtfulness, time, and effort. This means something. What kind of songs? Hard-core, I want to throw you against the wall and rub my hands all over your hot body? Or soft and mushy, I want to shower you with delicate kisses on a pink cloud of love?”

  “Sshh!” I giggled. “I don’t know. I just got it. There are no song titles and I haven’t listened yet. They might just be all I’m so glad you’re my friend.”

  “Ooh, secretive. Like a mystery. Love it!” She rubbed her hands together wickedly; then her face dropped. “Uh-oh.”

  “What?” I swung my head around in the direction she was looking, and there she was, all perky and flushed, climbing the bleachers while delicately balancing two large ziplock bags in her hands.

  “Hey!” Max said, way too enthusiastically. “You came early.”

  Minnie climbed up to our row and worked her way past me, nestling her way right in between me and Max.

  Georgia noticed this and shot me a look.

  “Carla came early for her shift,” Minnie said to Max. “So I got to leave.” She turned toward me and acted like she was just noticing me—like she hadn’t practically plowed me over. “Hi Willow!” She beamed, her hand tightening on Max’s arm.

  Max erupted into a huge smile. “Is that baklava?”

  Minnie held up the two bags. “I made some extra to bring.”

  “Minnie is the best baker,” Max said, dipping his hand into the bag and breaking off a piece of the flaky pastry. “Here, try some.” He extended a morsel to me.

  I took it. “Thanks,” I said and tried a bite. It was light and sweet, dissolving on my tongue into a burst of sugar. Minnie is the best baker, Max said, and I wondered what best I was. I didn’t really have any spectacular talents. I was just the sideline girl. I always thought I was his best friend, but now, watching Max lick his fingers and smile adoringly at Minnie, I feared I was losing even that.

  A woman in a crimson and gold jacket and dark bobbed hair tapped the microphone and introduced our team. Booming music thundered through the speaker system and the cheerleading squad ran onto the mat. The crimson skirts swayed to and fro as the team simultaneously did a round-off, handspring, double handspring tumbling pass in perfect unison.

  The crowd applauded and cheered. The team parted into two evenly divided sections as pairs of cheerleaders took turns doing flips and tucks together to the pulsating beat of the music. Finally, as the two lines of girls formed a V shape, Mia emerged from the back. There was a pause in the music, a buildup, and from the bleachers I saw a look of panic slide across her face. I stood up and her eyes rose to meet mine high up in the stands. I held my hand in the air, rubbed my thumb and forefinger together. I saw her do the same with her hand, discreetly tucked by her thigh. The music began to pump again. Mia took a breath with a renewed look of confidence, and then she tumbled forward, doing a round-off, a handspring, and the fancy Arabian move she told me about; then she plowed into a front handspring-punch round-off double flip. She landed with a perfect thud and the audience went wild. Several rows below us, I saw a man and woman jump up out of their seat, whistling and yelling Mia’s name. I recognized them as her parents from the photos at Mia’s house.

  “That was awesome!” Minnie yelled. “That means we’ll advance to the regionals, I’m sure!”

  “She nailed that pass!” a girl in front of us said.

  “She was really nervous about that,” said a familiar voice behind me. I turned and saw Quinton one row above us. He smiled at me, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Max notice. The cheerleaders ran off the mat and the competition ended.

  Everyone in the stands began to climb down and exit the auditorium. As Georgia and I climbed down the bleachers, I noticed Quinton by my side. I looked over at him.

  “Hey,” he said to me.

  “Hey,” I said back, my cheeks flushing involuntarily.

  “It’s cool they won,” Quinton said.

  “Yeah,” I agreed.

  “Mia did great,” he said as we reached the bottom of the bleachers.

  I nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “Why did you stand up?” He waited as I hopped off the bottom stair. “You know, when she was getting ready to flip.”

  “Um,” I stammered. “I couldn’t see that great and I was, um, excited.”

  Quinton smiled and playfully pointed at me. “You’re lying. Look at you. Your cheeks are all red.”

  My hands flew up to my face.

  Quinton laughed.

  To my left, Max slowed down and watched our interaction with interest. Minnie tugged on his arm, but he seemed intent on watching me and Quinton. I had a zing of satisfaction so I grinned widely toward Quinton.

  “You did something with your hand,” Quinton said. “And Mia did, too.”

  Crap. I pulled him over to a quieter spot in the corner of the hallway. I didn’t want anyone to hear about our hand signal. I needed to keep the hypnosis a secret. For one, I don’t think Mia wanted people to know. She had a reputation to protect, after all. Plus, I didn’t want Mom to somehow find out. But suddenly Quinton—gorgeous, tousled-haired Quinton—seemed really interested in my answer. And out of the corner of my eye I saw Max lingering—watching us intently. And Quinton’s teasing was so charming. My mind thought back to Georgia’s crazy TV plots and how jealousy helped unlock true emotions. What if Max saw another boy actually interested in me? Fascinated by me? How would he feel about that?

  So I tucked my wayward hair behind my ear. Then, in a hushed whisper, I explained that I used hypnosis to help Mia battle her fears.

  Quinton’s face was pure awestruck delight. “You helped Mia do that?”

  “Ssh!” I said. “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “Wow.”

  We walked outside together into the bright afternoon sun. Quinton touched my arm. “Can I ask you something?” His golden hair shimmered.

  “Sure,” I said, my heart racing. I had no idea what to expect. Could it be possible that gorgeous Quinton . . . liked me? I tried not to be too obvious as I scanned around for Max.

  His eyes darted around a little then he leaned in and spoke softly. “You’re going to think I’m crazy. Remember in English class when I talked about my sleepwalking?”

  Oh. I nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s like getting worse instead of better, and I just hate going to sleep and worrying that I have no idea what I’ll do, where I’ll go.”

  I didn’t like where this was going. “Uh, Quinton . . . ?”

  “Can you imagine next year at college?” He continued. “God knows what I’ll do. What if I walk around the dorm naked? I hate the idea of doing something humiliating or embarrassing and having no control to stop it.” He leaned in closer. I knew what was coming, and I was dreading it. Because I couldn’t say no to Quinton. But I didn’t want to keep doing hypnosis on my friends. I was lucky that it worked this time. What if Max was right—if I messed up, they’d hear my voice in their brain forever. “Do you think you could help me?” Quinton said. “ Like the way you helped Mia?”

  I should just tell Quinton no. I should stop using hypnosis. It’ll only make Mom mad if she ever finds out and it would certainly fracture any sliver of a chance I have at a relationship with my grandparents.

  But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Max waiting across the parking lot at his car. Minnie was talking to him, but he was eyeing our exchange with interest. I looked into Quinton’s chocolate eyes, desperate for help. And the idea of being able to help someone control his life was so appealing. And the idea of Max possibly being jealous was so in
viting. And the idea that the ultimate hot guy was touching my arm and looking at me—well, it was just too close to perfection.

  And all at once I was caving. “Of course I’ll help you,” I said, smiling.

  Quinton flashed a grin and invited me to come to his house after school on Wednesday—the only day he didn’t have football practice.

  “Sure,” I agreed, and turned to walk back toward Max with a smile of my own.

  14

  Monday morning, as I walked into English class, I had a small flutter of nerves about seeing Mia. She had called and texted me a thousand times to thank me but I still worried that somehow she’d found out I leaked our secret to Quinton. I had betrayed a friend for a hot guy. When did I become that person? I had never been the kind of person who put interest from guys before a friend. Maybe because I had never really been the kind of person who got interest from guys before.

  But when Mia walked in, she ran over to me and wrapped her taut arms around my neck. “Thank you so much!” she gushed, smiling what looked to be a genuine smile. Not the stage-ready variety.

  “You already thanked me,” I said, relief coursing through my veins, because obviously Quinton had held up his end of the bargain.

  “My parents were thrilled.” She sat down at her desk and pulled out her notebook and four-color pen. “We went out to eat and Dad said it reminded him of when Mom was the cheerleading captain in college and how he loved watching her do flips and you just couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. It’s the most fun we’ve had in ages!”

  “Well, you’re welcome.” I smiled.

  Mrs. Stabile worked her way to the front of the room and announced that we were going to be assigned an oral report project for A Midsummer Night’s Dream. She would distribute topic assignments individually. There was a general grumble of disapproval. But nothing could make me sad.

  At the end of the day, Max met me at our usual spot by the small footbridge that led to the student parking lot. “Well,” Max said, popping sunglasses on his face, “all I heard today was one thing: Can you believe Mia did that flip?”

  I smiled. “Pretty great, huh?”

  “Are you going to do it again?” he asked with a strange look on his face.

  “I don’t know,” I answered, feeling a little guilty for lying. He was quiet as he unlocked the truck and tossed his bag haphazardly into the backseat. He turned the key in the ignition then uncharacteristically turned the stereo volume down instead of up.

  “I just don’t think you’re considering the long-term effects of using hypnosis.”

  “Since when did you become an expert?” I asked.

  We were all the way past Main Street and cruising down West Avenue and he still hadn’t responded. He drove half a mile down the road and pulled into Poplinger Park. He stopped the truck and turned to face me. But he didn’t say anything. The silence was killing me.

  “Why are you acting all weird like I’m doing something wrong when I’m just trying to help someone?” I asked, trying not to sound too defensive.

  “I’m not questioning your motives,” he said quickly. “But come on—you’re not exactly trained in this. What you did—it’s totally different than what you and your mom did in Vegas.” He looked out the windshield at the ducks swimming in the large pond, thinking a minute. “Remember when we were nine?” he said, still looking ahead. “And we were joking around and you tried to hypnotize me?”

  I laughed. “Of course. That was hysterical.”

  “It wasn’t hysterical! I broke my arm! We were just fooling around and I got hurt. You could hurt people, Willow, messing with their minds. And not just physically.”

  I looked at him. There was something in his eyes—something that I didn’t understand.

  “Is your mom okay with this?” he asked, like somehow he knew she wouldn’t be.

  My face fell. Because now I really felt like I was doing something wrong. Of course Mom would not be okay with this. And then I thought about Grandma. It wouldn’t be okay with her either.

  But somehow, I still knew that I wanted to go through with it. So I just stared out at the ducks, not answering Max, until the silence became unbearable and he turned up the music on the stereo, cranked the ignition, and drove me back home.

  By the time Wednesday afternoon came, I was feeling much more confident about my skills. I had raided my mother’s bedroom again. This time I found even more stacks of books and the jackpot—a digital camcorder, fancy and new, sitting on top of a huge textbook, Healing with Hypnosis. On a whim I rewound the footage and pressed play, watching the small viewing screen come alive. There was Mom, looking very serious, dressed all in black, actually talking about using hypnosis to heal and change habits, followed by a brief segment where she began going through the process of putting someone under—like she was hypnotizing the viewer. I couldn’t believe my luck. I’d never seen her so fanatical. She never practiced or recorded herself in Vegas but I guessed this was new to her and she wanted to make sure everything was perfect.

  After watching Mom’s video, taking copious notes and practicing in front of the mirror, I was still a little bit nervous but feeling more confident by the minute. I had just walked out the door of the school when I ran into Max, digging for something in his backpack.

  “Hey!” he said. “Hang on a sec, I’m just trying to find my keys.” He pulled out his key chain and smiled. “Found ’em.” We started to walk together. At the footbridge, I paused, and he gave me an inquisitive look.

  “Um, I’m meeting Quinton here,” I said. “I’m going to his house today.”

  “Oh.” Max’s forehead folded into a series of little lines like maybe the idea of me meeting Quinton in our meeting spot, me riding in Quinton’s car, was pushing a few buttons.

  A small ripple of satisfaction ran through me.

  In the distance, Quinton walked toward us. The afternoon sun cast a golden shimmer atop his mess of thick, disheveled hair.

  Max reached up and ran the palm of his hand over the short black fuzz that had been growing back over the past few weeks. “Okay, then,” he said, a little bit louder than he normally spoke. “Have fun or . . . whatever.” He smiled with only the lower half of his face, his eyes holding still, looking dubious and maybe just a little bit rejected.

  “Hi!” Quinton greeted me enthusiastically as Max walked away. “I’m so ready to do this,” he said. “Last night I didn’t sleepwalk, but I had a dream that I was at college and I was living in a dorm with all the football players and I went to sleep and in the middle of the night I walked over to my roommate’s dresser, opened the drawer, and peed into it. All over his clothes.”

  “Oh no.” I tried not to laugh, but Quinton started laughing, so we laughed together. I wished I had mom’s camcorder, so I could record this moment and anytime I felt invisible I could replay the day when the hottest guy in the universe was laughing and joking with me.

  “I woke up all frantic,” he said. “You know how sometimes it takes a minute to figure out if a dream really happened or not?” He opened his car door for me and I climbed inside. Quinton drove a compact sports car, trendy and well designed.

  “And even though I hadn’t actually done anything,” Quinton continued, “it was almost as bad—just dreaming about all the possibilities of humiliation.” He turned the ignition, left the stereo volume low, and used the turn signal even just to exit his lane in the parking lot. “I hate the idea of not being in control of myself.”

  “I totally understand,” I agreed, thinking maybe we had more in common than I’d realized.

  And even though he drove a sports car, he drove exactly the speed limit. The car was immaculate, but partly, I thought, because it looked brand-new. The stereo was set to ESPN on satellite radio. No music thumping, just the drone of an announcer talking about the latest sports news.

  He pulled into a neighborhood with pear tree–lined streets and yards with flower gardens and flags that read WELCOME! His house was inviti
ng, with a cobblestone walkway twisting its way to a white front door bordered on either side with potted spiraling shrubs. We walked inside and his mother greeted us with a warm smile. We sat at the large breakfast bar at the end of the kitchen island.

  “Willow,” she said, offering me a bottle of water. “You have such interesting eyes.”

  I blushed. “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  “Oh yeah, they’re cool, right?” Quinton said.

  A small wave of contentment coursed through me. Cool is definitely an upgrade from wicked.

  “So,” Quinton’s mom said as she leaned against the counter to talk to us. “Quin tells me you two are working on an English project together.”

  Under the bar stool, Quinton kicked me in the shin.

  “Um, yes,” I answered. “Shakespeare. A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

  “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” she said dreamily. “I saw the play back when I was in college.” She smiled and shook her head. “So funny. Love can make you do crazy things.” She glanced over to the picture pressed into a corkboard of her and her husband, outfitted in orange life vests, swimming in some tropical lagoon. “Love, love, love,” she sang, turning back to the sink.

  “Mom, please,” Quinton said, trying to sound embarrassed, but really, he had a little smile on his face and I thought it was great that his parents could still be in love after all this time. My mother had never dated a man through an entire calendar year, and I expected it would be nice to have the same face greet you every day.

  “Okay, we’re off,” Quinton said, pushing back his bar stool. I followed suit.

  His mom turned halfway around and looked at him. “Honey, can’t you study out here? At the table?” She gave him a meaningful look that clearly read, no girls in the bedroom. I blushed again, excited that she would think I was the kind of girl Quinton could be interested in.

  “Mom, Willow is totally just a friend,” he said quickly. “No worries. Plus it’s an oral report and it’s kind of . . . embarrassing to read the Shakespeare lingo out loud, okay? Just let us go to my room. Trust me—total friends.”