Mrs. Stabile hushed the class and began her lecture. Mia passed a note over to me. Come over this afternoon?
I nodded. Sure, I mouthed, thrilled that we were becoming true friends.
Behind me, Georgia continued to write. I glanced over my shoulder and caught the top line, bold and in caps: IF GUYS ARE MEMBERS OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM, SURELY THEY CAN BE TRAINED.
When the bell rang at the end of class, we all walked into the hallway. By the lockers, Jake and a few other football players, Hayden and Davis, were talking. Mia flew over to them. As I walked away, I saw her thousand-watt stage smile plastered on. So different from how she’d just been with us.
That afternoon, when Mia and I walked into her house, Mia’s mom was decked out in an apple-red T-shirt with big white letters UGA stamped across the chest. Underneath in cursive, it read CHEERLEADING . She had on a pair of white cotton shorts and her blond hair was pulled back in a high ponytail.
“Hi, hi, hi!” she sang. “Did Mia tell you the wonderful news? That the University of Georgia coach is coming to scout her this weekend?” She was practically bursting with excitement, but when I glanced over at Mia, her smile looked frozen and forced.
“She did,” I said. “I’m so excited for her.”
Mrs. Palmer smiled at me; then Mia and I walked back into Mia’s room. She flopped on her bed, stretching out her petite body into a huge X but still barely spanning the distance across her queen-size mattress. “I need your help again,” she said, staring up at the ceiling.
“Okay,” I said, flopping down next to her. She scooted over and we lay there, side by side.
“I need another session. You’ve got to help me make it through this next competition.”
I turned and faced her anxiously. “Won’t it be easier this time? You’ve already done the tumbling pass, so you should be more confident—less afraid, right?”
She exhaled loudly then turned to face me too. “Mom went to UGA.”
“So I figured, from the getup,” I said.
Mia sighed. “The glory days. She was, like, the best cheerleader to ever walk the campus. So when she found out the coach was coming to scout me—she freaked. She’s sooo happy. And I’m glad, of course, because lately she’s, well, she hasn’t been happy.”
I raised my eyebrows, unconvinced. Her mom seemed like the poster child for happy.
“No, it’s true,” Mia said. “Lately she’s all mopey. Sensitive. Not in front of guests, of course, but when it’s just us. Dad’s been working late and he’s been distracted, and she thinks it’s about her. I tried to tell her, Dad’s a doctor—he has patients and an office to run and it has nothing to do with her, but she doesn’t listen.”
The image of the perfect beach photo floated in my mind and I wondered if Mia’s mom was sad when they took that picture. If the whole family had mastered the art of the thousand-watt stage smile.
“Anyway, since she found out that the UGA coach was coming, she’s been bouncing around all perky and excited, and that puts all kinds of pressure on me to do well. Then, last night, she decided that I need to do her move.”
“What do you mean, ‘her move’?”
“When Mom was at UGA in the early nineties, she created her ‘signature move.’” Mia pulled herself up and walked across her room to her laptop resting on the desk. I got up and followed her over. She opened the computer and typed into a search engine. “Mom’s move is called ‘walk in heels, stretch, double down.’ ”
“Sounds . . . interesting.” I leaned over to look at the computer screen.
“There’s no video on the Web of her, of course, but here’s a clip from Cheerleader Nation—that show on Lifetime about the squad trying to win the national championship.” She clicked on a link and a video started. Three girls elevated a fourth up into the air. The girl held her leg up; then the three base girls tossed her high into the air. “See how much height they have to achieve so she can do a double down?” She saw my confusion and explained. “I’ll have to spin twice in the air, so they have to toss me really high and ugh, it’s just . . . scary. Plus, I have to do it perfectly because IT’S MOM’S MOVE! I can’t screw it up.” Her face went pale.
I put my hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. Calm down.” I reached over and hit the replay button to watch the move again. Mia turned away from the screen.
“Can’t you just do the other move? The one that you’ve practiced?”
She turned back and looked at me with the first sign of tears in her eyes. “But Mom’s so happy. I heard her singing in the shower. She hasn’t done that in months.”
I wanted to tell Mia that it made no sense that a double flip could completely change someone’s outlook on life, but she seemed so desperate. So scared. So in need of my help. So I touched her arm gently and said, “Come on. If we’re quiet, we can do the hypnosis right now.”
18
When I got home from Mia’s, I pulled my cell phone out of my backpack. I had three messages from Georgia:
Chapter 1—Hey, my dog walks on a leash; surely I can train my boyfriend to go where I want to hang out.
Chapter 2—If I can teach my dog not to sniff my crotch, surely I can train my guy to quit reaching for my pants.
Quick question: If people use shock collars to train dogs, do you think it’s feasible to suggest using a Taser? It could be quite effective. Bad birthday present? TASER! Not gonna happen again!
I had four missed calls from Max, with one final message. Call me.
So I quickly typed a response to Georgia: U R insane. Then I put in a call to Max. He answered on the first ring. I tried to be all casual. “Hey, what’s up,” I said, but in my mind I was replaying the box of condoms falling onto the floor and my kiss with Quinton in the hallway. I could feel the heat of embarrassment in my face. I was glad he couldn’t see me.
“Hey,” Max said, and I heard a guitar pulsing in the background. Max said something to someone and the tinny vibrations stopped.
“Are you practicing with your band? ’Cause I can call back later.”
“No, no, they’re just leaving. ’Bye, man,” he said and I heard what sounded like some hand slapping. “So . . .” He returned to me but then said nothing else.
“So,” I said, and for the first time ever it felt a little awkward between us.
“So, you and Quinton—you’re, like, together?”
An involuntary grin spread across my face. Was my plan working ? Was Max jealous? “Yup, I guess we are.”
“How did that happen?”
I tried not to be offended, not to jump to that conclusion that everyone was baffled that Quinton could like me, because Max was my best friend and I had to believe he wouldn’t think that. I sat down on the floor of my bedroom and stared at my toes. “I don’t know. We’re in English class and we’ve been grouped together a few times.”
He was quiet.
“What?” I asked.
I heard him tap his drumsticks on something, making a fast clickety-clack beat. “I’m just not convinced that he’s the right guy for you. I mean, he’s nice and everything, but his whole life is football and school, and you can’t stand sports.”
“It’s not that I can’t stand sports, it’s just something I’ve never really been involved with or appreciated before.”
“Yeah, but he’s all, like, a pretty boy. Like an Abercrombie and Fitch guy.”
“What does that mean?” That I’m not pretty enough to be with him?
He tapped his drumsticks again. “I don’t know what I mean. I just think you guys seem mismatched.” He paused. “What about your broken heart? The one you told me about the night you stayed here? I guess you’re . . . over him.”
I took a deep breath. No, of course I wasn’t over him. But what did it mean if your heart fluttered for two different guys? I heard something outside my window and walked over and peered outside. But Max wasn’t there, just some squirrel rustling in the shrubs. “How come you didn’t just come over to talk
?” I asked, pressing my hand against the slick surface of the window.
“Because for all I know, Quinton is over there, anxiously sorting through your basket of goodies. I can’t just show up anymore. This changes everything.”
“Oh.” My finger drew a circle against the pane. “Well, you said Minnie didn’t change anything, so Quinton doesn’t have to change anything either.”
He was quiet and I realized the circle I was drawing had morphed into a heart. He didn’t respond, so I said, “Quinton and I do have a lot in common, actually. But thanks . . . for caring. And nothing has to change between us.”
“Except the rides to school.”
“Well, yeah, I guess that’ll change. But that’s all.”
“That’s all,” he repeated; then we both were quiet again. “Well, I told Trent I’d call him.”
“Okay,” I said, glad that at least he wasn’t running to Minnie. “Good night.”
“ ’Bye.”
I put the phone down, staring vacantly at the smeary smudges of hearts on the window. One heart connecting to another and another. Sure, maybe Quinton and I were mismatched, but somehow we still had a spark between us that lit us up like fireflies. Maybe the hypnosis was the kindling that ignited the fire, but the connection between us was real, wasn’t it? I imagined it worked the way it helped Mia. She was innately a great athlete—the hypnosis didn’t create that; it just maximized her potential by erasing her fear.
So in my mind, the hypnosis had brought Quinton to me, but after that, how we felt about each other was real. The funny thing was, that initially my intention was to spark some jealousy in Max. And it seemed like it had. But unexpectedly, dating Quinton seemed to be everything I never realized I wanted. He listened to me and paid attention to me. He wanted me to be happy. Sure, part of my heart would always be wrapped around Max—after all, he was my first love. But with Quinton, this was what grown-up love felt like, I was sure. It wasn’t just fantasies that one day we would end up together—this was real.
Maybe I didn’t need Max after all.
Saturday, Quinton picked me up to go to Mia’s competition. “Thanks so much,” he said, “for coming to my football game last night.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I said, buckling my seat belt.
“Some girls think football is boring.” He reached over and took my hand. “I’m just so happy you came.”
Maybe the actual game was boring, I admitted to myself, but the experience wasn’t. Being at Quinton’s game—as his girlfriend—I felt like the prom queen. Every time Quinton looked my way, I felt myself flush. Every time he made a good pass or a tackle, people smiled at me like I was somehow responsible.
We drove into the crowded student lot now and parked. “Did I tell you that I haven’t sleepwalked in a week? You’re like a miracle worker.”
“Really? That’s amazing!” I crossed my fingers that the hypnosis worked as well for Mia, because she was really stressed about today’s competition.
“I was thinking about having a party at my house tonight,” Quinton said. “Something small. Sound good?”
“Sure.”
“You can invite Georgia if you want.”
I squeezed his hand. “Thanks.”
The auditorium was packed, even more crowded this day than at the last competition. Quinton held my hand and led me up the bleachers to our group of friends. He used his hand to clear any crumbs or dirt from the bench before I sat down, and I loved how everyone noticed this—noticed Quinton taking care of me. We sat, and Quinton draped his arm around me.
Across the gym, Max and Minnie walked in and headed our way. They quickly climbed the bleachers as the cheerleading coach made her announcements. I waved to Max and he smiled at me. He looked over at Quinton; then steered Minnie into a bleacher several rows below us and sat down. I tried to flag him over and signal that there was plenty of room by us, but when he looked up at me one more time, he barely saw me; he was too busy eyeing up Quinton and his arm on my shoulder. I thought about jealousy and wondered if that was what I was seeing on Max’s face.
The music thundered through the gymnasium and the squad ran onto the mat and began performing the same routine as at the last competition. But as the bass pounded and thumped toward the finale, the squad lined up into a new formation. Three girls hoisted Mia up into the air. As she kicked her leg up and held it for a split second, the rest of the gym faded away and it was just me and Mia, signaling at each other. Then the girls tossed her high up into the air, and the crowd came roaring back. Mia spiraled twice and landed perfectly into their arms to a burst of frenzied applause. I saw her mom spring out of her seat, jumping just as high as the cheerleaders she clapped for.
After the competition, Quinton told a bunch of people about the party at his house later that night. As I followed the crowd down the steps, listening to Georgia talk about the latest plot twist on True Blood, something caught my eye. I blinked and squinted, sure I was imagining things. But as we walked closer, I saw it was true. Grandma was standing by the door. Our eyes locked and she gave me a closed-lipped, tentative smile.
I pushed past the crowd of people, trying to make my way over to her, to ask her what she was doing. Was she there to see . . . me? But by the time I weaved my way to the door, she was gone. Vanished.
And I wondered if I just imagined it all.
19
That night everyone went to Quinton’s house for a post-competition celebration. Quinton’s parents were out of town for the weekend so we had the entire house to ourselves. Everyone congregated in the finished basement. It was the perfect party space—a huge plasma TV hung from the wall; a pool table and a Ping-Pong table were across from a huge wet bar.
One by one, random girls I recognized from the lunchroom or the hallways came up to me, peppering me with questions.
“Oh my God, how did you get Quinton to break his no-dating-during-football-season policy?”
“Oh my God, you are so lucky. Quinton is so hot.”
“Oh my God, you guys make the cutest couple!”
Georgia came over. “Thanks so much for inviting me,” she said. “It’s, like awesome, being here. Sadie Wilson spilled her beer all over me and I said, No big deal, and she said I was cool. Cool! And you—not only are you, like, in the in crowd, you’re like part of Quinton’s family already.”
“What?” I asked her. She led me over to the living room area, and there, on the coffee table next to the huge leather couch, was the picture she’d taken of me and Quinton last weekend. It was blown up to five by seven and framed in a bronze picture frame.
“That took a lot of work,” Georgia said. “I sent the picture to his phone, so he had to download it, crop it, enlarge it, print it, and frame it.” She smiled. “He’s totally into you.”
“Wow.” I reached over and picked up the frame, noting how he had even removed the red-eye from my pupils. “That was a lot of effort.” Inside, I was glowing. This thing with Quinton—it definitely seemed real. He had my picture on display, something I harassed my mom for never thinking to do! A little voice inside me said that we had only been dating for a week and, well, it seemed kind of . . . soon. But I shook it off. That’s how real love was, I supposed—when the puzzle pieces click, why look back?
Suddenly, from above, a static-filled noise leaked out of the builtin speakers nestled into the ceiling as someone turned on the stereo.
“Everyone,” Quinton said loudly, standing in the corner of the room by a huge stereo system. He secured his iPod on a docking station and turned the volume up. “I’ve created this playlist for my new girlfriend, Willow.”
“Awwwwwww,” all the girls gushed. Across the room, Mia was talking to Sadie, with the thousand-watt smile plastered on. But when she heard Quinton’s announcement, for just a second, her happy face changed into something more wistful.
Overhead, Eric Clapton sang “Wonderful Tonight.”
Quinton smiled at me and a flutter of butterflies flew in
my stomach. I smiled back as he went over to talk to Jake.
Across the room I saw a familiar pair of flip-flops coming down the stairs. Max. When his face came into view, he scanned the room until he found me. I waved him over. Georgia went over to the bar to get a drink.
“Well,” Max said with a provoking look in his eyes, “I guess I was wrong. You and Quinton do have something in common—a love of cheesy music.”
“Eric Clapton is classic,” I said defensively.
“Most of the time,” Max countered. “Except this. Go to a party and everyone turns to see this beautiful lady,” Max sang with a mushy look on his face.
“Quit.” I laughed, pushing his pretend microphone down from his face. “Well, I’m sure you’ve made a special playlist for Minnie. Hell, you’ve probably written her a song.”
Max’s smile dropped and an unreadable expression crossed his face. His denim-blue eyes held mine, and it seemed like the entire chaos of the party just evaporated behind us. “Willow,” he said softly, not teasing anymore. “I want to ask you something.”
He looked over at Quinton then back to me. His face was serious—nervous almost. Oh, my God, what if Max was jealous? My heart raced. That was what I originally wanted, right? I looked at Max—wonderful Max who made me feel calm and comforted and understood. But then I looked across the room at Quinton. Gorgeous Quinton who made me feel beautiful and special and wanted.
“Willow,” Max reached over and touched my arm.
Suddenly Mia bounded over, all electric and buzzing. She took my hands and started jumping like she was on a trampoline. “I did it! I did it! I just got a text from my mom that my coach called and said the UGA coach was ‘very impressed.’ ” She air quoted while springing like she had coils in the soles of her sandals. “They’re talking scholarship!”
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