Still playing the guitar, Jack stopped singing long enough to glance over at me and I caught a self-deprecating smile. “You gonna leave me hanging over here?”
He launched back into the chorus, never breaking eye contact. He was waiting for me to join in. He kept going in the hesitant, not great voice, and I had the overwhelming feeling that to let him sit there and sing to me like he was—holding nothing back—would be cruel.
So I sang. My voice was soft at first, and I shifted uncomfortably at the sound of my own voice echoing in the small room. My participation earned me a full-on smile from Jack and that smile brought heat to my cheeks. I ducked my head and focused on the lyrics—the intimate, romantic lyrics about love and surrender and yearning for the one he can’t have.
He. It was from a guy’s point of view. A guy who was angsting over the girl he couldn’t have. It was clearly written by Jack, but was it based on his real life? Was he singing about an ex-girlfriend? If so, it would have had to have been someone he’d dated before he’d transferred to our school because he hadn’t dated anyone seriously at our school.
I was so focused on the lyrics, following along in the notebook as well as analyzing their meaning, I almost missed it when Jack ceased singing. He continued to play but only my voice filled the room. My eyes shot up from the page to Jack but he wasn’t watching me. His eyes were half closed and he looked to be lost in the music, concentrating on the guitar and my voice.
It was beautiful. For a moment I forgot to be nervous or self-conscious as I too zeroed in on the sound we were creating. We’d reached the chorus again, which I now knew by heart. My eyes shut and the music swept me along.
For a moment it was no different than when I was on stage and in character and all that mattered was the music. I stopped worrying about whether I sounded like a rock singer or what I looked like standing there in a storage closet singing my heart out. For one blissful moment, I was outside of myself, a part of something bigger. Something magic.
But then the bell rang and the music stopped and I came back to my body with a jolting crash. Jack turned to me with that lazy look, but I saw clear approval in his eyes and I couldn’t stop the thrill of pleasure. It wasn’t like I needed his approval or anything, but it was reassuring to know that he wasn’t disappointed.
But then, I supposed anyone with the tiniest hint of singing talent was a step up from Brent.
I bent down to scoop up my bag, which I’d dropped at some point during out little duet. When I stood again, I found Jack too close for comfort. Apparently he’d never heard of a little thing called personal space because he was inches away from me, making the tiny space feel even smaller.
The look of approval was gone and his face was expressionless. He moved in closer and I froze as his face drew close to mine. For one brief moment of insanity I thought he was going to close the distance between us completely.
Oh my God, Jack Abrams was about to kiss me.
My heart stopped beating.
But then he reached past me to open the door and I let out the breath I’d been holding with a mixture of relief and embarrassment. Maybe he hadn’t noticed my reaction….
But one look at the knowing smirk on his face said otherwise. Oh great, now he thought that I thought that he was going to kiss me. Of course he wouldn’t do that. He’d never once hinted that the was attracted to me. He could have any girl he wanted in this school, why on earth would he choose me?
Thoroughly humiliated and desperate for a rock to crawl under, I started to back up toward the now open doorway. Before I could escape, I heard his laughter-filled voice calling after me. “Meet me after school. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
We’ve got a lot of work to do. Jack’s words followed me through the rest of the school day, which was thankfully uneventful since all the teachers knew it was pointless to try and make the seniors work on one of their last days of school. My exams were done so I glided through classes, only half listening as the rest of our class droned on about their plans for the following week. Senior Week.
Quite frankly it was annoying to listen to them. They were so excited planning for their carefree, fun beach vacation, but I couldn’t even begin to think about what swimsuit to pack or which parties to attend because this was no relaxing vacay for yours truly, thank you very much. This was a working trip. Jack had seen to that.
Singing in a storage room with one other person—that was one thing. But getting up on stage in front of a club full of people? In front of professionals who would be judging us? Why the hell had I said yes to this?
I couldn’t even talk to Amy about it because she had two finals that afternoon and she needed to concentrate. Besides, I wasn’t sure what to tell her about our little duet time. I knew she’d laugh at my delusional thought that Jack Abrams was going to kiss me. She always said that I’d read too many romance novels in my life because I was forever reading into things. She’d remind me about that time I thought Benjamin Bradley was desperate to ask her out, when really he’d just had a cold. Or the time I’d been sure that Dylan was finally going to break up with Stephanie because he’d complimented my winter hat freshman year. That obviously did not happen.
Okay, so maybe Amy had a point. I did tend to read into things and see romance and passion where it wasn’t to be found. That was clearly what had happened with Jack and I saw no reason to give Amy one more anecdote to add to her repertoire.
Jack obviously had no intention to kiss me, that was just another one of my romantic delusions. The bell rang and I headed toward the classroom door. It wasn’t disappointment I was feeling. Well, maybe it was just a little. Not that I wanted Jack to like me but it would be nice if someone did. Just once. I was under no delusions that I was some sex bomb but was it too much to ask for just one guy in our high school to have a crush on me?
I’d settle for one guy wanting to give me a kiss. The fact that I was heading to college in the fall having never been kissed was just depressing. But then, it was partially my own fault. I’d been saving myself for Dylan. Not that I wouldn’t have accepted a kiss if someone had been so inclined, but it wasn’t like I was actively pursuing anyone. Other than Dylan, obviously.
That thought gave me a burst of optimism. Dylan would think it was romantic that I’d waited for him to be my first kiss, I was sure of it. Amy was waiting for me by my locker so we could drive home together. I’d barely said hello before we were interrupted by Jack, whose sudden appearance had Amy blinking up at him like an owl.
He gave her a jerk of his chin in acknowledgement before turning to me with an intensity that was alarming, particularly since it was coming from Jack, the king of lazy cool. “You’re coming with me,” he said, snatching my bag from my hand as he started to lead the way toward the parking lot.
With a quick glance at a shell-shocked Amy, I ran after him. “Where are you going with my bag?”
The hall was crowded with students shuffling toward the exit and he never slowed down as he called over his shoulder. “Change of plans. We’re leaving tomorrow. We’ve only got tonight to learn these numbers.”
Chapter Five
It wasn’t until we’d reached the bright red truck that I finally had a moment to speak. Well, I had to pant a little bit first—for a lazy punk, Jack was surprisingly fast. Our track team could have used him. By the time I’d gulped down some air, he’d tossed my bag into the passenger side and was holding the door open for me expectantly. Like I was a puppy, or something, that was just supposed to hop into the passenger seat when he called.
Irritation was a lovely change from the usual intimidation and nerves I felt around Jack, and I embraced it. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stood in place, not moving toward the open door. “Where are you taking me?”
Jack sighed. Sighed! Like I was a petulant child or something rather than a nearly grown woman whose bag was being kidnapped.
“Get in the truck and I’ll explain.”
My eyebrows shot up. �
�Explain and then maybe I’ll get in the truck.”
We stood there facing off for several heartbeats before Jack finally relented. “I got a call from my contact in Philadelphia. She can get us in front of a record label but only if we get there tomorrow night.”
My mouth went dry. Like, I was choking in the desert dry. He looked like he was waiting for a reaction, any reaction, but my brain had gotten stuck on the the words “record label” and I couldn’t stop obsessing. I didn’t even know the songs yet and this guy wanted me to sing in front of professionals? Was he crazy?
He tipped his head down with that mocking grin. “Will you get in the truck now?”
I got in the truck. “So are we going to a band rehearsal?”
He shook his head. “We’ll rehearse with the band when we get there. First you need to learn the songs.”
“So it’s just us?” I admit it, the dread was obvious in my tone. Not exactly subtle.
He shot me a funny look. “Yeah, just us.”
I toyed with the material of my skirt. So far joining this band has led to one-on-one time with the only guy in the school I actively disliked. I tried to give myself an internal pep talk, but it wasn’t terribly successful.
Give it time, Layla. You’ll be rehearsing with Dylan soon enough. Then you’ll be performing with him. Live. In front of record producers.
Nerves made my stomach do a somersault. This was a mistake.
Relax. This was no different than auditioning for a musical.
Except that it was different. It was so very different. Musicals I could do, I’d been acting in them since I was five. Performing as me? That was a different story. The cab of the truck seemed to shrink. I was in over my head. This decision to join the band had been rash, reckless, and so very stupid.
I could practically hear Amy’s taunting voice mocking my decision. Oh, the things we do for love.
Sucking in a deep breath, I steeled myself against the nerves that raged in the pit of my stomach as I finished my pep talk with a reminder of why I was doing this—for love, for fate, for my chance at a happily ever after.
Or a first kiss, at the very least.
Focusing on that first kiss kept me silent for the drive to his house and Jack was staring at the road with laser-like focus. He seemed lost in his own thoughts—presumably ones that had nothing to do with his first kiss, but what did I know?
His home was not so different from mine or Dylan’s, a single-story ranch house in a residential neighborhood a little closer to school. When we’d walked in, I’d braced myself to give the polite smile and greeting to his parents or siblings but the house was eerily quiet as he led me straight through the foyer and kitchen to the door that led to their basement.
It was a partially finished basement like ours, with a worn couch his parents probably didn’t want seen upstairs and some other non-matching chairs, along with a shag carpet that looked like it came straight out of the 70s. The only thing that set it apart from every other basement was the collection of instruments that had taken over the space. A drum set sat in one corner, a keyboard in another, and a slew of acoustic and electric guitars were leaning against the walls.
He nodded toward the sofa and I took a seat. Handing me the notebook, he picked up one of the guitars. “Let’s get started.”
This was a side of Jack I had never seen before. Yes, he’d been focused in the band room but here, in his basement, he was serious to the point of being intense. Just like earlier that day, he’d start out each new song the same way—he’d sing quietly, in that not-so-great voice of his, and I’d join in once I caught on to the melody. I wasn’t even self conscious anymore because Jack rarely even glanced in my direction. He kept his eyes half closed, focused off in the distance as he played and listened.
There was no mocking, no teasing, no smirky looks that made me blush. I was afraid to even talk in between songs because the room had fallen into a sort of hushed reverence.
The only thing was—I was completely ignored. Ironically, all school year I’d wished that Jack would ignore me. I’d prayed for it on a regular basis. I hated being singled out by him for his teasing and mockery and weird comments that made me turn a horrid shade of red. But this was somehow worse. I could respect his dedication to the music—and I did. It was a crazy surprise to discover that Mr. Too Cool for School with his slacker punk vibe was serious about something. But it soon became clear that I was just another instrument in the room, to be tweaked and tuned along with his guitar strings. He never broke the silence to joke around or talk about the itinerary for this trip, let alone tell me what the songs were about or what had inspired them—he just expected me to listen, learn, sing, and repeat.
Finally, after two solid hours of rehearsing with no breaks, I summoned up the nerve to interrupt him. “Um, I should get going soon.”
He turned toward me and blinked, as if surprised to find me there. It was almost insulting, like he’d forgotten I existed. Yes, there is an actual person in the room singing, that was not the radio.
His silence was unnerving, so I found myself adding, “My mom expects me home for dinner.” Ugh. How lame did that sound? But it was true. I hadn’t told anyone I was going out after school and they’d worry if I didn’t at least call. I could call but that wouldn’t help the fact that I was starving or the fact that I desperately needed a break from Jack’s intensity.
For the first time in hours his eyes seemed to register my existence in his basement. He sighed wearily as if my words were the biggest bummer of his day.
I tried not to roll my eyes. So sorry I need to eat. Some of us mortals need more than music to survive… like sustenance.
I had a tendency to get cranky when I was hungry and this was definitely one of those times.
Jack rubbed at his eyes. “Layla.” He drew out the word like it was a complaint in and of itself. And really, the fact that he’d used my real name was not a good sign.
“What?” I snapped. “I’m hungry.”
He dropped his hand to look at me. “There’s food in the kitchen. Help yourself.”
Okay, now I was getting pissed. What was I, a prisoner here? Crossing my arms over my chest, I said, “That’s not the point. I need a break.”
His sigh was so tired, so disappointed, I couldn’t help but feel a stab of guilt. Like I’d just kicked his puppy or something, rather than requested a basic human right. When he lifted his head to look at me, his entire demeanor was more serious than I could ever have imagined.
“I know you don’t care about the band—or me—but you made a commitment.”
He took a breath and I had no doubt he was going to continue with his see-your-commitments-through speech, which sounded way too much like my father’s if-you-sign-up-for-softball-you-can’t-quit-until-the-season-is-over speech.
“I know what I committed to.” I have to admit, I was pretty proud of how calm I sounded despite the fact that my insides were boiling over with rage. Something about his tone—his holier than though, all-knowing tone—made me see red.
He ignored my comment, which only added fuel to my fire. I hated being ignored. Almost as much as I hated being called out for public humiliation. I know, I’m complicated. But somehow this guy—this jerk who barely knew me—seemed to swing from one awful extreme to the other. Either I didn’t exist or I was the sole focus of his mockery. He used to just annoy me but in that moment, my feelings toward Jack Abrams were trending toward hate.
He stood up and started putting away his instruments, ignoring my existence. Basically, I’d been dismissed from his highness’s presence.
So he wanted to ignore me? Tough.
“I’m doing you a favor.” My voice came out sharper than I’d ever heard it. I am not confrontational by nature and a little part of my brain went into shock at my harsh, argumentative tone.
He turned around slowly, one brow raised in disbelief. Apparently my brain wasn’t the only one that was stunned. He walked toward me slowly, his
eyes narrowed in on me like he was a predator and I was his prey. I fought the urge to back away.
I’d been bullied enough in middle school and junior high to know that running only made things worse. And that’s what Jack was, he was a bully through and through. Well I wasn’t a middle schooler anymore, thank you very much.
When he was within inches of me, he stopped. “You’re doing me a favor?”
I swallowed down nerves that threatened to undo my fierce but brief show of strength. It wasn’t like I thought he was going to hit me or anything. Just the opposite. It was the utter lack of anger in his voice—that cold, calculating disapproval that led to me nearly backing down.
But I didn’t. Go me.
“You needed a singer,” I reminded him—politely, if I do say so myself.
“And you needed a ride to the beach.”
Touché.
I pressed my lips together and inhaled deeply, trying to focus on what we were talking about, which was difficult to do given his close proximity. As someone who’d never been kissed, I could count the number of times I’d been this close to a boy my age on one hand—and all of those times had been on stage. What were we talking about? Right. Favors.
“You’re the one who came to me with the offer,” I said. “I would have found another ride.” Maybe. Okay, probably not. But he didn’t know that.
One side of his mouth tilted up in a smile that was more taunting than amused. “Yeah but that other ride wouldn’t have been with Dylan.”
He sort of sang Dylan’s name like a child.
Do not turn red. Do not turn red. Despite my frantic mental commands, the blood raced to my face, blasting my cheeks with heat. While I had no mirror, I just knew my face was an oh-so-attractive shade of burgundy. Sometimes I really hated my family’s legacy of translucently pale skin.
The silence between us was deafening. I tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t make me sound pathetic or confirm that I had only agreed to be close to Dylan. Because I had, obviously.
Senior Week Crush Page 4
