Crush Control (12 page)

The performance was a success. I did it. I made it happen by myself. In the crowd, I saw Max, laughing and having a good time and I felt a zing of satisfaction. I had made my mark on this new school and on Max. And finally, I felt like I was emerging from the shadows.

The next day, Georgia invited me over to work on our English assignment but also, I think, to get the gossip about Jake's party. Georgia's mom answered the door with a broom in her hand. I followed her inside. The house was immaculate and orderly. They had moved in just three weeks before we did but there wasn't a cardboard box in sight. Pictures were hung on the walls. Knickknacks adorned the shelves; small table lamps and perfectly placed stacks of magazines sat on the end tables.

Georgia's mom shuffled me upstairs to Georgia's room. She opened the bedroom door to reveal a haphazard, cluttered mess. Every inch of wall was covered with posters except the top six-inch border, which was stenciled with movie quotes. In one corner of the room sat a leopard-fur lounge chair, while in the opposite corner a four-foot-tall bust was draped in dozens of costume necklaces, beads, and pearls. There were two TVs—one mounted to the wall and the other resting on top of the dresser. And under the window was a huge knee-high black patent leather boot used as a flowerpot, with an overgrown spider plant crawling down the sides. Lying on her bed in the middle of all the clutter, was Georgia.

“Hey!” Georgia popped her head up off her pillow.

Georgia's mom pulled out a rag from the pocket of her sweatpants and dusted the top of her dresser. “You'd think if you knew you were having company . . .”

“Ma,” Georgia said. “I hardly think Willow cares if there's a little dust.”

Georgia's mom huffed then closed the door behind her.

I walked over and ran my fingers over the piles of necklaces hung around the fabric-draped bust. “Wow, that's a lot of necklaces.”

“Yeah, well, we moved here to take over the Worthington Diamond Center so I have a lot of inventory at my disposal. You can try some on if you want.”

“Oh,” I said. I looked at the oversize beads and dangling charms. They were definitely more suited for my mom. “It's okay. Thanks, though.”

“So,” Georgia asked eagerly, “how was the party? I hate that I missed it. I can't believe my mom made me go to my aunt Lynne's birthday party.” She huffed. “Was the night a success?”

“I don't know,” I said as I pulled my copy of
A Midsummer Night's Dream
out of my bag and placed it on her bed. “I mean, it was obvious that Max liked the show—I saw him laughing and smiling and he gave me our secret signal.” I tapped the side of my temple.

“What's that?” She made a face.

“It's a thing we used to do when we were kids. It's special.”

Georgia readjusted herself on her bed. “Okay, so he had fun, but then what?”

“Well,” I started, but Georgia held up her hand to stop me.

“What?” I asked.

She held her finger to her lips to hush me.
Listen,
she mouthed. Outside the bedroom door we heard heavy breathing.
She's trying to eavesdrop.
“Mom?” Georgia called.

Georgia's mom opened the door with a basket of laundry on her hip. “I've got your laundry,” she said cheerily.

Georgia gave me a look that said,
Yeah, right.

“Need anything?” Georgia's mom asked.

“Nope, we're good,” Georgia answered.

Georgia's mom took a few items out of the basket and placed them on top of the dresser. Then she heaved the laundry basket up with a grunt and shuffled away with her slippers skidding across the shiny hardwood floors.

Georgia got up and closed the door after her. She rolled her eyes. “Continue.”

I told her about Minnie's contact lens debacle, and I told her about how Max seemed to be smiling right at me through the whole show. “After Hayden acted on his hidden feeling, I
swear
I caught Max staring at me with, I don't know,
longing
in his eyes. But then when he drove us home—me jammed in to the backseat again—it was weird . . . stiff. I don't know. Strained.”

“He's confused,” Georgia said. “It's a classic love triangle . . . like Peyton, Lucas, and Brooke on
One Tree Hill.
Or Joey, Dawson, and Pacey on
Dawson's Creek.
Even Bella, Edward, and Jacob in
Twilight
, although none of you is a vampire or a werewolf.”

We heard Georgia's mom shuffle by the door again. “You watch too much TV!” she called.

“MA! Privacy!” She got up, opened the door, and craned her neck out into the hallway, but her mom had already disappeared. As Georgia walked back toward the bed, her face twisted up and she shook her head. “Maybe you should just forget about Max.”

“Forget about Max?!” I didn't mean to shout. “He's my BEST FRIEND!”

“I don't mean forget about him all together. I just mean—be his best friend. Let him figure out what he wants with Minnie or with you, and if it's meant to be . . .”

I sighed and leaned back against a
Pretty Little Liars
poster. “I'm tired of waiting,” I said. “My whole life I've been waiting. Waiting to break out of my mother's shadow. Waiting until Max and I could be together in the same city and,”—my shoulders slumped—“I just never imagined it like this.”

Georgia looked sympathetic. “You need a distraction. Hey!” Her eyes lit up. “You should date Quinton! He's so hot.”

“Oh my God, he looked so good last night,” I said. “But come on—why would a guy like Quinton . . . want me?”

Georgia held up her hand again and I quieted. We heard breathing at the door.

The door inched open and Georgia's mom stuck her head through the crack. “I've got some iced tea?”

“Okay,” Georgia said. “Thanks.”

Georgia's mom scuffled in, pulled out two napkins, and placed two large glasses of iced tea on the desk. She looked over at us on the bed, two copies of Shakespeare lying between us, unopened. She swallowed, smiled a tight, closed-lipped smile in my direction. “You're a pretty girl,” she said. “And I can tell just by listening to you that you're smart. Don't ever let yourself feel second best.”

“MA!!!”

Her mom shrugged her broad shoulders and threw her hands up in an innocent gesture. “That's all,” she said, turning back toward the door.

“I'm
so
sorry,” Georgia said.

“It's okay.” I laughed and thought that sure, I was glad that my mom respected my privacy, but it was kind of nice, too, to have someone reassure you with such confidence.

“Okay, sure, Quinton is like . . .” Georgia returned to our conversation.

“Totally out of my league.”

Georgia didn't disagree. She got up and brought the glasses of tea over to the bed. “But, he seems really fascinated by you.”

“He's fascinated by hypnosis, not me.” I took a sip of the sugary sweet tea and thought of something. “At the end of the party he did come over to me. He touched me on the shoulder and said,
You're so funny.
”

“Oh my God!” Georgia popped up. “Was there any squeeze of the shoulder or just hand placement? And how did he say it? Was it like,
You're so funny my abs hurt from laughing and you should have a late-night program on E!
or was it like,
You're so funny and I totally want to practice my football moves and tackle you right now and kiss the crap out of you
?”

I bit my lip. “Maybe somewhere in between.”

Georgia gasped. “How could you not tell me this?”

“I don't know. I was too busy trying to figure out the situation with Max.”

Georgia giggled. “I don't think Quinton is dating anyone.”

“Oh, come on,” I said. “This is ridiculous.”

“Oh my God,” Georgia panted. “Who knows—maybe
Quinton
is your destiny. Or”—she stuck her finger in the air—“it's the perfect plot twist to make Max jealous.”

This made my ears perk up. Would Max be jealous? And would Quinton ever really date me?

“Think about it,” Georgia said with a satisfied look on her face. “Ron and Hermione started out as childhood friends in Harry Potter, right? But each time one of them started dating someone else, the other would get jealous. Jealousy is used all the time to bring out that perfect lightning-bolt moment needed for a good plot twist.”

“Hmmm,” I mused, somehow thinking all of Georgia's character knowledge might be relevant to my life after all.

“Oh yeah. And Ron and Hermione
did
wind up together, you know. I mean, it took seven books, but eventually they got married and had two kids.”

I nodded slowly and thought about jealousy. Maybe Max just viewed me as his best friend—the girl from his childhood. But if he saw me date someone, it could be just the lightning-bolt moment he needed . . .

“You could live happily ever after,” Georgia said, and I smiled.

“Okay.” I picked up
A Midsummer Night's Dream
. “So tell me more about this crazy love triangle.”

Monday morning I texted Georgia:
When Max picked me up this morning he was all smiles—totally normal.

Of course he was. Minnie wasn't there!
she texted back.

In English class, Mrs. Stabile announced that we were going to break into our groups again to discuss the themes of love and magic in
A Midsummer Night's Dream
.

Georgia, Mia, Quinton, and I pushed our desks together and pulled out our notebooks.

“So,” Mia said, immediately jumping into the assignment. “Lysander immediately falls in love with Helena because he's totally under the influence of the magic love spell.”

“Right. So . . .” Georgia turned toward Quinton. “Are you excited for the football game this weekend?”

Mia's forehead crinkled at the departure from academics. Or maybe she was just perplexed that an unknown would talk to a popular football player with such ease.

Quinton smiled a winsome smile. “Sure.”

Georgia nodded. “I can't imagine how you balance it all—honors classes, football, girlfriend . . .” She was as subtle as her mother.

He cocked his head to the side. “I'm a hardworking student. I'm a fantastic football player and I'm a freaking awesome boyfriend. But I'm not going to lie to you.” His smile widened. “I haven't managed to pull off all three at the same time.” He shrugged. “So I know my limits. That's why I have a strict no-dating-during-football-season rule. Don't want to be a boyfriend if I can't be the best. Or maybe”—he leaned in a little—“maybe I just haven't found the right girl who makes me want to make the time.”

The three of us just sat there, silently swooning. Then Georgia kicked my shin under the desk.

“But what about you?” he asked me. “How did you manage your schoolwork and do a show like that when you lived in Vegas?”

“Oh, I managed.” I tried to adopt a mysterious tone. God forbid they knew about the permanent butt imprint I had created on my favorite seat in the library.

“The show was so funny,” Quinton said. “The way you were able to make people just do things.”

“Yeah,” Mia said. “Like Hayden is
dating
Sarah now. Did you know that?” It wasn't clear who she was asking. Surely not me or Georgia; she'd never really addressed us beyond the schoolwork.

I thought of hot Hayden, all blue eyes and boulder biceps, and the mousy-haired girl in the far corner of the audience. A mismatched couple anywhere, but especially in high school, where social status was so crucial a pyramid could be diagrammed in a matter of minutes.

“He probably never would have asked her out,” Mia said. “It's not like she's . . .”

“In his league,” Georgia said and kicked me under the desk again.

Mia abruptly turned toward Georgia, shocked, maybe, that she was being so blunt. From under the desk I heard the soft
click click click
of Mia nervously changing the colors on her pen. “You
made
that happen,” she said softly, looking at me. “You . . . erased his fear.”

I felt a small burst of pride. Really, I was just trying to entertain, to make people laugh and show Max how much fun I could be. I never realized I could potentially change someone's life. It felt pretty amazing. To help mold destiny.

Mrs. Stabile walked by and Georgia spouted something about artificial affection and the power of the love spell. The bell rang and we all gathered our things to go.