Crush Control (19 page)

“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.”

He said
friends
again as if even entertaining the thought of me as anything romantic had never entered his mind. Never entered his realm of possibility.

I tried to disguise my crestfallen face. It wasn't that I wanted to date him necessarily. I mean, I understood the improbability of it. But
still
, maybe there was a small piece of me that hoped this hypnotism gig was letting people view me in a whole new light. But no, here I was again, just the friend.

“Well, all right,” Quinton's mother conceded. “But leave the door open just a crack.”

“No problem,” Quinton said, and he took off, climbing the long staircase two stairs at a time.

Quinton's room was exactly as I'd imagined it: neat, masculine, preppy. His bookshelves were lined with both academic and athletic trophies and awards. On one side of his desk, a collection of college brochures and applications was organized into piles marked
dream schools
,
possible football scholarships
,
possible academic scholarships
,
apply early admission
, and
safety schools.
In the center of his desk there was a card, all pink and flowery, lying next to an unmarked envelope. I wondered if, after all his insistence of no dating during the school year and his
Willow's just a friend
talk, maybe it was because he had a girlfriend. So I crafted a distraction.

“Hey, maybe you should pull out your copy of
A Midsummer Night's Dream
in case your mom walks by.”

“Good thinking.” He bent down to look in his bag.

Quickly, I cracked open the card and inside I saw a handwritten note:
To the best Mom in the world. Happy Birthday.

I tapped the card shut just as he rose up from his book bag. He placed the book on his plaid bedspread and climbed on the bed next to it. “Ready?” he asked.

I stood there for a moment, still a little awed by his sweet card. I looked at him all gorgeous and perfect. He was smart and athletic but kind and respectful
.
No wonder Max felt threatened. Five minutes with this guy and the whole world paled in comparison.
If only I could make Quinton want to date me, Max would go out of his mind with jealousy
. I began the hypnosis induction and within minutes, Quinton was under. I began making suggestions about controlling his sleep, controlling his actions. I watched him, breathing so deeply, the muscles in his chest expanding and contracting with every inhale and exhale.

I caught a glimpse of
A Midsummer Night's Dream
lying on the bed next to him, and his mother's words rang in my ear:
Love can make you do crazy things.

I thought about the magical flower in Shakespeare's play and the miraculous love spell that made Lysander immediately fall in love with Helena.

And as Quinton sat there all relaxed and susceptible and under my control, I got an idea.

Thursday morning I walked around the school hallways like a jittery windup toy, like when Mom drinks one too many cups of coffee and decides to suddenly clean out the junk drawer. I couldn't focus. The only thing that ran through my head was:
Did I really do it?
And, more importantly:
Will it work?

It started with just a few words:
You will see me, Willow Grey, in a new light. You will see me as beautiful and enticing.
But then the more I looked at Quinton's gorgeous face, the way his lips formed the perfect little bow at the top, well, I
might
have gotten a little carried away.

Then I probably went a touch overboard.

Okay, I know, but come on, can you blame me? The situation just lent itself to so many possibilities.

I walked into English class and sat next to Mia and Georgia. Quinton walked in, but he was talking to some guy as he passed me so our eyes never met. I couldn't get a good read on him.

Mrs. Stabile talked about hidden symbolism in literature when Georgia nudged me in the shoulder. I leaned back and she whispered into my hair.

“Quinton is like, totally staring at you.”

“Really?” I asked softly. “Like how?”

She thought for a minute. “Sort of like in the movie
Juno
when Jennifer Garner's character Vanessa holds the little baby boy in her arms and her face is plastered with that
I can't believe I've just met you and already I love you this much
look.”

I glanced out of the corner of my eye and saw him, pressed forward on his desk with an eager look of curiosity and intrigue, almost like he was seeing me for the first time.

I got a flutter in my stomach.
Could it be working already? This fast?
The remaining thirty minutes of class dragged like a snail in sand until finally the bell rang. I took my time gathering my books in hopes of meeting up with Quinton at the door.

Mia came over. “Guess who called my house last night?”

“Who?” I asked.

“Coach Graham. She called to say the University of Georgia's head cheerleading coach is coming to our next competition to look at our team, and specifically
me
about a possible scholarship!” She squealed and looked like she was ready to bust into a back handspring right there if only the desks weren't in the way.

Quinton ambled over to our little circle. Mia, Georgia, and I all turned in his direction.

“Hey,” he said to all of us, but he was looking right at me.

Georgia dug her elbow into my side and looked like she was going to implode. I inconspicuously shoved her away and walked alongside Quinton.

When Georgia and Mia had fallen a little distance behind us, Quinton touched my arm and said, “Thank you so much for coming over yesterday. I slept so well last night. No sleepwalking, and no weird dreams.”

“Oh, good,” I said. “I'm so glad.”

“You know, it's weird,” he said. “I
feel
different this morning. Like something has . . . changed.”

Small tingles pulsed inside me. “Well, maybe it's because you finally got a good night's sleep .” We stopped at the end of the hall.

“Maybe,” he said. “You know, in this light, your eyes—wow—they don't just look like keyholes, they look like . . . portals . . . to your soul.” He shook his head, embarrassed. “Sorry. I don't know what just made me say that.”

“Well, don't say something nice and then apologize for it.” I said, beaming. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. The warning bell rang for our next class.

“I've gotta run,” he said. “But I was thinking that maybe Friday I could take you out.” His cheeks flushed scarlet. “Like as a thank-you for the hypnosis.”

I didn't remind him that he'd already thanked me. I just said, “That sounds really nice,” and turned and ran to class before he could change his mind.

I didn't tell Max about my upcoming date. Even though he was the inspiration for the love spell, for some strange reason, I kept quiet. Maybe I just wanted to really see if Quinton's interest was going to manifest beyond a thank-you date. Because even though I was in love with Max, a big part of me was really excited to be going out with Quinton.

Either way, during the car ride home Friday afternoon, I was uncharacteristically quiet. I listened to Max complain about a physics quiz that made no sense and I nodded enthusiastically when he told me they'd found a new bass player for their band.

“Mom's going to let us practice in the garage. A real garage band—isn't that funny?”

“I'd like to hear you guys play,” I said.

“Really?” Max asked. He smiled at me then looked back at the road. “Well, let us work out the kinks first. Maybe next week.”

“You got it.” I slid out of the car, told him to have a great weekend and that I'd text him tomorrow. Then I ran into the house, eager to primp before my first date with Quinton.

Quinton arrived at 7 p.m. sharp, looking gorgeous in a striped polo and khaki shorts. As he walked into the foyer, I noticed that his hair had a little bit of gel in it, so while it still had that disheveled look, it was a more structured mess. And my insides flipped to think that he actually prepped for me.

From the corner of the family room, Oompa eyed Quinton with suspicion. His ears pointed and his little squished nose twitched around. Slowly he crept in Quinton's direction, circling around his legs, and for a moment I thought he was going to lift his leg and pee on the carpet surrounding Quinton, marking his territory, saying,
Willow belongs to me, buddy.
But instead, Oompa sprang up in one bouncing swoop and attached himself to Quinton's leg and began humping just like at the park, showing his alpha-dog status.

Mom ran from the kitchen, mortified. She started swatting at Oompa. “Get down! What is wrong with you?” she scolded.

But Oompa hung on.

I laughed, partly due to nerves and partly because it was funny, but Quinton finally got a desperate look on his face. “Sing, Willow,
please.
”

I no longer thought this was about Oompa being homesick, but I indulged them with Cher. “
What am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for you? Well I can't do that. And there's no turning back.
” How appropriate, I thought. Maybe I should call up Max and sing it to him. Let him know another guy was interested.

Oompa jumped down and retreated toward my bedroom. Mom stood by Quinton, looking baffled. “That dog is so bizarre,” she said.

Quinton and I said good-bye and walked out toward his car. He opened the door for me, and once inside, I saw a large wicker picnic basket nestled on the floorboard of the backseat. “Are you taking me on a picnic?” I asked as he backed the car out of the driveway.

“Not just a picnic: I'm taking you to Screen on the Green.” He waited for a reaction but I didn't know what Screen on the Green was. When he realized my ignorance, rather than making me feel stupid, he explained. “In downtown Atlanta, every summer they have a huge movie screen in Piedmont Park that plays movies on Saturday nights. So, here in Worthington, we decided to do our own version. We drape a huge white sheet across the Recreation Department building in Poplinger Park and the whole town votes on what movies to show. Tonight they're playing
The Notebook
.”