Crush Control (23 page)

“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.

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!”

“That's amazing!” I said.

“Yo, kangaroo, you're making me dizzy,” Georgia said, returning from the bar with an overflowing cup.

Max gave a small
oh well
sigh and his words—whatever they were—remained unsaid. “Congratulations, Mia,” he said, then walked toward Trent and Conner over by the TV.

“I can't believe Quinton's playing all love songs for you tonight,” Mia said. “That is so romantic. ” She gazed across the room to where Jake was playing beer pong. He tossed his Ping-Pong ball through the air, crashing it smack into Davis, another football player standing on the opposite side of the table.

“Score!” Jake screamed.

Mia sighed. “Jake would never do that.”

“Um, are we noticing Max at four o'clock?” Georgia whispered.

“What?” I swung my head and saw Max looking our way. Quickly he turned back toward Trent and Conner.

“He can't stop watching you,” Georgia whispered. “I think we have a Ron and Hermione situation going on here.”

“Huh?” Mia asked.

“Harry Potter,” Georgia explained. “Ron and Hermione. Friends who can't stand seeing each other with anyone else.”

“So?” Mia furrowed her brow, confused.

“Jealousy,” Georgia explained. “Seeing Willow with Quinton is making Max realize what he's lost.”

I looked over at Max's back.
Could it be true?
I thought about our phone conversation. “You know,” I whispered, and Mia and Georgia huddled closer. “He told me he wasn't convinced Quinton was right for me.”

“Ha-ha!” Georgia pointed at me.

“That's crazy—Quinton is perfect for you,” Mia said. “He listens to you, does romantic things for you . . .”

“Max is jealous,” Georgia said confidently.

“Why should he be jealous? He has perky Minnie with her little skirts and her flaky baklava.” All three of us looked over at Max, and perhaps he felt our laser beam stares, because he turned to face us. He had his hands on his hips, one thumb hooked through a belt loop.

“Look at him!” Georgia whispered fiercely. “Look at his body language! He's in a classic cowboy stance. All he needs is a ten-gallon hat and a lasso! He's trying to demonstrate his manliness to you!”

“Hush.” I laughed. “He is not.”
Is he?

Max quickly looked away.

“Uh-huh.” Georgia nodded. “Totally jealous.”

“Who cares about Max,” Mia said. “You have Quinton and he's so into you!” We all looked away from Max toward Quinton, who was talking to Hayden. He caught my eye and smiled. Overhead B.o.B. sang “Nothin' on You,” and Quinton lip-synched, “
They got nothing on you, baby. Nothing on you
.”

“Aww.” Mia sighed. “To have a guy like you that much . . .”

“Yeah, it's amazing,” I said and it was. Quinton was thoughtful and romantic and kind. I smiled and tried to squash the little tiny voice that wondered what Max had been about to say to me.

Sunday morning Mom asked me how Quinton's party was. I told her about it and asked what she did while I was gone.

“Oh, you know, not much,” she answered.

“Is it boring here for you?” I asked, because it was the longest I'd ever seen my mom without a date or a party to attend. She hadn't even brought any friends to the house, which was so unusual. All along I had suspected Mom's insistence on a more quiet and conventional life had everything to do with getting back in Grandma and Grandpa's good graces, but when that didn't pan out, I assumed she'd revert back to her nightlife. But no, she hadn't gone out all weekend, and here she was curled up on a Sunday morning with a textbook instead of a romantic comedy.

“Boring?” Mom asked. “Not exactly. I mean, life is different.” She laughed. “But not in a bad way.”

I nodded. “Well, that's good. Do you want to go to the mall today?” I asked, picking up her empty coffee mug off the floor and putting it in the sink.

“Oh, actually, hon, I have something I need to do today. Sorry.” She winced a little. “I know we haven't had much fun lately, but rain check?”

“Sure,” I said. “No big deal.” But it
was
a big deal. Because she didn't tell me what she would rather be doing instead of hanging out with me. And it gave me the strangest feeling—like Mom was hiding something from me. Then I thought about all the hypnosis I'd done and I got a heavy brick feeling in my gut, because, for the first time ever, there was a fissure in our solid foundation.

I looked back at her with her nose buried in some book and then I turned and walked into my bedroom. I pulled out my cell phone and stared at it. I wanted to call Quinton, but my mind kept wandering to Grandma at the cheerleading competition. When we had our routine Sunday chat, neither of us brought up what happened at our reconciliation gone wrong. It's like we both wanted to pretend that everything was okay—that we could still fix things. Had I imagined Grandma showing up at the competition? Before I could chicken out, I dialed the numbers.

She answered on the third ring sounding a little breathless, like maybe she'd just run in from tending to her roses.

“Grandma?” I asked tentatively.

“Willow?” I heard the sound of fabric crinkling like she was pulling off her gardening gloves. “Sorry dear, let me get settled. Okay. Oh, it's so good to hear your voice.”

“It's good to hear yours too,” I said, and then it was quiet, like we both were tentative. “Um, was that you at my school yesterday?” My heart was speeding double time. Suddenly it occurred to me that maybe I was completely bonkers—that my mind was creating what I wanted to see.

“Yes,” she said, and I felt my shoulders relax. I hadn't realized how tense they had become.