Spellbound (6 page)

I reached into one of my cardboard boxes, still packed in the closet, and grabbed my black boots, pulling them on over my jeans.

“So, what do you think?” I asked.

Ashley scrutinized me for a moment. “Take off your necklace,” she ordered. “It interferes with the shirt's neckline.”

I looked at myself in the mirror and saw the charm, hanging awkwardly over the straight boatneck of the shirt. She was right. But I never took off my charm necklace—it was one of the only things I still had from my brother. I pulled out
the fabric and dropped the pendant between my skin and the shirt, so all you could see was the thin silver chain.

“Better?” I asked.

“Much. Now hold on.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out a small bottle.

“Hell, no!” I yelled, recoiling as I remembered the sickeningly sweet stuff she sprayed on me last time. “That stuff smells like munchkin sweat.”

“It's a different fragrance.” She sighed, handing it over. I took a cautious whiff.
Okay, this is actually nice. Very light. Beachy, almost.

I handed it back to her after spritzing it lightly around my shirt and hair.

“Now, you smell good,” Ashley said, smugly. “You're no longer stinky.”

I gave my smirking little cousin a hug and smoothed out the front of my shirt. “All right, I'd better get going.”

The air was brisk and I pulled my leather jacket more closely around me as I walked up Third Avenue, regretting not wearing a scarf or something warmer. I hadn't realized how wacky New York weather could be—cold one day, warm the next.

I got to Ninety-first Street and pulled out my new cell phone to check the time. I was eight minutes late. For me, that was early. I looked around and realized that I was standing in front of a sandwich shop.

For a split second, I wondered if it was all a joke on me. That Cisco was watching me from across the street, laughing as the loser girl stood there, waiting for friends to show up who would never come.
What a waste of a good flat-ironing job.

“Hey, chica!” A few minutes later, I heard the call from down the block and looked up. Francisco was walking closer, flanked by three friends.

Relief colored my face. “Hey, look, new cell phone!” I waved the phone at him.

“Yeah, welcome to 1998.” He laughed, taking my cell phone and calling his number so I'd have it. “This is my cousin, Samantha,” he said, gesturing to a petite, older-looking girl to
his right, “and her boyfriend Omar. They graduated last year. This is my friend Derek, he goes to St. Agnes.”

“Hey, guys,” I said, nodding to them. My breath came out like smoke against the cold.

“We're just waiting for one more person.” Cisco elbowed me in the side. I cocked my head and stared at him quizzically. “In the meantime,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small card, “you'll need this.” He pressed the card into my hand and I looked down.

“A learner's permit?”

“Correction, my sister's learner's permit. She got her license when she went to Michigan State. You look enough like her. For the rest of the night, you're Angie Marie Fernandez. I forgot to ask you if you had fake ID.”

“Okay, I'm Angie Marie. And look, I'm still an Aquarius. That's nice,” I said, smiling as I looked down at the card. Apart from the same dark hair, we looked absolutely nothing alike. I was mentally telling myself to get over my internal freak-out about going to a bar when I heard Cisco call to someone.

I looked up and saw a figure stroll over slowly from across the street. I really hoped my eyes didn't look like the Frisbees they felt like.

I was suddenly
very
happy that I'd spent so much time trying to look my best. At Vincent Academy, Brendan Salinger looked like the hottest guy in school. Outside of Vincent Academy, he looked like the hottest guy in Manhattan. Maybe the state. It didn't help my pathetic case that he was completely my type. I'd always liked dark hair. Brendan wore a dark T-shirt pulled over a long-sleeved gray one, and had some sort of leather cuff on his wrist. Of course, his hair was still messy. It was legitimately messy too, not that look-what-I-can-do-with-gel look. Total wash-and-go hair. I doubted he even owned any hair products. Brendan carried a black hoodie under his arm,
and greeted Cisco with one of those one-handed, back-pump bro-hug things.
What
was
the deal with those things, anyway?

Brendan bent down to kiss Samantha on the cheek and I was instantly jealous. I tried to remind myself that he likely just knew her from school—she graduated last year, after all.

Then, those green eyes were focused on me.

“Hey, Brendan,” Cisco began. “Have you actually met Emma yet?”

His eyes stared into mine. “Not officially.”

“Hey, what's—uh, what's up?” I tried to act nonchalant, but my voice cracked midgreeting.

Brendan's eyes were so serious, staring at me, but a smile played on his lips—those ridiculously soft-looking lips!—before forming a short, curt greeting. “Hey, Emma.”

Cisco rounded us up and we walked down the block to a small dive bar, marked by a sputtering red neon sign reading Idle Hands in the window. The bouncer's eyes flitted to my face briefly when looking at the expired learner's permit. He rolled his eyes and waved me inside. No one else seemed to have any trouble either, so we headed into the slightly crowded, dark bar. An old Green Day song pumped out of the jukebox, and the crowd was a mix of underage kids downing pitchers of cheap beer and old men playing cards and drinking scotch. Peanut shells crunched on the floor under the heel of my boots, and I almost slipped on one, catching my balance just before I completely humiliated myself. I stopped to scrape the shell off as everyone else walked past me and filed in, one after another, at the bar along the wall on the left. Cisco was first, greeting a short, cute brunet whom I assumed was Gabe.

“Thanks so much for coming, you guys,” Gabe said with an anxious laugh. “Just remember, we're really not that good.
But hey, we get a cut of whatever the bar makes tonight, so as long as we don't get booed off the stage we should be okay.

“And you must be Emma.” Gabe smiled, looking at me warmly as I was still trying to scrape the peanut shell off my heel. “I've heard a lot of nice things about you.”

“All lies,” I said, grinning. “I paid Cisco off.”

Gabe laughed, and said, “Well, hope you're not expecting much tonight. We're really not that good. So yeah, don't hate me.”

I smiled back at him. After finally getting the shell off my boot, I looked around to hop on a bar stool and realized the only one left was between the wall and Brendan.
Gulp
.

“So, what do you do in the band?” I asked, stalling.

“Drums,” Gabe said, raising his voice over the music. “The band is just for fun. For now anyway, since we really do suck. Okay, round of shots anyone? I need some liquid courage.”

Everyone in the group agreed enthusiastically. Or should I say, everyone else. I stayed silent. Sure, I was no stranger to drinking. I'd had plenty of warm keg beer and Goldschläger at friends' parties. But since the accident, I hadn't done much other than nurse a light beer in a feeble attempt to show that I was still socially acceptable. And I had never been to a freakin' bar before! Keansburg was way too small for that. Before I could even think, the bartender was lining up shots at the bar. I stood at the empty spot, between Brendan and the wall, and lifted the shot glass. Giving a wary glance to everyone, I made sure they weren't looking and threw it over my shoulder.

I wiped my mouth and sucked on the lemon the way everyone else had, casting a look behind me to see if I'd hit anything—or anyone. The tequila had landed on the wall beside me—leaving a small swoosh on the pale plaster.

“All right, I gotta set up. See you guys in a bit,” Gabe said,
flashing a big grin. “And seriously, we do suck. So don't leave in the middle of it!”

“Do they really, or is he going to get up there and be the next Blink-182?” I asked, calling across to Cisco after Gabe was out of hearing range.

“Oh, they're not good.
He's
good,” he emphasized proudly. “But the band isn't all that great.”

“They're not
that
bad,” Samantha disagreed, lightly slapping her cousin on the shoulder. Cisco gave her a pointed look, and Samantha conceded. “Okay, they
are
pretty bad. Gabe is the only bright spot. Some of it might make your ears bleed. Nails-on-a-chalkboard time.”

She formed a claw with her hand and made a screeching sound and I winced, laughing. Brendan motioned for the bartender to come over and he threw down a black credit card.

“I got this round,” he said to the bartender. If Brendan noticed that the bartender's jaw dropped a little when he got a good look at the card, he ignored it. “Round of tequila shots and whatever everyone else wants,” Brendan said. He then regarded me over his right shoulder.

“So, Emma, what would you like?”
Um, how about you, shirtless?
The minute Brendan talked to me, my brain felt like it exploded.
What did he just ask me? Oh, yeah. Drinks.

“Just a beer, whatever, thanks.” I tried to sound casual as I absentmindedly dragged my necklace back and forth on its chain before tucking it back under my shirt.

“What's that?” Brendan asked, pointing to the base of his own throat.

“Oh, nothing, just a charm necklace,” I said dismissively, smoothing out the neckline of the shirt. If I answered, then he'd ask about my brother…and my family…and he'd never want to talk to me again. He already knew I was lying about where I was from.

“You know,” he said, his voice low as he leaned in more closely. I could smell Brendan's shampoo—it was a clean, fresh scent, like grass in the rain. “You don't
have
to drink. I don't care—I mean, no one cares if you don't.”

Did Brendan see you throw the tequila over your shoulder? He doesn't sound judgmental.

The bartender arrived with the shots and Brendan took mine, placing it in front of him.

“No sense in wasting good liquor. Or, as is the case here, very cheap tequila.” Brendan kept his eyes on me as he drained my shot, and I began to wonder if a beer wouldn't be a good idea, just to calm my nerves.

I met his gaze. “I'm good with a beer, thanks.”

He shrugged and ordered my drink, which the bartender promptly brought over. Then Brendan casually leaned back against the bar, stretching his long legs in front of him.

I tried to think of some kind of conversation starter. “So, how do you know Cisco?” I asked, sitting on the bar stool next to Brendan.

“We go to the same school,” Brendan replied, tilting his head toward me. “Maybe you've heard of it? Vincent Academy?” His voice was playful and teasing.

“
You're
a Vincent Academy!” I blurted out.

Brendan laughed—a big laugh—and shook his head at me, smiling.

“What the hell does that mean?” he asked.

“I, um, have no idea,” I said, embarrassed. I couldn't believe I pulled that stupid joke in front of Brendan, of all people.

“So, is Gabe's band your kind of music?” Brendan said, still laughing.

“I don't even know what kind of music Gabe's band is. Other than bad, apparently. So I'd have to say no, it's not my
kind of music. I'm weird like that. I only like good things.”
What am I babbling on about?

“You really weren't far off with the Blink-182 reference,” Brendan said, brushing his hand through his hair, causing the black locks to fall haphazardly.

“Maybe I'll like them,” I said. “I love Blink.”

“Me, too. You ever listen to their old stuff?”

“You mean
Dude Ranch
, or you mean their
really
old stuff?”

His eyes twinkled at me. “Oh, you're a musicologist, are you now?”

“I don't know about that…I can't play an instrument to save my life, but
Buddha
is one of my favorite albums. I always go back to it and get obsessed with a different song.”

“What's your current favorite?” Brendan asked.

“Well, lately it's been ‘Carousel,'” I started…then realized I'd given up way too much info. Ten minutes into conversation, and I'm telling him about the song about unrequited love and loneliness that's jumped to the top of my iPod playlist.
Smooth, Emma. Why not pick “Pathetic” while you're at it?

I took a quick swig of my beer and kept my eyes trained on his, keeping my voice level. “I just really, really like the chorus on that song.”

Brendan opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, then just shut it. “Oh, hey, they're about to start.”

We turned around, leaning against the bar as Gabe's singer and guitarist, a lanky guy with badly dyed cherry-red curls enthusiastically screamed into the mike, “Hey, we're Broken Echo, and are you ready to rock?”

Apart from our little group, no one cheered. Gabe just looked embarrassed—and his face burned as red as the singer's curls when he burst into an off-tune guitar riff. I wasn't sure if it was supposed to be
that
out of tune, or if it was a mistake,
but judging from the crestfallen look on Gabe's face, I could tell their gig had started off badly.

Gabe, for his part, was actually talented, but unfortunately, the guitarist ruined most of their performance. Grandstanding poses, sticking his tongue out and throwing up the horns every chance he got… His schtick got old before the first song was over.

In the middle of the second song, a butchered version of a My Chemical Romance song, Brendan leaned in next to me, placing his left arm along the bar behind my back, and I felt my breath quicken.

“In chemistry today, Cisco told me that Gabe's dying to leave the band and start his own, but Kenny—that's Captain Clownhair over there—he started the band. So Gabe feels loyal, like he can't leave.” I snickered at the joke about Kenny's hair, but could feel my cool slipping away as Brendan's breath tickled me, warm on my ear. So I just nodded in agreement. His arm lingered along my back, and I realized I was holding myself stiffly against the bar, afraid to lean into him.

I extended out my arms in front of me and pretended to stretch, resting more of my weight against the bar. Brendan's arm stayed against my back. I acted like I didn't notice and focused on the band, peeling the label off my now-empty beer bottle. Summoning some more courage, I leaned back into Brendan some more.

Brendan removed his arm—only to turn around and order something else from the bartender. Wordlessly, he handed me a new beer.
Was he paying that much attention to me that he noticed I needed a refill?
I mouthed, “Thanks,” and put it to my lips.

After getting his drink, Brendan lounged against the bar and stretched his arm along its very welcome spot along my back. I cast a sideways glance at him, and internally imploded when I saw he was looking at me, too. I smiled, a little shyly,
and he leaned in more closely until he fully had his arm around me.
Aaand, my guy-cation is officially over.