Spellbound (7 page)

Two songs later, Brendan started drumming his fingers on my side in time to the music. I felt like my heart was keeping time with the ramming bass line. Every time he'd bend in to ask me something, or laugh at something I said, the bass line in my chest turned into a hardcore song.

The band was winding down their final song—which ended with an earsplitting two-minute solo guitar riff from Kenny. I squirmed uncomfortably on my bar stool, and Brendan covered my ears with his hands, laughing with me the entire time. He only kept his hands there a few seconds, but they felt warm against the side of my face. The pounding bass line in my chest was now speed metal.

When the set was over, we all cheered, enthusiastically yelling Gabe's name—much to Kenny's dismay. The jukebox came back on, and Brendan and I turned to face the rest of our crew.

“So, what are we doing now?” Samantha asked over the music, tapping her glossy pale nails on the bar. “Let's go to the Met. I wouldn't mind seeing who's there. Come on, Omar, it'll be fun,” she pleaded when he made a gagging sound.

“I never went when I actually was a student at Vince A, and I'm not going to start now,” he snorted.

“Let's go,” Cisco said, looking at the time. “Gabe has to load up their equipment and bring his drums home—I won't be meeting up with him until later.”

“Um, what's the Met?” I asked.

“You know, the Met? The Met!” Derek exclaimed, looking at me like I was a confused fourth grader. “The Metropolitan Museum of Art!”

“You guys hang out there?” I looked at my phone. It was 10:30. “Is it even open?”

“We hang out
next
to it,” Cisco explained, shaking his head at my cluelessness. “There's a big glass wall, and you can see in, see the Egyptian temples and stuff. It's cool.”

“Okay…I'm in,” I said, a little bewildered. At Keansburg High, we hung out behind the gym. At Vince A, they hung out behind priceless works of art.
Riiight. And I bet the school play is directed by Martin Scorsese.

We started walking toward the museum, and Cisco fell in line with me while Brendan and the others walked on ahead. I heard Brendan asking Samantha about Columbia, which is where she was studying business. I pulled my leather jacket around me and tried not to shiver against the cold.

“So, what's going on, Miss Connor? Makin' some new friends?” Cisco asked, shooting me a big grin.

“Nothing's going on,” I mumbled, embarrassed. “I'm just making friends, like you said. So,” I started, turning my head to him, “Why is this the first time I'm hearing that you two are friends?”

“He's not my best friend or anything—he keeps to himself, if you haven't noticed—but we're cool. We had every class together in freshman year. He's actually the first person at school who found out I was gay.”

“Really? How'd that happen? I've never seen you guys together,” I said, wrapping my arms around my thin jacket as another cold blast of wind shot through me.

“You don't have chemistry with me—we're lab partners. But last year, Brendan saw me with Gabe at Warped Tour. I asked him to keep it to himself. He did and told me he didn't see what the big deal was anyway. Nothing changed.”

“Wow. Decent guy.”

“Yeah, he is. And,” Cisco said, getting a teasing tone in his voice, “he asked me about you.
You're
why he's here tonight.
You know, you're the only girl at school that hasn't tried to kick it to him at one time or another.”

“He's here because of
me?
” I squeaked, then lightly punched Cisco on the arm. “Why didn't you tell me he was coming? What exactly did he say?”

He just chuckled. “You had no cell phone! Besides, he only just asked about you this afternoon in chem. I told him you were coming tonight, and he should come and find out for himself. I mean, damn, Emma, you stare at the guy enough, I had to do
something.
”

“Oh, no,” I moaned, covering my face with my hands. “Am I that obvious?” I anxiously peeked at him through my chilly fingers.

“Nah, it's not too bad. I just sit next to you so I noticed. It's not like you're going to cut a piece of his hair off and build an altar to it,” Cisco said, putting his hands together and bowing. “Oh, Brendan, you're my hero! You're ever so dreamy!” he whispered in a high-pitched imitation of a girl's voice. “I wuv you
so
much! I want to have a trillion bajillion of your babies.”

I whacked him in the arm again.

“So, how'd it go with him?” Cisco continued, elbowing me in the side with a knowing look. “You two sure looked
comfy
at the end of the bar.”

I tried to figure out how to phrase it. When I didn't think about what he looked like, lounging at the bar next to me, I felt like I was talking to someone I'd known for years. And then I'd get a look into those twinkling green eyes, and realize how we just didn't match.

“I feel really…comfortable with him. Which is weird, cause, well, look at him.”

“You
do
look, all the time,” Cisco teased, then lowered his voice. “Heads up, he's coming this way.”

“Hey, I'll meet you guys at the Met. I'm going to stop for a water and some beer,” Brendan said, the wind whipping his hair in a billion different directions.

“Emma, do you want anything?”

“I'll just take an iced tea, thanks.” I'd had a few beers and the last thing I needed to do to Aunt Christine was show up on her door hammered, after everything that'd happened and all she'd done for me.

Brendan regarded me for a minute standing there with my arms wrapped around my jacket.

“Take this,” he ordered, shrugging out of his black hoodie.

“Won't you get cold?” I asked, hesitantly taking the black sweatshirt from him with frozen fingers.

“No, I'm good,” Brendan said dismissively.
Hell yeah, you are
.

I pulled the oversize—well, oversize on me—hoodie around my jacket and instantly felt better. The sleeves hung low, several inches from my balled-up fists.

“I'll see you guys in a minute,” Brendan said, turning to walk away. With his hands in his pockets, Brendan walked that same slow, deliberate walk to a deli on the corner.

About fifteen minutes later, we made our way across Fifth Avenue and crossed into Central Park. The Met stood there, silent and imposing, and I could hear some noise coming from the right side of the building.

Cisco and I followed Omar, Derek and Samantha, climbing up the rolling green lawn to the right of the massive white building. I recognized the shadowy forms in the distance as some of the people from my class—including Jenn, who staggered over with her arms open. I spotted a two-liter bottle of lemon-lime soda in her hand.

“Emma! You never come out,” she slurred, her low-cut
white sweater stained with droplets from whatever she was drinking. Jenn shoved the soda toward me and offered me a drink. The sugary citrus-and-cranberry-vodka smell was heavy and sweet as it wafted up from the bottle.

“Oh, no thanks,” I said, recoiling at the smell. It reminded me of the perfume Ashley loved. “Beer before liquor, you know.”

She looked confused, then stumbled back to the group of people near the trees. I squinted my eyes, trying to make out who was there when I noticed Kristin actually smiling in my direction. I stared, stunned, as she waved to me, beaming a bright smile. I raised my hand up to wave and stopped halfway when I realized she was waving
behind
me—not actually
at
me. Kristin hadn't noticed me standing there, until the person she had targeted in her gaze was right behind me and Cisco. And then her gaze turned ice-cold.

Brendan poked his head between us, throwing his arms around me and Cisco. He had an iced tea in his left hand, and started tapping it against my cheek. The coldness of the glass, coupled with another chilly wind, forced me to shiver again.

“Oh, thanks,” I said, hastily grabbing the drink. “How much do I owe you?”

“You're kidding, right?” Brendan asked incredulously, dropping his arms and reaching into the white plastic bag at his feet, pulling out a bottle of water.

“Cheers,” he said, tapping his plastic bottle against my still-unopened iced tea. Brendan handed Cisco the bag of beers and Cisco walked away, giving me a thumbs-up as he left. I hoped Brendan didn't notice.

“No beer for you?” I asked, gesturing to his bottle of water.

“No beer for you, either,” he pointed out, tapping my glass again with the top of his water bottle.

“Yeah, I just didn't want to—I mean, not get wasted,” I stammered, trying to explain myself. “Um, why aren't you drinking?”

“It's not a big deal.” Brendan shrugged. “I didn't want you to feel weird, like you were the only one not drinking.”

“Oh,” I murmured, in shock and half in love with him for squashing one of my biggest social insecurities with a bottle of Poland Spring. “Um, thanks,” I said shyly. “That's really nice of you.”
I can't believe he's curbing partying…for me of all people.

“No problem,” Brendan said, playfully taking the hood on his sweatshirt and flicking it up over my head. “So Emma, are you feeling a little warmer?”

“A lot warmer, thanks.” I laughed as the oversize hood fell over my face, covering my eyes.

“So,” I began, peeking out from underneath the hood, “what's that Halloween movie thing next week at school all about?” I tried to sound nonchalant, but I already knew all about the event at school: Austin had been gabbing in my ear for a week about Vince A showing scary movies for Halloween. I had to find out if Brendan was going. Then it might be worth
me
going.

But he didn't get a chance to answer, since our attention was grabbed by a series of high-pitched squeals across the grass. We turned our heads to Kristin, who giggled loudly and deliberately looked over at Brendan as she let Anthony lick tequila salt off her neck.

“The bar's open!” she called, holding out a shot and patting more salt on her collarbone—and a little lower. Kristin's invitation was clearly meant for one specific person. The possessive way she stared at Brendan infuriated me.

“Less than fifty feet from priceless art, surrounded by a ton
of people and oh, Kristin's doing a body shot,” I snorted, then feared I sounded way, way too bitchy. To my relief, Brendan just laughed.

“She sucks,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “So Emma, back home, where did you guys hang out?” he asked, suddenly serious as he turned away from Kristin to stare intensely at me. “The Liberty Bell?”

“What do you mean, the Lib… Oh.” My guard was completely down around Brendan. I exhaled nervously, reminded that he knew the truth. “You know, it's a landmark and all, so that was impossible.”

“So, you hung out at school, right? At that magical high school on the corner of Made-Up Street and Fiction Avenue?” Brendan smirked a knowing smile. More significant than him standing up for me that first day was the fact that he knew my story was faker than pro wrestling.

I tried to think of an excuse, a good story to tell, when he took another gulp of his water and said, “You don't have to tell me anything right now. But I'd appreciate you telling me eventually.”

“Why does it matter?” I asked, annoyed. He ignores me, and now I owe him my life story?

“Why wouldn't you want to tell me?” Brendan asked. “Don't you trust me?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but I had no idea what to say. For someone with major trust issues, I already did trust him. And that just felt unnatural. Fortunately, I didn't have to answer—Cisco called us over to the sloped glass wall of the Met, where he was standing over a very passed-out Austin.

“I think we need to get him in a cab,” Cisco said, chuckling slightly at the slumbering Austin. Here he was, the student council rep, who had spent every lunch period since we first met trying to convince me to join
any
club, looking like he
was the poster child for our chapter of SADD. Which, ironically, was the club Austin had tried to get me to join at lunch that very afternoon.

“I'll help you,” Brendan said, lifting up Austin effortlessly. It surprised me, since after the way Austin had talked about Brendan on my first day at school, I was under the impression that they weren't exactly friends. Brendan and Cisco were about the same height, so they balanced the shorter guy between them easily. Austin woke up, stammering, “What? Ma? Time for school?”

“Yeah, buddy, it's time for school,” Cisco said, grinning, then added to me, “Emma, we'll be right back.”

They were gone for merely seconds when Jenn came bounding over again, her bottle almost empty.

“What were you guys… Who left?” She drained the rest of her beverage and looked around, dismayed when she noticed Austin was missing.

“Aw, he left me his drink,” she giggled, waving the now-empty two-liter at me. “So sweet. I'll give it back to him tomorrow,” she whispered loudly. “We're going skating at Wollman Rink!” She meant for her voice to be low, her statement confidential, but her drunken confession spilled out all over the lawn.

I put an arm around Jenn to steady her and advised, “You should throw that bottle out, you know. I'm sure he doesn't need it back. But that's cool about the skating.” I didn't expect either one of them to be out of bed before 2:00 p.m.

“Let's go hang out over by the—oh, no. Wait.” Jenn was gesturing at the cluster of trees where Kristin was holding court, until she realized that Kristin had her usual “Death to Emma” glare trained on me. Closer to us, Anthony and a short guy I recognized from math class were arguing. It looked like the conversation was getting heated.