Senior Week Crush Read online

  Apparently even assholes can take pity now and again because Jack dropped the taunting smile and took several steps back. But the look in his eyes wasn’t exactly kind—in fact, it was dangerously close to disgust.

  Suddenly I saw myself through his eyes and I looked… well, I looked pathetic. Accepting a singing gig I clearly didn’t want just to be close to a guy I’d lived next door to my whole life. Jack must have thought I was just like all the other girls in our school who’d spent the past seven Stylan years dreaming for the day when they would have a chance.

  But this was different. I was different. I’d known Dylan was the one since forever. Despite Amy’s pessimism, if there was one thing I knew for certain it was that destiny existed and true love was not just for fairytales.

  Jack crossed his arms over his chest and was eyeing me warily, like the predator had just learned his prey was actually rabid.

  I couldn’t explain to him about destiny and true love. Absolutely nothing about Jack cried romantic.

  Well, except for his songs. Those were incredibly romantic.

  The awkward silence was interrupted by my stomach growling. Loudly.

  To my surprise, Jack’s lips twitched and his eyes, which had been so serious all afternoon, were suddenly filled with amusement. Here was the Jack I knew and…well, not loved. But was familiar with, at least.

  “You weren’t kidding about being hungry, huh?” He tilted his head to the side, the tension gone from his posture. Goodbye predator, hello Jack.

  I shook my head and despite the embarrassment of having my stomach speak on my behalf, I couldn’t help but smile in return.

  That stupid stomach growl had been a de facto truce it seemed. My empty stomach had waved the white flag and I didn’t want to be the one to bring back the animosity. Because unlike what Jack thought, I did see through my commitments. I’d committed to being in this band—for Jack’s sake and for mine. This gig would be hard enough without having to deal with tension the entire road trip.

  Physically forcing my shoulders to relax, I took a deep breath and did my best to make peace. “Look, you don’t know me very well—”

  One of his eyebrows shot up at that, as if he was going to argue, but I didn’t give him a chance.

  “But if you did, you’d know that I never break a promise. I also never do anything half way.” He looked like he might speak again, so I hurried on, “It’s true. Just ask Amy about the time I made her take me to her synagogue and teach me Yiddish so I could better prepare for my Fiddler on the Roof audition. I was totally committed.”

  That earned me another lopsided smile of amusement. For once it felt like he was laughing with me and not at me. Maybe we were making progress.

  “My point is, we’ve been doing this your way….” I held up a hand to stop his protest. “And yes, it’s your band. I get that. But if you want me to do this well, I need to make the songs my own.”

  He shut his open mouth and for quite possibly the first time ever…Jack Abrams was speechless.

  I took his silence as an opportunity to grab my belongings, instantly rooting through my backpack for my phone so I could call someone for a ride. When I glanced back up, I found Jack studying me. The heat returned to my cheeks but this time I wasn’t embarrassed so much as I was aware.

  Aware that his eyes were on me, unblinking, all seeing. Aware that my tank top suddenly felt too tight and revealing, which was ridiculous considering the outfits most of my classmates wore during the summer.

  “What do you mean?” he asked. He honestly sounded curious, so I answered.

  Holding up the notebook full of his chicken scratch, I said, “The music is great, the words are awesome.”

  He shifted uncomfortably and I had to bite back a laugh when I realized I’d embarrassed him with the compliments. But it was the truth.

  “But I’m not going to do them justice if I’m just singing words that you wrote and echoing a melody that you sang.”

  Though his posture didn’t change, I could feel the sudden tension in him but I didn’t know what to make of it.

  Maybe he didn’t understand me. Maybe for him it really was as simple as learning some chords and jotting down some pretty words—although if that was the case, there was a serious injustice in the world because I knew poets and musicians who would kill for that kind of talent.

  I changed tactics, trying to get him to understand that I wasn’t just running away—okay, maybe I was running away a little—but I truly did need time to work on the music on my own and in my own way.

  “When I’m learning a new role,” I said slowly. “I don’t just memorize the lines. I….” How to explain this without making him think I was some sort of woo-woo method actress. “I try to become that person.”

  He continued to watch me in that silent, intense way that made me nervous.

  “I want to experience the character’s emotions, understand their motives….I want to be inside of them.”

  The silence that followed seemed to echo and my words hung out there between us. I fidgeted with the notebook in my hands and watched as his gaze dropped to my hands which were fumbling with the notebook’s edge.

  I’d expected mockery, or derision at the very least—after all, I had been altogether too earnest for the likes of someone like Jack. But he seemed one hundred percent serious. “And that’s what you want to do with my music?”

  I nodded. “But I need to do that on my own.” I wasn’t about to admit that he made me nervous, and besides, it wasn’t just that. I did need time to absorb it on my own. To me, music was a personal thing—far too personal to share with some guy I barely knew and didn’t even like.

  There was a tension in the air that was no longer confrontational but it still made me uncomfortable. He was watching me and my words seemed to take on a new meaning—a personal meaning. So I added, “Also, I’m really hungry.”

  That made him laugh and all the tension dissolved as he moved toward the couch where he’d tossed his keys. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”

  The sound of footsteps on the basement stairs had us both pausing and turning to see who was coming. Dylan’s booming voice filled the basement before he could be seen. “Jack, my man! I just heard the good news.”

  Dylan landed on the bottom step and that’s when he caught sight of me. “Laynie!” His face lit up like a Christmas tree and my stomach did a little backflip for joy. He headed straight toward me and pulled me into a tight bear hug that had me holding my breath and trying to savor every second.

  When he pulled back, he still held onto my arms as he beamed down at me with that gorgeous, perfect smile. “Here she is. The woman on the hour. The girl who singlehandedly saved Flying Monkeys from obscurity.”

  He was being so melodramatic that Jack and I both laughed. I tried not to obsess over the fact that his hands were still on me. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration.” I was all modesty on the outside but inside? I was beaming with excitement.

  Dylan turned to look at Jack. “Well, you basically saved Jack’s life. He said so himself. Isn’t that right, Jack?”

  I looked over to see Jack ducking his head but he didn’t deny it.

  Interesting. I’d have to remind Jack of that little fact next time he tried to starve me into submission.

  Dylan turned his attention to Jack, dropping his hands from my arms and going over to give Jack a sort of half-bro hug, the kind where it’s kind of a hug and kind of a pat on the back. “Congratulations, man.” Dylan had turned that beaming smile on his friend as if the band’s success rested solely on Jack and he wasn’t even a part of it. I’d known Dylan was humble but this just proved it. “Brent told me about the producer gig, too. That’s amazing.”

  Jack ignored Dylan’s praise. At least I wasn’t the only one being ignored today. Half turning to gesture to me, Jack said, “Layla needs a ride home. Do you think you could take her?”

  Dylan’s smile never faltered. “Yeah, sure. I just dropped by
to say congrats but I need to head home soon anyways, I’d be happy to take her.”

  He turned to me with that grin and my insides turned to goo. Warm, mushy goo.

  God, he was hot.

  I was following him toward the stairs when I made eye contact with Jack behind Dylan’s back.

  “You’re welcome,” he mouthed, his eyes bright with laughter.

  I ignored him, turning my attention to Dylan’s back as I followed him up the stairs.

  Chapter Six

  I’d never been in Dylan’s car before. It was a Volkswagen of some sort, small and dirty on the inside. I nudged wrappers out of the way to make room for my feet in the passenger side. As soon as I was buckled, Dylan turned on the radio station and spent the entire five-minute drive talking about the parties that were being planned for Senior Week. Since I was not a part of any event planning and didn’t even know about the other, non-school sanctioned parties, I didn’t have much to add. Which was probably a good thing because I was having a hard time forming words. Because I was with Dylan. Alone. In a car. And he was talking to me like we were old friends. There was none of the awkwardness or tension I’d felt in Jack’s car.

  Of course there wasn’t, this was my soul mate we’re talking about here.

  Still, even though there was no awkwardness, the neurons in my brain were spazzing out. I kept trying to come up with something to contribute to the conversation other than a smile and a nod, but all my brain could come up with was I AM SITTING IN A CAR ALONE WITH DYLAN YATES.

  Not helpful, brain. Not helpful.

  “Did you get your tickets to the summer fling?” The Summer Fling was the student council-organized dinner-dance that was going to be held the following weekend, one of the last nights that people would be in town.

  Dylan turned to me with a hopeful smile that left me breathless.

  Was he asking me to go with him?

  Attempting to feign a cool I didn’t feel, I tossed a lock of hair over my shoulder. “Not yet. Did you?”

  His attention was back on the road and not on me, so I could breathe again, but his next words almost made me choke on that long-awaited inhale.

  “Yeah, Steph got us tickets ages ago.”

  Stephanie. I turned to study his profile, hoping to read something there—some sort of emotion that the mention of his ex-girlfriend must stir up but he just nodded along to the song on the radio, seemingly unruffled by her name.

  Unlike me.

  But that was a good sign, right? Clearly he was so totally over her already. That was heartening. Until another thought occurred to me. Before I could stop myself, I put the awful thought into words. “Are you two going together?”

  I tried to play dumb. I mean, as far he knew I had no clue they’d broken up. Granted, everyone in school knew it but I didn’t want to seem like I was weirdly into his life or something. Besides, the thought that was really eating at me was…what if the rumors weren’t true? What if it was all a terrible lie or a misconstrued rumor. Lord knows it wouldn’t have been the first time a rumor had taken on a life of its own at our school.

  The heartbeat of silence while I waited for his answer was torture but then he turned to me with a self-deprecating smile that made my heart hurt. “Nah, Steph and I decided to take a break since we’re going off to different schools and all.”

  My breath came out on one long, relieved exhale. There. It had been confirmed by the man himself.

  Stylan was officially dead.

  Realizing a second too late that a response was expected, I forced myself to utter something that sounded like “I’m so sorry.” It came out as more of a mumbled murmur but I was still rewarded with a quick smile.

  “It’s cool.”

  I waited a beat to see if he was going to say anything else. While I didn’t exactly relish the idea of hearing the gory details of their relationship’s demise, I wouldn’t have minded being the shoulder to cry on. Relationships are founded on emotional sharing and if he needed me, I would be there for him.

  “You should definitely get a ticket to the summer fling. It’s gonna rock.” A new song came on and Dylan tapped out the beat on his steering wheel.

  Okay, so we were not going to be sharing then. Fair enough. It was too soon for that anyways. But the fact that he wanted me to go to the summer fling had to be a good sign.

  “Yeah, definitely,” I said. “I’ll be sure to get a ticket.”

  We pulled into his driveway then and came to a stop. I was nearly out of the car when he stopped me. “Have a good night. And hey, save me a dance at the summer fling, all right?”

  I turned back just in time to see the most blindingly beautiful smile spread across his face. Speechless, I managed a nod before I scrambled out of his car.

  I heard him get out of the car as I cut across his lawn to my own. Call me crazy but I’m pretty sure I could feel his eyes on me as I walked.

  By the time I reached our front door my heart was ready to explode from my chest. Dylan as good as asked me to the summer fling. And he made me promise a dance!

  At that moment I couldn’t care less how many strangers were going to see me sing or who the producers were who’d be judging us. It was working.

  Fate was finally having its day in the sun.

  Destiny was calling.

  My little deal with the devil was so worth it.

  Chapter Seven

  For every item of clothing I threw into my suitcase, Amy removed three. “Would you cut it out? I’m trying to pack here. The guys are coming to pick me up any minute.”

  Amy held up the pair of Tivas I’d just tossed into the pile. “No. Just no. You are going to be playing the role of rock star goddess for the next week. I cannot allow you to leave the house with… this.”

  This referred to my entire wardrobe, apparently, because nothing I’d opted to pack had been deemed rock star-worthy by my nearest, dearest—and sometimes most annoying—best friend.

  “You don’t have to be here,” I reminded her for the tenth time. All of the other drama crew were celebrating the last day of school at the local diner. We would have been with them too if I wasn’t on a time crunch. Jack had texted me right before I went to bed last night to let me know that he’d be picking me up at four on the dot. That would give us just enough time to get home from school to grab our bags, drive to Philadelphia, get ready at his friend’s house, and make it to the show.

  Oh yeah, and when I texted back asking how the hell we were going to squeeze in a rehearsal with the band? His response was that we could rehearse during sound check. Seriously? I may not know much about performing with a band but having a band play with a new singer for the very first time during sound check sounded like a recipe for disaster. But I was determined to not stress about that. If we sucked because of lack of rehearsal, that was all on Jack.

  Even with that in mind, the butterflies in my stomach raged a rebellion at the idea of such a public humiliation. Please God, let this band be good enough to wing it.

  I admit, I was so caught up in worrying about that, I wasn’t totally paying attention to Amy’s explanation of why she was boycotting the drama shindig—it had something to do with the fact that the lighting designer had made fun of one of her sets.

  “Besides,” Amy added. “You need me.” She held up my favorite well-worn oversized T-shirt that I typically wore to bed. “There’s a chance you’ll be sharing a hotel room with the love of your life at some point during this trip. Do you really want him to see you in your Hannah Montana jammies?”

  I snatched it back from her and shoved it into my dresser drawer. “Well it’s not like I have lingerie just hanging around, now do I?”

  Amy rolled her eyes and came over to my dresser to rifle through my drawers. “I’m sure I can find something better than that.” She pulled out a skimpy, old camisole that barely fit anymore and held it up triumphantly. “Success.”

  She dropped the tank top into the bag and peered at its contents one more ti
me. “I guess this is as good as it’s going to get,” she sighed. Turning to me with tragically pleading eyes, she said, “Just promise me you’ll buy a new swimsuit when you get there. This?” She held up my pilly old one-piece that I’d worn during swim team practices last season. “This is a travesty.”

  A ding from my phone interrupted Amy’s lecture on my poor fashion sense. We both turned to my phone but I reached it first. “It’s him. He’s on his way.”

  Amy zipped up my bag and shoved it toward me. “You’d better get going.”

  “We’d better get going. My parents think I’m going on vacation with you and your family, remember? I can’t exactly leave without you.”

  “Oh, right.” Pushing her glasses up her nose, she hopped off my bed. “Let’s go then.”

  I said a quick goodbye to my parents, promising that I’d check in daily. Soon enough Amy and I were standing in my driveway waiting for my ride.

  Amy turned to me and opened her arms for a hug. “I guess I should go.”

  I stepped into her arms and I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I didn’t let go when I should. I clung like a baby monkey to its mother. All of the terror I’d been suppressing all week rose up with a vengeance. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  Amy pulled back and held me by my shoulders at arm’s length. “Are you kidding me? You’ve got this, girl. You are gonna knock their socks off—I just wish I could be there to see you.”

  She was my best friend, she had to say something like that. But still, it was heartening. “Really?”

  Her nod was so definitive it was hard to doubt her. “Of course. To be honest, I’m proud of you. It’s awesome to see you stepping outside your comfort zone like this. What you’re doing? Getting on stage as Layla James? That’s brave.”

  My lower lip started to wobble at the compliment. “And you don’t think I’m crazy for doing all this for Dylan?”

  She did. I knew she did. But, awesome friend that she was, she shook her head and gave me a brilliant smile. “No matter how things turn out with Dylan, what you’re doing is incredible. I didn’t know you had it in you.”