Senior Week Crush Page 6

  I nodded with a bit of a sniffle. I could do this. Courage, don’t fail me now.

  I jumped at the sound of Jack’s honking behind me. Amy leaned in for one last hug. “Good luck. Knock ‘em dead.”

  I didn’t trust myself to speak. The sudden outburst of terror had made me more emotional than usual so I just squeezed her tight before letting her go. I spun around and raced into the truck. My rush was partly to do with getting us away from my house (and my parents’ prying eyes) and partly to get away before I did something stupid….like burst into tears.

  Amy waved as Jack and I pulled away and I watched her get into her own car. It wasn’t until we’d turned the corner that two realizations hit me at once. I was really doing this—there was no turning back now. The other realization was that we’d driven away from my house…and Dylan’s.

  “Isn’t Dylan coming with us?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized that Jack would mock me for them. Particularly since I hadn’t said so much as ‘hi’ since jumping into his cab.

  “Hello to you too.” Jack’s eyes never left the road. “Dylan’s going with Herman.”

  “Oh.” I’d known that was a possibility and it was fine. I had all week to bond with Dylan. I could wait a couple of hours.

  Jack nodded his head toward the cramped backseat of the pickup. “The truck was too small for all the band members and equipment.”

  I eyed the guitar, amp, and mic stand that were crammed in behind me. Yup, I was really doing this.

  I turned back and settled into my seat. “So the guys will meet up with us at your friend’s place in Philly?” By ‘the guys’ I obviously meant Dylan but I was attempting to play it cool. Better late than never, right?

  When Jack didn’t immediately answer, I got a bad feeling. Uh oh. Something was wrong. I studied Jack’s profile and while he didn’t seem to be nervous, he was watching the road a little too closely. Almost like he was avoiding me.

  “Jack?”

  He glanced over. “Sorry, what?”

  The sick pit in my stomach grew. His eyes looked too innocent, his face frighteningly devoid of any smug smiles. I don’t know at what point over the last few days I’d become an expert on Jack’s looks, smiles, and overall demeanor, but at that moment, I knew without a doubt that he was keeping something from me.

  “Okay, spill.”

  He glanced over with that feigned innocent look again and I lost all semblance of patience. “What are you not telling me, Jack?”

  He cleared his throat and, I swear to God, Jack Abrams looked uncomfortable. Nervous even, as he shifted in his seat. “The guys are, uh, not coming tonight.”

  There was a moment of silence as my brain processed the news and then my voice filled the car. “What?! Why?”

  He flinched, most likely at my shrill tone. “Don’t get all worked up. It’s not a big deal. They’ll meet up with us tomorrow in Wildwood for our first gig.”

  I found myself leaning toward him over the middle seat, as if proximity could make his words come out different. “I thought tonight was our first gig—for the producer. How can we have a show if we don’t have a band?”

  I’m not going to lie. My biggest concern at the moment was not so much about the gig as it was about the lack of a certain love of my life. Although, the gig thing really was an issue. This was supposed to be a group thing, not a Layla-and-Jack thing.

  He winced a bit. Oh, this could not be good. “Yeah, I kind of lied about that.”

  “You lied,” I repeated. “About what?”

  He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road. “The show tonight, it’s not to find the next great band. It’s, uh, to find an up-and-coming songwriter.”

  My eyes narrowed as I studied his face. Was he… embarrassed? No, that couldn’t be right. Not Jack. He did not do embarrassed.

  “They don’t want people to show up with a big band,” he continued. “It’s sort of a songwriter showcase so the simpler the better.”

  “And Dylan and Herman… they knew this?”

  I saw his quick jerk of a nod. My hands clenched into fists. “But you didn’t think to tell me?”

  He winced again and flashed me an apologetic look. Nope, not good enough.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Jack started tapping the wheel in time to the song on the radio that was playing on low volume. When Dylan had done that it had seemed laid back, an involuntary tapping. Jack’s tapping, on the other hand, seemed like an outlet for nervous energy.

  “Does it matter? A gig is a gig. It doesn’t really change anything.”

  “Except that there will be no band on stage with me,” I cut in.

  “I’ll be there.” He had the gall to turn to me then and give me that sexy lopsided smile, as if that could make it better. If anything, it just made me more angry.

  “That’s not the point,” I said. Dylan won’t be there. But it wasn’t just that—it was the fact that I would have all eyes on me, no backup music to drown me out if I stank. No Dylan to ham it up and steal the spotlight. Me. Just me. Well, me and Jack, but at the moment that was not even remotely helpful. “How could you do this to me? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

  He shifted again. Uncomfortable being called out for being a liar? Well, good.

  “Look, it’s not that big a deal,” he started.

  “Not that big a deal? You lied to me—”

  “I didn’t lie, I just didn’t give you all the details.”

  I gave a little snort of disgust. “Because you knew I wouldn’t want to do this.”

  He turned to me then and finally met my eyes. “Layla, it’s not that big a deal.”

  His gaze was full of condescension that made me go from angry to furious. “Not that big a deal? You’re practically kidnapping me!”

  Ugh. As if I wasn’t furious enough, he had the gall to smirk at me, one brow raised in disbelief. “Kidnapping? Jesus, Layla, I knew you were into theater but isn’t that a bit melodramatic?”

  There are few things more irritating than being laughed at when you’re pissed. “You made me agree to this under false pretenses,” I bit out. “You knew I thought that we were all going to this show. You let me believe that.”

  “You mean, I let you believe that Dylan was going to be there.”

  Dylan’s name seemed to echo in the truck’s small, cramped cab.

  My cheeks burned at the mention of my crush—but this time it wasn’t in embarrassment. It was anger that had my blood racing and hands clenching into fists at my side. I knew what he was doing. He was trying to embarrass me with the mention of Dylan. Like any good bully, when he sensed a weakness, he exploited it. Well, it wouldn’t work. He was in the wrong here, not me.

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s exactly what I meant. You let me believe Dylan would be here.”

  He glanced over and I was gratified to see a flicker of surprise cross his face before he turned back to face the street, letting out another sigh. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? But this opportunity is bigger than a stupid crush.”

  I gaped at him. Stupid crush? What the hell did he know about my feelings for Dylan? Or the fate that was destined to bring us together, for that matter. “It’s not a stupid crush.”

  He ignored that and a tense silence filled the truck. I turned to stare out the window, my arms crossed in front of me as I watched the houses of our town slip past as we headed toward the highway.

  Maybe ‘kidnapping’ had been a bit strong but at that moment, being taken away from town to do a show I didn’t want to do with a guy I despised….? Frustration welled up, making my chest tight and bringing tears to my eyes. I blinked quickly. God, the last thing I needed was for Jack to see me cry.

  I felt Jack’s eyes on me but I refused to look over.

  He was the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry.”

  My head snapped to the left at that. Unlike his last apology, this one sounded somewhat close to genuine. It was a start, but not good enough. �
�Why?”

  He glanced over at me with a questioning look.

  “Why did you lie?” When he looked like he was about to protest, I rolled my eyes. “Why did you omit the truth?”

  One corner of his mouth twitched up in amusement at my rewording. I caught a flicker of a dimple before it disappeared. “Would you have come with me otherwise?”

  No. I didn’t say it but apparently I didn’t have to. He gave a little shrug in response to my silence as if to say “See? I had no other choice.”

  We sat in silence for a while as we sped down the highway and I found myself studying his profile, trying to see what was going on behind that unreadable expression. Despite myself, I was intrigued. Because once some of my anger started to ebb, I couldn’t help but wonder at his actions. Tricking me into coming to this event had been a risk. I could have found out easily enough if I’d asked the wrong question or if Dylan had let it slip. This was an act of desperation, on Jack’s part—and like it or not, I was a part of it. “Why is this so important to you?”

  I thought he was going to ignore the question because he acted like he didn’t hear me for several seconds. But then he fiddled with the radio stations and finally answered. “I want to be a songwriter. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.”

  He was so serious, so sincere—not even a hint of the mocking, teasing Jack I’d grown used to. “Why?”

  His gaze flicked over to me and back to the road. “Why do you want to be a Broadway actress?”

  Touché. He seemed to be waiting for an actual answer. Funny, my family and friends all knew of my big dream but no one had asked me ‘why?’ before. I struggled to put my dreams into words… and failed. “I don’t know. It’s just what I’ve always wanted, I guess. It’s who I am.”

  He looked over at me then and smiled—the sexy one, the one that showed his dimples and made his eyes warm and welcoming. “Exactly.”

  For a second there, I felt a connection. We understood one another.

  Well, sort of.

  “I’d never trick someone into doing something they didn’t want to do just to get a Broadway audition.”

  He gave me a look of disbelief. “Wouldn’t you?”

  No. I didn’t think so, at least. Wait, would I? I tried to imagine what I’d do if the audition of a lifetime fell into my lap but it all depended on me finding a scene partner. I shrugged it off. Surely I’d be able to find someone who was willing and able.

  I twisted in my seat to face him, one of my legs curled up on the middle seat so I could lean back against the passenger side door. “So we’re going to Philadelphia tonight. That’s where you’re from, right?”

  He gave a short nod.

  “And you’re telling me you don’t know a single person in Philadelphia who can sing?”

  His hand started tapping the wheel again. “I didn’t say that.”

  “So then why me?”

  There was a slight pause. “You’re good.” I’m not gonna lie, that was nice to hear. But all the same, his pause before answering rang a warning bell in my skull. It wasn’t much, but enough to clue me in to the fact that he was leaving something out. But I had bigger issues at hand. Namely, what the hell I was getting myself into?

  “So what’s the deal tonight?” I asked. “Where are we staying? Who are we playing for? What’s the venue like? Which songs are we—”

  “Whoa, whoa.” Jack cut me off with a laugh. “I promise I’ll answer all your questions. Just, one at a time, please.”

  “You’ll answer honestly?” I asked.

  “Yes, honestly.” His tone was weary and exasperated but he was still wearing that lopsided grin that made me oddly nervous. Not anxious, just…unsettled. It was official—I hated his smirks and his genuine smiles were disarming. The boy should stick with frowns.

  My weird obsession with his facial expressions came to a halt when I realized that he was shifting uncomfortably and tapping the wheel again. “I hope you’re not a poker player.”

  That got his attention. He turned to look at me with wide eyes. “Why not?”

  “Because you have terrible tells.” I nodded toward the hand that was tapping the steering wheel and he stopped.

  He exhaled loudly, his eyes once more fixed on the road. “Okay, fine.” I watched him draw in a deep breath. “We’re not playing for the producers tonight.”

  I blinked at him as this new bit of information sank in. “What do you mean? Then why are we rushing off to Philly tonight?”

  “I couldn’t exactly have your first live show be in front of the people who could make or break my career, now could I?”

  I bit back my initial angry retort. Jack was officially my least favorite person on the planet. But we were only a half hour away from Philadelphia, and my fate was sealed. Better make the best of a bad situation, right? Besides, maybe a little practice time wasn’t such a bad idea.

  “So we’re going early to practice? Couldn’t we just have done that at home?”

  He glanced over at me quickly, as if gauging my reaction. “At home we wouldn’t have a live audience.”

  My stomach sank. “And tonight we will?”

  He nodded. “My friend works for an all-ages club downtown. She got us a gig tonight opening for a local band.”

  Before I could respond, he hurried on. “We’ll stay at my friend’s tonight and play for the producer’s tomorrow afternoon.”

  He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “I promise I’ll have you in Wildwood in time for Dylan’s party.”

  I ignored the Dylan comment. I’d all but admitted I had a crush on his friend, I refused to be embarrassed about it. Besides, I had more important things to think about. Like the fact that Dylan was throwing a party. Maybe he’d mentioned it in the car and I’d missed it?

  “What’s the party for?” I asked.

  Jack shrugged. “Just a party, I guess. His parents rented a huge house for Dylan and the band. That’s where we’ll be staying in Wildwood.”

  I stopped breathing. I was going to be staying in the same house as Dylan. The same, unchaperoned, party-central house. I mean, I knew we’d be staying near each other. Jack had told me from the start that he’d taken care of lodging arrangements for the band, but I figured we’d be splitting hotel rooms on the beach like all the other seniors I’d talked to this week.

  Jack kept glancing in my direction. “That’s okay, right? I mean, if you’re not cool with staying in a house with the rest of the band, I can spring for a motel room or something.”

  “No, it’s fine.” That may have come out a little too quickly but he didn’t comment.

  “And your parents are cool with you going to the beach with us?”

  The fact that he was even thinking about my parents and whether or not they would approve was more than a little surprising. “Yeah, they’re cool with it.”

  Of course they weren’t. My parent’s were not ‘cool’ by nature. They would never be those parents who let their kid throw a rager at their house or, I don’t know, rent a huge house on the beach so their kid could play host for his rock band.

  But while my parents weren’t cool, they were trusting. And they had every right to be. I’d never been a wild child—well, not until this week, apparently. That thought made me laugh softly and Jack caught it.

  “What’s so funny?”

  I looked over and I shouldn’t have. He was wearing that lopsided grin again, his dimples making him look not only human but… kinda sweet. That thought made me laugh even more. Maybe I was hysterical or something because this whole situation was not funny, not even a little bit. I was risking my parents’ wrath, trusting a guy I didn’t even like, and preparing to make my debut as a rock star. I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep another hysterical giggle from escaping. It didn’t work.

  “Seriously, what’s so funny?” Jack’s eyes were filled with laughter and he looked confused but amused by my hysteria.

  I shook my head and in lieu of an answer cranked
up the radio so the sound of a Twenty One Pilots’ song filled the cab. Now was not the time to talk, I had way too much information to process and only twenty minutes to do it before I was thrown into the first stage of Layla James’s Great Senior Week Adventure, which was how I would henceforth think of this crazy week.

  I started to sing along under my breath and Jack soon joined in, his slightly off-key voice louder than mine. He rolled down our windows so the wind whipped through the cab, tossing my hair in the wind. “Come on, Broadway, let’s hear it,” he shouted over the wind and music.

  Cranking up the volume even louder, I belted out the next verse along with him. For the rest of the drive we alternated between singing at the top of our lungs—stopping only to laugh at ourselves or at each other—and one upping each other with stupid upper-body-only dance moves.

  When we pulled up in front of his friend’s townhouse apartment, I was shocked by a new, almost profound realization.

  I’d been having fun.

  Chapter Eight

  His friend Mattie was not what I expected. First of all, he was not a he but a she. And a hot she, at that. Opening the door with a squeal, the lithe blonde with purple stripes in her hair bounded down the steps and into Jack’s waiting arms. She was talking a mile a minute about how excited she was to see him and he was… well, he was being normal. Laughing and smiling and talking, just like any normal guy would with an old friend he hadn’t seen in a while.

  Okay, where was the smug jackass and who was this guy?

  Finally noticing me, Mattie’s eyes widened with what could only be called unrestrained glee. “And you must be Layla!” Before I could say yes, she was on top of me, pulling me into a fierce hug that left me winded. Pulling back she held onto my arms and gave me an appraising look from head to toe, still wearing a huge smile that was contagious. I found myself grinning back at her for no reason.

  “I’m so excited to meet you. I’ve heard all about you,” Mattie said.

  She had? I glanced over her shoulder in time to catch Jack’s wince. I would have sold a kidney to know what she’d heard about me but I didn’t dare ask. Not just then, at least. I opened my mouth to say “I’ve heard all about you, too” but realized that was a complete and total lie, so I opted for. “Thanks for letting us stay with you. And for setting up the show….”