Senior Week Crush Page 9

  I asked Jack why he didn’t want to stay as we climbed into his truck, but he shrugged it off. “Why psyche myself out comparing myself to others?” Then he turned to face me. “Besides, I’ve got to get you to your hot date with Dylan, as promised.”

  My stupid cheeks with their stupid blushing. It was humiliating. In that moment I would have given all the money I’d saved up for college to find some sort of cure to end this sickness that made blood rush to my face. Instead, I muttered under my breath, “We don’t have a hot date.”

  Or any date.

  Jack was quiet, ignoring an opportunity to tease me over my crush on Dylan. As we drove out of the city and started the next leg to reach the shore, I waited for him to bring up the kiss again.

  There was no way he would let that go. I’d handed over a juicy tidbit that he could mercilessly tease me about for eternity. Yet, nearly a half hour passed and he still hadn’t mentioned it.

  He’d barely spoken at all, to be honest, and neither had I. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, just two people lost in their own thoughts. The radio was on and cranked up loud so music filled the air between us making speech unnecessary and unwanted.

  I was grateful for the reprieve—from Jack’s teasing and from interactions at all. I was an introvert by nature and sometimes I needed alone time. After the past day and a half and knowing what was in store for the remainder of the week, I had a feeling this might be my one and only shot to sit in relative silence.

  Once we got there, we were heading straight to Dylan’s rental house on the beach. And after that? We had two gigs lined up, according to Jack. One the next night at some all ages club that Jack had found and one sort-of gig on Friday at a party that Dylan was hosting at his house. Saturday night was the summer fling party and then we’d head back.

  And every other night? From what Jack had told me this morning and what I’d gathered from Dylan, there would be no shortage of parties and outings. And rehearsals, I reminded myself. I couldn’t forget about rehearsals.

  Rehearsals that would culminate in two shows, one of which was really just a house party. Somehow it seemed extreme, but I guessed Jack, Dylan, and Herman had put a lot into this band and wanted to end on a high note.

  I let my head fall against the seat as I watched the scenery fly by.

  Here’s hoping I didn’t fail them. I glanced over quickly and caught sight of Jack’s serious expression as he watched the traffic ahead of him. Here’s hoping I didn’t fail Jack. It was becoming very apparent that all the music was his… all the talent was his.

  I found myself saying a little prayer to the universe that he won the contest. Not just because now my pride was at stake too, but because he deserved it. I knew how badly he wanted it because that was how I felt about my dream career too.

  In that one way, at least, we were similar. It wasn’t much but since he was currently the only person my age who shared the same intensity of passion about a chosen career in the arts, it was hard not to feel empathetic.

  I cast one more quick look his way but he seemed entirely focused on his thoughts to notice. That’s all this feeling was. Empathy, with maybe just a smidge of friendship.

  Chapter Twelve

  I jinxed myself, clearly.

  The moment we arrived at the shore, embarrassing me in front of Dylan seemed to be Jack’s sole mission in life. It wasn’t like he was being mean, per se. In fact, if anything, he seemed to think it was his job to singlehandedly set the two of us up. Which would have been fine, maybe… I guess… If he wasn’t so freakin’ obvious.

  My mom wasn’t even this obvious when she’d tried to make friends for me last summer on vacation. Did you hear that, Layla? Annie here likes movies too!

  Really, Mom? How shocking. We must be twins separated at birth.

  I would have said it was hard to beat my mom’s sledgehammer methods of playing matchmaker, but then again I’d never seen Jack in action before.

  When we arrived in the late afternoon, Dylan was at the house and had greeted us with that outrageous exuberance that made him so darn likeable. Seriously, I challenge people not to like Dylan. It’s almost impossible. He was like a puppy… a sexy, charming puppy who was destined to be the father of my children.

  Maybe that metaphor wasn’t exactly right.

  His tour was haphazard as he led the way back to a giant kitchen with an island, dining table, and counters that were already covered in dirty cups and dishes even though he and the others had only arrived the night before.

  The others, I found out once we reached the kitchen, included Herman but also five other guys from our class—all way more popular than me, and none who I was particularly friendly with. I mean, I’d been in their class since kindergarten so we were all technically acquainted, just not well.

  I was missing Amy big time by the time Dylan replenished his glass with a big splash of clear liquor and soda. It seemed he and the others were getting a head start on the “epic party” that he’d planned for that night.

  Epic was the adjective of choice when it came to parties, at least for Dylan. I kind of wondered what qualified any party as epic. Did booze have to be involved? Or just no parents? Or did it just have to be any party that Dylan was attending?

  Jack was still at my side and I had the urge to turn to him and ask. Something told me it would make him laugh. But I didn’t have the chance.

  “Laynie?” Dylan asked, holding out a cup filled with God-knows-what. I shook my head. “No thanks.”

  “Layla doesn’t drink,” Jack offered up.

  I turned to stare. How did he know that? I mean, it was true, I’d tried drinking and it wasn’t for me. I didn’t like losing control and I really didn’t like the way I’d felt afterward. But somehow Jack saying it made me feel stupid. Childish, even.

  Dylan shrugged and handed the cup to Jack instead, who took it without looking at me. Could he feel my glare? Probably. I was beginning to think Jack had some kind of psychic power. He saw too much and had no problems commenting on it.

  It was so annoying.

  The tour continued as he led us through the sprawling one-level beach house to the bedrooms in the back. I did a quick tally—eight of us and four bedrooms. How exactly was this going to work?

  But at the last bedroom, Dylan threw open a door and turned to me with a big grin. “Voila! Last but not least, we’ve got one reserved just for the lady.”

  I gave him a shy smile in return but before I could say thanks, he turned to Jack with a wink. “See? I remembered to save one room when I divvied up the beds.”

  He sounded so proud of himself and I saw Jack give him a little nod of approval.

  I stopped myself from an eye roll. Maybe it was the band dynamic, or something, but I got the impression that Jack was the one calling all the shots this week and Dylan was following orders.

  Of course, having suffered through one of his rehearsal dictatorships, I could see how Dylan would fall into step as a foot soldier for the great, bossy jackass.

  Still, it occurred to me that I had a room to myself because of said bossy jackass. I turned to murmur, “Thank you,” under my breath but he didn’t seem to notice. He was already trying to catch up to Dylan who was heading back to the main room, which had started to fill up with some girls in our class who I recognized.

  One, in particular, was hugging Dylan as if it was the most normal thing in the world. As if exes hung out days after breaking up all the time.

  Stephanie.

  God, why did she have to be so pretty?

  She turned that gigantic, pearly grin in my direction, her face lighting up as if seeing me here was some great surprise. “Hey, Layla!”

  And why did she have to be so nice?

  She moved away from her friends who either hadn’t noticed me or just didn’t care that I was here. She came to stand next to me and Jack, who hadn’t really left my side since we’d arrived. I was starting to think he’d decided that he had some sort of responsibil
ity toward me since he’d brought me here and had arranged for me to stay with them.

  Stephanie smiled at me and for the first time I noticed that she had a similar energy to her as Dylan. They both had that overeager puppy dog thing down pat, which made it impossible not to like them.

  In Dylan in was adorable. In Stephanie? Quite frankly it was pretty irritating.

  I don’t wanna like her, my inner child whined. I don’t wanna!

  “I heard what you did, stepping in for Brent with the band?” She stated it like it was a question, her voice going up at the end in a way I hated. Was I supposed to answer that statement? I gave a little head bob just in case. I think it was unwarranted, because she continued talking in a rush. “I just think that’s so cool. Seriously. You are so brave.”

  Her words felt like a slap in the face, possibly because I hadn’t been brave… at all. Also because the only reason I’d done it was to get close to her ex, which made me feel like I was going behind her back in some way, trying to steal her boyfriend. Which was ridiculous since they’d broken up and also, she wasn’t my friend. Not really.

  But try telling her that. She wrapped her arms around me and I found myself in a cozy hug with the tall blonde. I could hear her voice through her chest since my head came up to her shoulders. “I’m so glad we can all have one last week together.”

  I pulled back and her teeth blinded me as her smile turned conspiratorial. “Senior week is going to be epic.”

  I nodded. “Epic,” I repeated under my breath.

  Jack leaned in as she walked away. “Epic.” He said it in the same tone Dylan and Stephanie had, not mocking just mimicking and I found myself stifling a laugh. When I turned he was smiling down at me, not in a puppy way, but in a Jack way.

  Dylan was suddenly surrounded by people and I was at a loss. The party hadn’t officially begun, and even if it had, I wouldn’t have known what to do. I wasn’t much of a partier. I mean, I enjoyed the occasional get together with the drama crew, but no one in their right mind would call our little movie marathons in Amy’s basement “epic.”

  Jack came to my rescue. “Come on, let’s go grab our bags.”

  I followed him back out to the truck and got my overnight bag, along with some of the equipment. We ran into Dylan on the way in and that’s when it started—Jack’s inexplicable descent into matchmaking.

  He nodded for Dylan to follow us into my bedroom. “We’ll leave the equipment in here, if that’s all right with you, Layla.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I nodded. “Of course.” I was the only one not sharing, after all. On the way in, Dylan asked Jack about how the audition had gone and Jack mumbled a couple of noncommittal answers. Once we were in my bedroom, he dropped the equipment he was carrying and hustled to the bedroom door like his pants were on fire. “But, you know, Layla can fill you in,” he said to Dylan from the doorway. “She was there and she killed it.” He turned to me with a smile that was so benign, it kind of creeped me out. “Layla?”

  Layla, over to you. He might as well have thrown me a microphone before darting out the door. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he slammed the door shut behind him so Dylan and I were alone. In my bedroom.

  We stared at one another in awkward silence as the sounds of guests gathering in the living room filled the air between us.

  “So,” Dylan finally said, shuffling his feet. “It went well?” He crossed his arms and gave me a look of serious concentration as if my next words were of vital importance. I’d seen him give this look before—often, in fact. I’d always wondered what it felt like to be on the receiving end.

  Odd, was the only answer I could come up with. Awkward. Uncomfortable. But he was waiting for me to talk, so I did, prattling on about the audition and our show at the club the night before.

  The weird thing was, I found myself going into entertainer mode. The conversation was so one-sided and to be honest I couldn’t tell what he was thinking as I spoke. I couldn’t tell if he was listening at all or if he just fixed his face into a look of interest while his mind rambled. It was hard to tell from his eyes and the miniscule reactions he gave. He laughed at times and asked a few pointed questions but I’d had more intimate interactions with my college recruiter.

  When the story came to an end he slapped me on the upper arm like he does to Jack all the time—like he does with all his guy friends, I supposed—and led the way out, back to the party.

  I was relieved to get out of there, which was ridiculous. I’d been waiting forever for a moment just like that, and when it came… it sucked.

  But, that was largely due to the fact that Jack made it weird in the first place. I’d wanted alone time with Dylan, but organic alone time. I needed a moment to occur, a moment when we’d connect, heart, body, and soul.

  That wasn’t going to happen when Jack shoved us at each other every chance he got. And he did do that. Every. Chance. He. Got.

  First he snagged us both and tried to force a conversation about our mutual love of Twenty One Pilots, except it turned out that Dylan couldn’t actually name one of their songs. Not one to give up, apparently, Jack insisted I tell Dylan other musicians I liked and admired.

  Dylan wasn’t familiar with any of them. He told me his faves and I drew a similar blank. Turned out I was into folk music and indie rock while he preferred hip-hop and electronica.

  The conversation fizzled and died and I turned to Jack, ready to strangle him. One would think he’d give up, but no. Not Jack. Mr. Helpful put Dylan on the spot this time, prompting him to tell stories about his soccer games.

  I tried to look interested, I really did, but most of what he was saying meant little or nothing to me as I wasn’t terribly familiar with soccer and I wasn’t friends with his teammates.

  Another fail.

  Jack looked like he was going to try again, but I backed away, claiming that I needed to refill my drink. Since I was sticking to the soda mixers, minus alcohol, I really didn’t need much more. I’d already consumed a months’ worth of sugar and was ready to tap-dance my way to the moon if I had any more.

  I skipped the kitchen and headed to a hallway instead where a group of girls were talking. From there I mingled, sticking to the sidelines. I was used to that, I was comfortable there. After all, at our school, when I wasn’t on stage, I was watching from the sidelines.

  So, I was perfectly happy to hover on the edges of groups and listen to the others. Jack was always somehow close by, but he was usually engaging in conversations. He was popular with the girls, I noted. Not that I was surprised. I’d known from the start that he was in demand, but try as I might I couldn’t figure out who he was interested in, if anyone.

  Not that it mattered, but as someone who watches from the wings, I can tell you from experience that parties are far more fun if you’re watching some sort of romantic triangle unfold or watching two people dance around their feelings with one another.

  I bit back a sigh. Two people other than Stylan, obviously. Though, I’d been surreptitiously watching them since he and I had emerged from the bedroom and I just couldn’t get a read on them. When they were in one another’s orbit, they were both so easy, so relaxed… so cool.

  I could never be so cool if my boyfriend of seven years broke up with me—or I’d broken up with him, I still didn’t know the details—and I was forced to be in the same room with him and a million girls who were dying to nab him.

  Because, let’s face it, I clearly wasn’t the only one who’d been waiting for this opportunity. I could even point out a few girls who were so obvious about it, I almost felt sorry for them. Their eyes followed his every move, and when he was out of sight, they kept a wary eye on Stephanie, though she seemed completely oblivious.

  After a while, it was a little depressing to watch. Not only because all of these girls were my competition, but because I had a horrible niggling thought going on in the back of my brain.

  Was I just like them?

  I tried to shake
it off. Now was not the time to doubt fate. But nothing about this trip was going according to plan and my few interactions with Dylan so far had been far from inspiring.

  Ugh. I had a long night ahead of me. The problem with having a bedroom at party headquarters? There was no place to escape, not without being a major buzzkill. But honestly? I just kind of wanted to read in my bed.

  Instead, I decided to slip away for a bit. There was a back porch overlooking the beach that I hadn’t even seen yet, and from there I could take a walk down the beach to the boardwalk. My stomach was already starting to growl and a little fresh air and a slice of pizza sounded like the next best thing to a book in bed.

  Unfortunately, matchmaker Jack had other ideas. He must have seen me trying to slip away through the kitchen door because he started to follow me, pulling Dylan along with him.

  Honestly, I was starting to feel bad for Dylan. These little arranged encounters were bad enough for me, and this was what I wanted. Dylan just seemed to be suffering from confusion at being thrust into one awkward interaction after another.

  Even seeing Jack in hot pursuit, I still tried to escape—more to avoid another setup than anything else. But Jack cornered me in the kitchen, with Dylan forcibly at his side.

  Poor Dylan.

  “What are you doing?” Jack asked.

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and make a snarky comment, like I would have if Dylan weren’t watching. Instead, I forced a smile. “Just getting a refill.”

  This was a lie. I just didn’t want to admit that I was running away because I was an introvert in desperate need of pizza.

  “Dylan can help you,” Jack offered. Turning to his friend, he said, “Show her where the drinks are, dude.”

  My mouth fell open as I stared at Jack. Dylan dutifully headed toward the table where the soda was very obviously set out. Only an idiot would need help finding it. Also, I’d helped myself numerous times already, hence the sugar rush which was making it almost impossible to keep my mouth shut.