Dec 4–8:00 p.m. till whenevs
Be there, or don’t
So, no work tomorrow–wanna go? G.
I stared at the text invite, silent, like any false move would make my phone explode. We were in a mandatory yearbook meeting, and although it was technically after school, and checking my text messages wouldn’t garner me detention, I knew Mr. Fuller, our new yearbook company liaison, might freak at me squealing out loud.
I slipped my phone to Jazz, who was sitting next to me and paying way too much attention to a recap of how we were supposed to upload text and pictures to the yearbook for our midyear deadline. She mouthed the word schnockered, then passed the phone on to Maddie. To my horror Mads texted something back to Grayson.
I waggled my hand for her to give it back.
“Are you getting this?” Mr. Fuller asked, zeroing in on the three of us.
“Yes, Mr. Fuller. We need to minimize the photos before the initial upload,” I answered.
Satisfied, he continued with the presentation. Maddie’s eyes lit up at an incoming text and at lightning speed texted something back before handing me the phone. When I checked the message log I nearly fainted.
“Mads, I would never say ‘fuckin’ A’ in response, are you crazy?” I said, once we were outside heading toward the bus. I tried to sound mad, but I couldn’t. The thought of Grayson’s reaction was too funny.
“Sorry! When he said ‘hells yeah’ after I asked him if Mads and Jazz could come, well, I got caught up in the moment.”
“Who said I want to get good and schnockered this weekend?” Jazz asked. “And who’s Andy? We don’t even know these people.”
Maddie jumped in front of both of us, hand up, like an elfin traffic cop with her woolen newsboy cap slightly askew and her blond, spiky tufts sticking out. “Would the two of you get over yourselves?”
Jazz opened her mouth, but Maddie interrupted again.
“Look, I applaud your decision to do a half marathon, but missing one training run to go to what sounds like a helluva party isn’t going to ruin your finish time. And you?” she continued, focusing on me. “You keep debating whether Grayson likes you as more than a friend—well, get a clue—he just invited you to a party! Probably with plans to continue where he left off the other day. Hells bells, chicas, we need this.”
“Mads, stop,” I said, reddening at the thought of Grayson’s ambush kiss. It had been stunning and warm and incredible. And scary . . . I’d never felt such an immediate rush with anyone. If I hadn’t pulled away, I might have still been there. But anytime I thought of continuing where we left off, it completely consumed me.
“I never said I wouldn’t go,” Jazz said, her eyes wary. “Just wanted to think about it.”
“What’s to think about? I don’t know Andy either, but he uses the word schnockered, and I kind of love that in a person. And your potential new boyfriend just earned major friend points by being enthusiastic about our presence at said party. It’s a win-win sitch.”
“Fine then, I’m in, but I’m not getting schnockered,” Jazz said.
“Yay, she’s agreed to go,” Maddie said, linking her arm through Jazz’s. “We’ll work on the schnockered bit. Wren, make sure you get the deetz. Could this really be happening? Could the three of us have plans together for the weekend?”
After dinner I called Grayson for the deetz.
“‘Fuckin’ A,’ Wren, really?” he asked, laughing.
“So you know that wasn’t me?”
“Maddie got a hold of your phone?”
“How’d you guess?”
“So you don’t want to go?”
“I do, yeah. Want to go. It’s okay for you to go? With your dad and everything?”
“Tiff’s got everything covered. He just needs to take it easy and, well, yeah, when Andy sent me the text, I didn’t think twice. This is just what we need. Don’t you think?”
We. Oh, how I loved the way that sounded. “Definitely.”
“Cool, but you guys need to meet me there. I kind of have to help set up,” he said.
That stopped me cold. “Um, sounds formal?”
“No, not like that. I’m part of the entertainment.”
“Get out.”
“Yeah, Andy and I have a band. Haven’t played together in a while though.”
“So you’re in a band band?”
“Yes. A band band. You know, we play music.”
“So what are you? Lead singer?” I asked, trying to envision Grayson behind a mike.
“Ah, you see me as a front man? Nice . . . but no.”
“Then what? Guitar, bass, tambourine?” I asked. “You’ll have to come to the party if you want to find out.”
“Grayson, please.”
“Nope. You have to promise me you’ll be there.”
“Fine, yes. We’ll be there.”
On the night of Andy’s party, Mads came down with a stomach bug—which must have been really, really, really awful, for her to bail on our night out—but she mustered up enough strength for a pre-party fashion confab via Skype.
“So which one would he be in The Break fast Club?” Jazz asked.
“What?” I asked, holding up a black miniskirt and Brooke’s True Religion skinny jeans that I had on loan during her pregnancy for Mads to see.
Mads coughed, her pale face filling my laptop screen. “Oh, God, Wren, no jeans and TOMS tonight—please sex it up! What does this have to do with The Break fast Club?”
“Fine,” I said, tossing the jeans onto my bed.
“You know, I think it might help to know what kind of guy he is . . . brain, athlete, criminal . . . so you can tailor your outfit,” Jazz said, rocking in my computer chair. Mads had talked her into wearing dark skinny jeans tucked into five-inch knee-high boots, which made her incredibly toned legs look like they went on forever.
“Jazzy, have you seen Grayson? Who cares about his personality type? Lemme see that purple sweater, the one with the deconstructed neckline, and that, um, black top with the shirred waist . . . cough . . . the one that ties on the sides.”
“He’s kind of all three,” I answered, grabbing the tops from my closet and showing them to her.
“Purple, with the matching tank. Your boobs look awesome in that shirt,” Mads said, “and the common denominator for brain, athlete, and criminal is the boobies.”
“Do you have to be so juvenile?” Jazz asked. “What do you mean he’s all three?”
“He’s just . . . I don’t know . . . a little bit of each,” I answered, from behind my closet door while pulling on my tights and shimmying into my outfit.
Mads laughed, her voice hoarse. “Yum. A hybrid. That’s hot. So he’s kind of a . . . brainathiminal.”
Jazz clapped her hands. “Omigod, that’s perfect!”
I chuckled, climbing into my riding boots.
“I guess. So what do you think?” I asked, twirling in front of the computer. I caught a glimpse of myself in my full-length mirror. Mads was right; the shirt did hug me in all the right places. Grayson had never seen me in anything so revealing. The thought of his reaction made my stomach flutter.
“Wren Caswell, I would do you,” Mads said.
“Thanks, I think.”
“Me too,” Jazz said.
“Guys, stop.”
“Okay, my work is done.”
“What are we going to do without you?” Jazz asked, getting up from my chair. The two of us stood in front of the computer, waiting for words of wisdom. It would feel strange without Mads there. She brought up her fist to her mouth, cleared her throat, and sat up straight.