Crush Control by Jennifer Jabaley Page A

officer who plays tennis.”
    I sat there thinking that I had never had someone ask me that point-blank, What do you do? I was always just “the daughter of the Hip Hypnotist . ” I thought back to when we first moved to Vegas, when I joined the Girl Scouts. I loved the perfectly starched uniforms and the idea of earning each little badge and lining them up in a row on a sash. We met on Thursday nights at 6 p.m. Mom would drop me off, and I would go home with Lauren until Mom could pick me up after her show was over. Lauren’s mom was more than accommodating but I felt like such a burden—hanging out on the couch with Mr. and Mrs. Clemmons long after Lauren and her sister had gone upstairs to bed. So eventually I said I’d rather go hang out at the hypnosis show and I let myself become a fixture in my mother’s life. And as I got older, I carved out a purpose there—running the audio onstage and managing our finances at home. But now, if you strip those things away—no more show and Mom’s newfound desire to be the responsible one—who was I, really? A girl who hung out with her friends at the library and movies? It sounded pathetic. All the more reason for reinvention.
    â€œNo,” I answered. “No tennis or student government.” I pointed back at the densely diagrammed paper towel, shifting the focus away from myself. “So where’s Max in all this?”
    Georgia drew a wide circle around the pyramid. “Best I can tell, Max orbits. He’s friends with everyone.”
    Not surprising, but I was his best friend, right? I looked at the wide black circle encompassing everyone and wondered if that was still true.
    The bell rang and moments later the bathroom was infiltrated with girls fixing their hair at the mirrors, re-applying make up, and texting. Georgia and I pulled ourselves up off the floor. I grabbed the paper towel and shoved it into my bag for further dissection later. I followed Georgia down the long hallway and out onto a covered walkway, watching the streams of people pass by as the sticky heat enveloped me.
    We walked into the next building over and were hit with a welcome blast of air-conditioning. Georgia gestured to the first door and I walked into English class, put my bag down in the first empty seat, and went up to introduce myself to the teacher. When I turned around and walked back to my desk, Georgia had taken the seat behind me.
    A petite blonde walked through the door. She glided over to the chair adjacent to mine and sat. Her long straight hair was the perfect shade of blonde—not as light as Playboy Bunny processed platinum, but not dull and dingy like the dishwater blonde I was. Her hair was soft and shimmering—classy and polished, like a long plate of glass. It caught the twinkle of the fluorescent lights from above. Not a strand was out of place. Not a fraction of frizz. I smoothed my hand over my head, a sliver of envy creeping into my insecurity.
    Georgia nudged me from behind. I looked back at her. She nodded over toward the beautiful blonde and steepled her hands into a pyramid. Mia , she mouthed. Queen bee.
    Just then, in walked the hot guy from the park, Quinton, with his hair all tousled and gorgeous.
    He patted Mia’s desktop two sharp times as a hello, and then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw me. He stopped his stride and turned in my direction.
    Just like in the park, I became flustered. Even though I knew I wasn’t, I instinctively looked down to make sure I wasn’t wearing my M&M T-shirt. I nervously unbuttoned then re-buttoned the top two buttons of my sweater.
    A small smile crept across Quinton’s face. He pointed at me. “ Do you be-lieve in life after love ?” he sang. He laughed then walked toward the back of the room.
    I felt everyone staring at me, wondering who I was. My hands felt hot and sticky.
    â€œOh. My. God.” Georgia’s hot breath streamed into the back