The Secrets of Attraction by Robin Constantine

I’m going to find my date. You okay?” Madison asked.
    I wouldn’t have minded hanging out with her some more, but yelling at each other over the music wasn’t exactly the perfect situation to get to know someone. Oh yeah, and the fact that she was here with someone made the whole thing a bit inconvenient.
    â€œYeah, thanks for helping me.”
    â€œYou still owe me that chai.” She waved as she walked off into the crowd. What guy would be idiot enough to let her out of his sight at a dance?
    I leaned against the wall and finally spotted Tanner. He was dancing with Tori Ashe and her friends. I guess he threw the lying-low plan out the window. I laughed. He looked a little spastic, but it worked for him. I’d forgotten that Kenny’s sister went to Sacred Heart, which probably helped with them getting the gig. One thing Kenny had was connections. I tried to be objective—just a dude listening to a band. They weren’t that bad and the crowd seemed to like them.
    Then I saw her.
    Hannah. She was in a dark dress, hair down, and moving to the music, her face lit up red. Green. Purple. I hadn’t thought about seeing her or if the band could bring dates. Anytime I thought I was over it, that she hadn’t crossed my mind in a few hours— zap . This awful jolt Tased me. Maybe it hurt a little less.
    Or not.
    I fiddled absentmindedly with the infinity band—okay, bracelet—that I still wore . . . for her. For us. Hoping.
    â€œCome on, Jess, just get them. One for me, one for you,” she’d said. We’d been walking around the street fair for a while, browsing the table of, like, the tenth jewelry vendor we’d seen.
    â€œGuys don’t wear bracelets,” I’d said, even though I knew I was going to cave.
    â€œWhat’s that big-ass ugly thing you’ve already got on?”
    â€œThat’s a wristband. There’s a difference.”
    â€œSo call it a wristband—pretty please, sugar on top, and all that stuff.”
    The look in her eyes was worth the forty bucks. Worth a million.
    I hadn’t taken it off since that day. Even at my worst moments, when I hated HannahDunk more than I thought I could hate anything, it was still on my wrist. I tugged at it and looked away.
    The band finished the song with a crash. Kenny breathed into the mic— Back in ten! —and the guys walked off. I sent Tanner a text where to find me; I didn’t want to walk over there to his dance circle. I’d seen enough. We could pick the shittiest drummer and still be better than Smegma. Booming dance music blared out of the speakers and the crowd swelled as some rapper sang about talking dirty. My head pounded with the beat. My jacket felt tight. The edges of the roomblurred. Madison was suddenly in front of me.
    â€œCouldn’t find him,” she said. “Hey, you okay?”
    â€œYeah, fine. I just hate this music.”
    â€œI know, right?”
    â€œMads! I’m free!” Wren scurried across the dance floor to us. “Where’s Jazz? I haven’t seen her since we got here.”
    Madison shrugged.
    â€œDuuuuude, did you get a load of . . . Hey, Thursday Girls,” Tanner said, joining us. His stunt on the dance floor must have given him some swagger because I’d never seen him so laid-back in front of these girls. “So what’d you think, they suck, right?”
    â€œPretty much,” I said.
    â€œWho, the band?” Wren asked.
    â€œYeah,” T said.
    A tall guy crept up behind Wren, putting his finger to his lips. Madison pretended not to notice him. Wren jumped as he wrapped his arms around her, then laughed. The “ball-and-chain” . . . Wait. He looked at me.
    â€œGrayson?”
    â€œNo effing way,” Tanner said, realizing his number-one drummer choice was wrapped around the girl he’d drooled over for a month.
    â€œHey, how do you know—” Grayson