Chapter Twenty-Five
Every inch of me is vibrating. I clench my fists against the spell book, try to school my face into an expression of complete and total innocence as I join Max back in the basement, but I can tell I look exactly how I feel, which is like there are bugs currently using my veins as a superhighway and my skin is about to fall off.
Luckily Max is too busy arranging the many cardboard cartons of Chinese food on the kitchen counter to notice as I make a beeline for my backpack, which is still leaning against the couch.
Hunched over for cover, I quickly unwrap the spell book, flinging my sweater on to the carpet, and slide the book between my calc and American lit notes in my backpack.
I’ve just managed to zip the backpack up when Max comes back into the living room, our drinks in his hands.
‘Hey!’ I say, surging to my feet. My voice sounds too high, breathless and edgy. ‘Sorry, I got lost. Your house is huge.’
But Max doesn’t seem to hear me. He freezes in the middle of the carpet, attention locked on my stomach, which is barely half covered by my tiny beige shirt.
Somehow, I forgot I’d only put on a spaghetti-strap crop top under my sweater, the panic at smuggling out Austin’s spell book momentarily overtaking my senses.
Max blinks himself back into the room and finally meets my eyes, his cheeks burning a dark scarlet.
‘Oh, I – I was hot,’ I blurt, hands scrambling to cover my stomach, but my arms and chest are still out. There’s too much of me exposed.
‘Oh, that’s – that’s okay,’ Max stammers.
He bends down to set the orange sodas on the coffee table, resting on two matching cork coasters.
‘I mean, obviously it’s okay. I just meant – I can open a window.
’ He points to the row of slim rectangular windows above the couch.
Nervous babble seems to pour out of him unbidden.
‘I can never get these to lock, but opening them, no problem—’
‘No, no, it’s fine.’ I scramble for my sweater, tug it back over my head. ‘I’m actually cold now, so it’s good. We’re good. It’s all good.’
‘Yep, all good.’
Max scurries back towards the kitchen, me following wearily behind. Why can’t I just be normal for two seconds?
We load our plates with Chinese food, and Max was right; he did order the entire menu.
Spread out on the countertop are greasy boxes of chicken chow mein, crispy dumplings, broccoli flecked with garlic that glistens under the soft lighting.
I heap food on to my plate until I can’t see the white ceramic underneath. My success has left me ravenous.
Max and I return to the couch, where we eat mostly in silence.
My body is still buzzing, my brain unable to focus on anything but the rectangular shape just slightly bulging out of my backpack.
It feels dangerous. It feels electric. I barely taste my food, my thoughts spinning so fast in my head, I feel like I did that time Sam stole her dad’s tequila and we watched 50 First Dates, except I don’t think I’m gonna throw up here.
Because this is it. What I’ve been waiting for, what nobody else has been able to do.
I have Austin Taylor’s spell book, and I’m going to break this curse.
Once we’ve finished eating, Max stacks up the leftover food cartons in the fridge.
I know this is when I should leave, my wildest, most outrageously huge goal achieved, but I don’t want to be alone with this feeling.
Max sits again on the couch beside me, his head tipped back.
He tilts his chin towards me lazily, eyes scanning my face in a way that leaves my skin tingling, but I don’t think it’s the spell book this time.
‘You’re graduating soon,’ he says.
‘Yeah,’ I say with a laugh. ‘Who’s doing research now?’
He runs a hand down his jaw. ‘Oh, I got that one from like, common knowledge,’ he says. ‘And personal experience.’
‘Oh,’ I echo, laughing again. ‘Right.’
He shifts on the couch so he’s facing me, one leg tucked under the other. ‘You got any plans after graduation? College? Moving out of DC?’
I shake my head. ‘I’m staying here,’ I say. ‘And as for college … I don’t know, it just never felt right for me.’
Even as a kid, nailing down what I wanted to be one day felt like putting my head underwater. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve inherited my mom’s inability to pick something and stick with it. That, and her inability to leave DC.
‘What about you?’ I say. ‘I know you said you’re taking a year off but …’ I trail off as the reality of Max’s situation dawns on me. ‘Though, I guess you kind of already have the job most people go to college for.’
Max nods glumly. ‘I’m your classic nepo baby.’
I sit up straight. ‘I – I didn’t mean it like that—’ I start to say.
‘No, I am,’ Max interjects. ‘There’s nothing worse than a nepo baby denying they’re a nepo baby.’
Max rests his cheek on the cool leather cushion behind him, his eyes locking on mine. Even though we’re about two feet away, it makes him feel much closer, like I could inch forward and our foreheads would be touching.
‘That’s all Arlington Prep was,’ he grumbles. ‘Just nepo babies as far as the eye can see. And like, I know I should be grateful, and I am, but sometimes it’s just, I don’t know …’
I think back to his reaction at being called the F’resh Prince.
‘Embarrassing?’ I guess.
‘Completely.’
‘Is that why you’re working so hard on this gala? To prove you’re worthy of the job?’
‘That’s definitely part of it,’ he says.
‘I also just think MENtal is really cool. Stupid name—’ he smirks – ‘but a cool concept that deserves funding and hype.’ Max shifts on the couch again, but this time doing so scoots him forward a couple inches towards me.
I wonder if he’s even noticed. ‘What about you? What’s your family like? ’
He looks so comfortable, so at ease. I fold one of my legs underneath me and turn, leaning my body against the back of the couch, mirroring him.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘It’s just me and my mom, and – well, she’s like, an almost comically accurate hippie stereotype.
She wanted to name me Chakra, but her best friend told her it was too weird.
’ I pause, watching as Max’s face brightens with a laugh.
‘So, she settled for her favourite shade of blue instead.’
‘Wow,’ Max says, smiling faintly. ‘Your mom sounds … colourful.’
I bite down a smirk. ‘Good one.’
‘Does she know about Tyler?’
‘Oh my God, no,’ I say. ‘She’d freak out. I haven’t told anyone else about him.’
Through the windows above the couch, the sky beyond is a purplish blue. The sound of cars, the odd group walking by, filter through to the quiet room, but it’s nowhere near the noise level of my neighbourhood.
‘Is that why you’re not leaving DC?’ Max says. ‘You don’t want to leave Tyler alone?’
I chew my tongue. If anything, Tyler would be safer if I left DC.
‘Yeah, maybe,’ I lie.
Max inches forward again. ‘He wouldn’t be alone, though,’ he says. ‘Even if we didn’t figure out how to stop the changes, which we will – I can help take care of him.’
Max’s hand lies flat on the couch cushion, just centimetres from mine.
The air seems to stretch between us, taut and sharp, like fishing wire.
Ten times more powerful than the energy that had coursed through me when I stole the spell book.
It feels almost inevitable when Max’s hand slides slowly across the gap, his fingers lacing with mine.
This time, it isn’t in my head; Max is actually touching me. On purpose. At the feel of him, electricity rockets up my arm. I snap my hand away, a gasp slipping through my lips. Max recoils, his face immediately full of regret.
‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry,’ he rushes. ‘That was so – so weird of me.’
I hold my hand against my chest as though it’s just been dropped into an open flame.
My heart hammers against my ribcage in answer.
Max is still talking, apologetic gibberish pouring out of him, but all I can do is stare at his mouth.
Maybe it’s the giddiness at having finally made what feels like a serious, real, actual step towards breaking this stupid curse, or maybe it’s the thoughts about Max that just won’t go away, but I draw in a sharp breath through my nose and say, ‘Screw it.’
My mouth crashes into Max’s before he even realises what’s happening, cutting him off mid-sentence.
But he’s quick to catch on, his hands slipping around my waist as I climb on to his lap.
Everything about our kissing is hard and rushed and breathless, a heavy want settling deep in my stomach.
A want to forget about the curse and enjoy this unfamiliar feeling of triumph for a few minutes.
A want to feel someone else’s heartbeat against my chest. A want for Max.
Kissing him feels both like giving in to something reckless, and the predictable punctuation at the end of a long, rambling sentence.
I claw my fingers through his hair, arch my hips up so they crush against his stomach – anything to get closer, to lose myself in the feeling of him.
Because Max feels … good. Not dangerous, like Avery, but warm and satiating and magnetic.
Like I imagined. He meets my every push, his hands gripping my hips tightly, head tilted back against the couch so I can sink deeper into him.
The fingers of his right hand thread with my left, resting over his shoulder as my lips make their way down his neck.
The current humming through me is so intense, I have to reach through the fog of my brain to concentrate on not biting into him like a piece of ripe fruit.
His skin erupts in goosebumps when my tongue presses against the place where his jaw meets his neck, and suddenly all I can think about is the fact that I want to take my sweater off so he can look at me like that again.
‘Indie,’ he says on a breath.
My eyes shoot open. The sound is like a bucket of cold water emptying over my head. I scramble off him so fast, I stumble backwards on to my butt, the squishy grey carpet making for a soft landing.
‘Oh my God,’ I say. What the hell am I doing?
Max blinks so many times, I’d laugh if I wasn’t so mortified. ‘What’s wrong?’ he says, shuffling to the edge of the couch. ‘Are you okay?’
Pushing myself up with my elbows, I struggle to my feet, sweep my hands down the front of my jeans as though doing so will erase any trace of him. Anything to get rid of this feeling, like all ten of my fingers have been plugged into an electrical socket.
‘I – I shouldn’t …’ I stammer, unable to look at him. The confusion and worry etched on his face. ‘We shouldn’t be doing this.’
‘Why not?’
I tip my face up towards the ceiling, a strangled laugh escaping my throat.
Because of your dad.
Because this isn’t part of the plan.
Because you’re a means to an end.
Because if I can’t break this curse, I’ll ruin your life.
‘Because you’re my boss!’ I shout finally.
It feels like the simplest answer.
‘No, I’m not,’ Max says. His hair is sticking up at the back where I used my fingers like the prongs of a fork to dig into his scalp. He flattens it down with his hand. ‘I mean, not technically.’
‘But still, the power dynamics …’ I try to remember all the Instagram posts I’ve seen about ordinary people who date celebrities, the terms they used, but my mind is just a black hole for anything other than the feeling of Max’s mouth on mine.
‘It’s all off. We can’t do that again.’ I fold my arms over my sweater and nod, as though I’m not the one making the demands.
‘We can be friends, and we can look after Tyler if we need to, but not – not that.’
Max stares up at me with his mouth open slightly, as though he’s considering a rebuttal. But after a few seconds he just drops his head an inch and sighs.
‘Okay,’ he says, also nodding. ‘You’re right.’
‘Good.’
I grab my backpack from the carpet. It’s so much heavier than before, and I can’t tell if the book is making it feel this way, or the guilt. Am I really going to steal from Max? Although technically, I’m stealing from his dad. His evil, curse-doing dad.
‘I should go,’ I say.
Max starts to heave himself to his feet, but I hold up a hand.
‘No, don’t get up,’ I say. I don’t think I could handle the walk back upstairs with him, the awkward silence in which we’re both clearly thinking about what just happened. ‘I’ll look up more about Tyler’s band.’ I gesture towards the kitchen. ‘Text me how much I owe you for the Chinese food.’
He shakes his head and laughs faintly. ‘I’m not gonna do that.’
The front door barely makes a sound when I close it behind me.
I jog down the porch steps, but instead of feeling lighter with every foot I put between me and Max, between me and the locker, I only feel worse.
Dread, shame, guilt, all coat my lungs as images of the night flash through my brain, reminding me how big of an idiot I am.
How close I’ve come to jeopardising the plan.
This is Austin Taylor’s son. And even if he’s nothing like his dad, or I’m closer to breaking the curse than I’ve ever been, I can’t put him in danger.
Because that’s the bottom line, isn’t it?
Until I break this curse once and for all, being with me isn’t just impossible – it’s dangerous.
I tighten my backpack straps so the rough material digs into my shoulders.
The row homes, stretching up three storeys in a deep red brick, with immaculately trimmed lawns and black, wrought-iron gates, rise up on either side of the street like two parted waves threatening to merge back into one.
I hunch my head down between my shoulders, embarrassment burning hot under my skin.
Because I know, deep down, that when I can’t fall asleep tonight, what keeps me awake won’t be how happy I am that I finally have the spell book, or how bad I feel about putting Max at risk. It’ll be how good it felt to kiss him.