Free The Secrets of Attraction by Robin Constantine Page A

band politics, which I hated. Like if we picked him we’d be saying: You have our drummer, now we have yours. I wanted to start something new, not recycle. On the other hand, if we went with him we might be able to play out sooner.
    â€œYou know who you want,” my father said, lifting his chin to me.
    â€œYou do?” Tanner asked, as if I was keeping a secret from him.
    I shook my head.
    â€œSure you do, it’s in the gut. Whenever we needed some fresh blood for Backtalk—it always ended up being a gut decision,” Dad said, spreading his sesame bagel with butter and tearing off a piece for Ty.
    â€œThe sooner we pick someone, the sooner we can play out—we could be doing dances and stuff—”
    â€œScrew dances, I want to play for people who want to hear a band, not slow dance,” I said.
    â€œCroooo dance,” Tyler said, raising his fistful of bagel.
    â€œIt’s basically money for practicing,” Tanner said.
    â€œHe has a point,” Dad said.
    â€œI’d rather play the Whiskey.”
    â€œYou want to be your best for Declan.” Declan was Dad’s old bandmate and the only one of them who had ended up doing anything remotely related to music. His bar, Whiskey Business, had been the place where Electric Hookah, a thrash band from Manalapan, had been discovered by a small indie label. Now it was every band’s wet dream to be plucked from obscurity, and dates were booked far out. I’d dropped our CD off right before HannahDunk. It was cover songs, but that’s what they focused on for the eighteen-and-over nights. I was pretty sure Dad could call in a favor. Maybe if we took on the second guy and had some intense practice, we’d be ready soon. But did I want a favor? Wouldn’t it be better to earn it?
    â€œI don’t know, T . . .”
    â€œProcrastination is really fear of the future,” my father said, full-on college-professor mode.
    Tanner nodded. “Wow, um, what he said. C’mon, Jess, we can jam with them this week, make a decision, and start practicing.”
    What if we chose the wrong guy? What if we were never as good as we were before? But what if we were better? Wondering about it was safe . . . and stupid.
    â€œOkay, let’s do it. Guess we’re going to a dance next Friday.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
    ..................................................................

    ON SATURDAY MORNING, MOM DROVE ME, JAZZ , and Wren to the mall to hunt for something to wear for the Sadie Hawkins thing. Wren had already purchased the perfect little black dress weeks ago so she was there to help us get our glam on—and maybe hit the food court for lunch afterward.
    â€œWhat do you think?” I asked, checking out myself in the three-way mirror. The lacy cream-colored dress draped perfectly over one shoulder and came to a flirty but chaste stop right above my knees, perfect for a Sacred Heart event.
    And something a granny might wear.
    A hip granny with rockin’ shoulders, but still.
    â€œIt’s pretty, you just don’t look like you ,” she said.
    â€œYou should talk, where would you wear that ?”
    Wren was on tiptoe, pivoting to see the back view of a tiny black miniskirt with zipper pockets and barely there halter top she was modeling.
    â€œYou don’t think it’s appropriate for Brooke’s baby shower?”
    â€œHave they changed the theme from tropical to S&M? Wait, that would probably be more fun for you,” I laughed, doing a twirl of my own. Nope, still not me.
    â€œNo, Gray might . . . might ,” she said, knocking on the wall for luck, “actually make it into this band he auditioned for yesterday. Just trying the rocker-chick look on for size in case, you know, we get to see them play out. Think he could handle my edgy side?”
    â€œThe bigger question is can you handle him handling