Page 1 of Infatuation

One

Josh

Oh my fucking God. What’s wrong with Jonas this time? I’m so worried I’m jumping out of my skin. I look out the window of the limo, wracked with the same sense of dread I always feel when Jonas calls me with that barely contained panic in his voice. Of course, I dropped everything and immediately caught the next flight to Seattle, just like I always do—but this time, unlike every other time, I don’t have a clue what’s happened to freak Jonas out. And that, in turn, freaksmeout.

“Hey,” I call up to the limo driver. “Can you change the channel to something a bit more mellow, please?” The song blaring in my ear is “I’m Too Sexy” by Right Said Fred, definitely not a song that’s gonna calm my jangling nerves.

“How’s this?” the driver says, switching to another station on the radio. The song playing now is “Mad World” by Tears for Fears.

“Yeah,” I say, smirking to myself. “Leave it here. Thanks.”

When I saw my brother’s incoming call on my phone earlier this evening, I figured Jonas had gotten back from his trip to Belize with the “most amazing girl ever,” the one and only Sarah Cruz, the magical, mystical unicorn he hacked into U Dub’s server to find, sight unseen, and that he was calling to slobber all over the phone about how “amazing” she is. But the minute I heard his voice, I knew he wasn’t calling to babble happily about his Belizian getaway with his new crush—I knew something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Are you okay? Is Sarah okay?” I asked him, my stomach twisting into knots.

“Yeah, I’m okay. The trip was incredible—Sarah’s incredible,” Jonas replied. But before I could exhale with any kind of relief, hesaid something that sent me reeling: “It’s The Club, Josh. It’s total bullshit—a fucking scam. I think Sarah’s in danger—like, maybeseriousdanger.”

What the fuck? I couldn’t process what that statement could possibly mean.

Mad World, indeed.

It’s been well over three hours since Jonas called and said those bizarre words, and I still haven’t figured out what the fuck he meant by them.The Club’s a scam? Well, no, it isn’t, Jonas. I happen to know through my own personal experience it’s one hundred percentnota scam. I can personally attest that I filled out my application, paid my money, and got exactly what I asked for, to the letter, in multiple cities, over the course of one very awesome and cathartic month. So what’s the fucking scam?

The more likely scenario is that Jonas didn’t get what he asked for because, whatever it was, it was literally impossible to deliver. Knowing him, he probably asked for something only some magical combination of the circus, the philosophy department at Yale, andAmerican Ninja Warriorcould have delivered. And that’s what he thinks of as ascam? Maybe this is a wanton case of “it’s not them, it’syou.”

Shit. When I told Jonas about The Club in the first place, I should have told him, “Dude, when you fill out your application, less is more. Just go for the big one or two things you’re dying for and leave it at that. You can only do so much in one month, trust me—don’t get too ambitious.” I shake my head. Jonas is so fucking bad with women, I swear to God—and he always has been. They fall all over themselves the minute they see him, of course—everywhere he goes women practically throw their panties at him. But then he opens his fucking mouth and starts quoting fucking Plato and talking in riddles and looking like a fucking serial killer and they run away, screaming in bloody terror. (God only knows how he tricked this Sarah girl into sticking around for so long. Hell, maybe she has a thing for Plato, too, for all I know.)

But for the sake of argument, let’s say The Club is some kind of scam (which it’s not); how the fuck could that possibly mean this new girl of Jonas’ is in some kind of danger—let alone “serious” danger? I can’t wrap my brain around any of it. The only thing I can think isthat Jonas must have met Sarah in The Club? But that makes no sense. When I asked Jonas about his membership not too long ago, he said he’d applied but had gotten hopelessly distracted by his quest to get laid by his mystery law student.

I’m just so fucking confused. I look out the window of the limo, listening to the song for a long minute.

Frankly, I’m really worried that all this rambling is a sign that Jonas is having some sort of psychotic break again. And if that’s what’s really going on, why now? As far as I know, my brother’s been in full beast mode lately. I mean, shit, just last week when we negotiated the acquisition of all those rock-climbing gyms, he was in tiptop form, kicking ass and taking names like the beast he is. He was a sight to see, actually—he sure out-beasted me by a fucking mile. Of course, he couldn’t stop talking about this Sarah chick the whole three days I was with him—which is so unlike him, at first I wasn’t sure if he was punking me—but I didn’t see that as any cause for alarm. In fact, I was happy for him.

But now, I’m wondering if his obsession with her was a sign that things weren’t completely right in his head.

Actually, I was a tad bit worried when he called me in the first place, barking at me to find some random girl who’d sent him an email. (Any time Jonas gets ultra-obsessed about something, it’s usually not a good sign for his mental health.) But, much to my relief and surprise, the magical, mystical Sarah Cruz turned out to be well worth his effort, a truly fantastic girl. The minute I met her during our mutual limo ride to the airport, I thought,Now here’s a girl who’s gonna bring out the very best in my brother.She’s absolutely adorable. And I can certainly understand the physical attraction, too, I don’t mind admitting.

So what the fuck happened in the four days between that limo ride and today that made Jonas’ wheels fall off his cart?

Downtown Seattle is whizzing past me outside my car window.

I exhale and shake my head.

I’m so fucking worried right now, I can’t think straight. I just wish I understood what’s going on with Jonas. And The Club. And Sarah? I shake my head again. What the fuck did Jonas mean she might be in serious danger?

My phone buzzes with a text and I look down.

“Hey, Josh!” the text says. “Loooooooooooong time no see. How ya doing, baby? LOL!”

I chuckle in surprise. Now there’s a name I never expected (or particularly wanted) to see on my phone again:Jennifer LeMonde. I admit I was dazzled by the girl’s pedigree (and slamming body) when we dated for four or five months when I was twenty-three—chalk that up to youth and being stoned out of my mind half the time—but once the initial heat and the novelty of her Grammy-winning daddy and Oscar-winning mommy wore off, not to mention the weed, I quickly realized Jen was very likely the least interesting girl in the world. And that’s when I decided once and for all to pull my shit together and lay off the weed and fulfill my family obligations in earnest. And I’ve stayed on track ever since, other than during the occasional short vacations of total debauchery I’ve allowed myself over the years (which I’m not sorry about, by the way). Honestly, my little sojourns into hedonism have helped me stay the course, something I’ve been bound and determined to do, not just for me, but for Jonas, too. I mean, let’s face it, Jonas and I can’t both be on the verge of a nervous breakdown at all times, and Jonas long ago called dibs on that role.

“Hey, Jen,” I type. “It’s been a long time. What’s up?”

“Have you seen what’s going on with Isabel lately? OMG!”

“Yeah. Hard to miss. Good for her. I’m thrilled for her,” I type.

I’m being sincere. From what I remember of Isabel from seven years ago, she’s a really sweet girl. I’m honestly thrilled all her dreams of stardom are coming true.

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