Lovestruck Summer (2 page)

15 uncle, bought for her. And one that she prob- ably doesn’t have to pay for at all anyway. Oops, was that a negative rant I just went on? I’m working on that. “We three are going to be just like sis- ters here!”Penny giggles. “Well, sisters and a brother.”Please don’t tell me there’s a frat boy in the closet. “Brother?”I ask. “Oh, Miss Tiara’s a boy,”whispers Penny, covering the dog’s ears. “He just likes to be in drag, and he prefers to be referred to as ‘she.’There’s a really cool cross-dresser named Leslie who walks around town, and Miss Tiara has just taken to him as a role model.”I laugh. It’s the fi rst thing my cousin’s said all day that’s weird in a good way. “Want some fruit?”asks Penny. I nod as she puts down Miss Tiara and we head downstairs. I look at the couch—my bed—as we pass through the living room. It is pretty plush. And I notice that there’s a cord on the stereo next to the TV, where I can plug in my iPod and listen to music. There’s even a slid- ing glass door past the kitchen that leads out

16 to the deck in the back, which looks like a nice spot to hang out. “Honeybell orange?”asks Penny when we get to the kitchen. She’s holding out a bulbous citrus fruit. “They’re a cross between tangerines and ruby red grapefruit.”We settle onto two barstools and share our fi rst Austin snack.

17 Chapter 3 By early evening, I have my “bed”all set up and my duffel bag unpacked. Penny cleared a drawer for me in a chest that sits in the living room, and I took over a shelf in the small stor- age closet under the stairs. My cousin also made space in Miss Tiara’s closet for any dresses I brought. When I told her all I had were T-shirts, jeans, and one jean skirt in case we went out to a nice dinner sometime, she gasped. Then she immediately got out some fabric scissors and insisted that I make at least one of my four pairs of jeans into cutoffs. I protested, but she grabbed me by the sleeve and marched me over to the deck door, sliding it open and gesturing wildly with her pink nails. “Quinn! It is just too hot out there for you to be running around in full-leg pants!”

18 After a blast of heat, I had to agree. But when she tried to BeDazzle the hems of my new cut- offs with pink-and-purple rhinestones, I put my foot down. There’s a large, overstuffed chair in the corner of the living room right next to the stereo. It’s pink with yellow fl owers on it, and it’s a little fussy, but it has a great footrest. After I fi nish unpacking, I settle into it with my iPod and listen to the Walters. As I’m drifting off into a state of music- induced bliss, I feel a rapid vibration and open my eyes to see Penny rushing down the stairs in a blur of pastel. She opens the front door and there’s a blond girl in a Tri-Pi T-shirt, the purple letters stretched over her ginormous boobs. I briefl y wonder if this is the recently surgeried friend, and then I see a guy standing behind her. He has curly reddish-brown hair and he’s actually wearing a checked shirt that’s tucked into his jeans with a big belt buckle. I smirk. This guy is like a walking cowboy poster. I glance down at his feet and am surprised that he’s wear- ing Converse and not spur-studded boots.

19 He and Penny are saying hello, and then he turns to face me just as the song on my iPod changes to my favorite slow track. It’s the one that I want to be “our song.”Well, not mine and this cowboy guy’s, of course, although as he walks over to me, his smile grows and I spot two dimples on the sides of his tanned cheeks. He looks incredibly tall from this angle . . . and there’s one curl that hangs in the middle of his forehead . . . and, wow, can anyone’s eyes really be that blue? “Quinn!”I hear Penny shouting through my musical haze. “Quinn!”I press STOP and stand up, realizing that I’ve just been staring at Mr. Cowboy while he’s been trying to shake my hand. I stumble over the footrest but try to play it off as I reach out for what I’m sure is going to be a brutish shake. “I’m Quinn,”I say. “Call me Russ,”he says, taking my hand gently and kissing it. Whoa. Do people really do that outside of the movies? Weird. He looks over at Penny. “I thought you told me her name was Priscilla,”he says.

20 I glare at my cousin. She knows how much I don’t like that name. “She goes by Quinn,”says Penny, ignoring my death stare. “Pleasure to meet you, Priscilla,”says Russ, grinning back at me. I’ve known the guy fi ve seconds and he’s already trying to annoy me—and succeeding. He may be cute, but that doesn’t mean I need to humor him. I give him a tight-lipped smile. “I’m Chrissy,”says boob-girl, rushing over and giving me a fi erce hug. I must look taken aback, because then she says, “I’m a hugger! But I know some people aren’t. Sorry—did I just totally weird you out?”“No,”I lie. “It’s okay.”“Quinn is an indie-rock girl,”says Penny, like that inane label explains something about why I might shirk a stranger’s hug. “Oh, what are you listening to?”asks Russ, reaching down for my iPod. I snatch it up before he can get it. “My favor- ite band,”I say. “They’re called the Walters, but I doubt you’d know them.”

21 “They’re from Austin,”says Russ. “Of course I know them!”Oh, right. Well, just because they’re local doesn’t mean he really listens to them. “Let me guess,”continues Russ, “your favor- ite album is Look for It.”I blanch a little. He’s right. Russ laughs. “It’s okay—when I was your age that was my favorite one too.”“I’m eighteen,”I say, annoyed. “That was my guess,”he says. “Well, how old are you?”I ask. He can’t be more than nineteen. “I’m twenty,”he says. “And there’s a big dif- ference, Miss Priscilla.”“Don’t antagonize my cousin!”shouts Penny. Miss Tiara bounds down the stairs to join us. “Mr. T!”shouts Russ. “What’s up, man?”“Russ, I’ve told you she likes to be called Miss Tiara,”hisses Penny. “I’m sorry, PP, but that dog is a boy, and I know you’re committed to torturing him with necklaces and frilly dresses, but I’m not going

22 to participate.”Russ winks at me. “PP?”I ask, not sure I want to know. “Party Penny!”shouts Chrissy. “It’s Penny’s nickname. And now since she’s Tri-Pi President, we might call her PPP!”“Why not just make it PPPPPP for Pi Pi Pi President Party Penny?”I ask with a slight sneer. “That’s kind of a mouthful,”says Chrissy, not catching my sarcasm. I look over at Russ and he’s gazing at me intently, like he’s trying to fi gure out something about me. It’s a little disquieting. “I’m starving,”says Penny. “Quinn, we’re taking you out to dinner.”“What kind of food do you like?”asks Chrissy, barreling ahead before I can answer her question. “Let’s go to Shady Grove. Hopefully we can get an outdoor table. Do you maybe wanna change out of your jeans? You might get hot. It’s cooler at night, but I still think you’d be more comfortable in a skirt or—”“I’m fi ne,”I say, wondering how I’m ever going to make it through dinner with Miss Tri-Pi

23 Chatterbox and Russ the wannabe cowboy. “Are you sure?”Chrissy asks. “Because I could loan you a sundress or something. I’ve got a bunch next door.”“Oh, you live next door?”I ask. “We both do,”says Russ. “We share the condo to the left of Penny’s as you walk out the door. Which means our walls touch yours.”Is he trying to be weird? “Uh . . . cool,”I say. “They’ve been roommates forever but they haven’t hooked up since freshman year,”says Penny, grabbing her car keys and opening the front door. “Cool,”I say again, not sure why Penny thinks I care about that information. “Yup,”says Russ, holding open the door for me as the hot air hits my face and makes me want to run back inside. “We’re right there in case you need anything.”“Great,”I say, folding my arms across my chest. I follow Penny and Chrissy out to the car. This is going to be a long night.

24 * * * The place where we go, Shady Grove, is pretty great. We have to wait a few minutes for an outdoor table under this big tree (a pecan tree, Russ tells me), and there are hanging lights and wagon wheels and potted plants and the buzz of laughter all around. When we sit down, I see there’s a huge menu, but I zero in on the tortilla fried catfish. “There’s a girl who knows how to order,”says Russ when I tell the waiter what I want. I give Russ an unamused smile, hoping to discourage further conversation. I get off the hook for a while as Chrissy starts rambling about the trip she’s going to take to Hawaii in the winter, and how she hopes the girls who rush Tri-Pi next year aren’t “just in it for the glory.”She and Penny have a serious back-and-forth about that while I try not to look incredulous. This is so not my scene. After a few minutes, Russ brings the spot- light back to me. “So, Priscilla, what’s a Carolina girl doing this far west in the summertime?”he asks.

25 I have the urge to stab my fork into his big dumb hand. But it’s not worth it to get into a “My name is Quinn!”fi ght with him—I prob- ably won’t see him again after tonight. At least, not if I can help it. “I’m interning at Amalgam Records,”I say, pleased with myself for having such a badass answer. “Sweet, really?!”he says, his eyes lighting up. “Man, I’ve wanted to hang out at that place ever since I moved to Austin. How did you land that?”“It was, uh, this really complicated pro- cess,”I say, reaching for my iced tea and taking a big swig in the hopes that Chatty Chrissy will start talking about something else and distract everyone. Gulp, gulp. They’re all still looking at me expectantly. “Yeah, you know,”I continue. “It has to do with grades and my experience in the music scene in North Carolina and all that.”“That’s super fun!”says Chrissy, leaning in on her elbows so the Tri-Pi lettering on her T-shirt is practically bouncing off the table.

26 “Are they paying you?”“No,”I say. “It’s kind of like a volunteer thing. But, you know, highly selective volun- teering.”“That’s cool,”says Russ. “When do you start?”“Monday?”I say unconvincingly. I think I’m starting on Monday. It’s not like I’ve had any confi rmation since that middle-of-the-night phone commitment. But it seemed like a solid internship offer, right? “You don’t sound very sure,”says Russ, leaning back as the waiter puts his meat loaf plate in front of him. Who orders meat loaf anyway? That’s like what you beg your mom not to make for dinner. Yuck. I give Russ an exasperated look. “I’m sure,”I say. “Monday.”I’m starting to sweat and I real- ize that it’s very possible I’ll come home with pit stains on my favorite Walters concert tee, which puts me in an even worse mood. “You don’t like to smile very much, do you, Priscilla?”Russ asks rhetorically, shak- ing his head and chuckling as he looks down at his messy plate.

27 “Not at some people,”I say testily, digging into my fi sh. “You look about as mean as that catfi sh probably used to,”says Russ, still grinning. He catches my eye for a moment and I sup- press a chuckle—I have to give him props for a pretty good insult, but I’m not going to laugh out loud at my own expense. By the end of dinner, Russ has slung pre- cisely three more barbs my way, two of them witty enough to make me crack a smile. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was fl irting with me. He is undeniably hot in that generic kind of way—great body, huge smile, fl ashing dimples, and those deep blue eyes—but he’s such a frat boy. I could never fall for someone like that. And besides, he’s infuriating to talk to. Just as we’re leaving, a band starts setting up outside. “It’s Southern Cuz,”says Chrissy excitedly, pausing by the exit. “Just like Priscilla and Penny . . . cousins from Dixie.”Russ grins. “We should stay.”We stand there for another minute while the band plugs in and tunes up, but when the fi rst

28 strains of the opening song start, I know I have to leave. I tug on Penny’s arm. “I hate country music,”I whisper through clenched teeth. “What?”she asks, clapping her hands to the beat and hardly turning around. “I hate country music!”I shout, way too loudly. The back half of the restaurant turns to scowl at me. I look over at Russ and he’s nodding at me knowingly, like that bit of information doesn’t surprise him. “What?”I ask. “I just don’t like it.”“Maybe you don’t know enough about it,”he says, challenging me. “Come on, ladies, let’s get Priscilla here home so she can tune out the world with her iPod and listen to the Walters. Again.”On the drive back to the condo complex, I am fuming. Russ just totally dismissed my opin- ion and practically called me a musical ignora- mus. I bet I know way more than he does. When we get home, I jump out of the car and sprint up to Penny’s door, holding my copy

29 of the house key. My cousin waves good night to Chrissy and Russ. “Great to meet you, Quinn!”shouts Chrissy, and I give her a quick wave in return. “Night, Priscilla,”says Russ. Hmph. “I’m glad you guys all get along,”says Penny when we get inside. Is she blind? “Chrissy pretty much lives here half the time,”she continues. “And Russ loves my place because I have a bigger TV than they do and nicer furniture.”Not in the dog’s room, I think. “Yeah,”I say, not wanting to cause trouble. “They seem okay.”It doesn’t matter what I think about her friends because I don’t plan to spend much time hanging around here. As soon as I start my internship and meet more of my kind of people, I have a feeling I’ll hardly ever be at Penny’s. Then I won’t have to deal with that exasperat- ing Russ. When I snuggle down onto my couch bed

30 that night, headphones in place, I dream of the angst-fi lled and sensitive lead singer (or guitar- ist . . . or drummer . . . or keyboardist . . . or, ooh, maybe a lead-singing keyboardist) who awaits me once I get to work at Amalgam Records.

31 Chapter 4 Penny lets me borrow her car for my first day at Amalgam, although I’m going to have to figure out an alternate form of transportation at some point. I guess I assumed the bus system in Austin would be amazing or at least serviceable, but I was wrong. Yesterday I spent all afternoon trying to get across town, and I got lost four times. I think I need a car. Thank goodness, Penny isn’t territorial about her BMW. It was nice to drive today, even though I’m embarrassed as I step out of the cherry red Beamer. How eighties-movie prep can I get? Amalgam Records is in the middle of a row of stores that includes a Michael’s crafts and a Kerr Drugs. That kind of surprises me. I mean, I wasn’t picturing some LA–style round

32 skyscraper, but a strip mall? As I push open the glass door with AMAL- GAM spelled out in worn orange lettering, I real- ize my heart is speeding up a little bit. Maybe I should have called again to confi rm the intern- ship. What if they turn me away? I’m wearing a thrift-store T-shirt that says SIP AND SAIL TAVERN, ONEONTA, NY. I’ve never been to Oneonta, New York, let alone the bar, but the mustard yellow color of the shirt—combined with its just-worn- enough softness—makes it a favorite. I hope I look right. But not in a way that makes it seem like I tried to look right. “Hey,”I say to the girl who’s sitting on the blue industrial carpet near the entrance. She’s got huge, open brown eyes and thin lips, and her head looks somehow too big for her body. Her long dyed-red hair is shaggy and unkempt, but in a cool way, like she just stayed up all night and rolled into work. Actually, that’s what her eye makeup looks like too—smudged around the edges but still luminous. “Hey,”she says back, not smiling. She’s sitting among a bunch of cardboard boxes full