Lovestruck Summer (9 page)

137 I look at him, and I realize that he’s being serious. He might even be a little bit annoyed with me. “I’m seeing a lot of local bands,”I say. “I mean, I’ve been going to shows with Jade and everything.”“I just hope you’re going to more than Dirty’s,”says Russ. “Not that it’s a bad venue, but you need to be getting all the fl avor here.”“I know what I like,”I say. “It’s a certain type of music and I’m just not into stuff like bluegrass and banjos.”“Music is music, Priscilla,”says Russ. “If you love music, you give it all a listen. You see what there is to learn in every song you hear. You take chances on shows. That’s part of it.”“You think that manufactured pop count- down stuff is music?”I ask. “Lots of your indie bands end up on those charts, let’s not forget,”says Russ. “I know,”I say bitterly. “And I hate that. I hate when annoying giggly girls know one song from a great band because it just hap- pened to be on a movie soundtrack or some- thing. They’re totally co-opting the music and

138 selling out the sound.”Russ laughs. “Do you hear yourself?”he asks. “You sound like a conspiracy theorist.”“It’s true!”I say. “I loved 201 Bunnies Named Earl way before anyone else, and then one of their songs shows up in a cell phone commercial and now it’s Penny’s ringtone.”“For a smart girl, you sure say a lot of idiotic things,”says Russ. “What did you say to me?”I ask. “It’s true,”he says. “Who cares about Penny’s ringtone? If she likes the music, she likes the music. You don’t own it. You can’t tell people what to like—you can’t control who likes the bands you like.”He shakes his head. “Are you gonna go to college with that small-minded attitude?”Then he stands up and turns his back to me. He starts cleaning the grill. “I am not small-minded!”I shout, which is all I can think of to say even though I want to say something better, more biting. I settle for standing up and marching down his stairs, then up mine. I get enough stomping in to communicate the fact that I feel insulted,

139 but Russ doesn’t look up from the grill. “Thanks for the food,”I say angrily, not understanding how Russ can take me from laughing and dancing to yelling and stomping in less then fi ve minutes. “I only wish the conver- sation had been as good as the burger!”I shout, grasping for some sort of dig. “You’re welcome, Priscilla,”Russ says calmly, not turning around. Ooh, he makes me mad! I slide open the glass door, and if it weren’t so heavy I’d have a mind to slam it, but I can’t, so I just shut it tightly and fl ip the lock loudly so I’m sure Russ hears it and feels unwelcome in the condo. And that goes for my thoughts, too!

140 Chapter 13 The next morning, I wake up at eight A.M. with- out earbuds in my ears. I fell asleep in silence for the first time in a while. I hate that I let Russ get to me like that, but he made me feel like I don’t know where I stand or what I like. I couldn’t pick an album for my frustrated mood. I check my phone and see a text from Sebastian that he sent around two A.M. “Where’d u go?”it asks. I text back, “Felt sick.”Then I put the phone back on the coffee table. I can’t deal right now. It’s really early, but I know I won’t be able to fall asleep again, so I walk into the kitchen to make myself a fruit bowl—the breakfast of choice around here. I consider going outside on the deck to eat, because it might not be too hot at this hour, but I don’t want to risk seeing

141 Russ. Miss Tiara pads downstairs, and I open the sliding door to let her out for a minute. Then I notice that there’s something leaning up against the glass. It’s a CD case . . . and a cas- sette tape too. I peek around outside as I bend over to pick them up—no one in sight. I bring the gifts to the table and sit down to look them over—they’re both a mix from Russ that he called “Indie + Country = Harmony.”He made a CD and then copied it onto a tape for my car, I realize. It would be thoughtful if it weren’t kind of presumptuous. I don’t know if I want a mix from Russ. I turn the CD cover over in my hand. Russ’s writing is really messy. It’s like boys are incapa- ble of good penmanship because their hands are so energetic and spazzy. Not that my own writ- ing was ever any good—but I’m having to work really hard to read this. I recognize half the song names, but the artists aren’t ones I know. Then on the second half of the tape, there are some great bands doing songs I’ve never heard of. I realize that it must be country singers covering indie songs, and vice versa. A mix. Way to be heavy-handed, I think, as I walk

142 over to the couch and open my laptop. When I click PLAY, I hear the familiar chords of a Sure Loser song, except it’s being done in a different style. A style I’ve always been turned off by. It still doesn’t sound great to me, but I’m going to prove Russ wrong. I do give music a chance, and I am going to sit here and listen to the whole thing, song by song. Even if I hate it. And I am not putting this mix on my iPod until I’ve heard at least a few songs. No need giving up precious memory to stuff I probably won’t like. I press PAUSE and make myself a cup of coffee, because I think I’ll need it. Miss Tiara scratches at the door, so I let her back in and she jumps up on the couch to join me as I settle back into the cushions. Then I press PLAY. By the third song, I’m getting into it. Kind of. I mean, I’m not a hundred percent into the way there’s a male singer doing a Chihuahua Chicks song—it just seems wrong. When track six comes on, I have to admit that I’m hearing an excellent version of “Pretty in Black.”I’m not saying it’s better than the original, but it might be just as good. Not that I’d tell Russ that. When Penny comes down for breakfast, I’m

143 on the last song—it’s The Walters doing an old country tune called “Waltz Across Texas.”And it’s excellent. I may have to look up the original version. “I thought you didn’t like country music,”Penny says sleepily as she walks past me and into the kitchen. “I didn’t,”I say as I copy the mix onto my iPod. I spend all of Saturday with the mix, and I even convince Penny to ride in my car when we make a pet store run to get Miss Tiara’s special toothpaste so I can check out the cassette tape too. There’s something about the voices—lilting and soft, then booming and angst-filled—that reminds me of what I love about indie rock. By the fourth play, I find myself humming along to the choruses—country style. I’m still not ready to say that these songs are new favorites, but I am surprised by them. They’re not terrible. When I wake up on Sunday morning, I feel like I have a music hangover. I reach over to the coffee table to pick up my phone, and I see a text from Jade. “Derby?”it says. I have no

144 clue what she’s talking about, but when I text her back I fi nd out that she’s proposing we go see some girls on roller skates kicking ass, which sounds okay to me. Jade tells me she just wanted a girls’day out, and I’m all for that after this weird, music-fi lled weekend. She picks me up around eleven A.M. and we drive to a small stadium with a rink sur- rounded by banners that say TEXAS ROLLER- GIRLS. The teams have names like Texecutioners and Hotrod Honeys, and the women who are gearing up in pads and helmets are also dressed in amazing clothes—gingham shirts and denim skirts, or full-color jumpers. Some have braids in their hair, others wear striped knee socks. “This is hot,”I say to Jade as we take our seats near the edge of the rink. “Wait till someone collides with you,”says Jade. “You may go home with a black-eye souvenir.”I look at her and wonder if she’s kidding, but she seems serious. Jade explains to me that roller derby started in the 1930s, but kind of became a glitter-and- spandex fest in the eighties before it died out.

145 Then, a few years ago, a group of rocker girls in Austin decided to bring back the sport, com- plete with bands at the games. “It’s like a cross between a mosh pit and a burlesque show,”she says. “You know a lot about it,”I say, impressed. “I’m gonna join the league soon,”says Jade. “I hope.”I watch the players race around the track, trying to pass one another and avoid fl ying elbows and shoulders that their competitors throw to block them. “I can see why they need pads,”I say. “Go, Box-Out Betty!”shouts Jade at the top of her lungs, standing up and raising a fi st in the air. She sits back down and stares at the track. “Aren’t those girls just beautifully badass?”she says wistfully. “They really are,”I say, wondering if I could ever take the knocking and bruising with such ease. I’m kind of a wimp. When I see one of the women get a bloody nose all over her rhinestone halter, I have to look away. “Wanna get a snack?”I ask.

146 “Sure,”Jade says, walking with me to the concession stand, but not taking her eyes off the rink. “So how do you feel about seeing Rick on Monday?”I ask when we get out of the loud section of the stadium. “Okay,”she says. “I mean, better than I did Friday night when I had that crying jag.”I give her a sympathetic look. “Ugh, sorry about that,”she continues. “I acted like such a tool.”“Nah,”I say. “It’s totally understandable. Rick’s the one who should be embarrassed, taking advantage of you like that.”“Hey!”says Jade, swatting my arm. “I did the seducing, you know.”“True,”I say. “You’re such a vamp.”She laughs and orders a ginger ale. I’m glad she’s feeling better, but I’m sure there’s more drama to come on Monday. You can’t hook up with your boss and have things at the offi ce be normal. When we get back to our rinkside seats, Jade tells me to be quiet. “Huh?”I ask.

147 “You’re getting that song stuck in my head,”she says. “If that happens, I won’t be able to stop singing it for hours.”“What song?”I ask. “The one you’ve been humming, like, all day,”she says. What is she talking about? “What are you talk- ing about?”I ask. “Quinn, there is hard rock pumping through these speakers, and you’re obsessing over some old country song,”she says. “I think it’s by Loretta Lynn, right? My dad used to love her.”I tune into my subconscious and hear a B-side track on Russ’s mix running through my head. “It’s from the mix,”I say, almost to myself. “What mix?”asks Jade absentmindedly. She’s watching someone from the Texecutioners get taken down hard. The derby girl slams into the ground after an elbow gets thrown at her from the side. “Oh, nothing,”I say. “Just this thing Russ made.”“Russ?!”Jade asks, snapping her head toward me. “He made you a mix?”“It’s not really like a mix mix,”I say. “It’s

148 more like his way of trying to get me to like country music.”“He probably wants to get you to like more than country music,”says Jade. “He wants you to like country guys. And from the tone of your humming, it sounds like it’s working.”“Is not!”I shout. “Whatever,”says Jade. I focus on the game in front of me, where one skater named Daisy Hazzard is passing every- one and earning huge cheers from the crowd. “He’s getting to you, isn’t he?”asks Jade. “This frat cowboy.”“No,”I say. “I’m really into Sebastian.”Jade perks up then. “He’s so completely hot,”she says. “So are you guys full-on dating or what?”“I think so,”I say. “I mean, we’ve been hang- ing out, like, twice a week.”“Right,”says Jade. “Defi nitely. He’s yours. Unless you’re starting to like someone else or something. . . .”“I’m not,”I say. “Okay, cool,”says Jade, sipping on her straw and getting back into the game.

149 “Go, Chrisifi er!”she stands up and shouts as a buxom blond girl with awesomely ripped thigh muscles makes another successful loop around the track. When Chrisifi er faces me, I freeze. It’s Chrissy! “Oh my God, I know that girl,”I say to Jade. “Who, Chrisifi er?”asks Jade. “She is balls- out competitive. I’ve seen her make other girls cry before—and this isn’t a crying group of girls.”“Seriously?”I ask. “She’s my cousin’s soror- ity sister and she comes over all the time to watch romantic comedies—and she cries.”“That’s so cool,”says Jade, missing the part about Chrissy’s penchant for cheesy movies. “You get to hang out with Chrisifi er!”“I had no idea,”I say, as I watch her body- check another victim. Do I really have Chrissy all wrong? I hate to admit it, but I had her pegged as a girly girl who wears pink and weeps during The Bachelor and shrieks so loudly that my ears hurt when something scares her. That might all be true, but there’s a lot more to this girl than

150 I assumed. Which makes me wonder who else I’ve maybe unfairly stereotyped. I’m quiet for the rest of the game, and I don’t let Chrissy see me before we leave. “You don’t wanna go say hi and congratu- late her?”asks Jade. Chrissy’s massive scoring power—not to mention her herculean defensive moves—defi nitely won the game for her team. “Nah,”I say. “I’ll see her later.”On the drive back to the condo, I text Sebastian. “Who are you texting?”asks Jade. “My best friend from home,”I lie. I don’t want her to know that I’m actually asking Sebastian if he’ll make me a mix of his favorite songs to spin right now. When I get that, I’ll have proof that he and I have something going. And I’ll have something else to listen to besides Russ’s manipulative soundtrack. “So what did you do yesterday?”asks Jade. “I just hung out with my cousin,”I say. “We listened to music mostly.”“Like Mr. Muscle’s Mix?”asks Jade, laughing. I don’t respond.

151 When Jade drops me off, I walk up to the condo and unlock the door. Then I fl op down on the couch, slip in my earbuds, and press PLAY. Music usually clarifi es everything for me- helps me know how I feel, what I think, what the truth is. But right now the playlist I want to hear just confuses me more.

152 Chapter 14 When I get into work on Monday, Jade is wearing a summer jumpsuit in bright purple and her hair is definitely done. As in, red movie- star waves cascading down her tanned, exposed shoulders. I look down at my Pursued by Bear concert T-shirt and, for the fi rst time, feel a little . . . I don’t know . . . frumpy? “Someone’s dressed to impress,”I say, set- tling into my mail-opening corner. “What ever do you mean?”asks Jade, bat- ting her eyelashes at me. We both start laughing. “Not that it did me any good,”Jade says. “Rick’s out of town this week.”“That’s convenient,”I say. “Yeah,”she says. “Cowardly bastard.”

153 I take in her smile and her straight-backed posture. Jade looks okay. She looks . . . over it. “Hey, Quinn,”she says, looking at me ear- nestly. “Thanks for this weekend.”“No big deal,”I say. “No, truly,”she says. “I really appreciate you listening to me on Friday night. And the derby was so much fun—it was just what I needed.”“Sure,”I say, using a box cutter to open the biggest box in the mail pile. It’s a bunch of Chipped Nail Polish T-shirts—they’re a new punk girl-band. “Those are for a fall festival,”says Jade. “Let’s put them in the closet.”We walk to the back room and lift the heavy box onto a mid-level shelf. Being in here, I can’t help but picture Jade hooking up with Rick. And then my own fantasy comes to mind. I imagine myself in here, making out with—“So did you see Russ last night?”asks Jade. I can’t tell if she’s mocking me or not. I also don’t think she’d approve of Russ. I mean, he’s not really her type, if Rick and Sebastian are any indication. “Nope,”I say. “He wasn’t around. But