Lovestruck Summer

by Melissa Walker

  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

  33 of CDs, and she has a few cases spread out in front of her. “Who’re you?”“I’m Quinn Parker,”I say, hoping my name means something to her. “I’m the summer intern.”She looks at me warily. “I’m the summer intern,”she says. Just then, a scruffy guy in corduroys and a white cotton undershirt comes through the front door. “Are the demos in order, Jade?”he asks, not looking at me. “Almost,”she says. “Good. Because I need to have them ready for—”Then he stops and glances over at me. “Who’re you?”he asks. It’s the question of the morning. I try to stand tall, like I belong here, but that’s getting more uncertain by the minute. “I’m Quinn Parker,”I say. “Um, is Rick around?”I invoke the only name that I have, the only evidence of my late-night-phone-call arrangement. “I’m Rick,”says Shaggy Man, who is defi nitely

  34 too old to be my indie Supreme. He must be at least thirty. “Oh,”I start. “Well, I called a couple of weeks ago and set up this internship for the summer with someone, and he said I could start today and to ask for Rick so I’m just—”Ramble much? “Wait, wait—”Rick laughs and merci- fully interrupts me. “Did you call really late at night?”“Yes!”I say, dorkily hopeful. “That was me!”“Oh, man,”he says, sitting down atop one of the many cardboard boxes near Jade. “I thought that was my sister’s friend joking around.”He slaps his hand on his leg like something is so funny. “We really only need one intern,”Rick con- tinues. “We’re not a big operation here.”I look down at the blue carpet, not sure what to say. I should have called again. Who just shows up at an internship without any details? I was so excited to be offered the job, I guess I wanted to believe it would work out. If this internship falls through I don’t know what I’ll

  35 do. I want to tell him that I’m a huge fan of all the bands on Amalgam. I start spontaneously imagining all the things I would do for this job: 1) I would go on coffee runs. 2) I would organize closets. 3) I would carry band gear—anything it takes. But I’m afraid that eagerly voicing my obsessive list might not be cool. So all I do is look at him. I can feel that my eyes are a little desperate. Jade is giving me an intense stare. I can feel that too. Rick looks around at the pile of packages around him. “Well, Mondays are pretty hectic,”he says, scratching his chin stubble. “Jade here can probably use a hand unpacking and organiz- ing. And there’s a big festival we’re working on for the beginning of August, so around then we might need more hands. Right, Jade?”I look down at Jade and smile. She shrugs. “Whatever,”she says. “Sweet,”says Rick, standing up to shake my hand. “Welcome to Amalgam, Quinn the late-night caller.”

  36 “Thanks!”I say, allowing myself a huge beaming smile. “Just Mondays, now,”he says. “There’s only one intern desk, and Jade here’s been working on it for a while.”“No problem, sir,”I say. Oooh, sir? That word sounds so stupid out loud. He laughs and shakes his head as he walks by us to the back part of the offi ce. I notice Jade’s also shaking her head. But not laughing. She looks up at me with those gorgeously messy eyes. “Well, sit down and start unpacking!”she snaps. I join her on the fl oor and grab a pair of scis- sors to open up my fi rst box. I don’t care if she’s mad. I am offi cially offi cial. Well, on Mondays. Yes! Jade warms up to me slowly as I help her get everything in order. She tells me that she grew up in west Texas, and that her older brother’s band used to be on Amalgam, before they split up. She’d always wanted to check out Austin, so her brother helped her set up this internship and she’s staying in his apartment while he’s on

  37 a solo tour for the summer. “I’ve already been here for a month,”she says. She explains to me that on Mondays, there are usually a bunch of packages—demos from wannabe Amalgam bands, inventory shipments that need to be cataloged for the music closet, and general inquiries from fans and managers. “It’s like the big mail day,”she says. “And I guess Rick’s right—I can use the help. On Mondays.”It’s very clear to me that I’m going to have to fi nd something else to occupy my time Tuesday through Friday this summer. We alphabetize Amalgam CDs, fi le fan let- ters in “To Read”folders on top of the desk, and make a stack of new artist demos. When we get to an advance copy of the Walters’new album, I jump up. “The Walters are my favorite band,”I say. “Uh, that’s cool,”says Jade, grabbing the CD from my hand. “This is top secret though, so . . .”“Oh, sure,”I say. “I mean, I wasn’t going to take it or anything.”Jade silently goes back to opening boxes.

  38 “But do you think we could maybe listen to it?”I ask. I can’t help myself. “Calm down, fan-girl,”says Jade. “Maybe later we can ask Rick, okay?”“Okay,”I say. “I love opening all this stuff, by the way.”I really mean it. There are new bands to discover in every package, amazingly decorated fan letters, and mailings about every show in town. “It gets old,”she says. “You’re jaded,”I say. “No, I’m Jade,”she replies, making a seri- ous face. We both burst out laughing then, and the slight tension that’s remained between us seems cleared. “I’m from North Carolina,”I say, realizing that Jade hasn’t asked me a single question since we’ve been sitting here, but I’m ready to talk to her more now that the ice is broken. “Cool,”she says, not paying much attention. “Yeah, so I’m down here staying with my cousin Penny in her condo,”I s
ay. “But I have to sleep on the couch because her cross-dressing dog has the second bedroom.”

  39 “What?”asks Jade, suddenly interested. “Seriously!”I say. “Penny’s this huge soror- ity girl at UT with metallic Tri-Pi letters and a rush book and the requisite little white dog even!”Jade laughs. “Penny sounds like a total character,”she says. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it this summer,”I say, feeling slightly guilty about diss- ing Penny with the fi rst stranger I meet, but also relieved to have someone to talk to who might understand my objections. “You can hang out with me if you want,”says Jade nonchalantly. “I mean, I’m not from Austin, but I know the scene here. Amalgam people have to go to a lot of shows and stuff.”“Yeah, cool,”I say. Inside, I’m ecstatic. I think I just made my fi rst real friend here. “So do you have a boyfriend?”asks Jade as we walk outside to a taco stand at the edge of the parking lot to grab some lunch. “Nope,”I say, choosing a fi sh taco and a Coke while Jade gets a bean burrito. We sit down on the parking lot curb to eat,