Lovestruck Summer

by Melissa Walker

  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 t
hen. “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

  154 Sebastian’s making me a mix of all his favorite songs from this summer.”I might be lying about that last part—I haven’t heard back from Sebastian—but I’m sure he’ll do that for me. I mean, 1) He’s a DJ, and 2) We’re pretty much dating. So why wouldn’t he? “That’s romantic,”says Jade. “Does he know he has competition in the mix department this summer?”“No,”I say. “He just wanted to make it.”I feel bad lying to Jade, but sometimes I present situations in the way I wish they were. Like, I wish Sebastian would think to make me a mix on his own . . . but he hasn’t. So I have to help it along. But Jade doesn’t need to know that detail. “Well, it sounds sweet,”says Jade. “And I bet there won’t be a single country song on it.”“Who knows,”I say. “Maybe Sebastian has broader taste than you think.”And I suddenly realize that I hope he does. This week, I go into Amalgam for a few hours each day, partly to help Jade out while Rick’s gone, but also—I admit to myself—to avoid any Russ run-ins. With all the driving I’m doing, I

  155 can sing almost every song on his mix, lyric for lyric. On Thursday afternoon, when I skip out of the offi ce after a morning of unpacking boxes and mailing out CDs, I come home to fi nd Russ sitting on the couch watching baseball. “Priscilla!”he shouts when I walk in the door. My stomach fl ip-fl ops when I see his smile, but I will myself to be cool. Besides, it’s annoy- ing that he’s just over here, like he’s allowed to enter my world anytime he pleases. I drop my keys on the entryway table and give him an unenthusiastic “Hi.”“No thank-you for the mix?”he asks. “Thanks,”I say, lingering in the doorway. “That’ll do,”he says. “For now.”I roll my eyes and walk into the kitchen. “Ready to get wet?”he calls after me. And although Barton Springs on a hot day is amazing, I just can’t go back there with him. “Not really,”I say, opening the fridge to look for a snack. “I have some things to do.”“Like what?”asks Russ, calling my bluff. I panic a little because I have nothing that I

  156 need to be doing. My eyes dart to the kitchen island, where there’s a half-used shell-pink polish that Penny was painting her nails with last night. “I have to, um, meet Penny for a manicure,”I say. Russ guffaws. That is actually the word I think of when he laughs—guffaw. It’s huge and loud and it comes from deep inside, like he truly thinks I just said the funniest thing in the world. “Come on!”he says. “We’re going tubing!”I wonder briefl y if he needs me to come with him to buy materials to build a robot, but I fi nd out soon enough that he’s talking about us going for a ride down the Guadalupe River, which is about half an hour outside of Austin. I’m about to protest some more, but then the phone rings. It’s Penny, who informs me that a bunch of the Tri-Pi sisters are coming over for chips and dips and fruity drinks before they go out tonight, so can I please make sure the living room is straightened up? “I’m in,”I tell Russ immediately after I hang up with Penny. The orange bikini I wore to Barton Springs is still hanging downstairs in the half bathroom,

  157 and I change into it while Russ runs next door to get “supplies.”I meet him outside at his truck, completely covered in sunscreen. I brought the bottle with me so I can reapply all day and make sure he does too. I’m wearing my dark aviator glasses and wishing I had a hat. Luckily, Russ has a selection in his truck. “I don’t really want to wear a jock cap,”I say, looking at all the UT frat hats in the backseat. “That’s what you need in the river,”says Russ. “Anything else will fl y off your head. Besides, these you can dunk in the water and not worry about it.”Practicality wins, and I put on an orange UT cap that matches my bikini. I am fully aware of the fact that if I take off the band T-shirt that’s covering me, I’ll look like a damn cheerleader. When we get to the river and unload at the parking lot, Russ reaches into the back of his truck and grabs a dirt-covered pair of sneakers for me. “Put these on,”he says. “They’re river shoes. You’ll lose those fl ip-fl ops.”I have a lot to learn about tubin
g. Russ rents a black rubber tube for each of us, plus an extra

  158 cooler-tube, which he fi lls with sodas and snacks from the store attached to the rental place. I help him carry our third-wheel tube out to the river, and then he ties it to his own tube with a cord. “Seriously?”I ask. “Seriously,”he says. “This is how we roll down the Guadalupe.”I keep my T-shirt over Penny’s bikini, which I still don’t feel comfortable in. As soon as I push off the ground and start fl oating, I realize I forgot my sunscreen. “Crap!”I shout. “I’m going to burn.”“Hey, ’Cilla,”says Russ, raising his sun- glasses to look me in the eye. “Relax, breathe, and try to have fun. You’re too uptight sometimes.”He guffaws at me—again—and sits back in his tube. Am I uptight? I don’t think I’m uptight. I think Russ thinks I’m uptight, but he doesn’t know me at all. He just met me and already he thinks he’s so smart about what I should think and say and be. He doesn’t even know—Whoosh! I drop down a sloping rapid and almost fl ip over in my tube. I manage to hold on to the sides and get myself upright before I go

  Lovestruck Summer