Lovestruck Summer

by Melissa Walker

  61 fi elds around us look peaceful and still, and I lean back in the seat and stare over the hori- zon. It might be one of the only times in my life when there isn’t music playing, but I feel per- fectly content. After a few minutes, Russ slows down in front of a giant old barn surrounded by broken- down-looking cars. I’m sad the drive is over, to be honest, and also that the wind is no longer keeping me cool. The heat feels like a hot blan- ket clinging tightly to my body. I step down onto a dusty driveway, and Russ puts two fi ngers in his mouth to whistle. It is loud. “That’s a skill I never learned,”I say to him. “It’s handy,”he says, smiling down at me. “Here comes Albie.”“Y’all want a piña colada?”shouts the old man walking up to us. He’s wearing faded blue overalls and a T-shirt that may at one point have been white but is now covered in dust and rust. I’m into his look. “Nah,”says Russ, though a frosty drink sounds kind of good to me. “We’re trying to fi nd Quinn here a car.”

  62 I look at Russ sideways. Did he just call me Quinn? He winks. “Hello, Quinn,”says Albie, holding out his hand. “Hey there,”I say, reaching out to shake. “Come sit,”he says. Russ and I follow him to a circle of tree stumps behind the barn, where we each take a seat. I look at Russ like, What’s going on? But he just smiles and nods, like this is all part of the process with Albie. “So, Quinn, tell me about yourself,”says Albie. I’m not sure what to say, so I start with something easy. “I’m really into music,”I say. “I came down here from North Carolina to intern at Amalgam Records and I love it so far.”Albie nods. “And how did you and Russ hook up?”he asks. “We didn’t hook up!”I say. Russ laughs at my reaction. “He means how’d we meet,”he says. I feel stupid for a minute, I guess I’m being

  63 a little jumpy. Older people don’t say “hook up”that way. But I recover quickly. “My cousin Penny lives next door to Russ,”I say. “They’re friends and we met through her.”“And you came down here without a car?”asks Albie. “I thought the bus would be better,”I admit. “And Penny has a car, so—”“That the one with the shiny BMW?”Albie asks, looking at Russ. “Yup,”says Russ, and they both chuckle. “That your kind of ride?”Albie asks me. “A shiny BMW?”“No, sir,”I say. “I’d just like something that gets good gas mileage and is reliable. I was actu- ally considering a Vespa because I saw someone on one last night and thought that might be a good option.”Russ and Albie look at each other and start to howl with laughter. “A Vespa?!”says Russ. “I don’t even quite know what that is,”says Albie, wiping tears from his eyes. There sure seems to be a lot of cackling at my expense going on. I’m not convinced Albie’s

  64 such a good car salesman. “Vespas are for tools,”says Russ. “Seriously, Priscilla.”Ooh, he makes me so mad with his “Priscilla”crap! “Well, just because you have a vintage truck doesn’t mean we all have to be driving around using completely irresponsible amounts of gas and creating noise pollution everywhere!”I shout, trying to shut Russ up. “I like my car,”he says slowly and fi rmly. I like it too, truth be told, but I’m not about to admit that in this moment. “Let’s not fi ght,”says Albie, putting his hands on his knees and hoisting himself off the stump. “Let’s look at some automobiles.”An hour and one test-drive down the dirt road later, I hand Albie four hundred dollars in cash for a 1993 Ford Festiva. It’s yellow and rusty, and the clutch sticks a little, but it’s exactly what I want. And it’s the fi rst car he showed me. “It looks like you,”Albie says. I’m not sure how to take that, but I’m thinking it’s a compliment. “You gonna be able to work that clutch all

  65 the way to town?”asks Russ, climbing into his truck. “Watch me,”I say, taking off in front of him. It feels good to be in the driver’s seat. When we get back to the condo, I am fully exhilarated. The Festiva drives really well, and I feel in total control with a stick shift. At home, I inherited my mom’s old Honda, but this is a new experience: I just bought a car! I park it next to Penny’s BMW, and when I get out to admire it, I have to say that I think my little yellow beater looks much cooler than her sorority-mobile. I’m smiling when Russ pulls into the lot. I’m over being annoyed with him now that I have my new ride. “You’re a good driver,”he says, tipping his baseball hat at me. “Thanks,”I say. “Are you surprised?”“Not really,”he says, walking up to stand next to me and take another look at the Festiva. “So now I can go anywhere I want to,”I say.

  66 “And where is it that you want to go?”Russ asks. “Nowhere particular,”I say. “I just mean to shows and stuff. I have to see a lot of music for my job.”At least, I hope I have to see a lot of music for my job. “Oh, right,”he says, laughing a little. “I guess that’s what you did last night.”I don’t say anything. I don’t have to tell him what I’m doing—he’s just the neighbor. I mean, it was nice of him to help me get a car, but he’s Penny’s friend, not mine. Russ walks around the side of the car and peers inside. “Classic!”He chuckles. “What?”I ask, ready to defend whatever he’s making fun of. “This thing has a tape player,”he says. “Yeah,”I say. “I noticed that. I was thinking I could buy one of those adapter thingies and plug in my iPod. They have those, right?”“Don’t do that,”says Russ, looking disap- pointed. “Have some sense of nostalgia. Listen to a tape.”“I don’t have any,”I say, and it’s true. I don’t

  67 know if I’ve ever owned a tape. “Stay there,”says Russ, sprinting into his apartment. He comes out a minute later and hands me a dusty Memorex with no cover. “What’s this?”I ask. “You’ll fi nd out on your next car ride,”he says.

  68 Chapter 8 On Monday when I drive to work, I put in Russ’s tape. It’s this guy singing in kind of a high voice about a speeding motorcycle—not what I was expecting. It’s bizarrely cool, but I’m not sure who or what it is. Jade’s at the desk when I get to work. “Guess who called,”she says as I walk in. “The Walters?”I ask excitedly. “Better,”she says. “Sebastian.”“He called you?”I ask, feeling my stomach drop. “No, twerp!”she says. “He called Amalgam. He wants to come by this week and drop off a demo of his friend’s band. I told him you’d be here today only.”

  69 “You did not!”I say, my face getting hot. “Did you?”“Of course,”says Jade. “I could tell you’re the reason he wants to come by.”“Oh, well, that’s cool,”I say, trying to put on my nonchalant face. “You’re so excited,”Jade says, smiling slyly. “I love it.”I just grin at her and start opening boxes. When Rick comes in around noon, most of the mail is unpacked. “Hey, guys,”he says, scratching the back of his bedhead. “This looks pretty under control. Nice work.”“Thanks,”says Jade. “Quinn is a big help.”She shoots me a smile. “And we were wondering . . .”Jade con- tinues, “if we could listen to the new Walters album that came in last week?”“Oh, yeah!”says Rick. “Let’s put it on.”I guess the album’s not so secret after all. I mouth a “thank you”to Jade when Rick goes into the back. He brings out a CD and pops it into the stereo on Jade’s desk. Then he grabs a

  70 rolling chair from his offi ce and joins the two of us as Jade cranks up the volume. When the music starts, I lean back against an unpacked box. The melodies rush over me and I close my eyes. What’s really nice is that Rick and Jade both are doing the same thing, I see, when I peek once around track three. They’re completely still, taking it in, really appreciating the music. They’re even looking at each other, like they’re sharing this intense moment through the Walters. Not chattering over it or doing something else while the songs are in the background—they love it like I do. I can feel it. Suddenly, what I feel is a rush of heat as the front door opens. I open my eyes and see Sebastian there. His pale face looks soft in the afternoon light, and his smile gives me a chill despite the hundred-degree air blast he just let in through the door. Then, track six starts. I hope it’s a good one. “Hey there,”says Sebastian, staring at me. He glances at Rick and Jade. We must look really zoned out. I stand up to say hi, but then I’m not sure if I should shake his hand or what,

  71 so I shift my weight awkwardly. Luckily, Rick stand
s up too. “Hey, man,”Rick says, slapping Sebastian on the back. “Hey, Rick, I just brought by this demo by a friend of mine’s band,”says Sebastian. “They’re called Inspired by Ross. I’ve been spinning this one track for a couple of weeks and people are really into it, but they’re not signed yet.”Of course Sebastian knows Rick. He’s that cool, I think. “Sweet,”says Rick, taking the CD. “Listen, I have to get some stuff done, but let’s fi nish this Walters party later. Thanks for dropping this by, Sebastian.”Rick walks into the back offi ce. Sebastian just stands there for a second, and it looks like he’s about to leave. I’m trying to think of something to say to make him stay, but then he turns to me. “So, do you guys get a lunch break or something?”he asks. “We do!”says Jade, standing up from her desk and talking rapidly. “I have to run some errands. I’m sure Quinn is hungry though. Right, Q?”Best. Wingwoman. Ever.

  72 “Sure,”I say. “Let me get my bag.”I follow Sebastian outside and I take in the view. He’s wearing a black Luminous Energy ’07 tour T-shirt with the arms cut off and a pair of tight black jeans. His shoes are pointy leather boots. He looks like a rock star as he swings one leg over his Vespa. He puts on his blue helmet and grabs a smaller white one from the back of the bike. “Hop on,”he says. The wind-in-my-hair feeling in Russ’s truck was nothing compared to this hurricane of a ride. I have my hands around Sebastian’s waist as we weave through traffi c and round sharp turns with a gentle lean. I gasp audibly as we take a left into a parking lot. We end up at the same burger place where Russ and I ate last week. “Are you a vegetarian?”asks Sebastian. “Not even slightly,”I say, handing him my helmet. I have the urge to shout out a “Whoop!”after that ride, but I know that wouldn’t be cool. So instead, I just shake out my short hair to release some of the thrill I’m feeling. “This place has a lot of vegetarian options,”

  73 he says. “Just in case. I’ve been off meat for a few years.”“Cool,”I say, thinking about the fantastic burger I had last week and how he’s really miss- ing out. But I don’t mention that. When we walk in, Sebastian chooses a corner booth and we order sodas. They come in huge glasses full of ice, and I’m planning on getting at least two free refi lls. “Have you ever been to Europe?”asks Sebastian. I think I know where he’s going with this, so I say, “Yeah, I went to England the summer I was eight because my dad had a conference in Oxford. And when you order a Coke they give you a tiny glass with no ice!”Sebastian looks at me strangely. “Oh, yeah,”he says. “I guess they do do that. But I was going to ask you what your favorite city in Europe is.”“I’ve only been to London and Oxford,”I say, wondering if he’ll think I’m uncultured or something because I haven’t been to, like, Berlin or Paris. “That’s cool,”he says, and then he reaches over to grab his napkin with that soft right hand

  74 that changes albums when he spins. I feel a fl ut- ter in my stomach. “Hey, hey, Priscilla.”I feel a knot in my stomach. I look over my shoulder to see Russ saun- tering toward our booth. “Who’s your friend?”he asks, and I see a weird look in his eye, but just for a second. “This is Sebastian,”I say. I so don’t want to introduce them, but there’s no way out. I’m trapped. “Hey,”says Sebastian, nodding at Russ. “And how do you two know each other?”asks Russ, like he’s my dad or something. “We met at Dirty’s,”says Sebastian. “I spin there on Friday nights.”“Huh,”says Russ, chuckling as he folds his arms across his chest. His dimples are out in full force today. I think they’re extra noticeable when he’s mocking me. “What are you laughing at?”I ask, annoyed. “Leave it to Priscilla to fi nd a DJ in a live-music town,”he says, more to himself than to me. “Who’s Priscilla?”asks Sebastian.

  75 “No one,”I say, glaring up at Russ and send- ing intense “please leave”vibes his way. “Well, y’all enjoy your lunch,”he says. “See you later, Priscilla.”He turns and walks out the door, and I watch to make sure he’s gone. “Who was that?”asks Sebastian. “My cousin’s dumb fratty cowboy neigh- bor,”I say. “In other words, no one.”“Harsh,”says Sebastian, but he laughs too. “He did seem pretty fratty.”I try to enjoy the rest of our lunch, but I can’t get Russ’s annoying presence out of my head. Why is he acting like he owns me or something? And why can’t he just call me Quinn?! Sebastian doesn’t ask about the “Priscilla”thing again, and I’m glad. I tell him how Penny is a spoiled princess with a silly little dog, and he tells me about music and the places he’s been. Then he says we should get together again this weekend. When the check comes, Sebastian says he’ll cover it, even though I offer to pay. He leaves a twenty on our nineteen-dollar total. “Oh, cool, I’ll leave the rest of the tip,”I say.

  76 “Nah,”says Sebastian, waving my three ones away. “That guy wasn’t a great waiter.”I grin, but after Sebastian turns his back to walk out, I put down three more dollars in cash. I’m not into the low-tipping thing. Still, everything else about lunch was so nice. My summer plan to snag an indie boyfriend is going perfectly. Except for one fratty fl y in the ointment. A fl y I’m determined to ignore. I drive around in my car during the week—it’s the only time I wish I had long, flowing, Hollywood hair. With the windows down and the music cranked up, I feel like I’m in the middle of a song. Maybe even a country song, but not one of those whiny wife-left-me-dog- died songs—a good one. I’ve been listening to the tape Russ passed off, since it’s the only form of music I have for the car, and I have to admit that it’s growing on me. I found out that the guy with the weird high voice is Daniel Johnston, a musician who’s lived in Austin and inspired people like Kurt Cobain in the early nineties. Daniel’s an artist too, and I even bought a T-shirt with a design he drew

  77 of a little alien frog who’s saying, “Hi, How Are You?”It’s kind of an Austin thing, the girl at the store told me. The cost of gas—even in my little Festiva—is keeping me from going too far, though. By Friday, I’m so ready to get out of the condo and meet Sebastian at Dirty’s. I wear my Daniel Johnston tee, and I meet Jade at the club. “Nice shirt,”she says. I can’t tell if she’s being a little snide about it, but I decide it’s a true compliment, because I am into it. “Thanks,”I say. “How was your week?”she asks. “About to get more interesting,”I say, look- ing at the DJ booth where Sebastian is set up. He smiles and nods, then starts to spin. You know how when you’re watching a guy perform, even if he’s in a DJ booth instead of onstage, it’s just incredibly sexy? People are focused on Sebastian like he’s the ruler of Dirty’s, and in some ways he is. He sets everyone’s mood—upbeat and light, dark and moody, thoughtful and refl ective. Song after song he makes great choices, and it’s not an easy skill.

  78 Eleven amazing tracks later, I’m in music heaven and Sebastian takes a break. He comes over to me and kisses my cheek before he slides into our semicircular booth. It’s like he’s already my boyfriend. I fi ght the urge to get giddy and girly. “You guys are cute,”says Jade, whip- ping out her phone and snapping a photo of us. “I’m emailing it to you for Facebook,”she says to me. Sebastian scoffs. “Don’t tell me you’re into social networking,”he says, rolling his eyes. “Just to keep in touch with my friends,”I say, feeling self-conscious. The truth is, I live on Facebook. And it’s been helping me deal with the bad TV that Penny watches almost every night. “Those sites are for social retards,”he says, which annoys me for a couple of reasons: 1) Because that’s so not true, and all my friends are on Facebook. 2) Because “retards”just isn’t a cool word to use. But then he gives me a smile, like he’s joking around with me, and my annoyance melts away.

  79 When Sebastian goes back to his records, I peek at the photo. It’s perfect—he’s perfect. Floppy brown hair hanging over his glasses, pale, lanky arm around my shouder, ironic smile. He’s exactly who I pictured for my summer fl ing. Now if I can just get the fl ing part going . . . “Have you guys kissed yet?”asks Jade, reading my mind as I stare at the photo. “Nope,”I say. “But I’m going to fi x that tonight.”“It shouldn’t be too hard,”she says, glanc- ing in Sebastian’s direction.
“He looks pretty smitten.”I lock eyes with him and he gives me a small wave. “So who’s your summer prospect?”I look back at Jade, realizing that though we’ve talked extensively about my dream guy, she hasn’t yet shared anything about hers. “Who, me?”she asks. “No, I’m talking to the imaginary girl on your left,”I say. “I’m a free bird, Quinn,”she says. “I do not want to be locked down.”

  80 “Is a summer fl ing equivalent to a jail sen- tence?”I ask. “For me it is!”she says, laughing. “I like being single.”“Whatever works,”I say, but I wonder what her deal is. She changes the subject to whether she should go light or dark for her next nail polish change, and I let her drop the guy talk, for now. A few minutes later, when Sebastian’s set is over around midnight, Jade seems ready to leave. “I have to go,”she says. “But you’ve got your car now, right? So . . .”“It’s fi ne,”I say, worrying that my asking her about guys made her have a Cinderella complex. “I guess I’ll see you later.”“Monday!”she says, calling out to me as she edges her way to the door. And then she’s gone. It’s weird—Jade hasn’t ever called me to hang out during the week, aside from the occa- sional midday burrito break. I know she’s busy at Amalgam, but I’d defi nitely welcome a dinner out with her instead of fruit-and-candy plates at home with Penny and Chrissy while we watch