Lovestruck Summer by Melissa Walker (the best motivational books TXT) 📗

both of us. “Sebastian,”nods the DJ, barely looking up from his vinyl. He hasn’t started spinning yet—he’s laying out his selections for the night. I glance at the albums he has out—Remote Storage, Paper Prospect, Cakewalk, plus an old David Bowie single and some Cure songs mixed in. I think I’m in love. “What’s this band?”I ask, pointing to an Endless Rain album and looking up at his effort- lessly cool face. At this point, the only thing I’m confi dent enough to ask him about is music. “Dance tunes,”he says. “But dark.”“Like Depeche Mode?”I ask, liking how he keeps his sentences short. He looks at me then and grins, showing

54 crooked teeth that give him that just-off-enough- to-look-perfect smile. “Kind of,”he says. “Come talk to us when you get a break,”says Jade, tugging me away. “What are you doing?!”I ask when we get to a table and sit down. “Did you see him smil- ing at me?”“You have to leave him wanting more,”says Jade instructively. “Besides, he’s working and you’re not here to see him, you’re here to enjoy the music. Studied nonchalance is the key to catching an indie boy.”She’s good at this, I realize. While Jade and I talk about random things, I surreptitiously watch Sebastian’s shiny black hair move back and forth as he changes tracks from his booth. I appreciate the way his long, thin fi ngers carefully tuck each record into its cover after it spins, and I think how gentle those hands must be. I get a little shiver each time he does it. After an hour, the live band is getting ready to start, so Sebastian packs up his stuff. Please come over to us, please come over to us. I keep my face calm as I see his long stride, out of

55 the corner of my eye, heading for our table. “Hey,”he says, sitting down in a conve- niently empty third chair that we had discour- aged others from stealing during his set with “don’t touch it”glares. “Hey,”I say. “I’m thirsty,”says Jade-the-expert-wing- woman, getting up to go to the bar. “Be right back.”“You new in town?”asks Sebastian, turning his full attention on me. “Yeah,”I say. “I’m from North Carolina, but I’m here for the summer.”I want to tell him I’m working at Amalgam, but I also don’t want to be name-dropping right away. “Doesn’t your friend work for Amalgam?”he asks. Guess that takes care of that. “Yeah,”I say. “We met there—I’m an intern.”“Cool,”he says. “My favorite bands are on that label.”“Mine too,”I say. “The Walters.”“They are wild,”says Sebastian. “Those guys put on a show.”

56 “I know,”I say. “I’ve seen them seventeen times.”“Whoa!”He laughs. “You’re a superfan.”“Kind of,”I say, embarrassed. “It’s cool,”he says. “I am too. That’s why I spin—I just love getting into all those songs and fi guring out the mix that will set the per- fect mood for the band that’s playing after my set. Like tonight Inconceivable Hat is here, so I wanted to spin some old infl uences that I hear when they perform.”“That’s really smart,”I say, leaning on my elbow and watching Sebastian’s mouth move. He’s talking with his hands now that he’s explaining what he spins, and they look even softer up close. Jade comes back with her drink and breaks my reverie, but she’s careful to be low-key and let me and Sebastian do most of the back-and- forth. Talking with him turns out to be easy. We like a lot of the same bands, and he is complete physical perfection. Even his fl aws, like the way one of his front bottom teeth overlaps the other and how one strand of hair is slightly longer

57 than the rest on the left side of his head, make him somehow more attractive. When we leave around midnight, Sebastian writes his cell number in a matchbook, which strikes me as romantic and iconic and so much cooler and less presumptuous than actually pro- gramming it into my phone. I clench it in my hand as I get into Jade’s old Toyota and watch him speed away on a green Vespa. “How cool is he?”I ask rhetorically. “Told you so,”says Jade. I fall asleep that night dreaming of those vinyl-changing hands.

58 Chapter 7 I wake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Penny’s humming. I go upstairs to shower away the mascara remains from last night. I usually kind of like that raccoon-eye look, but today I feel like being clean. I put on an old T-shirt that says ALLEN AND SONS BARBECUE and my jean shorts, which Penny was totally right about—I’m wearing them almost exclusively now because of the heat. Then I go downstairs and join my cousin in the kitchen, where she’s picking at a mixed berry bowl. “What’s up, Quinn?”she asks, feeding a strawberry to Miss Tiara, who sits on a barstool between us at the kitchen island. “Nothing,”I say, tucking my hair behind my ears. “What’d you do last night?”she asks.

59 “I just went out with a friend from work,”I say. “We saw a show.”“Fun!”says Penny. “Yeah, it was cool,”I say. I don’t want to tell her about Sebastian, because I can’t pic- ture them getting along. If I admit it to myself, I think I’d be embarrassed to let him meet her, in all her sorority-sister glory. “Sorry I’ve been MIA all week,”says Penny. “Planning Rush is a huge task, and I’m also trying to get a head start on a venue for Tri-Pi’s fi rst formal of the year, the Sweet September Swingfest.”“It’s okay,”I say, cringing internally at the name of the dance. “I can entertain myself.”“I know,”says Penny. “But I just feel bad that you don’t have a car and—”Ding-dong. Penny jumps up to get the door as Miss Tiara starts barking haughtily. I race to head them off. “I’ll get it,”I say. Russ is standing outside in the sun with a huge grin on his face. His curls are completely unruly today, I notice. “Ready?”he