Lovestruck Summer by Melissa Walker (best management books of all time txt) 📕

60 Her mouth drops open, and so does Miss Tiara’s. “Russ is taking me to buy a car,”I explain. “I was just about to tell you. Bye!”I shut the door before Penny can say any- thing. It’s not a big deal. I really hate it when people act all like, Ooooh, about things. We’re not in fi rst grade. Outside, Russ opens up the passenger side door to a giant Ford truck that looks like it’s seen a few decades. “This one’s yours?”I ask. “You surprised?”asks Russ, taking my hand to help me step up into the cab. I swat him away. I can do this myself. “I’m actually not surprised,”I say. I should have known that this old rusty truck, among all the other normal cars in the lot, would belong to Russ. We drive through the main part of town by the Capitol building and then head out onto an empty stretch of road. I’m guessing they didn’t have AC in cars made in the 1950s or whenever this thing came from, so we have the windows rolled down, and the engine isn’t the quietest in the world. Despite all the noise and wind, the

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.