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

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,