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

parking lot. One of the things I am not loving about Texas is how bursting through doors leads to instant heat as opposed to refreshing coolness. It’s like that in North Carolina too, but not as intense. I start to sweat. “Thanks,”he says. “I got a little overcome in there.”“It’s okay,”I say, shaking off my irritation at having to save us from the awkwardness and taking his soft hand up to my face. “I liked it.”“So, I can call you this weekend?”asks Sebastian. “You’d better,”I say, moving in for one last taste of his lips. I’m in a bold mood. Even though I spent the last month of school plotting my Austin summer and exactly how I would get the perfect, music-fi lled, indie boyfriend . . . I didn’t really think it would work. I watch Sebastian get

84 on his Vespa and drive off. He gives me a one- handed wave and I do a little dance on the side- walk—a happy shimmy. Then I go back inside to buy My Almost Life’s CD—I need that song. When I get home, I immediately change my profi le song on MySpace to “Sweet and Lowdown,”post the photo of me and Sebastian on Facebook, and then leave a note on Raina’s wall telling her to check it out. The next morning, I log in to Facebook again. The note Raina left says one word: “Supreme.”

85 Chapter 9 By Tuesday night, not only has the elation that caused me to do the happy shimmy disappeared, but my usually stable confidence is also waver- ing. Sebastian has not called. It’s been four days since our makeout session, not that I’m count- ing. In an attempt to not be like the ladies on The Bachelor, with whom I am intimately famil- iar after living with Penny, I haven’t really expressed my disappointment to anyone. Well, unless you count Monday, when I responded to Jade’s question about Sebastian by saying, “Guys are losers.”She smiled sympathetically and said, “He’ll call.”But he hasn’t. And here I sit on Tuesday night in my pajamas with Penny, waiting to see if Brad from Season 11 is going to propose. “This one is a shocker!”says Penny, hugging

86 Miss Tiara tightly in her arms. The fact that my cousin can watch this show multiple times amazes me. I’m not gonna lie and say that I’m not semi-interested in the outcome now that I’ve followed these women and their slow-talking Texan bachelor for an entire sea- son’s worth of episodes, but I certainly won’t be watching the show again once I already know who “wins.”There’s a knock and the door swings open. Penny hits PAUSE so we don’t miss a minute of the pre-rose-ceremony limo confessions. “Hey, ladies.”Russ walks in, wearing a tight green shirt and dirty-looking jeans. I turn back to the TV. “Scooch,”he says, moving me from my com- fortable corner spot on the couch—excuse me, my bed—and into the crowded center. “What are we watching?”“Season eleven,”says Penny. “I hear this is a good one!”says Russ, slap- ping my leg. I look up at him with a sneer, but he smiles back at me. “I can tell this is your kind of show, Priscilla.”

87 I’m in such a bad mood about Sebastian not calling that I’m not sure I can deal with Russ’s infuriating behavior tonight. I fold my arms over my chest and stare at the TV. Ten minutes later, Brad-the-Texan breaks up with both bachelorettes. “What a crock!”I shout. “Seriously!”says Russ. “What the H?”I’ve noticed with some amusement that Russ never curses. He even uses a euphemism for H-E-L-L. “You guys!”shouts Penny, ready to defend her favorite show. “He was honest! He didn’t fi nd true love and so he couldn’t commit to anyone. It was very noble.”“Bull,”says Russ, again censoring himself. “You go on the show, you propose. Rules are rules.”“Agreed,”I say. “Well, that’s a surprising word coming out of your mouth,”says Russ, knocking me on the shoulder. I shrug. When he’s right, he’s right. “So, do you ladies want to go out tonight?”

88 he asks. “Cornfl ower Blue is playing at the Cactus.”“Let’s go!”says Penny, pushing Miss Tiara off her lap. “We’re in our pajamas,”I say grumpily. I don’t know Cornfl ower Blue but they sound like an old country band. “Oh, Quinn, snap out of your funk,”says Penny, ruffl ing my hair as she walks behind the couch and upstairs to change into a sorority shirt and a tight skirt, no doubt. “Is there a reason why you’re especially moody tonight?”asks Russ. “No,”I say, picking at the blanket that’s across my lap. “Is something up with your friend the DJ?”he asks. “No!”I shout, throwing off the blanket and standing up. “Good!”he says. “So put on some clothes and let’s go have fun.”I don’t want to go, but I don’t see a way to get out of it now. I stomp to the downstairs half bathroom and slide on my jean shorts. Then I slip a bra under my pajama T-shirt and run my

89 fi ngers through my hair. I may go out, but I’m sure as H not going to try too hard if I’m just with Russ and Penny. At the Cactus, I immediately realize I was right about the music. It’s way country. But I stand in the crowd, just to show Russ that I’m open- minded. Even though I hate country music. After the third song, I’m getting restless. That’s when Russ leans over and whispers in my ear. “This song is one that Fats Domino did in 1958,”he says. “If you listen, you can hear the soul infl uence, too. Cornfl ower Blue does it really differently, but it’s iconic.”“Hmm,”I say, listening more to the lyrics and realizing that I do recognize the words a little. The leaning-over-to-whisper thing keeps happening. As each song plays, Russ feels the need to give me some context. I don’t really mind—it makes the music more bearable. The last song the band plays is “Can’t