We Are Inevitable by Gayle Forman (read aloud txt) 📕

door.

“My jacket,” he whispers.

“I’ll give it back next time.”

When we get to Lou’s car, he hesitates. “Are these stolen? Because I can’t accept stolen vinyl. It wouldn’t honor the records.”

“They’re not stolen,” I tell Lou. At least not in the way he thinks.

He belts the crates into the back seat, like an overprotective father. I hand him the Goldmine book but he tells me to keep it. “I think you’re gonna need it.”

Beethoven’s Anvil

When Chad calls to ask if I want to take a road trip to catch Beethoven’s Anvil in Vancouver, it’s been nearly a week since I heard from Hannah. I’m assuming I blew it.

“Son, you weren’t far enough along to blow it,” Chad says. “She probably hasn’t called you because they’ve been on the road.”

“They have?”

“Vancouver’s the last stop on their tour, so we can surprise her. See if we can’t get you a real kiss.”

“Sure,” I say, playing it casual, though the mere mention of kissing Hannah gives me the stirrings of what I now know is a psychogenic boner. “And maybe I can try to sell some records.”

“So you are selling them?”

“I am.”

“You’re gonna bring them with?”

“I thought I’d start with some flyers. Then I can sell them by private appointment.”

“Private appointment. Fancy.”

“That’s me. Fancy.”

“Okay, Mr. Fancy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next night, Chad comes by the store to check out Gaga. Ike has taken it completely apart, oiled the bits, and scrubbed the rust off. The brass is so gleaming, Penny Macklemore could check her gums in it.

“Looking good,” Chad tells Ike.

“Missing some parts, but she’ll be up and working in no time.”

Chad turns to me. “You ready?”

I nod, heart galloping at the thought of seeing Hannah again even though she is five hours away.

“You got your papers?”

“In here.” I tap the backpack full of flyers.

I climb into Chad’s truck. “Hey, about Gaga, thanks for fronting the money.”

“I thought you’d be pissed. Like you were about the inventory.”

“I’m not. It’s just, don’t spend any more money on the shop, okay?”

“How come?”

“For one, you’re saving for the Stim. And also, I have no idea when I’ll be able to pay you back.”

“Who said anything about paying me back?” When I don’t answer, Chad continues. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

“There is?”

“Sure. I mean you could reimburse me, with interest.” He waggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly. “Or you could make me partner and let my investment be my equity stake.”

“You want to be a partner? In our store?”

“What’s so crazy about that?”

“It’s like wanting to book a berth on the Titanic, after it hit the iceberg.”

“Was that movie a book first too?” Chad asks.

“Not that one,” I reply.

“Just checking. Anyhow, I know the store’s not thriving, but once we open new revenue streams with the café, the records . . .”

“Chad, we cannot sell the records in the store.”

“You just said you were selling them.”

“But Ira can’t know that.”

“Why?” Chad asks.

“He’d be devastated.”

“Why?”

“Because I promised Sandy . . .”

“Promised him what?”

You gotta promise me . . .

“That I wouldn’t.”

“But Sandy’s dead,” Chad points out.

“I’m aware of that.”

“Aren’t promises, like, null and void when someone dies?”

I shut my eyes against the memory.

“Not this one,” I tell Chad.

“Fine. We’ll diversify in other ways. And if you make me a partner, you wouldn’t have to pay me back. Or even pay me, until we turn a profit.”

“I hate to break it to you but we haven’t turned a profit in years, and the chances of doing so, even if we diversify, are small.”

“Like how small?”

“I don’t know.”

“Gimme a number. Thirty percent? Twenty?”

“Maybe ten.”

“Ten, huh?” Chad grins, as if he’s won the point. “Do you know the survival rate for seventy-five-foot falls?” Before I can answer, he crows, “Ten percent!” He breaks into his most shit-eating grin. “So don’t come at me with long odds, son. I eat long odds for breakfast!”

Not long after, I start seeing billboards in French. They don’t have French signs in southern Washington. They do, however, have them near the Canadian border.

“Shit! Chad, you went the wrong way.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“We’re going north.”

“Obviously.”

“The show’s in Vancouver, Canada?”

“Did you think it was in Vancouver, Washington?”

I don’t answer. That’s exactly what I thought.

“Who plays in Vancouver, Washington,” Chad scoffs, “except for bands too shitty to get shows across the river in Portland?”

“I dunno. Bands who live in Washington, not Canada.”

“We live closer to Vancouver, Canada, than Vancouver, Washington. What’s the big deal? I go there all the time . . . Wait, did you not bring your passport?”

“I don’t even have a passport.”

“How do you go to Canada without a passport?”

“I don’t go to Canada. I thought we were going to Vancouver, Washington.”

“But I told you to bring your papers!”

“I thought you meant flyers!”

“Why would I tell you to bring flyers to sell records in a city five hours away?” Chad shouts.

“I don’t know!” I shout back. “Why would you tell me to bring flyers to sell records in another country?”

“I didn’t! I told you to bring your passport.”

“You said papers . . .” I cry. Because this means I’m not going to see Hannah. And I didn’t see her at Bogart’s. And maybe there is no such thing as the good kind of inevitable. I smack my head against the window. “Fuuuuck!” I scream. “I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not. It’s hella confusing with two Vancouvers.”

“I meant thinking it was gonna happen with Hannah. It’s never gonna happen.”

“I wouldn’t say never,” Chad says. “She did half kiss you.”

“Well, I’m never gonna full kiss her if I don’t see her.”

“Who says you’re not gonna see her?” Chad says, veering from the fast lane toward an oncoming exit without dipping below seventy.

“I don’t have a passport, remember?”

“So?”

“Kind of a deal breaker.”

“That depends,” Chad says, pulling off the highway.

“On what?”

He looks like the cat who swallowed the canary. “If you like Hannah enough to commit an international felony.”

About ten miles from the Canadian border, Chad pulls the truck over. “This is your stop.”

We’ve traveled forty miles east