Chapter 13 The next morning, I wake up at eight A.M. with- out earbuds in my ears. I fell asleep in silence for the first time in a while. I hate that I let Russ get to me like that, but he made me feel like I don’t know where I stand or what I like. I couldn’t pick an album for my frustrated mood. I check my phone and see a text from Sebastian that he sent around two A.M. “Where’d u go?”it asks. I text back, “Felt sick.”Then I put the phone back on the coffee table. I can’t deal right now. It’s really early, but I know I won’t be able to fall asleep again, so I walk into the kitchen to make myself a fruit bowl—the breakfast of choice around here. I consider going outside on the deck to eat, because it might not be too hot at this hour, but I don’t want to risk seeing
141 Russ. Miss Tiara pads downstairs, and I open the sliding door to let her out for a minute. Then I notice that there’s something leaning up against the glass. It’s a CD case . . . and a cas- sette tape too. I peek around outside as I bend over to pick them up—no one in sight. I bring the gifts to the table and sit down to look them over—they’re both a mix from Russ that he called “Indie + Country = Harmony.”He made a CD and then copied it onto a tape for my car, I realize. It would be thoughtful if it weren’t kind of presumptuous. I don’t know if I want a mix from Russ. I turn the CD cover over in my hand. Russ’s writing is really messy. It’s like boys are incapa- ble of good penmanship because their hands are so energetic and spazzy. Not that my own writ- ing was ever any good—but I’m having to work really hard to read this. I recognize half the song names, but the artists aren’t ones I know. Then on the second half of the tape, there are some great bands doing songs I’ve never heard of. I realize that it must be country singers covering indie songs, and vice versa. A mix. Way to be heavy-handed, I think, as I walk
142 over to the couch and open my laptop. When I click PLAY, I hear the familiar chords of a Sure Loser song, except it’s being done in a different style. A style I’ve always been turned off by. It still doesn’t sound great to me, but I’m going to prove Russ wrong. I do give music a chance, and I am going to sit here and listen to the whole thing, song by song. Even if I hate it. And I am not putting this mix on my iPod until I’ve heard at least a few songs. No need giving up precious memory to stuff I probably won’t like. I press PAUSE and make myself a cup of coffee, because I think I’ll need it. Miss Tiara scratches at the door, so I let her back in and she jumps up on the couch to join me as I settle back into the cushions. Then I press PLAY. By the third song, I’m getting into it. Kind of. I mean, I’m not a hundred percent into the way there’s a male singer doing a Chihuahua Chicks song—it just seems wrong. When track six comes on, I have to admit that I’m hearing an excellent version of “Pretty in Black.”I’m not saying it’s better than the original, but it might be just as good. Not that I’d tell Russ that. When Penny comes down for breakfast, I’m
143 on the last song—it’s The Walters doing an old country tune called “Waltz Across Texas.”And it’s excellent. I may have to look up the original version. “I thought you didn’t like country music,”Penny says sleepily as she walks past me and into the kitchen. “I didn’t,”I say as I copy the mix onto my iPod. I spend all of Saturday with the mix, and I even convince Penny to ride in my car when we make a pet store run to get Miss Tiara’s special toothpaste so I can check out the cassette tape too. There’s something about the voices—lilting and soft, then booming and angst-filled—that reminds me of what I love about indie rock. By the fourth play, I find myself humming along to the choruses—country style. I’m still not ready to say that these songs are new favorites, but I am
141 Russ. Miss Tiara pads downstairs, and I open the sliding door to let her out for a minute. Then I notice that there’s something leaning up against the glass. It’s a CD case . . . and a cas- sette tape too. I peek around outside as I bend over to pick them up—no one in sight. I bring the gifts to the table and sit down to look them over—they’re both a mix from Russ that he called “Indie + Country = Harmony.”He made a CD and then copied it onto a tape for my car, I realize. It would be thoughtful if it weren’t kind of presumptuous. I don’t know if I want a mix from Russ. I turn the CD cover over in my hand. Russ’s writing is really messy. It’s like boys are incapa- ble of good penmanship because their hands are so energetic and spazzy. Not that my own writ- ing was ever any good—but I’m having to work really hard to read this. I recognize half the song names, but the artists aren’t ones I know. Then on the second half of the tape, there are some great bands doing songs I’ve never heard of. I realize that it must be country singers covering indie songs, and vice versa. A mix. Way to be heavy-handed, I think, as I walk
142 over to the couch and open my laptop. When I click PLAY, I hear the familiar chords of a Sure Loser song, except it’s being done in a different style. A style I’ve always been turned off by. It still doesn’t sound great to me, but I’m going to prove Russ wrong. I do give music a chance, and I am going to sit here and listen to the whole thing, song by song. Even if I hate it. And I am not putting this mix on my iPod until I’ve heard at least a few songs. No need giving up precious memory to stuff I probably won’t like. I press PAUSE and make myself a cup of coffee, because I think I’ll need it. Miss Tiara scratches at the door, so I let her back in and she jumps up on the couch to join me as I settle back into the cushions. Then I press PLAY. By the third song, I’m getting into it. Kind of. I mean, I’m not a hundred percent into the way there’s a male singer doing a Chihuahua Chicks song—it just seems wrong. When track six comes on, I have to admit that I’m hearing an excellent version of “Pretty in Black.”I’m not saying it’s better than the original, but it might be just as good. Not that I’d tell Russ that. When Penny comes down for breakfast, I’m
143 on the last song—it’s The Walters doing an old country tune called “Waltz Across Texas.”And it’s excellent. I may have to look up the original version. “I thought you didn’t like country music,”Penny says sleepily as she walks past me and into the kitchen. “I didn’t,”I say as I copy the mix onto my iPod. I spend all of Saturday with the mix, and I even convince Penny to ride in my car when we make a pet store run to get Miss Tiara’s special toothpaste so I can check out the cassette tape too. There’s something about the voices—lilting and soft, then booming and angst-filled—that reminds me of what I love about indie rock. By the fourth play, I find myself humming along to the choruses—country style. I’m still not ready to say that these songs are new favorites, but I am
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