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272 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published May 5, 2009
“I know what I like,” I say. “It’s a certain type of music and I’m just not into stuff like bluegrass and banjos.”
“Music is music, Priscilla,” says Russ. “If you love music, you give it all a listen. You see what there is to learn in every song you hear. You take chances on shows. That’s part of it.”
I tug on Penny’s arm. “I hate country music,” I whisper through clenched teeth.
“What?” she asks, clapping her hands to the beat and hardly turning around. “I hate country music!” I shout, way too loudly. The back half of the restaurant turns to scowl at me.
“For a smart girl, you sure say a lot of idiotic things,” says Russ.
“What did you say to me?” I ask.
“It’s true,” he says. “Who cares about Penny’s ringtone? If she likes the music, she likes the music. You don’t own it. You can’t tell people what to like—you can’t control who likes the bands you like.” He shakes his head. “Are you gonna go to college with that small-minded attitude?”
The last song the band plays is “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” UB40 did a cover of it in the nineties, but I know it’s originally an Elvis song. When Russ leans over to give me another history lesson, I turn to face him. “This one I know,” I say.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he says. “And as a reward for having such in-depth musical knowledge of a song that everyone in the world should be familiar with…may I have this dance?”
“Hmm, let me think. Insulting me and then asking me to dance…” I say, narrowing my eyes at his smug face. “No.” I turn my back to him.
He taps my shoulder. “Pretty please, Priscilla?” he asks, holding out his arms.
“No way,” I say.
“Quinn?” he asks. Against my better judgment, I turn to him. The smugness is gone, and he has a look of sincere hope. I feel my heart melt a tiny bit.
“Oh, fine,” I say. When I give in, Russ instantly envelops me with his arms, which feel even stronger than they look. He actually knows how to dance—it’s like we’re doing some ballroom steps or something, and the way he puts pressure on my back helps me know where to move and how to stay in step with him. I feel like we’re gliding.
“You’re good,” I say, looking up at him.
“When I’m dancing with the right person,” he says, smiling back. I blush. I actually blush.
“I mean, I like it when people are like me. And when they understand the music that I like, it feels like they understand a big part of who I am.”
“Who you are or who you want the world to think you are?” asks Penny.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“You’ve got your rock-short haircut, your indie internship, your DJ boyfriend,” she says. “Does it all feel right?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “It does.” But as I hear myself talking, I realize that music taste is a flimsy reason to date someone.
“Are you so smitten with the DJ that you haven’t noticed anyone else?” asks Penny.
Not five seconds later, Penny’s at my side. “What was that about?” she asks, swirling the ice in her drink around with a tiny straw.
“He was being a jerk,” I say.
“I’m glad you noticed,” she says. “I thought you might be completely blinded by his metro-sexual haircut.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I just sometimes get weird around jock types. High school memories and all. The kid with the turntables wasn’t really cool in my Friday Night Lights small town.”
“You look beautiful,” says Russ. And it’s this simple sentence that you think will mean nothing, because maybe your mom has said it to you a thousand times, or your best friend says it when you’re having an insecure moment about your outfit. But it’s not like that—it’s completely different when a guy says it. I didn’t know that until this moment, because it’s the first time a guy has ever said it to me. Three words just gave me goose bumps, and I feel like a girly girl for a second.