Page 37 of Fade into You

“Cool.”

She smiles, looking straight ahead. The next song is Counting Crows. The next is a Smashing Pumpkins song I don’t know but I like. When we pull into my driveway, she stops the music, rummages through the center console, and pulls out a clear case. I recognize her handwriting on the cover—and it instantly strikes me as oddly personal that I know her handwriting. She pops the lid of her Discman and carefully places the CD inside the case, closes it, and hands it to me.

The writing on the cover is song titles and artists. When I open the case, in her all-caps permanent marker script, it reads:BIRD’S MIX.

“You made me a mixtape?”

She shrugs. “Yeah. Well, mix-CD.”

“No one’s ever made meanykind of mix before.”

“It has some stuff you mentioned you liked, and then some other stuff I thought youmightlike.”

“Wow,” is all I can manage to get out.

“It’s not a big deal,” she adds, running her hand through her hair.

“Oh. Okay.”

But then we sit, side by side, looking at each other, neither of us seeming to know how to say goodbye. If it’s not a big deal, then why does this feel like that part in the movie, at the end of the date, when we’re supposed to kiss?

A car horn blares, making both of us jump. She looks up into the rearview mirror, then twists around abruptly. Behind us, Liv’s boyfriend Garrett has pulled into the driveway. Then I hear the front door close, drawing our attention away from each other. There’s Olivia, in her perfect princess dress, last year’s homecoming tiara secured tightly in place among her expertly styled pile of up-done hair.

She’s shouting, “Garrett! Get in here, my dad wants pictures!”

“Oh god,” I mutter, as Garrett walks past Jessa’s open window in his suit with matching corsage in hand and leans down to give us a strange look like he can’t imagine why I’d be here, in my own driveway.

When I look at Jessa, she’s watching Liv and Garrett go back inside the house. “What the hell?” she breathes. “What. The. Hell. Is Olivia Fucking Rubens doing at your house?”

“You really didn’t know? She’s my sister. Well, stepsister.”

“Holy shit,” she mumbles, wringing her hands around the steering wheel. “You could’ve warned me.” I start to laugh because I think she’s joking, until she looks up at me. Her face is drained of color. “And Garrett… that living jockstrap is blocking me in. This is just great.”

“Sorry,” I offer, but she doesn’t seem to hear me. “They’ll be gone in a minute.”

She breathes in deeply and then exhales slowly, keeping her eyes on my front door. Until they emerge again and start walking down the front steps toward us. Then Jessa turns toward me, physically shifts in her seat, to look at me instead.

“Are you okay?” I ask her. But she doesn’t speak, and I knowLiv must’ve done something really bad to her if she won’t even look at her. I’m glad Jessa can’t see as Liv gives her beat-up car the once-over and glares and then pretends to stick her finger down her throat, mouthing,Gross!in her direction.

When Garrett’s car doors close, Jessa finally looks away from me.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “She’s horrible. I know.”

Jessa shakes her head and somehow commands that tough exterior once again, but I saw the crack there, just a minute ago. “Whatever,” she mumbles. “I gotta go, Bird.”

“O-okay, um… Are you okay, though?”

“I’m fine.”

I unbuckle my seat belt. “Well, thanks again for the mix.”

“Sure. It’s nothing.” She’s looking all around now, anywhere butatme this time.

I wave as she pulls away, but she never looks back.

JESSA

Pterodactyl Records is hopping today.Music freaks of all styles are dappled throughout the aisles, theclick, click, clickof jewel cases resounding as they file through the stacks, organized by genre. I watch jealously as older, richer folks with grown-up jobs sift through the vinyl. I can make out a couple of classmates chatting around the alternative section. I’d say hi if I was the kind of person who would do that, but I’m not. Instead I’m judging their less-than-alternative look and thinking neither of them like Nine Inch Nails; they like Trent Reznor’s abs.