The Van Pact

17: Stevie

I don't know how it happened, but about fifteen minutes after that, and I was outside on the porch of the Secret Art Space, engaged in the deepest conversation I've ever had with a boy. All the while, various groups of concert-goers emptied out the venue's front door, completely unaware of the magic they passed by. It was incredible.

We had checked all the places Valerie could have been- the coat room, the upstairs recording studio, the in-house kitchen, the lounge. Nada. I sent her a number of text messages. No response. I even called her. Nothing. Jesse suggested we go outside and look around, in case she decided to get some air, which seemed reasonable, since I was starting to feel asthmatic myself (really sexy, I know. Add that to my allergies and come March I devolve to a mouth breather. It's no wonder I can't get a boyfriend. I wouldn't date me.).

After that solid three minute search, Jesse plopped down on this strange, hand-shaped sculpture/couch on the porch.

"Well, she's probably still downstairs, right?" he concluded.

"Probably," I couldn't imagine Valerie actually leaving the venue without telling me. She could be an asshole, but not a complete dick.

"Then, we sit up here until she comes out?" Jesse patted the seat beside him. He wanted me to sit next to him? Right next to him? I thought I might die. I couldn't bring myself to move.

"Sure," I collapsed into a squat onto the porch floor.

I don't remember much of what we talked about at first. I think I said something about Ghostbusters, since that was the topic of our day-long dm conversation almost two weeks ago. Then he apologized (yes, I know, apologized) for being a "nerd." LOL. HAHAHA. Right when I was going to tell him that I had the periodic table memorized (that was for Chem, but still), he said this:

"I used to watch it a lot with my brother, before he went to California." He stretched out his legs. I stared at his purple Toms and processed what he was saying. Of course Jesse has a cool brother. Coolness has to be genetic.

"Your brother went to school in California?" I said, with the enthusiasm of a cheerleader. "That's so cool!"

"He didn't go to school," Jesse smiled faintly, his eyes fixed on a spot on the porch floor. "He was in a band. Still is, actually."

"That's so cool!" I dumbly repeated. Musical talent also runs in families. I had a flickering image of our potential children, toddling around our house with toy drum sets and light-up-keyboards. God. Valerie thinks about my future children, I told myself, don't think like Valerie.

"Everybody says that," Jesse's smiled widened, but at the same time he shook his head. "It's not something I would ever do."

"But why not?" I couldn't help the words from spilling out of my mouth. "You're first chair in percussion- and your band is incredible and-" I gushed. I didn't even know what I was saying.

This time, Jesse's smile was genuine, and he pulled in his feet back beneath the hand-couch. Who would have thought he would take compliments like a shy little kid? I decided then that I had never wanted to kiss anyone more, not even Sam Mullingar.

"Thanks, but," he kicked out his left foot and ran it back and forth over a single floorboard, "it's a dumb thing to do. You know, to try to be a professional musician. Even if you are good, you still probably won't make it."

I was surprised Jesse thought like that. That sounded like something I would think, and I didn't even think it. I mean, half the reason I've decided on pharmacology school is the security. There's a pharmacy on basically every street. And for good reason: everybody in Linden Valley has some kind of pre-existing condition: diabetes (we don't eat well), cancer (radium underlays our city, and as such we've got elevated radon levels in our houses), or an opiate addiction (we're in Appalachia, a half-an-hour from wooded, Pennsyltucky desolation. Things like that seep in).