E and I kept ending up in the same genres, laughing through a half-serious debate over which tracks were best on which album. E swore by deep cuts, claiming the mainstream tracks were too predictable, while I stood by the classics. The banter was easy—familiar in a way that made the rest of the store seem to fade into the background.
Every time I made a point, E would shake his head with a grin, like he couldn’t believe how wrong I was. If I chose an older song, he would select a track from a decade earlier that was even better, and he always seemed impressed when I recognized the artist. He listened to my points, and sometimes, just to humor me, he’d pretend to reconsider. Itwas playful and warm. It was so simple that I didn’t have to think about it.
It was that part of being young and careless where you can click with just about anyone, but I think even then, I knew this click was different. Although I didn’t know what it would eventually become, I knew it mattered.
Maybe I imagined it, but I caught Enzo watching us once or twice from a few bins over.
“Look at this one,” Enzo said to E, holding up a CD case with a provocative image of a young woman. She was spread-eagled, with her hand between her legs and her breasts spilling out over the tiny fabric that barely covered them.
I rolled my eyes, trying my best not to note the significant differences between myself and the curvaceous woman printed on the cover. I had developed by then, but I wasn’t womanly in the way boys my age wanted. My breasts were small, and my butt wasn’t much, though it was perky and pronounced. My lips were full, and my skin was smooth as butter. It gave me a few points in my book, but I didn’t feel like it was enough.
I had an exotic look about me with golden bronzed skin, onyx round eyes, and long, warm brown hair that flowed in curls down my back. I didn’t think much of myself then, though. Teenage girls rarely do.
E looked over to Enzo’s vile choice but made no comment or reaction before turning back to the stack of discs he was sorting through. He was unimpressed. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t send a flicker of satisfaction through me.
After over an hour in the store, we each made our selections and waited at the counter to pay. I had three CDs with me—Allman Brothers, The Pixies, and Gwen Stefani’s solo album. When the register rang for thirty-three dollars and fifty cents, I cursed.
“Shit.” Enzo and E, who had both paid ahead of me, turned to face me.
“What’s up?” Enzo asked.
“It’s thirty-three fifty. I only have twenty-five.”
Enzo’s face twisted, annoyed, like he was tired of waiting for me specifically. “Okayyy, so put one back.”
He chuckled toward E in anI don’t get the problemway, and I gritted my teeth. I wanted to hide my disappointment. I wanted badly to seem unaffected, to not be a damsel in distress in any form of the phrase, but I couldn’t help it. Enzo's not offering to pay the difference bothered me. He wasn't my boyfriend, and I wasn't his responsibility, but the moment, the ease with which he dismissed it, and the lack of hesitation to let me go without stung more than it should've.
It wasn’t about the money; it was about the gesture. Knowing it didn’t even cross his mind to help me said more than I wanted to admit.
They walked outside, and I looked at my three CDs, placed one to the side—sorry, Gwen—paid, and walked out to meet them.
“What’d you get?” E asked.
“These.” I showed him my two picks, and he nodded in approval. “You?”
He showed me his selection—Eminem, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and the sameBrothers and SistersAllmanBrothers album I chose. A tiny light lit up inside me as I reveled at how we both wanted to mark the moment, purchasing an album we likely already owned.
I grinned up at him. "I'm surprised you don't have this one," I asserted, gesturing to the final one.
He shrugged, taking the discs from my hand. “Maybe I need to hear it again.”
“You can play CDs more than once, you know.”
“No way, really?” A smile crept onto his lips. We locked eyes in our witty little exchange, and I wanted to lose myself completely in it, never finding my way home.
“Should we go back to my place? Lara and Kasey said they’ll meet us,” Enzo said from a few steps ahead of us, splitting the trance he wasn’t aware of. I shrugged in agreement. Even though I wasn’t really allowed at Enzo’s, I was willing to risk it today.
“Woo! Let’s get the birthday girl drunk.” He wagged his eyebrows with a sly grin, and again, if this were years later, my stomach would churn like sour milk at his implication, but I was sixteen. So instead, naive little butterflies fluttered in my belly. However, those butterflies didn’t feel the same as they once did, and I couldn’t help but notice.
“It’s your birthday?” E turned to me, and I nodded in a way that saidit’s no big deal.
“Come on, let’s go!” Enzo shouted, now way ahead of us. I started walking, but E stood in place.
“I’ll meet up with you guys,” E called out, and then he turned, and he was gone.
I jogged to catch up with Enzo, walking with him the rest of the way, mostly in silence on my part. E found us inthe living room only ten minutes after we arrived. He took a seat across from me while Enzo went to let his dogs out in the yard.
“Here.” He tossed a thin square in my direction, wrapped in brown paper.
