here.” We shift out of the way so she can take a look at the N section.
Whoever came here before us—what if they hid it? There are thousands of records in here. They could have slipped it in anywhere.
McNair must come to the same conclusion, because he says, “Would you guys have a copy of it anywhere else?”
“We have Nevermind—overrated, in my opinion—In Utero, and MTV Unplugged in New York. Now, that’s a good album.” She pulls it out, strokes it fondly. “Best live album I’ve ever heard.”
Violet’s gaze lingers on McNair, and at first I assume it’s because he has something on his face. I let myself stare for a moment too, but there’s nothing there. I—I think she might be flirting with him.
I am so embarrassed for her.
“Definitely,” McNair agrees. Is he flirting back?
Violet beams at him. “Unfortunately, I don’t see Bleach here. Someone might have misplaced it, or taken it back to a listening booth.”
“Or bought it,” I put in. There are other record stores in Seattle, but we’d lose time getting there, and they may not have the album either.
“Let me take a look in the back, okay?” Violet slides MTV Unplugged back into the N section. “It’s always possible someone brought in a copy to sell.”
“Thank you so much.” McNair’s politeness is at an eleven. When Violet clomps away in her boots, I lift my eyebrows at him. “What?” he asks.
“ ‘Definitely. Best live album ever recorded in the history of mankind.’ ”
He stares. “Is that… supposed to be an imitation of me?”
“Depends. Were you flirting with Violet?” I won’t give him the satisfaction of my assumption that Violet was flirting with him first. Maybe she was trying to count his freckles too.
“She was deep in some kind of Nirvana reverie. I didn’t want to completely lose her to it.”
“You’ve never listened to Nirvana, have you?”
“Not a single song. While we’re waiting”—McNair jerks his head toward the listening booths in the back—“I’ve always kind of wanted to listen to something back there.”
“You really think we can agree on something to listen to?” I ask, though I’ve been gazing longingly at the listening booths since we walked in.
He taps his chin. “What if we each pick one album, and the other person has to listen to one song in its entirety before passing judgment?”
I can’t deny it sounds fun. “Fine, but make it quick.”
KIRBY
oh DID YOU NOW??
you teamed up with the guy you’re definitely not obsessed with?
MARA
Be nice.
But actually:
I roll my own eyes, though I’m relieved our friendship hasn’t been strained past the point of conversations like this.
I think you’re a little obsessed with him.
Obsessed with winning, yes. And he happens to be the only person who can help me get there.
I make it back to the listening booth a moment before McNair, and my heart leaps into my throat as I hide my phone, though of course he can’t see our group chat. He’s clutching an album so close to his chest, he might as well be hugging it. On the small table are a record player and twin pairs of headphones, with two chairs tucked in. McNair snaps the curtain shut, closing us inside the tiny space.
“You can go first,” I say as we pull out the chairs and reach for the headphones.
I used to imagine coming here with someone I liked, spending hours browsing records, bumping knees as we listened to them in a booth like this one. It’s where the perfect high school boyfriend and I would have hung out. I’d lie awake at night, marking a mental map of Seattle for me and this mystery guy, and listening to records together was one of the most romantic things I could imagine. I dreamed up entire playlists for us. The Cure’s “Close to Me,” with those breathy pauses and suggestive lyrics, was the sexiest song I’d ever heard. The universe must find it hilarious that the first time I’m in here, it’s with McNair.
McNair’s song is upbeat, bouncy, with high-pitched male vocals. Fifteen seconds in, he pulls the headphones off one ear and asks, “What do you think?” He’s bouncing his leg up and down, impatient for my response.
“It’s… fun,” I admit, but I don’t want him to get an ego about choosing something not-terrible, so I add: “It’s almost in your face about how fun it is.”
“Didn’t realize you were so offended by fun.” He holds out the album cover, which features the five band members dressed in bright colors and playing Twister.