I really didn't realize how important music would be in this novel when I set out to write it. I knew I wanted Mark to be into instrumental hip hop, but I wasn't sure how big a role music would end up playing. Once it occurred to me, I knew I had to pick music that was meaningful to me--not trendy songs that disappear with the changing seasons. I needed songs with lasting impact, and my first introduction to DJ Shadow came in college when a dude from my Literature of the Inner Quest class loaned me his CD, Endtroducing... Yeah, you read that right: Literature of the Inner Quest. Freaking weirdo English majors. (We have a lot of feelings, okay?)
Anyway, I was hooked. And I subsequently developed a mad crush on that cutie who loaned me the CD. But, alas. It wasn't meant to be. However, when I started developing Mark's character, the college dude crept back into my head. He said, "Hey Summer, it'd be really awesome if you based this one aspect of Mark's character off me. Remember that mad crush you had on me your sophomore year?" To which I replied, "Umm, hello? Of course I do. What the hell happened to you?" He didn't reply.
And that's the story behind DJ Shadow's omnipresence in my book.
Now grab a glass of red wine and press PLAY. It's mellow and sophisticated. Just like that drink in your hand :)
Excerpt from Chapter 9 - listen
“Where is everyone?” I asked, poking my head in the doorway
Tuesday afternoon.
“I’m not tutoring today. I have a doctor’s appointment,” Mr.
Connelly replied. “Did you forget?”
“Ohhh, that’s right,” I said. My heart filled with instant
excitement. Two hours! All to myself! Dad didn’t need to know the session was
cancelled. I practically salivated at the idea of unmonitored time to myself. Where
would I go? The mall? A movie, perhaps? Maybe I would just drive around,
heading nowhere in particular, just happy to be free, even if it was for a
short period of time.
“What are you thinking, Cadence?” Mr. Connelly asked.
I shook my head.
“Nice try,” he said.
My face broke out into the widest grin. “I have two hours,”
I breathed, eyes big and glassy. Like I was in a daydream—a too-good-to-be-true
wonderful, delirious daydream.
“To do what?” Mr. Connelly asked.
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what I do
so long as I do something. Two hours!”
“Cadence, I think the smart thing would be to go home,” Mr.
Connelly said.
I looked at him like he betrayed me. “No.”
“If your dad finds out there was no tutoring session today
and you’re not home, things could go south really fast,” Mr. Connelly said.
I was instantly pissed. “Do you understand that I have no
freedom? My parents watch me like a hawk, afraid I’ll fall in with some other
bad group and rob another convenience store. This is probably the only time all
year that I’ll be able to go somewhere or do something that they’ll know
nothing about. And I’m not passing on that chance.” It was a complete lie, but
he certainly didn’t need to know my arrangement with Avery. And anyway, I
didn’t need him to be my teacher right now. I needed him to be a sympathizer.
Mr. Connelly smiled wearily. “I’d just hate for you to lose
your driving privileges.” And then he added more quietly, “I’d hate to not see
you after school Thursday.”
I was shocked. I couldn’t believe he said it. Why would he
hate to not see me Thursday?
He turned his back and continued packing his bag. He pulled
the strap over and across his body, then closed and locked his desk drawers. I
hovered in the doorway waiting for him to look at me. He took his time
adjusting the bag, looking everywhere except my direction. I grew bold.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why what?”
“Why would you hate to not see me at tutoring Thursday?” I
couldn’t believe my own courage.
Mr. Connelly looked me square in the face. And then his eyes
travelled to a spot just above my head. “Because you’re failing math. And I’d
like to see you improve.”
I exhaled. I felt like a tire that had been punctured by a
fat, unforgiving nail, deflating fast and hard to nothing.
But his eyes moved,
my brain kept telling me. Don’t get
discouraged. His eyes moved.
“Where do you plan on going?” Mr. Connelly asked, walking
towards me.
“I don’t know,” I replied, trying to hide my disappointment.
It didn’t matter what my brain told me. Didn’t matter that Mr. Connelly
couldn’t look me in the face when he obviously lied to me. I wanted to hear the
truth. “Maybe a movie.”
Mr. Connelly checked his wristwatch. “Not enough time.”
I nodded. “Maybe the mall then.”
He grimaced. “Why would anyone wanna go there?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” I said. “It’s a teenage thing.”
He chuckled. “I was a teenager, too, once.”
I shrugged.
“You like that CD I let you borrow?”
“Yeah. I should probably give it back to you, huh?” I
chuckled nervously. I’d had his CD for weeks with no plans to return it. I
didn’t want to.
“Keep it for as long as you’d like.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. And if you like that, there’s an independent music
store on Roswell Road that sells a bunch of it. It’s not more than five minutes
from here. You can go and listen to some stuff on records. Completely different
experience. You may like it. And it’d be a hell of a lot better than wasting
your time at the mall,” he suggested.
“What’s a record?” I asked teasingly.
Mr. Connelly rolled his eyes. “I’m not that much older than you. And what is the world coming to when
young people have never heard music on vinyl?”
I giggled. “I seriously never have.”
“Then you need to go. Listen to anything. I don’t even care,
so long as it’s an LP.”
I didn’t understand what he was talking about, but I thought
if I asked what an LP was, he might have a heart attack.
“What’s the name of the store?” I asked.
“Curb Your Dog Music,” Mr. Connelly replied with a grin.
“Curb Your Dog?” I asked, eyebrows raised.
“Whatever. The point is that it’s a good place. The owner’s
a good friend of mine. His name’s Dylan. Just ask him to help you find some
stuff,” Mr. Connelly said. “Now don’t waste any more time.”
He placed his hand on my shoulder and gently nudged me
aside. His touch was electric, and I tried not to jump. I didn’t want him to
know he had that kind of shock value.
“How old are you, Mr. Connelly?” I asked as we walked out of
the building together.
“I don’t know if I’m allowed to share that kind of
information with you,” he replied, opening the door for me.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I said. “I don’t have any friends
anyway.”
“I see you sitting with Avery at lunch,” he said.
He noticed I sat with Avery at lunch? What? Was he checking
up on me?
“Um, she’s not really a friend,” I replied.
“Oh.”
I cleared my throat. “So how old?”
“Well, as long as it’s our secret,” he said. “I just turned
twenty-eight.”
“Whoa.”
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“I thought you were, like, twenty-two or something,” I said.
I could not be in love with a
28-year-old man. Just too old.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Mr. Connelly said, laughing.
“You just look younger. But I guess that’s a good thing. For
adults anyway. To look younger than your age.”
“And teens want the exact opposite, right?” Mr. Connelly
asked. “You wanna look older.”
“Enough to buy beer,” I agreed.
He shook his head. “God, I miss high school sometimes.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. “What?”
“Did I say something wrong?” Mr. Connelly asked, turning
around.
“I’d say so!” I cried. “Something sacrilegious, at least!
You miss high school?”
“It’s not horrible for everyone, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly
said, smiling. “I had fun friends. It was a good time.” He thought for a
moment. “Now that I think about it, though, I could have given my parents less
to worry about. I was a little bad.” He winked at me.
I didn’t want him winking at me. I didn’t want to have this
conversation any longer. I felt like a complete loser. It was bad enough I had
a ridiculous crush on him. I didn’t need to know how cool he was in high
school.
“So you think you’ll check out that record store?” he asked.
I nodded. I didn’t need to know
how cool he was in high school, but I was desperate to learn about him now.
copyright S. Walden, 2013
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