I’m sick of the eighties and nineties tunes. If Lianne were here, we’d have fun joking about the lack of selection. We’d marvel at the one-hit-wonders. We’d argue about the classics. Without her, it’s just a bunch of so-so tracks, and a long night to fill with them. I know I pushed Lianne away last weekend. At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do. Who wants a guy on the verge of becoming a college dropout? Except that I miss her terribly. “Hey,” a female voice says, and I look up fast. It’s Bella. I don’t even try to disguise my disappointment or the way my eyes go right over her shoulder, hoping to find Lianne. “She didn’t come,” Bella says, reading my not-very-opaque mind. “I tried. But she’s kind of down in the dumps.” “That’s my fault,” I grunt. “No,” she says, patting my shoulder. “It’s not.
