Drumbeats into My Heart

61. Seth Curates a Playlist

I walk the full length of the farmer's market again, frowning. I don't see or hear her anywhere.

She's just not here.

I plop onto the bench I usually sit on to listen to Jordi play and stare dejectedly at the empty spot where she normally sets up. Not only is she ignoring my calls, she's also avoiding the market closest to my house.

I lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees, sighing as I open the hand that clutches my old, scratched MP3 player. I'd cleared it out and recorded messages to her. Told her how I felt, why I'm such a basket-case, how being with her makes me feel like a whole person instead of walking husk of inadequacy. I recorded my voice in a series of files and selected some of my all-time favorite songs. Songs that explain my state of mind in lyrics and melodies. I carefully arranged them into a specific order, creating a playlist designed to guide her through the jungle of my emotions and thoughts. It took me two weeks.

Two weeks of intense thought and meticulous curation, and she's not even here. What am I supposed to do now?

I pocket the player and pull out my phone, dialing Tai.

"What's up, bro?" he answers on the second ring.

"She's not here."

"Aw, I'm sorry, man."

I hear a girl giggling and Tai shushing her.

"Is that Winnie?"

"Yeah. We're getting pedicures."

I blink and stare at my phone display like maybe I've dialed the wrong person. "I'm sorry, did you say pedicures?"

"Uh-huh. Winnie says I have gnarly toenails."

"More like claws," Winnie shouts.

"So... you're going to get them painted?" I scratch my head, trying to imagine which color he'd choose.

"Hell no. Just the other stuff. You know, clipping, cuticles, buffing, whatever. It even includes a foot massage! When they're done, I'll have gentleman toes."

I shake my head, wanting to be embarrassed for him, but honestly a foot massage sounds nice right about now. "Can you ask Winnie something for me? Can you ask her if Jordi is actively avoiding me?"

"Dude, I'm not asking her that."

A whispered discussion just out of my earshot hisses in my ear, followed by what sounds like Winnie grabbing the phone. "Come meet up with us," she says.

"I'm not getting a pedicure."

"Afterwards. Meet us at the diner near your house."

"Okay."

An hour later, the two of them are seated across the table from me, a basket of zucchini fries between us. The air smells of grease and, well, more grease. I try to ignore the vaguely sticky vinyl seat.

Winnie plucks a zucchini fry from the basket and shakes it at me. "I like you, Seth. Not as much as this guy—" She gives Tai a playful shove with her shoulder. "But I do like you. That said, I can't go divulging what Jordi's told me. They are not my feelings to share, and I like her more than you." She winks at me to soften her words and bites into the zucchini. "Why are these things so good?"

I look to my friend for help, but he only shrugs and stuffs four zucchini fries into his mouth. "Not my fight, man."

I rub my face and slouch in my seat. "Then what am I supposed to do?" I fish the MP3 player out of my pocket and set it in the center of the table. "I just want to give her this." I brighten and look to Winnie. "Hey, can you give it to her?"

She stares at it like it's dead mouse. "Uhh... I don't know."

My lower lip protrudes with indignance. "Why not?"

"Seth, I'm her best friend. If she doesn't want to talk to you, she probably doesn't want me talking to you either."

"Oh." I reclaim the player and slide it in front of me, leaving my hand on top of it, resigned. "Then why are you talking to me?"

Her head tilts from side to side, eyes rolling to the ceiling in thought. "I've seen how happy she is when she's with you. I'd like to see her that happy again."

"Me too!" A streak of hope slices through my frustration. "Maybe you could—"

Tai reaches across the table and engulfs my hand. "Dude, you're gonna get her in trouble."

I withdraw my hand, stung that Tai has taken her side instead of mine.

"Sorry," I mumble to Winnie, scrambling to my feet. "I don't want to get you in trouble."

"Hey," she says, catching my sleeve. "She still performs at the DMV lot on Saturdays."

"Oh." I meet her eyes briefly, too embarrassed by Tai's admonishment to realize what she's implying by telling me this. "Thanks."

I avoid eye contact with my traitorous best friend and stalk out of the diner, resisting the urge to slam the MP3 player into the trash.

Here, Seth, slam this vote button instead!