Page 107 of Pride High 2: Orange
“Speaking of which,” Anthony said, getting up to rifle through his collection of CDs, “is that going to happen soon? You mentioned needing a place.”
“Not for that,” Omar said. “There’s something else I want to happen first. I don’t want to jinx it, because I tried before and it didn’t go well. My timing sucked. So I need this to be a real moment, you know? I’m thinking New Year’s Eve. We’ve gotta be somewhere really cool—no, somewhereromantic—when the clock strikes midnight. It’s really important.”
Anthony turned around to face him, and as always, his best friend didn’t let him down. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s come up with a plan.”
* * December 29th, 1992 * *
“We should have done this sooner,” Silvia said while handing Anthony his present.
“I don’t mind,” he replied when passing her a wrapped box. “It makes Christmas last longer.”
“No, I mean us hanging out like this.” They were in the family room at Anthony’s house, down in the finished basement. So far they had sat on the couch and caught up while switching between MTV and VH1. They weren’t interrupted by record store customers, nor did they have to consider their friends’ feelings when getting into detailed discussions about music. They were finally alone, and to her great relief, she felt absolutely no tension between them.
“You should stay the night sometime,” Anthony said while unwrapping his gift. “Now that I’m out to my parents, I bet they would let you.”
“Does that mean Omar can’t spend the night anymore?” Silvia teased.
“It better not! They know I have a boyfriend. I don’t think Cameron would be allowed, but I might ask anyway.”
“I would love to stay over sometime,” Silvia said. Then she held her breath, because Anthony was examining the VHS tape she had given him.
“An Erasure concert!” he said, clearly trying to muster enthusiasm. “That’s fun.”
“It’s more than fun,” Silvia said. “Trust me. You’re going to love it.”
“I did like singing along to their ABBA-themed EP with you.”
“But,” she added for him.
Anthony leaned over, and in a stage whisper, he said, “I’m more into ABBA than Erasure.”
“In my experience astherecord store girl, I’ve noticed that the music people like and the music peoplewantto like are two different things.”
Anthony was already shaking his head. “I really do like my bands.”
“I have no doubt of that,” Silvia assured him. “But have you ever resisted liking something because it doesn’t fit with your perceived notion of who you are? Here’s a good example: They Might Be Giants. We both loved listening to their Flood album. So why haven’t we dived into their back catalog?”
Anthony opened his mouth. Then he shut it again, thought for a moment, and laughed at himself. “Because it doesn’t fit my image.”
Silvia nodded. “I used to be the same way. I’d only listen to female artists who wrote powerful lyrics. Susanne Vega, Kate Bush, Annie Lennox, Tracy Chapman.”
“All great,” Anthony said in approval.
“Right, but when you work at a record store, you end up talking to people who like all sorts of music. And it’s contagious. Someone would rave about a Willie Nelson album, so I’d put it on after they left and stand there with my arms crossed because I didn’t like the idea of being into country music.”
“I’ve done that a million times,” Anthony admitted. “You’re so right!”
“The irony is that it’s a self-inflicted punishment. Nobody cares how we perceive ourselves. Not when it comes to the music we like.”
“So we should stop trying to be cool and let ourselves enjoy whatever we’re actually into, instead of only what wewantto like.”
“Exactly,” Silvia said.
Anthony smiled at her. “You’re brilliant.”
She found that flattering. But it didn’t make her heart flutter. Now if she thought about Keisha…
“Open yours,” Anthony said, interrupting her train of thought.
