Ex-mas by Kate Brian

toward her across the bright green lawn of the quad, sweeping her up into his strong arms, twirling her around, and kissing her long and hard in front of the entire incoming freshman class.
    She heard Beau sigh slightly, and then he clicked on the car stereo. It was worth significantly more than the car it sat in. He fiddled with the console, clicking over to his iPod connection.
    Good. Lila nodded to herself. Music will make this all slide by like a dream
    But the thought died away as absurd sounds fil ed the car,
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    jaunty and bouncy, with a scratchy voice that drowned out everything. It sounded like the circus. Like a creepy, demented circus in a horror movie. Was that an accordion?
    "What is this?" she demanded. The weird music made her think of old men with thick accents, playing chess in the park in heavy sweaters no matter how hot it was.
    "Beirut," Beau said defensively, glaring at the road.
    "As in, the music of a foreign culture?"
    "As in, that's the name of the band," he shot back. "Which I'm listening to because it's good. Something I realize you don't care about anymore."
    "You listen to polka music now?" Lila demanded, scandalized. "Seriously?"
    "I forgot to download my Lady Gaga col ection," Beau said snidely. "My bad."
    "There's nothing wrong with Lady Gaga," Lila snapped at him. "At least she can carry a tune. Unlike this crap!" She waved her hand at the stereo. The music now included what sounded like a sitar.
    "Fine," Beau said tightly. He punched at the console again, and something more folky--and more melodic, at least--fil ed the car. "This is Fleet Foxes.
    They played on Saturday Night Live once, so hopeful y that won't be too esoteric or weird for you."
    "Right," Lila said, not even bothering to rol her eyes. She
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    channeled her annoyance through her voice. "Because if a band you like is even known by more than two people, they've sold out and are lame. I forgot."
    "I don't like Top Forty music," Beau said, his voice clipped. "So sue me."
    "You don't like it because it makes you feel superior not to," Lila countered. "Not because you actual y dislike the music. You've probably never listened to a Fergie song in your life."
    "Do I real y have to listen to every overproduced piece-of-crap song to know they al suck?" Beau asked, and laughed disdainful y. "That they're an offense to anyone who's actual y interested in real music?"
    "As defined by you, Beau Hodges," Lila pointed out. "You get to decide what's real and what's not. You think it makes you cool to hate on things that other people like."
    Lila had no idea why she was acting like pop music was this important to her. It was something in the way Beau dismissed it, like it was beneath him--
    while he was listening to glorified polka music. What gave him the right to decide what was good and what wasn't?
    There was another silence between them, as the music soared, surprisingly crisp and beautiful, between them.
    "What the hel happened to you?" Beau asked final y, as if the question were being torn from him. Lila had the feeling he would have given a lot not to ask it.
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    "Britney Spears fried my brain," she replied dryly. "Is that what you want to hear?"
    "I'm serious," Beau said, and for once he didn't sound like he was trying to trap her into saying something he could misconstrue. He sounded puzzled. "I mean, you used to love music. You used to live for it. Real music--and now you're mounting a defense of bubblegum pop? I don't get it."
    "People change," Lila said. Because there was nothing else to say. How could she explain the choices she'd made? To him, of al people? It either made perfect sense why she'd had to do what she'd done, or it didn't, and no amount of explanation could bridge that gap. It had never made any sense to Beau. Because he was a guy, maybe, but also because he was Beau. And it wasn't about pop music. Obviously. It was about...having the kind of life that you could look back on and be proud of. That would make sense on