Page 45 of Even After Sunset

“You’re gonna roast in that camper,” he says.

And he’s right. The AC unit has been acting up again. I think Trudy is rejecting it because it looks so tacky, having that white plastic unit wedged in her back window. But no way am I doing any complaining about that kind of thing on a full-summer road trip adventure.

“It’ll be fine,” I say, scrubbing my wet hands against the sides of my sweatpants. “I can come cool off in the water after, if I have time.”

He nods. “Dodge all the cigarette butts while you do the backstroke.”

I shove my elbow into his side and he grunts.

“Plus,” I continue, otherwise ignoring his jibe. “I have an extra fan I plug in when it gets really hot. And I’m going to finish the new playlist I’ve been working on while I eat breakfast, which will put me in a good mood.”

I trace a long spiral in the sand with my finger, then erase it with the back of my hand. “Music helps distract me from the heat.”

Silas stretches out his long legs. “Another playlist,” he mumbles.

It’s just a two-word statement, but there’s a derogatory implication in his tone. Which is why my next sentence comes off sounding defensive.

“I make great playlists.”

He doesn’t respond, but I don’t miss the dubious lift of his eyebrows.

“I do. My playlists are legendary; I have seventy-eight followers on Spotify. And the school radio plays my mixes all the time during lunch. So quit with the judgey eyebrows.”

He chuckles. “Judgey eyebrows?”

“Yeah. Like you’re doing right now.”

He shakes his head, digging his long fingers into the sand. He pulls out a smooth rock and brushes it off, then lifts his arm and tosses it. The rock shoots straight through the wooden pillars and bounces off a wave before disappearing into the low surf.

He brushes off his hands. “Your school has its own radio station?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” He leans back against the wooden pillar. “Fancy.”

After that, we sit in silence, listening to the frothy waves rolling across the flattened sand. Right now, we’re just two low silhouettes camouflaged beneath the shadows of the pier.

There are a few more people on the beach now: hardcore vacationers, I guess, who want first dibs on the best square-footage of sand. The sun is higher, its rays squinting through the pillars at us like fuzzy-edged blades.

“Let’s see it.” Silas says after a while.

I turn my head and blink back at him. “Huh?”.

“Your latest epic playlist. Let’s see what’s on it.”

“It isn’t finished,” I say. “I’m still working on it.”

“Okay.” he studies me with slate-grey eyes. “So let me see what you’ve got so far.”

I know he’s just going to make snarky comments about the songs I’ve got on it, but I really couldn’t care less. I love my playlists. They’re mood-enhancing. Moodchanging, even — for anyone who isn’t a longtime recruit of the Dark Side, that is.

I dig my phone out of my pocket and swipe to Spotify, and then to my latest playlist. Then I slap my phone into Silas’ calloused palm.

“Careful you don’t become blinded by the brightness emanating from this curated collection of joy-inducing tunes.”

He squints down at the screen. “I’ll try not to,” he mumbles, scrolling down slowly with his thumb. After a couple of seconds, he makes a face, pausing on what is likely one of my shiniest gems. “God… I can’t make any promises, though.”

He keeps scrolling, his large fingers making my iPhone seem small and delicate. He pauses again.

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