Chapter 12 Playlist East Coast Summer
MYLES SEES ME RIGHT away. As promised, he’s still in his Pearl’s shirt and shorts, and I clock the plastic cup in one of his hands as he waves with the other.
“Amelia!” he calls. “You made it.”
The confidence I mustered to show up alone would have spiraled if I hadn’t quickly found someone I knew, and the warmth in Myles’s greeting is like turning my face toward the sun. I grin and walk up to the group he’s standing with. They’re all seniors, and all way more popular than me.
Several of the girls are wearing dresses or short skirts and a lot more makeup than I am. Suddenly I wish I’d taken a little more time to freshen up. “Am I underdressed?”
Myles snorts. “Definitely not. It’s all for that new guy.” He glances down at me and tugs at my sweatshirt. “I like this way better.”
“Oh. Thanks… me too,” I say, his words lifting me like the next breeze could pull me straight up and away. He likes something about me—something that’s just me, everyday Amelia—better.
Because Myles has good manners, he introduces me to everyone. I know all their names, because our school isn’t that big and most of us juniors know the seniors. Most of them smile or say hi. One of the girls eyes me uncertainly, like she’s debating whether I’m a threat.
“Amelia works at Pearl’s too,” Myles tells them. Then he turns to me. “Want something to drink?”
“U-um,” I stammer. I’ve never hung out with a bunch of seniors before, and I don’t want to look like a total loser. “Sure.”
Someone hands over a fresh cup of beer, like what Myles asks for just appears out of thin air. I guess when you’re voted Most Likely to Be President, that’s how things go.
I can’t stand the yeasty smell, so I just hold it and fight the urge to wrinkle my nose. The group keeps talking around me, and my mind is racing as I try to come up with something relevant to add.
A newcomer slides into the circle, and it takes me a few seconds to place him. It’s Jaxon Williams, a senior best known for his talent show performance last year—a rendition of Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the U.S.A.” on bagpipes.
Everyone sort of stops and gapes at him.
“What?” he asks, as if he’s not wearing acid-washed jeans, a silk short-sleeved button-down shirt adorned with tiny pigeons, and a painfully bright orange bow tie.
“Dude,” some guy says. “What are you wearing?”
“I decided I needed a personal rebrand for the summer,” Jaxon says. “I’m testing out a few themes.”
“What’s… uh, what’s this theme supposed to be?” Myles asks, fighting hard to keep a straight face.
“Not sure yet. I’m workshopping a few ideas.”
I speak without thinking. “It’s giving ‘I’d do just about anything for twenty dollars.’ ”
The entire group bursts into laughter, and Jaxon cocks his head at me, lifts one finger in my direction, and says, “That… is not wrong.”
A cacophony of laughter rises again, and I grin up at Myles. He’s got this satisfied, almost proud look on his face—like, She’s with me.
I’m positively giddy and slide easily into the group’s conversation after that. Everyone talks about their summer plans for a while. Then some guy turns to me and asks, “Do you know where you want to go to college?”
“I have some ideas,” I say. “But not completely sure yet. Do you?”
“NYU,” he replies, and several people chime in with their post–high school plans. Myles grows quiet during this discussion. His gaze travels above some of his friends, and he grins and nods as if he sees someone he knows. “Be right back,” he says to me, and heads in that direction.
As soon as he leaves, my recently acquired confidence drops by several degrees.
I grow quieter, listening to others chime in with their planned majors and expectations for moving away from home for the first time.
The girl who eyed me earlier sends a glare my way.
I want to tell her I’m not after whichever guy she’s into—I’m not after any of them, for that matter—but instead I slide my phone out of my pocket and open my text messages with interest, as if it buzzed with a notification.
It’s an excuse to walk away, and I go wide so I can empty my plastic cup in the sand.
While standing with Myles and his friends, I saw Ruby around somewhere—that hair’s hard to miss—so I decide to track down a soda and find her.
I head toward the bonfire and kegs. The same table from before is nearby with plastic cups, and a massive cooler sits on the sand with the top propped open, full of ice, beer, and sodas.
I see a Pepsi can on top and reach for it.
When I straighten, someone is standing right in front of me.
“I’m having déjà vu,” Gregory McLoughlin says.
I can’t help it. I smile. “Want one?”
He nods, slow and exaggerated, and takes it. “Thanks.”
I dig around for another one, then pop the top as I come around to his side of the table. He’s wearing shorts and a navy-blue zip-up hoodie, and a white baseball cap. The bonfire’s going strong, its glow lighting up our faces.
Gregory takes a long drink, and I feel his eyes on me. He reaches up and turns his hat backward, as if to see me better. I arch an eyebrow, like, What are you looking at?
“So. Is that guy your boyfriend?”
Instead of saying no, even though that’s the answer regardless of who he’s talking about, I say, “What guy?”
“Tall. Blond. Handsome, probably. Henry Danger look-alike.”
What is with people thinking Myles is my boyfriend? “No. Myles is not my boyfriend.”
He makes a low humming sound. “You want him to be, though.”
My mouth drops open. “I—what? It’s… no I don’t.”
“Okay.” He says it on a laugh, and it’s clear he doesn’t believe me.
“I mean it. I don’t.”
He regards me for a moment. “Good.”
“Good? Why good?” Why does he care?
“Flashy, popular guys like that never turn out to be worth it.”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s your deal? Did all your girlfriends dump you when you moved here or something?”
“Plural? Do I strike you as the type to have multiple girlfriends?”
“Honestly? A little.”
He laughs again. This one is loud and rich, and uninhibited. It’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh like that, and I can’t help but glance over to see his face, and the bright smile I find there causes me to grin back at him.
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he says.
“It wasn’t.”
Gregory has the gall to wink at me.
I just shake my head and tip my Pepsi to my lips. “How’d you know about this party?”
“Some girl with blue hair told me about it at work today.”
Blue hair? “Ginger Levine. Most Likely to End Up on Broadway.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
He blinks, confused for a second, then shrugs. “Anyway, I figured the only way to make some friends is to get out here and try.”
His eyes have been on me most of the time we’ve been talking, but they’re on the bonfire now.
I take the opportunity to study him without worrying I’m coming across as a weirdo.
Ever since we met, he’s seemed flirty, sort of sarcastic, and confident—a little arrogant, even—but somehow still…
sweet. But in this moment, in the dark under the stars with the waves crashing just a few yards away, he almost looks lost.
It’s probably really hard to pick up and move to a place where you know no one.
When you’re anyone except Kat, that is. I remember what he said about his dad too, and wonder how long ago he died and if it has anything to do with the relocation.
I haven’t been all that nice to him, and I’m feeling sort of guilty about it now.
I think about Kat approaching me at the swings all those years ago, and how uncomplicated it was. I look beyond the fire to the undulating ocean for a few seconds before turning back to him.
“I could be your friend.”
His gaze catches mine again. “This feels like a trap.”
I smack his arm. It’s firmer than I expected.
He just laughs.
“You don’t want to be friends with me?” I ask.
“No, I do. Especially because I already started working on your playlist.”
I look up at him sternly. “I told you not to make me one.”
“I didn’t listen.”
I’m kind of happy about that, but I work hard not to let it show on my face. “What’s on it so far?”
He shakes his head. “I never share a playlist until it’s done.”
Is… is it possible this guy takes playlists more seriously than I do?
“Fine,” I grumble.
He beams like he just won the lottery. His teeth are straight and white, but I notice that one front tooth overlaps the other just a touch. That slight imperfection makes his smile even more charming. He nods toward one of the logs. “Want to sit?”
I probably should, because my legs are toast after me being on my feet at work today. But I scrunch my nose. I’ve been happy to lounge around and mope for the summer so far, but I realize that tonight I feel a little fluttery and restless.
“Take a walk?” he tries again.
I glance back at the seniors. Myles still hasn’t rejoined them. “Sure. Walking along the beach at night is my second-favorite activity.”
I start walking around the bonfire, weaving through people to reach the water’s edge.
“What’s the first?” Gregory asks from behind me.
“Sleeping.”
“Really?”
He catches up to me, and we clear the group of partygoers and turn right to move parallel to the water, just shy of the shoreline.
I pause to take off my sandals and hook them around my finger. I take note of where we are, because certain parts of the beach get a little too rocky to cover barefoot. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
“I don’t know. I guess I had you pegged for one of those seize-the-day overachievers.”
I frown. “Just because I love my sleep doesn’t mean I’m lazy.”
“So you are, then? An overachiever?”
“It depends on how you define that.”
“What’s your GPA?”
I pause. “Four-point-oh,” I grumble. I need a scholarship, remember?
He snorts in a way that says, I was right.
“I might have good grades,” I say, “but that’s all I’ve got. I’m not a perfect student plus the star of the tennis team.”
“Like your friend that moved away?”