“He’s such a goof,” Maricela said.
“Kai?” I asked.
“Yes.” She had a smile on her face.
“You like him?”
Her brows went down. “No, not at all. Janelle has pretty strict rules. Rule one, we can’t date guests. Rule two, we can’t date coworkers.”
“That sucks.”
“They’re good rules, trust me.”
“That sounds like someone who has broken one of those rules before.”
She cleared her throat and smirked. “Who, me?”
I had only known Maricela for two point two seconds but I already liked her a lot. Maybe she really could help me resolve things with Brooks. My gaze went back out to the group. “Is everyone who works here under twenty or something?”
“Well, it is a summer job. Not many adults are interested in summer-only work, so yeah, most. But we have a groundskeeper, he’s ancient, and Janelle is in her fifties. The office manager is older, the cook, the paycheck lady…”
The distinct sound of someone fingerpicking a guitar rang out. I went silent, along with everyone else, as we listened. The only noise was the chirping of crickets and the crystal-clear notes of perfect guitar playing. I tried to place the song but couldn’t. An original, then? The melody took my breath away. Brooks’s dinner playing had been so dispassionate that I hadn’t thought anything about his skills. But now I realized he was talented. And as I watched him play, the serene look on his face, the ease of his fingers on the strings, I knew this was his passion, his life. I could listen to him play like this forever.
My trance was broken when, reminiscent of dinner, he met my eyes and his serene expression immediately darkened. His fingers flubbed a chord, a sour note ringing out, and he flinched but then got back on track. His strong reaction to the mere sight of me reminded me how dumb he was being.
Even though he was still playing, the talking picked back up and soon there was a low buzz of voices all around. Kai got up and walked over to us.
“Did you eat all the pizza, Mari?” he asked.
“Yes, all five boxes.”
His smile, which I was realizing was pretty much a permanent fixture on his face, lit up his eyes. “I thought so.”
“Have you met Avery, Kai?”
“If listening to my best friend tell someone off is meeting them, then yes, yes I have. Hey, Avery.” He reached between us and retrieved two slices of pizza, which he folded in half to eat.
“Hi,” I said. “You carry those around everywhere?” I nodded toward the drumsticks still in his pocket.
He patted them. “Only so people will know how impressed they’re supposed to be.”
I smiled. “By the time you got to the Beach Boys at dinner, I was sufficiently impressed.”
He put his hand over his heart, obviously sensing my sarcasm. “Hey, if we didn’t have to play a Janelle-approved set list, we’d all be happier. Believe me.”
Maricela nudged me with her elbow. “Now’s your chance,” she said, nodding toward Brooks. “Go.”
I knew what she meant. With Kai gone, there was an empty chair next to Brooks. “I thought you were mediating.”
“I just said that to get you here.” She laughed when my mouth dropped open.
“Thanks a lot.”
“You’re a big girl.”
I didn’t feel like one at all. I felt like a child in time-out or something. But I stood anyway and walked over to Brooks, who was still playing the guitar. Before I thought about it too much, I lowered myself into the chair next to him.
“You following me now?” he asked.
“You’re really good,” I said, when what I really wanted to say was Why were you such a jerk earlier?
He seemed just as surprised by the compliment as I was that I gave it. “Thanks,” he said, and then as if he didn’t want to reward me with the sound anymore, he stopped playing and set his guitar off to the side.
“Are you friends with Mari?” he asked, a piece of glowing debris from the fire floating above his head before disappearing into the black night.
“We just met.”
“I’m sure she told you that you’re not supposed to be up here. We can’t hang out with guests off the clock.”
“She brought me here.”
He sighed. “Nice.”
“Yes, she is,” I said, even though I knew that’s not what he meant.
He shifted and it was obvious he was about to stand, take his guitar, and leave, so I blurted out, “I wasn’t in the middle of some prank yesterday. This lady spilled an entire cup of hot coffee on me when we were checking in and D gave me the shirt so I wouldn’t get second-degree burns.”
It was so subtle I almost didn’t notice, but his expression softened the tiniest degree. He was silent for a long moment, then said, straight-faced, “What did you do to make this lady so mad?”
I bit my lip as though trying to remember the exact details. “Let’s see…I think I called her an entitled, rich snob.”
I was rewarded with a smile. “Then you probably deserved it,” he said. I had a feeling that was the closest thing I was going to get to an apology.
“I definitely did. She should’ve thrown the heavy bass drum pedal she was holding at me too.”
He chuckled. “Probably.”
I nodded toward his guitar. “What song were you playing earlier?”
“ ‘Someday.’ ”
“The Strokes?” I asked, surprised.
“You know them?”
“Yeah. But that didn’t sound like ‘Someday.’ ”
“I changed it up a bit, slowed it down, tweaked a couple chord progressions.”
I nodded and then something occurred to me. Talking about songs reminded me of all my playlists trapped in space. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, holding my breath.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I thought you might have secret employee internet up here.” But there were no bars. I would have no additional songs to listen to. I would have no new messages. I tried not to let
