SPF 1
June
Jamie was leaning back in the passenger seat, living her best passenger princess life. From time to time, her hand was occasionally reaching into a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips, the other scrolling through the playlist I made for the trip.
“I’m just saying,” Jamie said, popping a chip into her mouth and pointing toward the dash, “navigation is a heavy burden. If I hadn’t told you to take that bypass, we’d still be stuck behind that tractor. My services are invaluable.”
I laughed, gripping the steering wheel as the landscape shifted from highway concrete to the rolling, golden fields of the countryside. “Your services mostly involve choosing the most dramatic songs possible for every tunnel we pass. But I appreciate the ‘guidance.’”
“It’s about the vibe, June, if we start well, the whole summer will be great,” she insisted, turning the AC vents toward her face. “But seriously, you seem a bit nervous. How long has it been since you were at your uncle’s?”
“Since we were 13,” I said, a wave of nostalgia hitting me. “Remember? We spent that whole July swimming and eating barbecue. But it’s more than that at this point. It’s where Travis spent his last summer before everything...changed.”
Jamie’s expression softened. “Of course, the mysterious Travis, he has always been like that. Maybe it’s the age difference. You still haven’t heard from him?”
“Not really, no. He only calls Mom and Dad once a month, and it’s always short. It’s like when he finished high school, he just decided to leave me behind, too.” I bit my lip, entering the familiar street. It’s like nothing changed trees. Except for us.
“Before we started high school, he spent those three months at the house alone, just before his first year of college. He told Mom it was the best summer of his life. I feel like if I’m here, in his space, I might finally understand why he changed. It’s like a spiritual connection mission.”
“I get it,” Jamie said gently, setting her chips aside. “You’re looking for the brother you lost. I just hope the house has some of that magic left for us.”
The tires groaned over the sun-bleached gravel, kicking up fine, pale plumes of dust that coated the weeds at the edge of the lot. I turned the key, and the engine died with a shudder, but the summer heat stayed; it was thick, heavy, and smelled like baked asphalt and the sweet, rotting scent of overripe peaches from the farm stand we’d passed a mile back.
I kept my hands on the steering wheel, my palms a little sweaty against the leather. The air conditioner’s final breath wheezed out of the vents, leaving us in that sudden, ringing silence that only happens in the dead of July.
The Bluetooth disconnected, and then, the radio filled the void.
“—and in local news, twenty-four-year-old Atlas Zane Knox was released earlier this week after serving four years in state prison, following the emergence of new forensic evidence. A bracelet recovered at the scene, previously used to link him to the crime, has now been conclusively proven not to belong to him—”
A chill that had nothing to do with the AC skittered down my spine. I reached for the dial, my thumb itching to kill the sound.
“Don’t,” Jamie snapped, her hand darting across the console to block mine. “It’s not even done.”
I cut her a look, squinting through the glare bouncing off the dashboard. “Jamie. We’re here. The beach is right there, and I’m currently melting into this seat.”
“I know, I know, but just listen. This station actually tells you what’s happening in the world.”
I let out a short, dry laugh, my fingers hovering just inches from her wrist. “You mean your world, the one where you pretend we’re in a 90s indie movie. You could’ve just connected Bluetooth like a normal person. I have a three-hour summer vibe playlist literally ready to go that we didn’t play on the way here.”
“And miss this?” Jamie gestured vaguely at the dashboard, her silver rings clinking. She looked entirely too comfortable for someone sitting in a metal box in ninety-degree weather. “Besides, Bluetooth glitches the second we hit the canyon. The radio is more authentic.”
“It literally just told us about some random guy getting out of prison,” I said, finally winning the battle enough to notch the volume down, though I didn’t turn it off. The guy’s name felt heavy. “How is that better than a 2019 Harry Styles song?”
Jamie shrugged, her eyes fixed on the radio display as if she could see the words forming. “It’s interesting. It’s real life, June. People are out there living whole sagas while we’re just picking out bikinis.”
And I’d rather keep it that way, but I didn’t say anything else. The announcer’s voice droned on, listing dates and a string of legal jargon I barely processed. He mentioned a town three counties over, a place of strip malls and rusted fences that felt a million miles away from the shimmering blue water waiting for us just past the tree line.
The name Atlas Zane Knox drifted through the cabin one last time, sounding rugged and out of place against the backdrop of a chirping cicada chorus beginning in the oaks outside.
Then, a bright, tinny jingle cut him off, followed by a high-tempo pop song that felt jarring and shallow after the mention of a prison cell.
I grabbed my canvas tote, the rough fabric scratching against my sun-warmed skin, and shoved the door open. The humid air hit me like a physical weight. “Next time I’m driving, we’re using Bluetooth. I’m not starting my vacation with the evening blotter.”
Jamie hopped out of her side, already kicking off her flip flops, her grin bright and unbothered. “You say that every time we go anywhere.”
“Because every time, you subject me to this,” I muttered, though I couldn’t help but smile back, remembering all the times she made me listen to the news. Horrific.
As I slammed the door, the car gave a faint, metallic click-click as the engine cooled. Inside the car, the radio was still humming, unheard and muffled by the glass. I adjusted my sunglasses, looking toward the water and thinking only of the first dive in the sea.
There were exactly two reasons I was currently sweating through my favorite bikini in the backseat of my own car.
Reason one: My brain was about ten seconds away from a total system failure. I had spent the last six months staring at blinking cursors and “Statement of Purpose” drafts until my eyes crossed. I was done with this life.
My heart was already five thousand miles away, dreaming of a life in Norway, somewhere with crisp air, minimalist furniture, and fjords so deep they could swallow my anxiety whole. I had three offers sitting in my inbox, and the deadline to pick my future was July 20th. By the end of this trip, I had to choose which version of “The Great Escape” I was actually going to live.
Reason two: My Uncle Dan and his wife were currently living it up in Tenerife, sipping sangria and leaving their gorgeous beach house completely unattended. A free house for a few weeks was the only thing standing between me and a clinical breakdown.
Well, okay, maybe it was not going to be completely free. Part of the deal was that some guy would be renovating the place while I stayed here. It was a friend of my uncle’s, supposedly obsessed with houses. Good for him, I guess.
I was already picturing a middle-aged, slightly overweight guy in cargo shorts.
And then, there was the...other thing. The third reason.
If I were being honest, and I usually tried not to be when it came to this, my romantic life was a literal desert. My last real relationship had imploded during my second year of uni, and let’s just say things had been pretty “dry” ever since. Now that graduation was behind me, I felt that itch. I was ready for something, or someone, to finally walk into my life and turn it upside down.
But there was a catch.There’s always a catch when it comes to me.
How am I supposed to let someone in when I’m planning to disappear to the Arctic Circle in two months or less? It felt like crap.
I wanted a summer romance, but my heart was already halfway through passport control, and I was definitely not the type to have one-night stands. Couldn’t bear the emotional strength that came with that.
“June! Earth to June!” Jamie’s voice broke through my spiral. She was already halfway down the pier, looking like my Pinterest board come to life. “Stop thinking about your stupid spreadsheets and get in the water!”
I looked at the lake, then at the house next door, and finally at my phone. July 20th. The clock was ticking, the sun was blazing, and I had absolutely no idea that my “quiet” retreat was about to be anything but. Although I wouldn’t categorize my hangouts with Jamie as quiet.
Either way, Jamie tagged along in this mess called my life as she always does.
“Last one in is paying for the pizza tonight!” Jamie yelled, already halfway down the wooden pier, her sundress fluttering behind her like a sail.
“That’s not fair, you’re wearing a swimsuit under that!” I shouted back, hitching my bag higher on my shoulder.
I crunched across the dry grass, the heat radiating off the ground in shimmering waves that made the horizon wobble. I tried to shake off the lingering mood from the car, but it stuck to me like the humid air.
The mention of that guy on the radio felt like a dark smudge on a bright day. It was exactly the kind of gritty, local tragedy this town loved to chew on, the kind of “small-town saga” I was trying to outrun by moving five thousand miles away.
I took a second to actually look at my home for the next few weeks. My uncle’s place was anyone’s dream house: all clean lines, floor-to-ceiling glass, and a wrap-around porch that smelled of expensive cedar. The garden was lush, an explosion of hydrangeas, roses, and some seagrass here and there from the sea.
All of this only made me wonder, why would my brother ever leave paradise?
