When the sun is high and scorching—especially on poor Jake’s milky skin—they take refuge in the shops. They scavenger hunt for the funniest T-shirt on the boardwalk—tie-dyed with a pug wearing sunglasses and a hoodie that says PUG LIFE—which Jake is obligated to buy and wear. They take pictures of themselves pretending to do shots from I ATLANTIC CITY glasses. Willa buys a postcard for her mom and Taylor considers a snow globe, but she doesn’t want to buy it in front of the boys. They stop to watch the pulling machine as it stretches saltwater taffy and they take more than their share of the free samples. Peyton springs for corn dogs, which they eat sitting on a bench overlooking the ocean, arguing over whether ketchup or mustard is the best condiment for corn dogs. Taylor and Willa both vote for ketchup, but mustard wins.

Dale is the first to finish eating. He lets out a long, rolling burp, then, “Okay. Now it’s time to hit the casino.”

“Dude, you have to be twenty-one,” Jake says.

And from Peyton, “Don’t they card at the door?”

“I have it on good authority that they do not,” Dale says. “Casinos are busy places. They won’t even know we’re there.”

Peyton pulls a skeptical face. “Who’s your good authority?”

“My cousin Jeff.”

Jake leans into Taylor and whispers, “Jeff is an ass.”

“Come on, you guys,” Dale says. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“We go to jail,” Willa says.

“We’d probably just get kicked out,” Peyton says. “The police department is too busy for small-time shit like that.”

“Look,” Dale says, “the whole point of Atlantic City is gambling, so are we doing this or not?”

Taylor thinks about night sailing, bridge jumping, drinking boot water, and ‘Make your own luck.’ She answers without hesitation. “We’re in.”

Willa’s eyebrows hitch up over the top of her sunglasses. “We are?”

“It’s what Finley would do.”

“Okay.” Willa’s sigh is skeptical, but she nods her assent. “We’re in.”

Dale chooses the next casino on the boardwalk and leads the way inside. The atmosphere is busy, it’s noisy, and there are people everywhere. Families pass through from the boardwalk to the hotel. Poker and roulette players cluster around the gaming tables. And there is an army of slot machines lined up in rows. No one asks to see their IDs. No one even seems to notice them at all.

“We should probably avoid the tables.” Willa keeps her voice low. “Too many people and too much time for them to realize we’re not legal.”

Taylor feels a tiny twist in her stomach, but she ignores it. “Good point. So maybe we should try the slots?”