Malcolm volunteers to get them and when she pops the trunk of her faithful Honda Civic, he says, “Three suitcases? Joy.”

“What? This is pretty good for me, all things considered,” she says. “It’s not like I knew we were camping or anything.”

Malcolm effortlessly pulls each one out and sets them on the sidewalk. “I meant it when I said I didn’t think you’d have a good time.” He wheels the two larger suitcases, leaving the smaller one for her.

“And yet you invited me anyway. Because Summer asked.” Joy nods toward her, already inside the Jeep, having claimed the front for herself. “She’s in my seat.”

Malcolm doesn’t even seem bothered by her thinly veiled accusation, shrugging it off as if her feelings don’t matter. “Summer made a playlist. She’s really excited to help navigate once the GPS drops out for part of the drive.”

Joy stares at him as he plays Tetris with her suitcases to make them fit into the already packed trunk. She gets it—he’s nervous and wants the trip to go well—but it’s hard not to take this personally. Suddenly he’s like a neon sign in the dead of night, so bright it burns her eyes. Joy reads him loud and clear: Summer comes first right now. Chewing on her lip, eyes downcast, she says, “Fine.”

Is it truly too much for him to make space for her feelings too? She won’t get an answer even if she asks, so she doesn’t. When she looks up again, her heart skips a tiny, shocked beat. Fox is there leaning against the side of the car. Watching her.

Joy forces herself to smile, covering the conflicting emotions she knows are written all over her face and locking them away. “Problem?”

Fox shakes his head.

“Good.” Joy moves past him and opens the door to the back seat. “Because if I remember correctly, eavesdropping is rude, right?” She winks at him before climbing in.

Moments later, Fox opens the opposite door and sits next to her. He puts on his seatbelt, slides on a pair of sunglasses, crosses his arms, and slumps down in his seat.

Summer turns around. “You could at least wait until we’ve been driving for a while before you fall asleep.” She looks to Joy. “He always does this.”

“What? Pretend to sleep so he can spy on people in peace? Because that’s absolutely what he’s doing.”

A small noise sounds on Joy’s right. Fox hasn’t moved—face still unexpressive, arms still crossed—but she swears he made a quiet snort-laugh.

“No, he’s not.” Summer laughs, shaking her head. “You like indie music, right?”

“I don’t dislike it.”

“I made a playlist for us. I even put in some gospel songs for Malcolm.”