By the time by Jimmy Eat World started playing, the sun was beginning to dip, turning the sky a bruised purple that matched the pop-punk angst of their youth. Maya started singing along to the chorus, her voice competing with the wind rushing through the cabin.
The windows of Leo’s beat-up 2004 sedan were rolled down so far they’d practically disappeared into the doors. In the passenger seat, Maya was digging through a spindle of scratched CDs until she found it: a Sharpie-labeled disc titled summer_rock_mix_best_summer_rock_songs_2000s