his music and loading up as fast as we can before heading up the river again. We barely even have time to eat lunch.
“So, I just have to ask . . . What is up with your musical tastes?” I say while we’re loading more canoes and getting ready to drive a birthday party reservation up to the boat launch. Eight-year-old boys in neon swim trunks scatter in every direction, shouting and chasing after one another, and a shaggy golden retriever joins the fray as well, barking happily.
Killian gives me a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”
“Pop music. It’s what thirteen-year-old girls listen to. And you listen to it all day, every day. At first I thought you just played that stuff on the bus because it puts the crowds in a good mood, but you actually seem like you’re addicted to it.”
“ ‘If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.’ ”
I raise one eyebrow. “Shaw again?”
He nods. “Of course. My way of admitting that, yes, it’s a little weird that I have a deep, lasting love for Beyoncé, but at least I’m owning it.”
“I don’t think most guys would admit to that. Like my friend Seth, who watched the fireworks with us. He hates pop music.” I hold out my hand, and Killian shakes a couple of chips into my open palm.
He wrinkles his nose. “And I’m guessing Seth thinks his taste in music is better than everyone else’s?”
“Well . . . yes,” I say. “But he’s not as pretentious as that makes him sound. He’s a really talented musician.” I stuff the chips into my mouth and chew slowly.
Killian shrugs. “I love pop music because it’s easy to love. It sounds good and I can dance to it and our brains are programmed to enjoy the repetitive patterns and chord progressions. Anyone who says they hate pop music because of the way it sounds is lying.”
“Elmo!” One of the dads chaperoning the group calls after the golden retriever dashing across the grass, brandishing a leash. “Elmo, come!”
I react before I’ve even really processed what’s happening, an image of the alphabet poster that used to hang in our elementary school library flashing through my mind. E comes after D. “Hang on a sec,” I say to Killian, grabbing some more chips out of his hand as the dog trots by. “Good boy, Elmo.” I hold out a chip, and Elmo hesitates, his nose quivering. “Come on,” I say. “Want a potato chip?”
“Hey!” Elmo’s owner yells. “Elmo, get over here.”
“It’s okay!” I wave and smile— no problem here, sir, just coercing your dog into giving me some love . Elmo trots over and noses my hand. I slip him one potato chip and crouch down, hesitating for just a second before I let the elated golden retriever slobber all over my face in gratitude for the treat.
Killian wrinkles his nose and looks down at me. “What are you doing?”
I straighten up, and Elmo gazes longingly at the rest of the chips clutched in my hand before he bounds off toward his owner, tongue lolling. “Um, nothing. Can’t resist puppy kisses.” And now E is crossed off the list, although I’m sure Mel won’t be too happy to hear about my canine conquest.
“Oookay.” Killian cocks his head to one side. “Anyway. I was going to say there’s a great TED Talk— Do you watch TED talks?”
I wipe my damp chin on the sleeve of my T-shirt. “Uh, just for, like, school.”
“You should watch them. They’re like mini-studies in how to give an effective, informative speech, really useful for when you’re practicing for debate. Anyway, there’s a really great one that’s basically about why classical music is something any human can enjoy. The same principles apply to pop.”
“Okay.” I pop the last chips into my mouth and lean against the side of the trailer. “You’ve obviously put some thought into this.”
Killian shrugs. “I’ll tell you more about it later.”
“Later?”
“Yeah, later. After we’re released from this
“So, I just have to ask . . . What is up with your musical tastes?” I say while we’re loading more canoes and getting ready to drive a birthday party reservation up to the boat launch. Eight-year-old boys in neon swim trunks scatter in every direction, shouting and chasing after one another, and a shaggy golden retriever joins the fray as well, barking happily.
Killian gives me a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”
“Pop music. It’s what thirteen-year-old girls listen to. And you listen to it all day, every day. At first I thought you just played that stuff on the bus because it puts the crowds in a good mood, but you actually seem like you’re addicted to it.”
“ ‘If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.’ ”
I raise one eyebrow. “Shaw again?”
He nods. “Of course. My way of admitting that, yes, it’s a little weird that I have a deep, lasting love for Beyoncé, but at least I’m owning it.”
“I don’t think most guys would admit to that. Like my friend Seth, who watched the fireworks with us. He hates pop music.” I hold out my hand, and Killian shakes a couple of chips into my open palm.
He wrinkles his nose. “And I’m guessing Seth thinks his taste in music is better than everyone else’s?”
“Well . . . yes,” I say. “But he’s not as pretentious as that makes him sound. He’s a really talented musician.” I stuff the chips into my mouth and chew slowly.
Killian shrugs. “I love pop music because it’s easy to love. It sounds good and I can dance to it and our brains are programmed to enjoy the repetitive patterns and chord progressions. Anyone who says they hate pop music because of the way it sounds is lying.”
“Elmo!” One of the dads chaperoning the group calls after the golden retriever dashing across the grass, brandishing a leash. “Elmo, come!”
I react before I’ve even really processed what’s happening, an image of the alphabet poster that used to hang in our elementary school library flashing through my mind. E comes after D. “Hang on a sec,” I say to Killian, grabbing some more chips out of his hand as the dog trots by. “Good boy, Elmo.” I hold out a chip, and Elmo hesitates, his nose quivering. “Come on,” I say. “Want a potato chip?”
“Hey!” Elmo’s owner yells. “Elmo, get over here.”
“It’s okay!” I wave and smile— no problem here, sir, just coercing your dog into giving me some love . Elmo trots over and noses my hand. I slip him one potato chip and crouch down, hesitating for just a second before I let the elated golden retriever slobber all over my face in gratitude for the treat.
Killian wrinkles his nose and looks down at me. “What are you doing?”
I straighten up, and Elmo gazes longingly at the rest of the chips clutched in my hand before he bounds off toward his owner, tongue lolling. “Um, nothing. Can’t resist puppy kisses.” And now E is crossed off the list, although I’m sure Mel won’t be too happy to hear about my canine conquest.
“Oookay.” Killian cocks his head to one side. “Anyway. I was going to say there’s a great TED Talk— Do you watch TED talks?”
I wipe my damp chin on the sleeve of my T-shirt. “Uh, just for, like, school.”
“You should watch them. They’re like mini-studies in how to give an effective, informative speech, really useful for when you’re practicing for debate. Anyway, there’s a really great one that’s basically about why classical music is something any human can enjoy. The same principles apply to pop.”
“Okay.” I pop the last chips into my mouth and lean against the side of the trailer. “You’ve obviously put some thought into this.”
Killian shrugs. “I’ll tell you more about it later.”
“Later?”
“Yeah, later. After we’re released from this
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