"I know."

Leo sighed, the air thick in his lungs. "It’s not the silence I’m memorizing. It’s the noise. The cicadas. The sound of the sprinklers three houses down. The way the tires sound on the pavement when they’re going fifty."

He parked in his driveway and looked up at the moon. He realized that the beauty of the American summer wasn't the heat, or the freedom, or the road trips. It was the fleeting nature of it all. It was the way the country seemed to hold its breath for three months, creating a memory so vivid it could sustain you through the long, gray winter ahead.

When he pulled up to Maya’s driveway, the porch light was on. It looked warm and inviting, a tiny beacon in the vast American night.

"We should go on a drive," Maya said suddenly.