The Playlist (Springbrook Hills, #5)

by Morgan Elizabeth

To the Swifties who found themselves somewhere between the bridge and the chorus and let that shape how they see love and life. Long Live.

And then I find it. My playlist. Or, really, my Love Story Bucket List, as I called it back then. It started in 2014 with Debut. We added to it in 2018 with Fearless.

ZOE’S LOVE STORY BUCKET LIST Only me when I’m With You Go stargazing Our Song Shotgun with crazy hair Fearless Dance in a parking lot Love Story Throwing pebbles at the window Sparks Fly Kiss me in the rain Treacherous Drive through the night on a trip You Are In Love My best friend Dress Wear a dress I know he’ll want to take off I Think He Knows His hand on my thigh in the car Daylight Watch a sunrise together Cardigan Makes me feel special when I feel average Invisible String It has to feel like it was always meant to be. Gold Rush Wander a little beach town in love Sweet Nothing Someone who wants sweet nothing.

The first time I fell in love with Zoe, she was scream singing a Taylor Swift song in my parents’ living room while my sister Luna laughed at her. At least, I think that’s the first time. It’s happened so many times now.

God, I’m fucked in the head, aren’t I?

“Your reputation precedes you, so yeah.

“You’re really fucked in the head, you know that?”

But standing on the front step, staring at her little red two-door Jeep with its daisy tire cover and the mirror ball in the rearview mirror and a fuckin’ bumper sticker that reads, Honk if you love Taylor, I change my mind.

I hold them in my hand, staring at the old-school red hotel keychain with the words fuck the patriarchy on it.

I was raised on The Notebook and fairy tales and Taylor Swift. It’s hard not to idealize dumb things, I guess.”

The song changes, “Lover” coming on next, and I try not to lean into the idea that it’s the universe speaking to me, telling me we could be more.

And the only thing my mind is capable of thinking is, Baby, let the games begin.

“Want ice cream?” Zee says, eyes moving to a sign that says, Marjorie’s Old-Fashioned Ice Cream.

We eat way too much ice cream (the chocolate ganache was to die for) before saying goodbye to Marjorie, the owner,

I am so totally fucked in the head.

“Are these . . . ?” “They’re tickets,” I say quickly. “Now give them back before something happens to them.” “Hey, I remember this,” he says with a smile, looking at the top one. Taylor Swift: Fearless Tour Madison Square Garden August 27, 2009 Luna and I were fifteen.

And I remember what happened about one-third of the concert in. When she started to play “You Belong With Me,” Zander looked down and smiled at me.

I look at her and smile, loving this version of Zoe. This is my version. What does she always say? Zoe’s Version? This is Zoe, Zander’s Version. I like her best of all.

“Look, you want me to take back control of the radio, I’d be more than happy to give the Taylor Slaylor playlist a rest.” “No!” she says quickly,

“There was always something—some string, some tether that kept us together.

This is also why I’m playing the saddest, angriest of songs on my playlist. “Fuck Jake Gyllenhaal,” I murmur, looking out the window as the ten-minute version plays and I remember every shitty boyfriend I’ve ever had in glorious, painstaking detail. It fuels my angry fire.

“I said, fuck Jake Gyllenhaal.” He blinks twice before looking back at the road. “I’m sorry, what?” There’s laughter in his voice, and I wonder if maybe I was wrong about him being my dream man over all these years because this is a serious subject, and he’s brushing it off. Even in pretend, I can’t be with a man who doesn’t understand the direness of how terrible Jake Gyllenhaal is. “Fuck Jake Gyllenhaal. He didn’t even show up at her birthday party.” He keeps staring blankly at me like I’m crazy, alternating between the road and me. “It was her 21st.” “I’m sorry, are you . . . Are you angry at an actor you’ve never met because a singer you’ve also never met dated him?” I roll my eyes. “Because he dated Taylor Swift and was a dick to her.” “Ah, yes. Taylor Swift,” he says in a voice that tells me he finds this topic hilarious instead of serious.

“No, he’s not even a good actor.” Zee guffaws a laugh out loud, and I sigh, fighting a smile and trying to look stoically in the distance and be mad. You know, to channel the “All Too Well” vibes.

“A necklace. You don’t—you don’t have to wear it,” I say. It’s just—” “No. No,” she says, cutting me off quickly. “I’m wearing it. Are you kidding me? It’s beautiful, Zee.” Then her fingers stop, and she looks at me confused again “Why an A?” “Did you forget my name?” I ask with a smile, and I watch as her eyes clear and then go warm, shock and awe covering her face. “Alexander,” she says in a near whisper. I smile.

“Well, let’s see. We watched the sunrise over the water,” I say with a smile, ticking off items on my fingers. ‘Daylight.’ “Then we danced in a parking lot.” ‘Fearless.’ “I threw rocks at her window.” ‘Love Story.’ “We kissed and danced in a rainstorm.” My sister’s mouth drops and her face softens. ‘Sparks Fly.’ “We went stargazing.” ‘I’m Only Me When I’m With You.’ “I tied a straw wrapper around her finger at a diner—” “Jesus Christ, you even ‘Paper Rings’ed her?!” Luna says with a shout, standing now. I smile. “I sure did.”

“His initial on a chain around your neck, huh?” Luna says with a smile, and a cog turns in my mind.

“Love you to the moon and Saturn, Zoe.”

New Year's Day.’ ‘The Very First Night.’” My mind moves through the lyrics of both songs—squeezing my hand three times. Riding in the car when we fell in love.

How You Get the Girl?’” I read off the paper, my bow furrowing. That one I don’t quite get, can’t pin it into a part of our story. “For better or for worse. Forever and ever.” I look back up at him, and he’s digging in his pocket. I’m actually scared of what he might pull out this time, how it will either tear me apart or . . . “Let me put you back together, Zoe. The old version, the good version.” My heart stops.

Her bouquet of daisies is a nod to her favorite of the eras.

“If it’s a girl, how do you feel about Taylor?” I ask.

Zander doesn’t reply, instead tapping the screen of the dash until music starts to play. “New Year’s Day.”