“Washington?” When I nod, she asks, “Does it really rain all the time?”
“Nah. You’re thinking of Western Washington. Spokane’s on the east side of the state. There’s a mountain range that runs north-south, the Cascades, and it traps most of the precipitation that comes off the Pacific, which means the eastern part of the state is arid. The winters are cold and the summers are hot, unlike Western Washington, which is mostly mild and—” I cut myself off; her eyes are glazing over. “Sorry. Boring.”
She flashes a teasing grin. “No,fascinating. How long are you in Sugar Bay this time?”
I set my book,The Art of Command, on the empty chair beside mine. “All summer.”
“Why do you say that like it’s a prison sentence?”
It feels disloyal to talk shit about my dad while he’s upstairs sleeping off the quartet of IPAs he drank at dinner. I shake my head, remembering his suggestion that I call him Davis, his invitation to down a beer. “My dad’s…a lot.”
“A lot,” she echoes. “I get it.”
She’s wearing a pearl in each earlobe, but her right ear also has a trail of tiny silver hoops traveling its helix. They’re new. New to me, anyway.
I remember her tears when we first met, her insistence that whatever had caused them wasn’t worth rehashing. Her assurance that she’d be fine, and could we just talk about something else? She’d calmed down, and I’d let it go because back then I was clueless about how to nudge the truth from a girl.
I don’t let it go now. “Is your family maddening too?”
“Quite.” She hesitates, inspecting the nail polish on her left hand. “You know how I said I hang out here a lot?”
“Yeah. Because your parents get on your case?”
“Because it’s the perfect escape,” she says, telling me nothing at all.
I smile. “Except now I know where to find you.”
She huffs. “Like I’m worried. After tonight, you’ll disappear for another three years.”
I let my head rest against the back of the chair, angled so I can study the hills and valleys of her profile. Her oil-slick hair and straight nose are striking. The smattering of freckles across her cheeks is adorable. Her lips are full and glossy; it’s hard to believe I kissed her once. My teeth were bracketed in braces back then. Must’ve been terrible for her.
“Chances are,” I say, “you’ll see me again.”
She laughs, skeptical. “Your track record’s shit. Excuse me if I don’t get my hopes up.”
While I fumble for a response, something in the distance catches her attention. I follow her gaze toward the west tower, where a featureless woman, backlit against the light of the lobby window, is waving in our direction. “Piper!” she shouts. “Home. Now!”
Piper pops up out of her chair, shaking her head.
“Your mom?” I guess.
“My warden. I’ve gotta go.”
“I’ll look for you next time I’m out here.”
“Sure,” she says, though it’s clear she doubts there’ll be a next time. She collects her cotton balls and polish, then heads for the west tower, where the woman has ducked inside.
Just before she steps through the gate, she turns back to call, “Hey, Henry? Seriously, though…it wouldn’t suck to see you again.”
Piper
The night Henry and I first met, he told me about how his eighth-grade honors biology class spent two weeks dissectingfetal pigs for their final project and how interesting it’d been to see the inner workings of a mammal’s anatomy.
“Gross,” I said, adjusting my position on the pool deck. “Are you, like, a serial killer in training?”
My question must’ve startled him because he stammered, “I…uh…no? I am a huge nerd, though. I named my pig Old Major. You know, fromAnimal Farm?”
“Haven’t read it.”
