“Yeah, well, I didn’t make out so bad myself.”
He grabs the remaining apple fritter and takes a bite. After chewing and swallowing noisily, he says, “Piper’s not gonnamess you up like the last girl you went out with, is she?”
He took Whit and me out for dinner a couple of nights after Christmas, the last time he visited Spokane. We went to a nice steak house downtown by the river. He had a lot to drink, and we ended up bailing before dessert. I had to drive his rental back to Mom’s, where he promptly passed out on her couch. She was pissed, but she let him sleep it off, grumbling while she filled a glass of water to leave out for him. Whitney seemed a little embarrassed, like it was her fault the conversation hadn’t been sparkling enough to keep him from overdoing it.
I took her home, embarrassed myself.
“The last girl didn’t mess me up,” I tell Dad, though sometimes I wish I could heap blame on Whitney. Would it be a relief to aim all my anger and sadness at her instead of myself? For sure, but that’d be unfair. Whit wasn’t any stupider or more negligent than I was.
“She sure as hell didn’t do you any favors,” Dad says.
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “I don’t want to talk about Whitney, okay? But no, Piper’s not gonna mess me up.”
“Your Mom told me—”
“Dad, seriously. Whitney and me…we’re off-limits.”
He nods. “I respect that. I’ve gotta tell you, though: I like Piper better.”
I crack a smile. “On what grounds?”
“She seems fun, is all. I get the impression she’s working on giving her sister a few gray hairs, and that’s how I was when I was your age. She’s gonna be good for you.”
His swift approval makes the donut I just demolished roil in my stomach. Do I belong with someone Davis endorses? Someone herelatesto?
“You want to go down to the pool for a while?” he asks. “Bring one of those books of yours. We can hang out. Work on your tan.”
“Yeah,” I say, because that actually sounds like a good way to kill a few hours, not to mention quiet the whispers of doubt that are suddenly running laps through my head.
Piper
Henry and I go to a movie Saturday night, a date that includes popcorn and a long kiss good night. He compliments mymanicure even before I point it out and asks what kind of candy I want without assuming I’ll choose Twizzlers because they’re fat-free.
I pick chocolate-covered almonds, and they’re delectable.
I like this: the normalcy of an evening out with a boy. I like being treated as an equal, not a goalpost. I like coming home to a peaceful apartment where my sister isn’t grilling me, or shouting at me, or calling me slothful.
The following morning, the Fourth of July, Davis suckers Henry into horseback riding and Tati drives to Pensacola to have brunch with a couple of high school friends, so I stay in, celebrating the empty apartment and the rare opportunity to do whatever what I want.
Which is nothing.
After lunch, I meet Henry down on the sand in my favoritesuit, a royal-blue T-back bikini with cheeky bottoms that my sister absolutely hates. We read on loungers (me:Delphina and the Siren’s Secret, the second and angstiest book of the trilogy; Henry:Freedom Found,the autobiography of a famous skier named Warren Miller). I ask him why he doesn’t invest in an e-reader; he tells me he has one but that he shipped a box of nonfiction to his dad’s before leaving Spokane because the feel of a physical book in his hands is far superior to an electricity-dependent device, a rationalization I can’t argue with. We rub sunscreen into each other’s shoulders and share cans of seltzer. When the sun gets too hot, we run down to splash in the surf, then buy a pair of snow cones from a beachside vendor.
That night, we skip the annual Independence Day poolside potluck hosted by the Towers’ board of directors (a group of power-hungry senior citizens Tati is constantly butting heads with) in favor of finding a quiet spot on the beach to watch the fireworks that explode in colorful starbursts over the ocean.
It’s the most perfect day.
When Monday morning rolls around, I’m refreshed and ready for my shift at the Marine Conservation Park. It passes without incident until my lunch break. I’ve just left Turtle’s office, where he spent a few minutes checking in with me, asking if I’m ready for more responsibility—yes, definitely—when I spot Damon in his grimy baseball hat.
My pulse cranks into overdrive.
Howdarehe show up at this most sacred place, my home away from home?
He’s with his brother, Cole, who’s in middle school, and they’re standing in line at the snack hut, where I was headed. They’re roughhousing: Cole rises up on his toes to flick Damon’s ear, and Damon hauls off and sucker punches Cole’s arm.
God. As much as Tati and I fight, it’s never as savage as this.
Heart hammering, I duck into the souvenir shop before Damon spots me. I hang out for a few minutes, letting Candice—a University of West Florida student who’s spending her summer working the register—chatter about the facial she’s going to get later. Unknowingly, she talks me off a very high ledge. I could hug her. Instead, I wave and step back outside, scanning my surroundings for that gross hat.
