She says my name soothingly, without her usual bravado. She’s soft-eyed and vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen. She doesn’t need my fire. I pull in a breath and take her hand. I trace the peaks and valleys of her knuckles with my forefinger, awed by her soft skin. Her nails are sparkly silver.
“He’s a dirtbag, Piper. Screw him for treating you like shit.”
She gives me a conniving smile. “I dumped sweet tea on him.”
“Good. Fuck that guy.”
I tug on her hand until she leaves her chair for mine. She squishes in beside me, and I wrap my arms around her. My anger’s dissolving now that she’s tucked beneath my chin, her breathing paced with mine, and I can’t deny the way my heart triples in size when I think about how I’m the guy she’s chosen to trust.
Being with you makes me feel safe, she said the night we played putt-putt.
Being with her makes me feel lucky, like I’ve stumbled across a cool spring after a grueling desert run.
I kiss the crown of her head, and she buries her face in my T-shirt, hugging me hard.
We stay that way, quiet, late into the night.
Piper
Tuesday morning, I wake up very early. Still in my pajamas, I drag my laptop, barely touched since school let out for the summer, tomy bed. Leaning against a nest of pillows, I fire it up and navigate to Google.
I think you should give marine biology a real shot, Henry told me that first night we hung out at his place.At the very least, explore your options.
I’ve thought about his words a lot the last couple of weeks. While I’m hanging out with him, while I’m lying on the beach under the hot summer sun, while I’m vegging out with Tati in the apartment. But mostly I think about it when I’m at the park. Henry was right: I’m livingmylife, not my sister’s. No matter how indebted I am to her, no matter how obligated I feel to follow the life plan she’s sketched out for me, I do have choices.
Why shouldn’t marine biology be a path I consider seriously? It’s what I’m most passionate about.
My mom and dad made it happen.
Why can’t I?
Hawaii still calls to me, but I want to know what else is out there. I settle in to read up on the nation’s top programs, located up and down both coastlines. I like what I learn about Duke, though their acceptance rate is dismal. UC Berkeley looks good too, but I’m not sold on the Bay Area’s notoriously dreary weather. The College of Charleston would be ideal if it wasn’t so close to Florida.
It’s Stony Brook University on Long Island that really gets me excited—even more so than HPU. They offer a bachelor’s degree in marine sciences and a master’s in marine conservation and policy, areas of study similar to my parents’. Stony Brook’s program offers tons of opportunities for research and internships, as well as lab and fieldwork. The cost of attending, after aid, is relatively reasonable. Plus, SBU is only a couple of hours by train to New York City, which I loved when Tati and I visited. And it’s just a few more hours from Albany, where Grandpa and Grandma live. Though we don’t have the closest relationship, I talk to them on the phone from time to time. Maybe I could get them to speak to Tati, to convince her that New York is a safe option—agoodoption. Maybe knowing that I’d be close to family would nudge my sister into letting me move north.
SBU happens to be close to West Point too.
But the program is competitive, more so than most programs here in Florida. I’m going to have to keep my grades up through senior year, rock the SATs, and impress Turtle enough to earn anenthusiastic letter of recommendation to have any shot at being accepted, being considered for scholarships, and convincing Tati that I’m capable of living on my own so far away.
I close my computer, feeling hopeful.
My dream isn’t so far out of reach after all.
I can do it.
Of courseI can do it.
***
Just before my lunch break, Turtle calls me to his office.
“I heard there was trouble between you and a guest yesterday,” he says after I’ve taken the seat across from him. His desk is cluttered with mail and travel coffee mugs and paperweights shaped like marine animals.
“Who told you that?”
“The boy you drenched with sweet tea reported the incident. Adam, who was working the snack hut, confirmed his story.”
Adam, that little snitch. He probably made it sound like I poured my drink on Damon because of some bratty need for attention, not because I was scared out of my wits.
