All I can think of as I sit frozen on the pavement, dangerously close to cardiac arrest, is Henry. He follows rules, focuses on the future. He has goals. He has dreams.
West Point.
He could lose it because of me.
I scramble into a crouch, keeping my chin tucked, my head down.
He gives me a questioning look, mouth tight.
I grab his hand and whisper, “Follow me.”
Henry
She drags me out of manta ray territory and onto the footpath, hugging the row of hedges that lines it. We stay low, shufflingquickly but silently, keeping to the shadows. I’m focused—on not stumbling, not making a sound, not throwing up the two thousand calories of dessert I ate an hour ago. I’m scared as shit.
Behind us, the patrolman hollers for us to come out of hiding.
Would it be better to surrender now?
Will they go easier on us if we come clean before we’re caught?
My mom’s going to be so disappointed.
Piper ducks behind the partitioned wall of a bathroom entrance, yanking me in with her, raising a finger to her lips. Like I need a reminder to keep my mouth shut.
Footsteps echo down the path.
Piper presses a hand over her mouth, trying to muffle her gasping breaths. I’m not huffing and puffing the way she is, but I’m pretty sure people all the way back in Spokane can hear my heart pummeling my ribs.
I tense as the footfalls draw closer. It sounds like there’s only one person, and that gives me hope. We might outmaneuver a single patrolman. But if there’s another close by, or a whole team, we’re fucked.
He tromps past us, his shadow visible under the partition, flashlight beam like a meteor streaking across the sky. Piper’s hand trembles in mine as the light swings back again, shining over the top of our hiding place.
He calls out another order for us to show ourselves, but he’s winded, losing steam. I let my shoulders drop away from my ears as he moves on.
Piper’s gaze meets mine. She points to the left, a different route than we took to get to the manta rays, but one that must lead toward escape.
I nod.
We’re gonna run for it.
She slips off her Reefs. I tighten the laces of my Pumas. And then we launch ourselves onto the dimly lit path, silent and swift, two missiles firing through the night.
Thankgod, the ramshackle fence comes into view quickly, the ocean just beyond it. We leave the same way we entered, then keep running down the beach toward home. I don’t realize how far we’ve sprinted until Piper’s hand becomes heavy in mine. I look back to see her dragging ass, practically wheezing. I slow to a stop, dropping my hands to my knees to catch my breath. I run distance, not dashes. When the stitch in my side loosens, I straighten to see the Towers about half a mile down the shore, litup like twin Christmas trees.
Piper falls flat on her back in the sand, laughing in that noiseless, hysterical way that almost always ends in hiccups.
I glare down at her. “He could catch up, you know. We could still get busted.”
She calms down long enough to say, “Henry, we’re in the clear.”
She tries to sit up, catches another fit of giggles, and falls back again. I peer down the moonlit beach, checking to make sure we’re not being followed.
There’s no one around but us.
I collapse beside her, then empty my shoes of sand. I focus on the waves, inhaling and exhaling in time with their crests, trying to get a handle on myself. If Piper deals with stressful situations by laughing uncontrollably, I bulge at the seams with anger.
Seems like a century ago that we were joking about mermaid sex.
