He looks at me from beneath the bill of his hat, hopeful. “You don’t hate the idea?”
“I mean, it’d be a huge pain in the neck, but also…not so bad.”
He grins.
I say, “Just…don’t give me shit about it, okay? There’s some stuff I’ve got to figure out. I’ve got to reach out to my guidance counselor and my Field Force rep. After I talk to them, I’ll let you know what I decide. Cool?”
He downs the last swig of his spiked soda. “Yeah, buddy. Totally cool.”
Piper
On Friday, thirty-six hours after Henry and I snuck into the Marine Conservation Park, Turtle catches up with me duringmy lunch break. Somberly, he asks me to come to his office for a conversation.
The blood rushes out of my face like thewhooshof a toilet after its flusher is pressed, leaving me light-headed, unsteady on my feet.
I have to command my head to nod.
I follow Turtle into the admin building, my feet iron-heavy, and down the corridor to his office. He gestures to one of the empty chairs across from his desk, his expression as stern as I’ve ever seen it.
My heartthud-thud-thuds.
I have an idea why I’m here, but it’s still a nightmarishly out-of-body experience, sitting across from my stone-faced boss, my dead parents’ mentor, a man who treats me like family: with kindness, without judgment.
He hasn’t spoken yet, but my throat’s already clogged with sadness.
“Two nights ago, there was a break-in here at the park.”
I keep my face neutral but chafe my palms against my shorts. It’s killing me, but I maintain eye contact.
“Do you know anything about it?” he asks.
“No,” I say, aiming for innocence, for ignorance. Bile inches up my throat, riding the lie’s wake. I might be better off coming clean, begging for forgiveness, but there’s the tiniest,tiniestchance Turtle’s bluffing. Maybe he’s talking to all the employees. Maybe he’s collecting intelligence, attempting to discern who knows what. If I can sit out this interrogation with as few words as possible, I might be okay.
Or maybe that’s the grandest of delusions.
Turtle watches me, spine curved, shoulders by his ears.
He lookssodisappointed.
“The park is equipped with security cameras, Piper. Surely you know that.”
I remember coming with my dad after they were installed. In his office, he pulled the system up on his computer and showed me how the different zones were captured in grainy black and white. The other night, as always, I was careful to keep out of the cameras’ range, right up until Henry and I were nearly caught. That sprint from the bathroom to the exit—that path was in a covered area.
Turtle isn’t collecting intelligence. He’s calling me out.
“Yes,” I say. “I know.”
“Did you forget about them while you and your friend were running from security?”
My gaze falls to my lap as I try to manufacture an excuse. What reason, what story would make him pardon the unpardonable?
But I can’t lie. Not this time.
“Turtle, I’m so sorry.”
He expels a breath. “I’m glad to hear it. Unfortunately, that doesn’t excuse the fact that you betrayed my trust. How could you do such a thing, Piper?”
I was having a rough night. A rough week. A rough summer. I’m a bird flying alone, searching for a place to roost. I do stupid things because sometimes—a lot of the time—my wings get so tired, and there’s no place to land. Somehow, the buzz of mischief lifts me.
