It’s so right, staying in Florida. I can’t believe Dad had to lob the idea my way.
This week, I heard back from both my guidance counselor and my Field Force rep. While neither of them seemed enthusiastic about the idea of me transferring, neither could give a compelling reason as to why I shouldn’t. It’s an inconvenience, application-wise, for everyone involved—me especially—but it’s not an impossibility.
Yeah, I’m gonna miss my mom, but staying in Florida will give me the space I need to heal. Staying in Florida means moretime with Piper. And staying in Florida will allow me to continue cultivating my relationship with Dad—not to mention keeping tabs on him.
He needs me here.
I’m taking stock of everything I’m gonna have to do make a move happen—have my records transferred, register at Sugar Bay High, research their cross-country program, figure out how to get important shit I left in Washington to Florida—when Piper reaches up to smooth my furrowed brow. “What are you thinking about?”
I go right for it: “Staying. In Florida. For senior year.”
Her mouth drops open, and a hand flies up to cover her heart. “But…could you even?”
“Sure. My parents are okay with it—it was my dad’s idea. I think it’d be cool, hanging out in Sugar Bay for longer than this summer. But I don’t want to impose on your territory.”
A smile cracks her face wide-open. “You wouldn’t be imposing.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’mtotallysure.”
I sweep a curl off her face. “I thought you’d need a few minutes—or, like, a few days—to think about it.”
“As if the idea of you staying in Florida for the next year hasn’t crossed my mind? I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about it a lot. I just never imagined it’d be something you’d want.”
“I didn’t either, until I went too long without seeing you. Piper, I don’t want to say goodbye anytime soon.”
She takes my face in her hands. “Then don’t. Stay in Florida. Stay with me.”
Piper
On Friday, I spend the time I should be at work—or looking for work—shopping for something to wear to Hudson’s party. I endup blowing way more money than Tati would approve of on a breezy dress with a deep sweetheart neckline and a hem that whispers well above my knees. The retail therapy turns out to be just what I need.
After a quiet dinner with my sister, I slip into my new dress, pausing to admire my reflection in the mirror, then twist my hair into a topknot, brush a second coat of mascara onto my lashes, and swipe vanilla gloss over my lips.
Henry and I walk to Hudson’s. He lives about a mile from the Towers in a rambler that’s part of a planned community. Jayden’s and Gabi’s cars are in the driveway, plus Hudson’s dad’s Subaru. The family minivan is likely parked outside one of the Disney resorts.
“Did you go to a lot of parties in Spokane?” I ask Henry as we head up the drive.
“Is my neon LOSER sign not burning brightly enough for you?”
“You’re not a loser.” I link my arm through his. “And even if you were, I wouldn’t care because you’d bemyloser.”
He laughs. “You really know how to stroke a guy’s ego.”
Hudson lets us into the house with a raucous hello. He thumps Henry on the shoulder like they’re old friends, then moves in to hug me, welcoming me back into the fold.
Gabi’s in the kitchen with about a dozen people from our class, including Jayden. Anna and Michaela are there too, and apparently wormed their way into Gabi’s good graces while I was on involuntary hiatus. As soon as Gabi sees me, though, she skips over, grinning.
“I’m so glad you came!” She glances over her shoulder at Anna and Michaela, then mock whispers, “You’re so much more fun than they are.”
I introduce her to Henry, hoping the two of them will hit it off. They’re my most valuable people, after all. Henry’s polite and gracious as usual. Gabi looks floored by the majesty that is this gorgeous boy who gently fixes the slipping strap of my dress before draping his arm around my shoulders.
We hang around the kitchen for a few minutes. Gabi’s got a hard cider, and there are bottles of strawberry vodka, Captain Morgan, and Jäger on the countertop, along with a few two-liter bottles of soda and a lot of spills. I don’t know if it would bother Henry if I decided to drink, but it seems insensitive, considering our recent conversation about his dad. And anyway, I’m not in the mood.
Hudson works on arranging Solo cups on the dining room table, then breaks volunteers into teams for Flip Cup. His mom would die a thousand deaths if she could see the way he’s slopping cheap beer all over her beloved reclaimed wood.
“Let’s go out back,” I say to Henry.
