Page 21 of The Summer We Lie

Mom steps in as I'm sitting on the floor, pulling on my beat-up Converse.

"Have fun this summer, sweetie," she says, her voice deliberately light.

I stand up, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "I will."

"I'm serious, Skye. You deserve it." Her eyes are a little too bright, and suddenly there's a lump in my throat.

I step forward and wrap my arms around her, breathing in her familiar scent of her perfume and coffee. "I will, I promise," I say against her shoulder, "but you have to promise me that if you need me, you'll let me know."

"I will," she whispers before releasing me from her hug.

"I love you, Mom. Tell Justin I said I love him when he wakes up."

"I will." She straightens her shoulders, forcing a smile. "And you be good. Don't get into trouble over there."

"Who, me?" I press a hand to my chest in mock offense.

"Yes, you. Now get out of here before I cry," she says, her laugh only slightly watery.

"Okay. Love you," I say, picking up my bag and walking out the back door.

"Love you too," she calls from the doorway.

The morning air is cool against my face as I cross our small yard. Harper's already in the driveway, her car idling, windows down and music playing. I see her lean over to pop the passenger door open as I approach.

I hop in, tossing my bag into the back seat beside our larger suitcases. Her perfume fills the car—vanilla and something expensive—and she looks perfectly put together as usual, even at this early hour.

"You ready?" she asks, sunglasses perched on top of her head, hair gleaming in the morning light.

"Yep," I say with a smile that feels more confident than I actually am, ignoring the tightness in my chest as I glance back at my house one last time.

Harper shifts into reverse and backs out of the driveway, her playlist already blaring through the speakers. "Summer road trip playlist, activated," she announces, turning it up another notch.

"It's not exactly a road trip when we're just driving to the airport," I point out, but I'm smiling despite myself.

"Details, details," she waves a dismissive hand, her red nails flashing in the morning light. "The summer adventure begins now, Skye. Embrace it!"

The first hour of the drive flows seamlessly—too smoothly, in fact. We're laughing until our sides hurt and singing along to Harper's meticulously curated playlist, fantasizing about all the things we want to do in California, when the traffic ahead suddenly transforms into a sea of red brake lights.

"What the hell?" Harper cranes her neck, pushing her sunglasses up on her head to get a better view of the endless line of stationary cars stretching before us.

"No, no, no," I mutter, anxiety immediately flooding my chest as I check the time on my phone. The numbers seem to mock me. "We can't be late. We absolutely cannot miss this flight."

Harper taps her perfectly manicured fingers anxiously on the steering wheel, the rhythmic sound matching my racing heartbeat. "We'll make it. We have to. My dad's expecting us." Her usual confidence wavers slightly.

But the minutes tick by with excruciating slowness as we inch forward, the tension in the car building with each passing moment. By the time we finally break free of the congestion, Harper's knuckles are white on the wheel and I've chewed my bottom lip raw enough to taste the metallic hint of blood.

"We're cutting it way too close," she says, speeding up and weaving through traffic with a precision that would be impressive if I wasn't terrified we'd miss our flight.

When we finally reach the airport, the parking situation becomes our next nightmare. The long-term lots are completely full, and we drive in circles looking for extended parking, each loop making my stomach twist tighter.

"There!" I point frantically at a spot just as someone pulls out, nearly jumping out of my seat with relief. Harper whips into it with barely a pause, and we grab our bags from the back, slamming the doors with enough force to echo across the concrete structure.

"Got everything? Phone? Wallet? Ticket?" she asks, already moving toward the elevators.

"Yes, yes, everything. Let's go!" My voice cracks with urgency.

We race through the parking lot, my overpacked bag bouncing uncomfortably against my hip, probably leaving bruises I'll discover later. Inside, the airport is a chaotic mass of humanity, lines snaking in every direction like some nightmarish maze.