The sirens are getting louder. Can you imagine if I got arrested during my senior trip? I’ll end up at some police station and have to get a mug shot taken. Actually, I don’t know if they do mug shots if you’re under eighteen. I don’t even know if they arrest you if you’re under eighteen. They might just send you off to juvenile hall. Not like that would be better—could you imagine my mom getting a phone call saying I was being sent to juvie? Talk about her anxiety kicking into high gear.
The sirens are getting louder and my heart is pounding and I can’t take it anymore.
I grab Beckett’s sleeve and yell, “Run!”
EIGHT
“ARE THEY COMING?” BECKETT ASKS A FEW blocks later.
We’re running at top speed and he’s not even out of breath. Me, on the other hand—my legs are on fire and my chest feels like it’s going to explode. I glance behind me. “I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t see anyone.” I can’t hear the sirens anymore either. But they could have cut them off to lull us into a false sense of security.
“Should we come up with a cover story?” Beckett asks.
I look at him in admiration. “Good idea,” I huff. I hope he’s going to take the lead with that, since I don’t think there’s any way I’m going to be able to come up with a good story. I’m not that good at fiction. I wrote the worst stories for creative writing. Luckily, it was an elective and didn’t really count for anything. I got to take it pass/fail. Plus, it’s not like I find myself in these situations all the time. I’ll bet anything Beckett is the one who’s been in trouble with the cops a bunch. Probably that’s why he and that Flax boy got into it. Troublemakers don’t like when they come in to contact with other troublemakers. It becomes explosive.
But if Beckett’s good at coming up with cover stories, he’s not offering one.
“So?” I prompt.
“Maybe we should tell them we got an anonymous call that Quinn was being held against her will.”
“That . . . doesn’t . . . make . . . any . . . sense,” I huff. For someone who’s supposed to have a lot of practice at this, he’s actually very bad at it. I can’t take it anymore. I stop running and bend over and grab my knees while I catch my breath.
“Come on,” Beckett says, jogging in place. “Hurry up! They’re coming! The police are coming! We’re going to end up in the clink!”
My anxiety skyrockets, then immediately comes crashing down when I get a look at his face. He looks kind of like he’s laughing. Or about to. And then I get it. He’s making fun of me.
“You’re making fun of me,” I say, stunned.
“No, no, I’m not. I really do think we should go running away from a police car that probably wasn’t even coming for us.”
I stare at him incredulously for a second, then turn and start walking. “You’re a jerk,” I say.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, coming after me. “Relax.”
“I will not relax!” I pull the sleeves of my sweatshirt down over my fingers and try to get a look at the street signs without Beckett noticing. I want to make sure I’m going the right way without actually letting him know that I’m looking to see if I’m going the right way. “You pulled me out of bed at seven in the morning because you told me Quinn was being led to a drug den.”
“First of all, it was nine o’clock, and second of all, I said nothing about a drug den.”
“Then,” I say, starting to get going, “you almost got into a fight with a guy for no reason. Quinn wasn’t in trouble; she was doing something totally normal!”
“Hooking up with that loser is definitely not normal.”
“Then you got the police called on us and made fun of me when I showed the least bit of concern.”
“True, if the least bit of concern is you freaking out and screaming at me to run.”
“That’s not—I don’t—” I’m confused now. Should I be mad at him or not? We’re getting close to the main part of town, the drag of Siesta Key, and I’m starting to feel a little silly. We weren’t going to get hauled away to jail in the middle of the day. If anything, the police probably would have been questioning the guy Quinn was with, wondering why he had a girl with him and why we were concerned.
“Ooh, run, run, we’re going to end up in the clink!” Beckett says in a high-pitched voice, mocking me.
A couple of girls in bikinis walking by look at him and giggle, and I can’t help but laugh, too. He looks ridiculous.
“I’m not the one who said anything about the clink.” The air is starting to get a little warmer now, and I pull a hair tie off my wrist and gather my hair into a ponytail. “You said that.”
“Yeah, well, I was just getting into the spirit of things.” He kicks at a pebble that’s on the ground.
“Well, good job.”
He smiles at me. “Look, I’m sorry I came to your room like that and got you all worked up. I really just wanted to make sure Quinn was okay. But I guess I overreacted.”
“Nah, it’s fine,” I say. “It was nice of you to look out for her.”
He gives me a smile, and I feel like it’s genuine. I remember last night, sitting with him outside his hotel room, the casual way he took my wrist and ran his fingers over my skin. I resist the urge to shiver. I also resist the wave of guilt that rises up inside of me when I think about letting him do something like that when I have a boyfriend.
Relax, I tell myself. You couldn’t have stopped it. I mean, what would I have said? Beckett, don’t ask me about my bracelet? I would have sounded like a crazy person.
“Let me make it up to you,” Beckett says now.
“How?”
“With the one thing no one can resist.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer. A flash of us in bed together, our legs tangled under the sheets, goes through my head.
Beckett grins and points at a little hut I never noticed before, even though it’s on the main drag and I must have walked by it at least four times yesterday. It’s a building really, or a stand, with a window in front where they serve people. Almost like an ice-cream truck, but they’re not serving ice cream.
“Doughnuts,” Beckett says. “The best ones, like, ever.”
“How would you know?”
“What do you think I’ve been eating since I’ve been here?” He gives me a duh look, like of course he’s been here eating doughnuts the whole time. It’s so . . . I don’t know, normal that it almost makes me a little uncomfortable. I don’t like thinking of Beckett as a normal person with food preferences and dietary habits. It makes him seem too real, and as long as I keep thinking of him as a caricature, the better off I’ll be. Up until now Beckett has been the hot guy who is fun to look at but is seriously trouble, who I would never jeopardize my relationship for. And that’s how I want him to stay.
I glance at my watch: 10:07. I’m betting Derrick won’t be awake until at least eleven, and honestly, what’s the harm in a little doughnut?
“Sure,” I say as my stomach rumbles in anticipation.
Beckett orders me a glazed without asking what I want, promising me it will be the best doughnut I’ve ever had. We get plastic cups full of freshly squeezed orange juice and wrap our warm doughnuts in napkins so we can eat them while we walk back to the hotel. The tourists are already out in full force, streaming toward the beach in wide lines, holding folding chairs and coolers and brightly colored towels. Everyone has the happy look of people who are on vacation.
When we reach the parking lot that leads to the beach, Beckett raises an eyebrow at me, asking if I want to continue. I nod, and we keep walking, our feet sliding into the cool white sand, so different from the beaches back home, where the sand is hot and sort of grainy.
“I still can’t believe the sand is so cool,” I say.
“They call it sugar sand,” Beckett says.
I raise my eyebrows in surprise.
“What?” he says defensively when he sees the look I’m giving him. “I know thin
gs.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?” I can hear the flirting tone in my voice, and I blush and look back down at the sand, hoping he doesn’t think I was flirting with him. Which I wasn’t. I don’t flirt with guys. Except Derrick. Not that we’ve been flirting much lately. Once you’re in a relationship with someone, a lot of the flirting kind of stops.
“Lots of things. Like how Virginia is the state with the highest population of elm trees and how the biggest ball of yarn is in Illinois.”
“Yeah, well, did you know that the oldest railroad is in Pennsylvania? And that the first twenty-four-hour diner was in Minnesota?” I shoot back.
“Really?”
“No,” I admit. “I just made all that up.”
He grins. “Me too.”
I reach out and push him playfully. “Jerk.”
He doubles over, pretending that I hurt him. “Ooh,” he says. “Remind me not to mess with you, McAfee. You’re stronger than you look.”
We are definitely flirting. Definitely. A weird feeling flows through my body, excitement mixed with fear mixed with anticipation. And guilt. I can’t ignore the guilt. It’s there, under the surface, threatening to take over.
“Wanna walk down by the water?” Beckett asks.
I want to. But I know I shouldn’t. I should head back to the hotel, I should wake Derrick up, I should see what he wants to do today. I should start planning for the perfect day to go along with the perfect night.
Before graduation, I will . . . learn to trust.
The email pops into my head. I don’t know why. They’ve finally stopped coming. I’m supposed to be free of them. I don’t want to think about the email. But I am. And isn’t part of learning to trust learning to trust yourself?
“Sure,” I say. “Let’s walk by the water.”
The water is cold, but after a few minutes, my feet get used to it. The morning is like something out of a movie or a painting—birds swoop and swish across the sky, dipping their beaks into the water to hunt for their breakfast. It’s early enough that the college kids aren’t awake yet, and the beach is filled mostly with families and older couples. A little girl in a ruffled pink bathing suit toddles by and plops herself down, sticking a shovel into the wet sand and scooping it into a bright-yellow pail.
Beckett and I don’t say anything for a few moments. We just keep walking, eating our doughnuts and drinking our orange juice.
“So what’s the deal with you and Derrick?” Beckett asks once we hit a spot on the beach that’s a little less crowded. He breaks off a piece of his doughnut and pops it in his mouth.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, is it serious?”
“Of course. We’ve been together for two years.”
“So what are your problems about?”
“We don’t have any problems!” I say, shocked.
“Then why were you spending all day yesterday looking for him?”
“I wasn’t. He was just mad because I lied to him about how I got to the airport.”
“You told him your mom took you?”
I nod and take a small sip of my orange juice. Something about this feels wrong—talking about Derrick with Beckett. It feels like a betrayal. I heard once that if you feel weird about what you’re doing in your relationship, you should imagine how you’d feel if your boyfriend were doing it—and if you’d be mad at him, then it’s wrong. For example, I should think about Derrick being out here with another girl, buying her doughnuts and walking on the beach with her while I’m back at the hotel, sleeping in our bed. It fills me with fury just thinking about it. I would be pissed. I would never forgive him.
“Then why are you here with me now?” Beckett asks.
I think about it. “Because I want to be.” It’s a simple answer, but it’s the truth.
“And do you always do everything you want?”
“Not really.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize I’m saying them.
“Like what?”
“This conversation is stupid.”
“Why? Because it’s getting too close to talking about something real?”
The water’s starting to feel cold again, and I take a few steps away from it, wriggling my toes in the sand. “Oh, now you want to talk about something real?” I ask.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
We’re coming up to the main part of the beach now, and he heads over to a trash can and throws away his empty orange juice cup.
“You don’t seem like the kind of guy who’s into having real talks.”
“Really? I’m so into real talks. I’m the realest real, like, ever.”
“Okay, fine,” I say as we keep walking. “Tell me about why you’re such a player.”
“Excuse me?”
“Why you’re always with a different girl,” I say.
He looks shocked that I would insinuate such a thing.
“Oh, please,” I say. “I’ve seen you in the halls at school.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s what I thought,” I say, sighing. “The realest real talker ever. Riiiighht.”
“Okay, fine,” he says. He takes in a deep breath and thinks about it. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it.”
“So think about it.”
“I guess it’s just . . . easier.”
“Easier?”
“Yeah. As long as I don’t get too close to someone, there are no expectations.”
“What’s wrong with expectations?”
He shrugs. “I get enough of that at home.”
“Your parents put a lot of expectations on you?”
He nods.
“What sort?”
“Everything. School, sports, whatever. It’s nice to have relationships where no one cares about what you’re doing.”
I roll my eyes. “They care about what you’re doing, Beckett. You just leave before they can give you crap about it.”
He opens his mouth to protest, then shuts it. “Yeah,” he says, “you’re probably right.” He at least has the decency to look a little disturbed by this revelation. “So I told you something,” he says. “Now you have to tell me something.”
“Like?” Please don’t ask me about Derrick, please don’t ask me about Derrick.
Beckett reaches out and tweaks my bracelet. “This,” he says.
“I told you, my dad gave it to me.”
“And now he’s gone.”
“Yes.”
“And yet you’re still wearing it?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“So what’s the deal with it?”
“I just . . .” I take in a deep breath, wondering how much I should say. I haven’t talked about the thing with my dad ever since my fight with Quinn and Aven.
I stop on the beach and look out across the water. The sun dances off the waves.
“I’m not . . . it’s hard for me to talk about.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything.
“I told you how my dad left,” I say. “How he decided to leave my mom. And how before he left, he asked me . . . he asked me to go with him.”
“To New Hampshire.”
I nod.
“And you told him no?”
“I told him I would think about it.” The flash comes again. Me, telling Aven about how my dad wanted me to go with him. Telling her I was thinking about it, asking her not to tell anyone. Aven promising me she wouldn’t, and then doing it anyway.
“But then you didn’t?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I decided to stay with my mom.”
“And you and your dad . . .”
“He left the morning after I told him. And I haven’t heard from him since.”
Beckett nods, like he’s thinking about it. I feel the familiar lump in my throat, the lump that comes every time I talk about my dad or think about my fight with Aven and Quinn.
Beckett stares straigh
t ahead, and a seagull dips down and lands in front of him. It picks at the sand, its thin little beak digging around for something to eat. “You know, seagulls get a bad rap,” he says. “They’re actually really pretty birds.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Yeah, but they’re so annoying.”
“A lot of birds are annoying. But seagulls are always around—you see them all the time. So you forget how beautiful they are.”
“I guess that’s true.” I play with the bracelet on my wrist, and the lump in my throat starts to loosen. I’m thankful he’s not pushing me, not making me talk about it more. It’s enough that I’ve said what I did.
We start walking again. There’s a couple jogging in the other direction, and when they get close to us, we move a little bit toward the water, letting them pass. Beckett’s arm bumps against mine at the same time my feet hit the water. I shriek as the tide hits my ankles. Beckett laughs, then stomps in the water, sending droplets flying everywhere, including onto my bare legs.
“Quit it!” I say, but I’m not mad. “It’s freezing!”
“Ahh, don’t be a wimp,” he says. He wades into the ocean a few steps.
“Are you crazy?” I say. “It’s too cold for that!” Getting your feet used to it is one thing. Wading is another.
“No, it’s not.” He splashes water on himself, but I can tell he’s cold. “See? It’s refreshing.”
“Really?” I take a few steps into the water. It’s freezing. “Oh, you’re right,” I say, pretending to believe him. I step past him and shade my eyes from the sun. “Oh, look, there’s a sandbar over there,” I say. “Wanna walk to it?”
I turn around, catching the tail end of the look of panic that’s crossing his face. I raise my eyebrows in what I hope is an innocent look. But it must not work, because a second later, he appears by my side.
Heat of the Moment Page 10