by Jen Malone
Plus everything is urgent. Everything. Like two days ago when we had to figure out right away if the birdseed that people would be throwing on her and Ike instead of rice as they left the ceremony could be a diet variety because she’d noticed all the seagulls around Sandpiper Beach seemed fat and she didn’t want to contribute to the Great Gull Obesity Epidemic.
And now I’m gonna have to miss half of Becca’s party all because I’m the one in charge. I’m so totally over it.
Next to me, Vi is tugging a pair of sweats on under her too-short Becca dress. “Wait up,” she says. “I’ll come with.”
I smile at her, grateful for the offer even though I’m guessing it has every bit as much to do with being able to take off the tiny dress.
“I can’t believe y’all are really going!” Becca cries. “This mega stinks. Queen Alexandra needs to know there are limits! What if you just told her you were stuck somewhere important? Like, um, the hospital, or something.” Becca’s voice is getting high-pitched as she tosses clothes from her bed, looking for a place to sit. Finally she gives up and plops down on top of a pile of sweaters.
I puff my bangs out of my eyes and tug the laces on my sneakers. “She knows I’m not, Becs. I just told her I was on my way. Besides, she’d probably just fire us or something, and then my mom would know we couldn’t hack it as wedding planners. No way am I letting that happen. Although I am starting to get a new appreciation for all the times Mom’s had to skip out on us for bride stuff, that’s for sure.”
“But it’s already dark out!” Now Becca’s voice is getting whiny. I love the girl to pieces, but it’s hard not to get annoyed when she whines. It’s not like leaving is my choice. At all.
Lauren peers out Becca’s window. “It is pretty pitch-black out there, Sades.”
I know. I know all of these things. But I still have to go when duty calls. Isn’t that what being president is all about? Now I get why Dad used to say you couldn’t pay him enough to run for mayor. Responsibility kinda stinks.
Vi grabs her sweatshirt with one hand and my arm with the other. “We’ll be fine. We’ll stick together. Besides, it’s Sandpiper Beach. What’s gonna happen?”
Lauren lets Becca’s curtain fall back in front of the window and sighs a big, deep sigh. “A one-point-oh-three-percent crime rate is still not zero. It’ll be way faster and safer if I drive you there, Sades. Her house has to be a half mile away.”
The three of us stare at her with our jaws thisclose to the floor. Vi finds her voice first. “But, Lo, you aren’t allowed to drive anyone in your golf cart. Wouldn’t your parents kill you?”
Becca smiles sweetly. “They didn’t find out when Lauren gave me a ride this summer.”
Vi and I jerk our heads to Lauren. “For real?” I ask.
Lauren shrugs and studies the carpet. “It was just one time. Before the Scottish party. She needed to buy too much stuff to carry in her bike basket.”
Becca laughs. “And it was totally awesome. The wind in our hair. The pavement under our wheels. The boys staring at us as we breezed past. I’m totes cut out for convertible living.”
Lauren balls up her sweater and lobs it at Becca before saying, “I’m one hundred percent committed to my schedule, and this party is my fun time. So if we have to answer Miss Worthington’s annoying call, the least we can do is have a blast getting there and back, right? Besides, the faster we go, the faster we’re back.”
“Fabu!” says Becca. “Mani-pedis will be waiting. Hey, Vi, change out of those icky sweats and back into something fun. I’ll fill the tub so we can stick our feet in and soften our cuticles. Ooh, and if you don’t want that dress again, try these leggings. They have rhinestones!”
Becca holds up the twinkling pants as Vi looks at me and Lauren with a Help me expression on her face. I can’t help but laugh. I can practically see the little thought bubble over her head that says Rhinestone leggings are So Not Vi!, but she laughs and plops down next to Becca on the bed.
“Don’t leave me with Becs too long, y’all. By the time you get back, I’ll probably have orange streaks in my hair.”
Becca whacks Vi over the head with a pillow. “You will not. Besides, you’re a summer, coloring-wise. I’d never recommend orange for you. Now, if you want a nice shade of rose, periwinkle, or sage, we should talk. . . .”
Lauren and I duck out, leaving the other two to their sleepover fun. Halfway down the stairs, we can hear Becca’s mom chatting away on the phone. When we get to the bottom, I turn toward the kitchen to let Mrs. Elldridge know where we’re headed. We wait in the doorway, but she’s so involved in her conversation, she doesn’t even turn our way.
Lauren tugs on my sleeve. “Come on, let’s just go. We’ll be back soon anyway. And Becca and Vi can tell her where we’ve gone.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Who are you and what happened to Lauren?” She’s probably the last person I’d ever think of bending the rules.
She gives me a nervous smile. “I’m supposed to be having fun between the hours of five and eleven thirty tonight. At exactly eleven thirty, my phone will beep to remind me to go to sleep. So let’s make the most of it, okay? If we hang around here waiting, it’ll take us longer to get there, and we’ll have less time for the party.”
I look back at Becca’s mom just as she disappears into the pantry. Lauren’s right; we need to get going. Plus, Miss Worthington will be mad if we take too long getting there.
We slip quietly out through the front door. Even though she’s hiding it well, I can tell Lauren is nervous about the whole driving-people-in-her-golf-cart thing, because she’s extra quiet as we slip down the stairs to the spot under the house where it’s parked.
“Sure you’re okay with this?” I ask one last time as we climb onto the bench seat.
“It’ll be fun. And it’s the most logical solution,” Lauren answers. When it comes to Lauren and logic, there’s no arguing, so I close my mouth.
We pull out onto the dark streets. Even in the months when we don’t have to worry about artificial lights causing the baby sea turtles to get confused and head away from the ocean, Sandpiper Beach is so small and quiet that streetlights would ruin the “ambiance” (or so Mom has said). Only the public places and a few businesses, like the square and the marina, have them. On nights without a moon, like tonight, it’s so dark you can barely see the shapes of the houses lining the streets, unless they’re lit up from the inside. Cooper gives a small woof from the porch of Polka Dot Books as we drive away from Becca’s.
We turn down Sandpiper Drive and onto Pelican Street. Lauren is concentrating on navigating the dark streets, and I don’t want to bother her, so I breathe in the smell of the salt water and listen for the crashing waves. The air is eerily still, and there’s the tiniest hint of crispness to it, which makes me shiver happily. I love October the best, and not just because of Halloween.
Except, speaking of Halloween, Becca’s been suspiciously quiet about her costume plans for us, and it’s almost here. She always gets us to coordinate costumes. Last year it was the Four Musketeers (we added one we called Sadoths to match Porthos, Athos, and Aramis) and the year before that we were the Wicked Witch of the West, the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, and Dorothy. Three guesses who insisted on wearing the sparkly red shoes!
I angle my knees toward Lauren. “Hey, is Becca still being super-secretive about her costume ideas for—” Before I can finish, an engine revs behind us, and the entire golf cart lights up with flashing red-and-blue lights. My heart takes a ride on the Tower of Terror all the way into my shoes. (Not red. Not sparkly.)
Lauren stands on the brake, and we both jerk forward, then slam back against the seat. The golf cart skids to a stop in the middle of Pelican Street while the police cruiser crunches gravel as it rolls close, then parks a few feet away. A car door closes. I’m too scared to look at Lauren, so I turn in my seat and squint at Officer Davis as he approaches.
He aims a flashlight right into our faces, and I blin
k hard to keep my eyes from watering.
“That you, Sadie Pleffer? And Lauren Simmons?”
Lauren recovers her eyesight—and her voice—first and answers a quiet “Yes, sir.”
“You girls out for a joyride or something?” Officer Davis asks, shining the beam of light all around the golf-cart floor and into its back storage space.
“We, um, we were just on our way to a meeting with a client, sir,” I offer. I still don’t want to look at Lauren, because she must be totally freaking out, and I’m scared that if I see that, I will too.
“A client?” By the light of the flashing bar on top of the cruiser’s roof, I can see Officer Davis’s eyebrows hitch up. “Oh, that’s right. You girls doing that birthday party thing these days, ain’t ya? Planned my niece Molly’s party this summer at the Plantation House. I heard all about that murder mystery you gals done up. First murder ever recorded at Sandpiper Beach, proud to say. And a fake one, at that. Molly had herself a right good time.”
I nod, and out of the corner of my eye I see Lauren do the same. When he doesn’t say anything next, I decide he must want more from us.
“We’re doing a wedding now, sir. And, um, the bride, well, she insisted we meet with her tonight about something. It’s really important.”
“Thing is, girls, I wonder if y’all know the laws regarding operating vehicles on the road at night without any headlights.”
I gulp, and Lauren makes this tiny squeaking noise in her throat. “No, sir,” I answer. “But, um, it’s just a golf cart, not really a vehicle.”
Lauren sinks into her seat. I know she’s wishing I would just be quiet already, and I want to. I do. But I’m so freaked out, my mouth doesn’t seem connected to my brain.
“Got four wheels and an engine, don’t it?” Officer Davis asks. “Makes it a vehicle in my book. And Judge Athens’s book too, I might add.”
Another noise from Lauren, and I reach over to grab her hand. My palms are so sweaty I doubt it helps calm her down, though.
“This your daddy’s vehicle, Lauren?”
Lauren nods, completely silent.
“He can pick it up first thing in the morning, if he wants. Should be fine here till then. I need you to pull it on over to the side, please. Then I’m afraid I’m goin’ have to ask you to step out of the vehicle and hop into the backseat of my cruiser.”
In the backseat of his police car? Like, where criminals sit? Omigosh, are we getting arrested?
Lauren drives into the sandy grass on the shoulder and flips the switch to power down the golf cart. When she gets out, her legs look all wobbly. I slide across the bench and step out next to her. My legs hold, but my stomach is feeling super twisty as I follow Lauren to Officer Davis’s car. There’s an acid taste in my mouth, and I’m worried I might throw up.
The policeman holds open the back door, and I duck my head and step in behind Lauren. Metal bars separate the front seat from the back. Officer Davis gets into the driver’s seat and turns off the flashing lights. Having the red-and-blue lights go away makes me feel a tiny bit better, but I still don’t know what’s gonna happen now. Is he taking us to jail?
In the dark Lauren finds my hand and squeezes. Hard. When I peer at her face, her eyes are wide and round, and I can see she’s just as freaked out as I am. My poor friend who never even jaywalks is sitting in the back of a police car, all because of me and my stupid jumping-whenever-Alexandra-Worthington-commands. I have to get us out of this.
“Um, sir,” I ask, and I can’t even believe how shaky my voice sounds, “are we under arrest?”
My shoulders drop in relief when he laughs.
“Arrest? For driving without headlights in a golf cart? Shoot, no. I couldn’t just leave you there in the dark. Don’t know why you’d know this, but our crime rate is only 1.03 percent here on Sandpiper Beach. Even so, still never pays to take any chances. I’ll run you by the station and Officer Rodriguez’ll ring up your parents to come fetch you.”
Our parents. I guess I knew this wouldn’t end without them finding out about it, but hearing Officer Davis say it makes it feel so much more real. My mom is going to kill me. Lauren’s mom is going to extra kill her. Not only is she driving the golf cart at night, but she had me in there with her, which is a huge no-no and Lauren knows it. And we’ll probably get Becca in trouble, since we didn’t tell her mom that we were leaving.
I let my head fall back against the seat as we creep toward the station. Next to me Lauren is quiet, but her hand is squeezing mine tighter than ever, and I’m betting she’s willing herself not to cry. I really, really, really wish I’d just walked there with Vi when she’d offered.
In the quiet and the dark, my cell phone springs to life with the ringtone for RSVP. Becca’s voice singing “Ordinary Tuesdays” doesn’t make me smile the way it usually does. Not even a little bit. I can only imagine the angry voice mail Alexandra Worthington is leaving right now, but even that is nothing compared to the lecture I’m about to get from Mom. Greeeeaaaat.
Lauren
remorse noun -
a feeling of being sorry; a feeling of guilt over having done wrong
Use in a sentence:
I am full of remorse for driving Sadie in the golf cart at night, getting picked up by the police, and disappointing Mom and Dad.
I’ve been in trouble with my parents exactly five and a half times in my life, not including stuff I might’ve done before I could remember, like flushing my toddler toothbrush down the toilet. But none of those five and a half times were for anything worse than hiding Josh’s football equipment when he refused to play with me, or accidentally breaking Dad’s favorite boat statue-thing when the girls and I were trying to do cartwheels in the living room.
This is way, way, way worse than any of that. And it’s all because I decided that since I’m studying extra hard, I should also be having the most fun I can during those slots on my schedule. It sounded logical at the time, but now? I’m not so sure.
“Do you girls want some more hot chocolate?” Officer Rodriguez asks. “I’m sorry we don’t have any marshmallows. My kids always like lots of marshmallows in their hot chocolate.”
We shake our heads. Sadie’s barely touched hers, and mine isn’t really sitting all that well in my stomach, because I can’t stop thinking about how my parents are going to react to canceling their date night in Wilmington to come pick up their juvenile-delinquent daughter. Mom’s probably already crying.
I don’t know what I thought was going to happen when we got to the police station, but it definitely wasn’t this. When we walked in, Sadie and I were so nervous that we had to hold on to each other. She kept apologizing to me, which is silly because I’m the one who offered to drive her. But I was so scared—and so angry at myself—that I couldn’t say anything until about ten minutes ago.
We had to sit in these hard plastic chairs by his desk while Officer Rodriguez called our parents. After he made the calls, he told us to sit on the comfiest couch that’s probably ever existed. Then he brought us blankets, made us hot chocolate, and rolled in a little TV on a wheeled cart. He put the TV on a cartoon channel, which is hilarious, because he has four kids, all under six years old. He’s probably forgotten that anything besides cartoons even exists on TV. This is all really nice considering we’ve broken the law and everything.
The police station is a lot quieter than I thought it would be too. But then again, this is Sandpiper Beach, with practically no crime. I suppose a police station in, say, Raleigh or New York would be a lot busier, with phones ringing off the hook and criminals coming in and stuff. Sandpiper Beach’s police station is just one room with some potted plants, a few framed pictures of the beach, this couch, the awful chairs, and a couple of desks. And hot chocolate.
“Are you hungry? We’ve got some cans of soup back in the break room.” Officer Rodriguez stands, ready to spring into soup-making action. It’s not like that 1.03 percent crime rate means he gets to spring into action all
that often.
“No, thank you,” Sadie replies. I shake my head in agreement. I couldn’t eat anything right now. Not while I’m waiting for my parents to arrive in a storm of confusion and anger and worst of all . . . disappointment.
Officer Rodriguez sits back down, looking very dadlike and worried.
“I hope your mom gets here first,” I say quietly to Sadie.
Sadie reaches over and squeezes my hand. Her phone buzzes again—the fourth time since we got here—but she doesn’t even look at it this time. We both know it’s Alexandra Worthington, and I know Sadie’s not really in the mood to explain what’s going on. “She’ll just think we got held up somewhere,” she says when the phone finally stops buzzing.
And that’s when I finally notice the worry that’s taken over Sadie’s face. She keeps chewing on her bottom lip, and her eyebrows are doing that scrunching thing. Maybe I can stop stressing about myself for two minutes and do something to help my friend.
“Here.” I reach over and pluck Sadie’s phone from her lap. I pull up her text messages and start typing.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Dealing with a little of this wedding stress for you.” I show her the message I’ve just sent to Miss Worthington.
Major emergency just came up. Can’t come by tonight. Pls call Becca regarding the Singing Spaniard. (910) 555-1541.
“You’re welcome,” I fill in when Sadie doesn’t say anything. I can tell she’s waffling between relief and a total meltdown about not being in complete control over everything. “Becs and Vi can handle it. Since, you know, they’re not looking at a future in juvie or anything.” Just saying that makes my heart twitch. I really hope Officer Rodriguez was right when he said none of this was going down on our permanent records. I know—I made sure to ask him, even before he called our parents. It was about the only intelligible thing I could say at that point. Intelligible: able to be understood or comprehended.