Don't Fail Me Now(28)

“It’s really nice of you,” Tim says. But Leah looks like she’s slowly imploding.

“What about school?” she asks, her face getting pink. “I can’t just leave. And what about Mom and Jeff?” She lets out a laugh of disbelief. “Don’t your parents even care where you are?”

“Leah,” Tim says.

“And you want me to get in that falling-apart car right now and just go?” she continues. “I don’t have clothes. I don’t have a suitcase. I . . . I don’t even have my retainer!”

“Neither do we,” I shrug.

“So you’re just wearing that for a week?” she asks, barely able to mask her horror.

“We didn’t exactly have time to pack,” I say. “And we don’t have time now, so if you don’t want to come, just tell us where his hospice is, and we’ll get going.”

I want her to take the bait at this point. She might be spoiled, but based on all of the emoticons on her Facebook, I expected that she’d at least be happier. What does she even have to be that pissed about (dying loser dad aside, obviously)? She has the life that everyone’s supposed to want—pretty, thin, white, blonde, popular, family just screwed up enough for her to have a legitimate claim on teen angst but not so much that she turns tragic and starts to scare off the ripped lifeguards at the country club pool. I’m working myself up now, starting to get angry. We’re risking everything to go on this trip, and she’s sulking because she won’t be able to bring her retainer?

“Well?” I ask impatiently.

“He . . . didn’t tell me the address,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ears. “He sounded kind of out of it.”

“So you don’t even know where it is?”

“He said Venice Beach, right?” Tim jumps in, putting a hand on Leah’s shoulder. She nods.

“The Golden . . . something,” she says and then sighs heavily. “I guess I could map it on my phone for you.”

“Don’t bother,” I say. “I’m sure we can find it.” I give them a wave and turn to head back to the car. I know I should probably thank her, but I’m afraid if I talk any more I might crumble; I don’t know if it’s disappointment that she’s not what I wanted her to be, or shame for dragging myself and my siblings through this crappy Disneyland detour of Things We’ll Never Have, or just the anxiety of what lies ahead for us, but I’m suddenly on the verge of tears.

“Wait!” I hear Tim call, but I can’t turn around until I get myself under control, so instead I lean against the car on my elbows and pretend to check my phone.

“You should go,” I hear him say. “You know you won’t have another chance. And this is something you could regret for the rest of your life, Lee, I’m serious.”

“I don’t even know them,” she stage-whispers, her voice high and unstable. “And Mom would freak.”

“She wants you to go, it was her idea.”

“Yeah, on a plane or something. With her.” There’s a long pause. “I’m not going anywhere by myself with them. And seriously, that car—”

“What if I go with you?” Tim says. “What if I come, too?”

I freeze. That was not part of the plan. I like Tim more than Leah at the moment, but that’s not really saying much. And it’s another mouth to feed—or to have to listen to. For twelve hours a day. Plus, I’m not even sure the middle seatbelt in the back works. I spin around.

“We have to go,” I say. “So whatever’s happening, it needs to happen now.”

Leah scrunches up her face like she might cry. “I don’t know,” she squeals, looking desperately at Tim.

“What do you have to lose?” he asks. “A few days of school, maybe a few weeks of being grounded. But this is your dad. I know if it was my mom . . .” he trails off and tries to compose himself. It’s the same line he used on me in the parking lot last night. I hope he really does have a sick mom, because if not, he might be kind of a sociopath.

Leah looks back and forth between her school and Goldie a few times, as if weighing the potential costs of such an enormous social downgrade against the chance to reconcile with her biological father. “Okay,” she finally says, squeezing Tim’s hand. “I’ll go if you go.”

Tim hugs her tight, and I have to look away. Something about their obvious closeness and how much he cares about her makes me irrationally jealous. They’ve only been steps for, what, three years, he said? I can’t remember the last time I hugged my real sister that way. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’m the one creating the distance.

“We’re in,” Tim says, walking toward me with Leah following/being dragged behind him. I hear a tapping on the car window and turn to see Cass looking at me with murderous eyes.

“We?” she mouths. All I can do is break eye contact and suck in my cheeks.

“So what now?” Tim asks.

“Now get in the car,” I say.

Tim blanches. “We’ll need early dismissal notes to get past security,” he says.

“Not if they can’t see you,” I say, annoyed that he’s only just realizing this roadblock. Devereaux rule #4: Identify your obstacles in advance. I knew the minute I saw the guard station that I’d need a way to get Leah out, if she said yes. I open the trunk hatch, shove aside the boxes of ramen and the random bags of Mom’s stuff, and gesture to the space in between.