Don't Fail Me Now(38)

“But that’s my dad,” Tim says, keeping his voice low. “You didn’t need to call the cops.”

“If we suspect a stolen credit card is being used, police involvement is standard procedure,” Mushroom says stiffly.

“It’s not stolen!” Leah pipes up. “It’s mine.”

“I’m guessing you don’t pay the bill, though.” Mushroom treats us all to a condescending smile, and Tim and Leah exchange terrified looks. They’ve probably never been in any real trouble and have no idea how to handle this. Leah might have talked us into the hotel, but talking us out is gonna be up to me.

“Could you call him back?” I ask as calmly as I can manage. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to press charges.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, “can I talk to him?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Mushroom says and goes behind the desk to the phone. The cops look bored, and I let myself relax a little. We’re not getting arrested. Not if Tim’s dad is anything like him.

Mushroom gets Jeff Harper on the phone and, after some stony small talk, hands the receiver across the counter to Tim.

“Hi, Dad, it’s me,” he says, looking stricken, running a hand through his bedhead. “Listen, I’m so sorry . . .” He gets quiet for a minute, and I can hear his dad yelling even from ten feet away. “Indiana somewhere,” Tim finally says. “I know. I know, okay? I swear I was just trying to do something good for Leah . . . yeah, she’s fine. We just didn’t think it through . . .” Another pause. “I know that, but could you at least let this charge go through? We don’t have any money, and—” He closes his eyes and grimaces. “Well, could you at least tell the manager to send the police officers away? . . . Yes, I understand. Okay, Dad . . . Bye.”

Tim hands the phone back to Mushroom and walks over to me. “He’s not pressing charges, but he’s not paying for the room either,” he says. “We’re going to have to use your money.”

“What?” I whisper. “No! That’s, like, half of what I have left!”

Tim shakes his head helplessly, his eyes still sleep-swollen. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know what else we can do.”

“I knew this would happen.” I’m saying it almost more to myself than to him. I knew we had to stay off the grid, but I let them sway me. These oblivious kids with their emergency credit card and their blithe confidence that the world would give them everything they needed.

“I’ll pay you back,” he says.

“Great, I’ll just buy gas from the future then.”

“Come on,” Tim pleads, starting to get that anxious eye glaze I know only too well. “What do you want me to say?”

“You could have told your dad our story, for starters!” I know I’m talking too loud; I can feel both the cops and the sunburned family staring. “You barely said two words. You didn’t explain anything!”

“You’re mad because I went off script?”

“No, I’m mad because you’re ruining everything, and so is she.” It’s harsher than I meant it to come out, but it still feels true. Tim looks away, and I stalk back over to the desk to pay the room charge of $109.99, plus tax. I count out the bills slowly, feeling a fresh twinge of anger each time I slide one across the desk. We were already stretched beyond our means, and now it’s a bad joke. Have you heard this one: How did the kids in the beat-up station wagon cross the country? They didn’t, because they ran out of money halfway! Ba dum bum, ching.

Mushroom dismisses the cops, and we lug our bags back out to the parking lot, where we form a rough semicircle around Goldie’s mismatched front door. From the looks on everyone’s faces, all of the tentative goodwill of last night has come undone. Even Denny looks miserable.

“What did he say?” Leah asks.

“That I should be ashamed of myself,” Tim says softly, scuffing the toe of his loafer against the gravel. “That we have to turn around and come home right away, or he’ll call the cops on us for real.”

“Do you think he’d do it?” I ask, squinting into the sun rising over the highway. We’re about ten hours from home, which means we’ve only got another ten before the Harpers realize their kids aren’t coming back. That would still leave us with two days of travel left to go—way too long to be dodging police.

“I don’t think so,” Tim says, frowning. “He sounded more scared than mad. But I don’t know. And, I mean, I can’t get arrested. I just got in to Johns Hopkins.”

“You’re not getting arrested,” I say. “It’s your dad sending a rescue team. Plus, you’d have to do a lot worse than run away.”

“How do you know?” Leah asks, crossing her arms defensively. I take pleasure in noting that there’s a beige ramen stain on the right boob of her white polo.

“’Cause I know.”

“Have you been arrested?” she asks. “I bet you have.”

“Stop it,” Cass says, stepping out from her hiding place behind the rear bumper.

“No,” I say, “but I know people who have. And they look a lot more like me than like you.”

Leah scowls. “Well, now I can’t say anything,” she says.