The Rest of the Story(93)

“For what?” I demanded.

“Saylor—” Roo said.

“Her name is Emma!” my dad exploded. His face was inches from Roo now: I could see spit flying from his mouth when he spoke. “And she doesn’t go to parties and drink, or at least she didn’t until she came here and started hanging out with all of you.”

“Dad, stop it!”

“Look, I know what goes on with lake kids,” he continued. “I married a lake kid, for Christ’s sake. And I watched her destroy herself. I won’t do it again.”

Roo, my dad’s finger inches from his nose, didn’t say a word. He just sat there, taking this, and that was the worst thing of all.

“Mr. Price checks out,” Gator announced to my dad, coming back from his car and sticking Roo’s documents through the window. “Ms. Blackwood says she’s expecting him at midnight and that he’s a good kid. Said I should let him go.”

“He gave my daughter beer!”

“No, he didn’t!” I said. “God, are you even listening to me?”

“I don’t have evidence of that,” Gator explained to my dad. “Not much I can do.”

“Go bust the party! Then you’ll have your proof!”

“Well,” Gator said, considering this, “the problem is it’s in North Lake. And I only police Lake North. So—”

“Do not tell me this is out of your jurisdiction,” my dad warned him. “This entire place is six miles long.”

“Sir, I’ll ask you to lower your voice,” Gator replied.

“All he did was drive me home,” I said. “Look, I understand you’re pissed and you want to punish me—”

“You’re damn right,” my dad replied, but he was glaring at Roo as he said this.

“But leave Roo out of it,” I finished. “Dad. Please.”

My dad didn’t say anything for a moment. When he did speak, it was very quietly and very clearly. “Fine. But hear me when I say this: I do not want you around my daughter ever again. Whatever has been going on, it’s over as of tonight. Are we clear?”

“Dad,” I said. “You can’t just decide—”

“Actually, I can.” He pointed at me. “Get out of that truck. Right now.”

I glanced at Gator, thinking he might step in, but no. He just stood there with his stupid entirely too bright flashlight, watching along with the rest of us.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Roo. But he didn’t respond, the beam still bright in his face. Of all the ways I thought the night would end, I never could have guessed this. There had always been invisible lines between the two sides and the two communities. But my dad had drawn another, his own. And even though I was right next to Roo, I could feel it between us.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly to him. “I—”

“It’s okay,” he replied, still looking straight ahead. “Just go.”

I nodded, feeling a lump rise in my throat. Then I got up and walked to the passenger door, pushing it open to step out onto the road. It was late, almost midnight, and thankfully, most of Lake North was asleep. But I thought of all those windows at the Tides, each with a person or people on the other side. How did I look, leaving this truck with a cop car, lights spinning, beside it? Maybe, like Waverly herself.

My dad was coming around the front bumper now, and I heard the Yum truck start as we began to walk back toward the hotel together. I wanted to turn and watch it, get this last glimpse of Roo to last me until . . . well, I wasn’t even sure. But just as I was about to, I realized I couldn’t bear it. It was easier, somehow, to just walk toward those doors already opening to reveal the night desk clerk, cheerful and oblivious.

“Welcome to the Tides!”

Neither of us responded as we walked to the elevator, where my dad pushed the button for our floor. The elevator chimed. We went in, the doors sliding shut behind us.





Twenty


My summer had come to a full stop. But Bridget’s was finally beginning.

“So then,” she was saying, “Sam asks if I’m going to the pool fireworks. And I’m like, yeah, I should be there. And Steve says, ‘What about Emma? Will she be home then?’”

Silence. Too late, I realized she’d paused for maximum dramatic effect. “Wow,” I said quickly.

“I know!” She sighed happily. “I mean, granted, the first part of this summer did not go as I planned with Pop Pop’s stroke and our detour to Ohio. But then to come back, and have this happen within days . . . it’s like fate. It’s what we’ve always wanted!”

She was right. And five weeks ago I would have been just as excited. Now, though: not so much.

“I hate that I’m not there,” I said to her. “Although I’d probably be grounded anyway.”

“Yeah, about that,” she replied. “I have to admit, I’m kind of impressed. The Emma I know won’t even take a drink. Now you’re getting pulled over by the police.”

“It was security,” I corrected her. “Which is really not the same thing.”

“Still, very exciting,” she told me. “The part about your cousin jumping out of the back of the truck . . . I mean, who does that?”