Replica (Replica #1)(66)
Perv was still prattling on, oblivious. “Damn. Is that your mom in the oil painting?”
“It’s a watercolor,” Gemma said automatically.
“Wow. Cool. Your mom’s kind of hot. Is that weird?”
“Yes.” Gemma’s head hurt. “Listen, I’m really sorry. But I’m kinda not feeling great. It’s not really a good time for me. . . .”
But he didn’t seem to hear. He’d just spotted the bathroom off the foyer. “Holy shit. Is that a TV? Right next to the toilet?” He disappeared, although she could still hear him talking, his voice tinny and distorted by the tile. He reemerged a second later, midsentence. “. . . snorkel in that bathtub. It’s like the spring break of shower models.”
Gemma took a deep breath. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk a lot?”
“All the time,” Perv said, grinning. “It’s kind of my trademark. So, what else you got? A hidden bowling alley? An indoor pool?”
“No bowling alley,” she said. She was tempted to add: And the pool’s out back. But that would only encourage him. “Listen, seriously, can we rain check on the tour?” She said it knowing a rain check was unlikely. It wasn’t as if she and Perv were friends. Sure, he’d always been nice to her—he never laughed when someone whispered about one of her scars, for example, or called her Frankenstein—but he was pretty much nice to everybody. He was probably one of those do-gooder, Save-the-Manatees types. Maybe he thought being nice to Gemma would win him karmic brownie points.
“Sure,” he said. He did a semi-decent job of concealing his disappointment. “I should get home anyway. I’m leaving for Florida tomorrow, and my mom’s acting like I’m heading off to war. I swear, there may be a twelve-salute send-off.”
Florida. The word set off little sparks in Gemma’s mind. “Where in Florida?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
He’d already started for the door. Now he turned around, shrugging. “Tallent Hill,” he said. “No one’s ever heard of it. It’s like an hour outside of Tampa.”
“I’ve heard of it,” Gemma said quickly. And she had—Tallent Hill was just outside the Chassahowitzka National Wildlife Refuge, a little more than an hour south of Barrel Key, where boats carrying staff and supplies to and from Haven launched. She remembered seeing Tallent Hill on one of the detailed maps on the Haven Files website.
With a sudden, electric sense of clarity, she knew: she had to get to Florida. She had to go there, to Haven, and see it for herself.
“My aunt has a time-share there,” he was saying. “And she makes a killer margarita. Alcohol free, but still. What’s spring break without relatives and cocktails, right?” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “What about you? You got any big plans?”
“Actually”—Gemma licked her lips; her mouth was suddenly dry—“I was supposed to be driving down to Florida. To Barrel Key.”
Perv raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
She kept going, elaborating on the lie as she went, hoping he couldn’t see how badly she was blushing. “There was a problem with my car”—a clumsy lie; there were three cars in the driveway alone, but whatever, he wouldn’t know the difference—“and now I’m kind of stranded. I was thinking of taking a Greyhound . . . ?” She trailed off hopefully.
“No,” he said immediately. “No way. I once got stranded on a Greyhound for nine hours with nothing to eat but a pack of Tic Tacs. And the toilet backed up. Friends don’t let friends take the bus.”
Gemma raised her eyebrows. “So we’re friends now?”
“Sure we are,” he said, reaching out and chucking her gently on the arm. When he took a step forward, she could smell him. He didn’t smell like hot dogs at all, but like something clean and also a little bit spicy. “We became friends when we agreed to take a road trip. I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow.”
April screamed when she found out that Gemma was coming down to Florida after all—Gemma had to yank the phone away from her ear to avoid having her eardrums blown out. April was so excited, she didn’t even ask Gemma how she was planning to make the trip—thankfully, since Gemma thought she might die if she had to admit Perv Rogers was going to drive her.
“I don’t believe it,” she said. Their fight had been completely forgotten. “Gemma Ives. I didn’t know you had it in you. And your parents just caved?”
“I guess they were done playing bad cop,” Gemma said. Lying gave her a sticky feeling in her chest, like she’d accidentally inhaled a condom. Fortunately, her father’s business trip would keep him in Shanghai for at least the next week, so that left only Kristina to deceive. Still, Gemma had no idea how she would deal with lying to her mom—and not just lying, but sneaking off to a different state.
She wasn’t exactly a natural rebel. The one time she and April had decided sophomore year to try an e-cigarette, Gemma had been so terrified the next day that she was dying of cancer that she had confessed to her mom just so she could be reassured.
But at eight a.m. the next morning Kristina would be in a long board meeting of one of the charities she supported, which meant that Gemma had a solid four hours to get the hell out of the state before her mom even found out she was missing.