“Karma will get those thieving assholes eventually,” I say, waving my hand to indicate the ballsy students and their ridiculous lawyers. “But I'm really scared here, Dad. These people followed me from Adamson. I've got a target on my back.”
“Do you want to stay with your mother?” he asks finally, lifting his head. “You broke her heart by running away at the airport. You do understand that, right?” I look away, but I don't want to talk about it. My relationship with Mom is complicated. “Fine. I'll call the school back and let them know my concerns, does that help?” I nod, and Dad pauses. There's this weird awkward moment of silence where I almost feel like he might say the L-word. But then that's gone and he's sighing again. “Goodnight, Charlotte. Call me tomorrow.”
He hangs up, and I slump down on the bed.
It's hard to get others to believe you when there's not a shred of evidence one way or the other. But I refuse to end up like Eugene or Jenica, swinging from the limbs of a tree, the only sound the creak of the rope and the whisper of the wind.
No fucking way.The next morning, I've got an escort to school: a man and a woman in a black SUV. The first thing I do is text the guys to see if they know anything about it.
Private security. The Adamson school board has no sway over what happens in Santa Cruz.
It's Tobias that responds first. I tuck my phone back in my pocket and go about my day, trying to pretend like everything's normal. The security people stay in their car for the most part, but when I leave after school with Monica and head to the beach, there they are.
“Who the hell are they?” she asks as I get my board out of her car and carry it down to the sand.
“Just … some security detail my new boyfriends hired.”
I strip off my shirt and shorts—we often rock bathing suits under our clothes here—and hit the waves. Monica is definitely weirded-out, but some part of me wants to keep what happened to myself. Makes it easier to figure out who's telling the truth, and who's full of shit.
Don't even go there, my mind whispers, but now that I've had the thought, I can't stop wondering if Church isn't the one writing me notes. He didn't want me digging into Jenica's death, he's the one who locked me in the trunk, and it always feels like he's one step ahead of the rest of us. I don't think he's actually out to kill me, but maybe he really was trying to scare me away?
When I first got back, I was so out of shape it wasn't even funny, but these past few weeks have been good for me. I'm not quite the color of a Victorian ghost anymore, my hair is bleached white from the sun, and I've got that flat tummy back. Dorky Chuck with the oversized uniform, floppy hair, and nerdy glasses seems like a million miles away.
I guess … she’s about three thousand miles away, quite literally, isn’t she?
I ride the waves until the sun starts to set, and then collapse onto my towel beside Monica, half-naked and soaking up the sun. She lifts her giant shades to glance over at me, panting and dripping, my blonde hair finally growing out and hanging in curly tendrils around my face.
“Why do you need private security detail? Your new boyfriends aren't, like, those weird rich controlling types are they? Trust me: I've dated plenty of those before and you don't want that.”
“Nah, nothing like that,” I say, poking my finger in the sand. A pair of guys walk by, grinning at Monica and me, I think. She gives them a coquettish little smile in return while I just stare. I'm so used to playing the introverted headmaster's son, I'd almost forgotten what life used to be like here.
And yet, I still want to go back.
When it comes to real estate, it might be location, location, location, but when it comes to home, it's company, company, company.
I exhale and lean back on my towel, my pink surfboard snuggled up beside me like an old friend.
At least I don't have to be worried about dying right now. I'm surprised at how relieved I feel, like maybe I've been living with more fear and tension than I realized.
Monica settles back down, and we lay in companionable silence for a while before I pull my phone back out and continue with my reading of Jenica's journal. It's a bit of a pain in the ass, having to zoom in on the pictures of those old pages, her very distinctive handwriting a challenge to make out at times. It's pretty, just super stylized and hard to read.
