Shoving up from the step, I started to leave. “Have a nice run.”
“Phoenix.” His voice was different, less faked and more real. I rolled to a stop but didn’t look back.
I heard the stairs creak as he walked down them. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice catching on the last syllable. I felt something clump up in my throat. “I’m so, so sorry, sweetheart. I know I’ve let you and Harry and your mom down, but I’m going to do everything to make it right. I’m going to fix this, all of it….” He paused to clear his throat. It sounded like he had something stuck in his throat, too. “If you’ll give me a second chance. I don’t deserve one and I haven’t earned one, but I’m asking for one.”
I’d been holding my breath. I only knew this because when I finally took a breath, I sucked in a gasp of air. My shoulders were quivering, and as much as I wanted to run away, I couldn’t move. My feet were stuck in place.
Wasn’t it too late? What had been done had been done—our house wasn’t ours anymore, Harry and I were leaving our schools, friends, everything familiar. What was there left for him to fix?
I didn’t know he’d been moving closer until I felt his hand rest on my shoulder. It was hesitant at first, like he was expecting me to step to the side or swipe his hand away. I didn’t move, though. It was the first time my dad had touched me with something resembling affection in a long time. I’d forgotten how strong his hands felt, and how strong they made me feel—like there was nothing that could hurt me when he was close.
I hadn’t known I’d missed him until right then. I’d been so focused on being angry and disappointed and betrayed I’d blocked out what was at the core of all that—missing him. The real dad, not the shadow one.
When I exhaled, I felt everything inside relax. Or maybe I felt everything coming back together. I wasn’t sure.
“I’m sorry.” When his voice broke again as his hand squeezed my shoulder, I turned around.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, his throat bobbing. Lifting his arms, he slowly wound them around me and pulled me to him. It was gentle and restrained—he was giving me the chance to break away if I wanted.
But instead I found my own arms wrapping around him. I hugged my dad. He hugged me back.
I cried. He cried, too.
I wasn’t sure I’d forgiven him or moved on or felt any less scared of the future, but I had my dad back, and for now, that felt like enough. I could work on the rest later.
“Harry…” I sniffed and moved my head from his chest to look up at him. The rims of his eyes were wet. “He can’t go to a public school, Dad. You know that, right? He’s spent all his life in private schools, and he’s got the brain of a high schooler in a ten-year-old body. We can’t do that to him. You know that, right?”
Dad’s face crinkled when he smiled at me. He’d shaved and looked like he’d gotten a little sun, but he still looked old—like time had held him down and beaten him good and aged. He wiped the tear winding down my face. “I know that, Phoenix. And that is something I’ve managed to fix already.”
I straightened. “You enrolled Harry in private school?”
“There’s a good one a half hour away from the new house. He’s enrolled, and it’s all been paid for. At least for the next three years, but that will be long enough for me to get back on my feet.”
I didn’t know exactly how much Harry’s last school had cost, but it wasn’t cheap. Given that our family’s financial status was dire, I couldn’t figure out how Dad had managed to prepay three years of tuition just like that.
“How?” I asked.
“I sold my Mustang. Some guy paid asking price and everything.”
“You sold your Mustang?” I sounded dumbfounded because I was. My dad loved that car so much I’d actually caught him sleeping in it a few times. Some people would save the photo albums or the family pet in the event of a fire—Dad would have saved his classic Mustang. I never thought he’d sell it. Actually, I thought he’d probably want to be buried in it.
“Ink’s still wet on the title transfer.” He said it was no big deal, but I knew better. It was a giant deal. He’d sold his most prized possession so his son could go to a nicer school for the next few years.
“Thank you,” I said, sighing. Harry would be okay. Sure, it would be a different school, but the same kind of school. After this summer playing social butterfly, he’d probably make friends at this one.
“You’re welcome.” Dad looked at me for a minute like he was waiting for something. There were so many somethings he could have been waiting for; it could have been anything.
“What?” I asked.
“Isn’t there anything else you might be worried about?” he asked. “Anyone else you might be concerned about?”
My eyes drifted to the cabin. Mom and I hadn’t exactly made up, but we were at least talking again. It took me some time, but I realized I couldn’t be pissed at her because she’d gone and told me the truth when that was what I’d been wanting her to do the whole time. She couldn’t help it if that truth sucked.
“I think Mom will be okay, you know? I mean, yeah, the move’s going to be hard on her like all of us, but she’s strong. She’ll be okay.”
Dad’s face lined, almost in amusement. “I agree, but that anyone else I was referring to was you.”
I shifted. “Oh.”
“There you go,” he said.
“Well, yeah, I guess I’m a little worried about what’s going to happen.” I cleared my throat and kept staring at the cabin. “It’s my senior year and everything’s changing. It’s a lot to take in.”
“It is your senior year, and I know how hard you’ve worked.” Dad rubbed his chin, like he was still sporting a semi-beard. “It’s not fair to you to change schools and teams when you’re one year from making another big change into college.”
I bit the inside of my cheek instead of nodding my agreement. It wasn’t fair. But I’d come to realize I couldn’t depend on fair when I was planning my life.
“That’s why, if you want to, Emerson’s family has agreed to let you live with them this next year so you can finish your senior year at North Shore.” Dad threw his arms in the air like he’d just announced I’d won the lottery, but I could tell his excitement was kind of forced. He wasn’t eager for me to move out a year earlier than any of us had planned.
For a minute, I let that settle in. I could spend the year at the same school, with my same friends, with my same teammates. I could graduate from one of the top schools in the state like I’d planned on. I could have exactly what I thought I couldn’t have again…but I couldn’t have it with my family.
Sure, they’d still be close by, but what would it be like not to share an after-school snack with Harry every day? What would it be like to not wake up to the smell of Mom’s favorite coffee or fall asleep to the sound of the late-night news streaming from my parents’ bedroom? Would I miss these things? Were they worth giving up so I could stay at the same school?
At the beginning of summer, I wouldn’t have thought twice about my answer. It would have been yes. Harry would have been the hardest to say good-bye to, but I wouldn’t have cared about anything else.
One summer had changed that. Or maybe one summer had changed me.
“You talked with Emerson’s family about letting me stay with them?” Another tear slipped down my cheek. So much was coming at me, and the sun hadn’t even risen all the way yet.
“Actually, I can’t take the credit for that.” Dad tipped his head at the cabin. “That was your mom’s idea.”
“Mom’s?”
“It’s a pretty good one, right?”
The ball in my throat doubled in size. I nodded because I couldn’t get a word out.
“Is that a yes?” Dad circled his hand, waiting.
One second I wanted to say yes. The next I wanted to say no. It was such a huge decision to make, and one I hadn’t even known was an option until five seconds ago. “Can I think about it?”
>
Dad sighed, kind of like he was relieved. “Of course you can. Take as long as you need, just maybe try to have an answer before the first day of school.”
I smiled, sniffing. “I can do that.”
He pulled me into a side hug. It felt so natural, so like we’d never stopped, I wound my arm behind him and hugged him. “So what about this run? Daylight’s burning.” He checked the horizon where the sun was just thinking about waking up.
“Lucky for you it’s an easy day.” I wound an arm over my head, stretching, then repeated with the other.
“Like I need you to take it easy on me.” He pointed down at his sneakers, which had been trendy a decade ago. “I’ll have you know I was my high school track team’s fastest runner. My record in the mile still holds to this day.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s because you graduated with a class of fifteen kids, and you were the only student on your track team that year.”
He laughed, the kind I remembered from Christmas mornings and birthday parties. “Details.”
I swallowed the new lump in my throat. It didn’t move. “Ready?” I pointed in the direction of the trail in front of us.
Dad started jogging in place. “I was born ready.”
Even though I was still sad about Callum, I laughed. Dad was back to dropping cheesy lines and acting like his family existed.
When I started jogging, Dad fell in right beside me. We hadn’t made it far before he was already breathing like he’d just gone from sea level to ten thousand feet. We were barely clipping along at a nine-minute mile.
“We’re only doing a mile or two, right?” He panted. “It’s an easy day.”
I tried not to smile. “Try eleven or twelve. Easy has more to do with the pace than the actual distance.”
Dad groaned so loudly a squirrel started chattering down at us from a tree lining the trail. “Is that all?” He shrugged like it was nothing, but he was already sweating.
This time I didn’t hide my smile. I wasn’t running alone anymore.
“Hey, Dad?” I paused for a second. “Thanks for, you know, everything.”
He looked over at me and smiled. He didn’t stop smiling the whole jog. “Thanks for the second chance.”
It was my last day as a Camp Kismet counselor. I’d come here hating it on principle alone, and now I was about to leave it, knowing I’d carry a piece of this place with me wherever I went in life. I’d left a piece of myself here, too.
I’d gotten in my last run earlier, and Dad had joined me, against my warnings that if he couldn’t walk without limping, he really shouldn’t run, but he’d insisted. Something about working through the pain, which, to me, sounded like a recipe for tearing a muscle, but I was thankful for the company. I’d missed my dad, the one who made me feel like I could do anything and that, even if I failed, I was still okay in his book.
It was almost eight when I headed to the craft closet to pull out the day’s supplies. Now, this I wouldn’t miss. Crafting. Being crafty. Making crafts. Living crafts. Breathing crafts. Dreaming crafts.
If I never saw another bottle of acrylic paint, it would be too soon.
Today was a simple-enough project—not even one I could mess up. We were decorating sticks that would be a part of the stick ceremony later at night. It was a long, time-honored Camp Kismet tradition that on the very last night campers and staff would group around a campfire, and each one would stand up and talk about what they’d learned that summer before tossing their stick into the fire.
Sounded kind of hippie-dippie to me, but everyone talked about it like it was something as holy as getting to kiss the pope’s ring or something. I wasn’t planning on making a stick or getting up and talking, but I should be able to help a handful of campers make theirs.
I grabbed a few bottles of the dreaded glue, sequins, and paint, and—against my better judgment—a few bottles of glitter. I stacked the ribbon box on the top and slowly made my way into the dining hall, which was almost empty from the breakfast service.
Callum hadn’t been there, in his usual seat, at his usual table, alone. Maybe he’d been out leading an early morning ride or maybe he’d just decided to sleep in an extra thirty minutes. I wondered if I’d see him again. I mean, I had to, right? We couldn’t just leave for the summer without saying good-bye, could we? After everything? The thought of it made me ill.
He’d been avoiding me, ignoring me, and dodging me for the past two weeks, and I’d let him. The first week I’d done the same with him. But I didn’t care how far he went out of his way to stay out of mine—tonight I was confronting him. At least to say good-bye, because, really, what was there left to say?
“You’re like Martha Stewart’s naughty niece.” Someone slid into the bench at the table I was cleaning for the day’s project. “Crafting never looked so good.”
I grumbled under my breath. “Haven’t you gone extinct yet?”
“The world’s still spinning, isn’t it?” Ethan cracked his smile, which might have worked on all the girls except me.
“What do you want, Ethan? I’m kind of busy here.”
“Who says I want anything? Why can’t I just have a normal conversation with you that doesn’t revolve around me wanting something?”
“Well, like you said, the world’s still spinning….”
Ethan chuckled, watching me scrub the table with an antibacterial wipe. I yanked another wipe and tossed it his way. “Make yourself useful.”
He circled his finger around his face a few times, that smile of his pasted into place. “I already am.”
I groaned and started taking out my irritation on the table I was wiping. This sucker had never been so clean. “Is there a reason you’re here? Other than to annoy the crap out of me?”
Ethan scrubbed at the table with me. “I need another reason than that?”
“When are you leaving? Soon, hopefully?” I slid onto the bench across from him and stopped cleaning. It was going to be a mess in ten minutes anyway.
“As soon as Evan pulls the truck around.”
“You’re not staying for the stick ceremony?”
“Why? Any chance of getting to second base with you after? Because I could be persuaded.” Ethan stuck his hands on his chest and tried to hold a serious expression. It didn’t last.
“Bon voyage.” I waved at him.
He chuckled and checked the window. He was excited to head out. I guess I’d be eager to leave, too, but something was keeping me here. I didn’t want to go, but I knew I had to.
“So you and Big Kahuna are splitsville, eh?” Ethan bounced his brows a few times. “Probably for the best. For you, at least.”
Callum and I hadn’t announced our breakup, blowup, whatever-you-want-to-call-it, just like we hadn’t announced our getting together, but I guess everyone had figured it out.
“Why was it so crazy I’d want to be with him?” I asked, trying to convince myself I was having a conversation about the pros and cons of fabric softener, not one about the guy who’d ruined me for all other guys.
“I don’t know. You just seem ambitious, you know?” Ethan made a box with his fingers and looked at me through it. “So destined for the greatness thing.”
“And Callum doesn’t?”
He raised his hands, like I’d just accused him of something. “Hey, I like the shit out of Callum. He’s the first guy I’d pick to be on my team in a zombie apocalypse—he’d be my Rick Grimes—but you know…this is the real world.”
I switched to defensive mode. “You’re saying he’s not the guy you’d want on your side in the real world?”
Ethan didn’t look away, even though I wasn’t giving him a particularly kind look. “I’m saying he wouldn’t be my first-round pick.”
I wadded up the dirty wipes and threw them in the direction of the garbage can. They actually went in—my aim was improving. “Second?”
“More like last to second-to-last.”
“That’s harsh.”
He shrugged, looking maybe ashamed for saying it, but not because he didn’t mean it. “I dated a girl who goes to school with Callum.” When I muttered a “Big surprise,” Ethan gave a lazy wink. “Anyway, she knew all about Callum O’Connor.”
“And she said he was a disaster?” Why did I suddenly want to find this girl so I could tear a chunk of her hair out?
“No, she said he’s a reformed troublemaker. One of those guys at school everyone likes. Kinda keeps to himself like he does here, but a stand-up guy.” Ethan looked out the window again. This time Evan and his truck were outside waiting. He spun around the bench and stood up. “Nice guy. Good guy. Makes the outdoors his bitch, but in a classroom, behind a desk…not his thing.”
“Not his thing?” I repeated as my hands curled into fists.
“Let’s just say that you know how they call the student with the highest GPA valedictorian? You wanna know what they call the person with the lowest one?”
“Not really.” I started to shake my head when it looked like he was going to tell me anyway.
“Callum O’Connor.” He wasn’t smiling, he wasn’t trying to make a joke, he was telling it straight.
To distract myself from driving my fist into his eye socket, I started opening the craft bins and spreading the contents down the table.
Ethan rested his hand over mine to stop it for a second. Then he turned my hand over in his, and he shook it. All summer he’d been trying to con me into just about everything else, and here he was, shaking my hand like that was all he’d ever planned on.
Why did the boys of the world seem intent on seriously screwing with my head?
“Nice knowing you, New Girl. Good luck out there.” He made a clucking sound with his mouth and slid his hand free.
“You’ve spent a whole summer with me, asked me out every time I accidentally made eye contact…,” I called after him as he started for the door. “And I’m still New Girl?”
“I don’t know, it just stuck. Kind of fitting, right? You’re trying to figure it all out. Got that born-yesterday look to you. ‘New Girl’ works.”
Trusting You and Other Lies Page 23
