by Micol Ostow
Mr. Ritter chuckled heartily. “Then you’re in trouble, missy.”
Billie’s eyes widened in alarm. “Why’s that?”
“Because dinner was only a warm-up,” he said. “We’ve still got a whole dessert sampler coming.”
Billie groaned. “We never should have let you order for the table!”
“When in Rome,” Mr. Ritter pointed out.
Heather reached across the table and refilled her glass with sparkling water. “Rest. It’ll be at least three minutes before the next course comes out.”
“The shrimp cocktail here is fantastic,” Mrs. Ritter said, nibbling daintily at the edge of a crab cake and clutching at a wine glass.
“So far, everything’s been fantastic,” Heather said. “Thanks so much for having me—for having us this weekend.” She flushed, her expression earnest.
“Glad to do it,” Mr. Ritter said. “I’m just sorry I don’t have more time at home to spend with you, Billie. My hours are so long.”
Billie waved her hand at him. “’Course they are. I completely understand. Besides”—she glanced at Heather—“I’ve kept busy.”
“That’s right. I’ve been meaning to ask you about the internship. The program is new,” Mr. Ritter said. “This is the first year that we’ve taken on S.A.S.S. students. We’d love to get your input, hear how you think things are going.”
Billie paused for an awkward beat. She and Heather exchanged a look. She wasn’t sure what tack to take here, so she settled on, well…tact. Honesty, but tactful honesty.
“The truth is…” she said, fiddling nervously with her butter knife. “I just wonder if we could…you know…be doing more?”
Silence fell across the table.
“You know we’re huge supporters of Proposition Seven,” she went on, her words coming too fast for the thoughts in her head, “but since funding for that has been put on hold, the internship…it’s a lot of, you know, e-mailing, and mail-mailing, and I just wonder if there isn’t…a way to, you know, get out there. Really take action.”
Mrs. Ritter coughed lightly.
“I think what Billie is saying,” Heather jumped in, “is that maybe she’d like to get out more, you know—from behind the computer screen and such.”
“Exactly,” Billie chimed in. “I’ve found a great group—the Green Gorillas. And they’re planning a sit-in to support—”
At this point Mrs. Ritter made a dramatic choking sound, sending a light spray of her white wine over the table. Mr. Ritter reached over and patted her gently on the back. After a moment, she was breathing regularly again.
“Do you…know of them?” Billie ventured, hesitant.
“We do,” Mr. Ritter said shortly. “I’m curious how you found them.”
“Uh, a friend suggested that I pay them a visit,” she said, hazarding another quick look at Heather. “Because of how I was wanting to get involved and stuff. And that’s when I heard about the sit-in…” She trailed off, realizing that the Ritters were bound to have a different opinion of the sit-in from her own.
“It’s a protest against the postponed funding of Proposition Seven,” she admitted, lowering her gaze.
Mrs. Ritter’s face went white.
“I’m sorry…” Billie stammered. “Honestly, I knew you’d probably be upset that I was protesting against the EPA, but I was hoping that you’d support me standing up for something I believe in.”
Mr. Ritter sighed. “You couldn’t have known, Billie, but the Green Gorillas are a very aggressive team.”
“What have they done?” Billie asked nervously. “Aggressive” didn’t sound good. Maybe they’d had some sort of history with violent protests or the like. She shivered at the thought.
“They’re extremely loud. Their protests garner a lot of negative publicity.”
Billie’s chin dropped into her chest. “That’s it?” That didn’t sound very aggressive to her. But what did she know? This whole world was completely new to her.
“That’s more than it,” Mrs. Ritter jumped in. “That’s quite enough. It’s like those PETA volunteers who throw paint on fur-clad celebrities—it’s negative publicity for the EPA.”
“Well, yes, I can see that,” Billie sputtered, desperate, “but I guess I just assumed—”
“You assumed wrong,” Mrs. Ritter snapped.
Billie looked helplessly to Mr. Ritter, hoping for some sort of reprieve, but it was clearly not to be found. His face had turned very red, in stark contrast to his bone-white knuckles, which gripped the edge of the table tightly.
Parker had been right, she realized. This wasn’t going to go down well.
“I’m sorry,” Billie said quietly, looking down. “I made a mistake.”
Even though in her heart of hearts, she really didn’t believe that it had been a mistake. Not at all.
“No harm done,” Mr. Ritter said, looking as though he was really trying to believe that. After a moment of consideration, he added, “I hope they weren’t counting on you for the sit-in.”
Billie took a long swig of her water, hoping in vain to postpone the inevitable. Even if she did drop out of the sit-in—was that really what she wanted?—there were other considerations to take into account.
“Well,” she said finally, “I suppose they’d be fine without me. But Parker had”—she winced, wanting to bite back the words—“told me that they were planning to run my article on the protest in the school paper. I mean, if I wrote it.”
“No.” Mr. Ritter banged his palm down flat against the table.
“I’m sorry?” Billie was so unused to this sort of display of anger—from one of the Ritters, no less—that she thought she might be hearing him wrong. Studying his trembling face, however, there was no mistaking his tone.
“That’s out of the question.”
Her face flamed. Much as she hated the idea of disappointing Mr. Ritter, she couldn’t believe he’d truly try to stifle her. “That’s free speech,” she replied.
“Mr. Ritter needs to distance himself from the Green Gorillas,” Mrs. Ritter insisted. “Which means that you do, too. End of story.”
Heather kicked at Billie’s ankle underneath the table, indicating that the conversation was over, at least for the time being. Tempers were flaring, and if things continued on in this direction, it would only get worse. It was no use. She would have to concede the battle.
For now, anyway.
The waiter arrived at the table, depositing an enormous silver platter laden with desserts. Everyone shifted in their seats uncomfortably.
Talk about a waste of resources, Billie thought. It didn’t matter whether it was dessert or not; she had completely and totally lost her appetite.
Chapter Twenty-One
“I think that’s a day for me. If I get one more noseful of saltwater, I’m going to be sick for a week,” Eliza said to Macca as they treaded water.
“Oh, come on! You’re just getting the swing of it.”
“I know, and it’s great, but it’s getting late in the afternoon, and I want you to be able to surf on your own. We’ll get some time tomorrow, right?”
“All right, I’ll be in in a bit. You did great.”
“That might be overstating it just a smidge, but I’ll settle for all right.” With that, she turned and began paddling in toward shore, letting a small wave carry her most of the way.
Once back on the beach, she set down Johnny’s long board, shimmied out of the wet suit, and stretched out on her towel while the other girls dished about people Eliza didn’t know. She watched the waves as the swells got bigger in the late afternoon and the wind coming off the beach made them curl over into rolling barrels of water. The guys would seemingly disappear into the froth, and suddenly a flash of wet suit would appear, and there they would be, standing tall on their surfboards, with the wave chasing them along. She wasn’t sure, but it crossed her mind that this could be paradise.
As the sun started setting, the golden light of the end o
f day caught the spray off the waves, and one by one the guys in the water trickled onto the beach, until finally they were all lying in the sand watching a few people catch the last waves of the day.
“I’m famished!” Will stated at last. “Let’s get out of here and make some dinner.”
No one could argue with that plan.
When they reached the site, everyone went back into action as they had the night before. Collecting wood, setting up tents, laying out food. Before long Whiz was bent over a pile of wood and coaxing along the fire while Will muscled into place the large stones on which to balance the grill.
Eliza was chopping tomatoes on a slab of wood when the flash of headlights caught her eye. A car pulled off the main road and headed down the short track to the camp-site. As it neared, she could see that it was a Victoria State Police car. She didn’t think much of its approach.
That is, until it pulled directly up to their site.
The troopers flicked on the spotlight and shined it on the group. Eliza blinked, puzzled. What could the officers want?
Apparently she wasn’t the only one wondering. As the two cops exited the car and came closer, the kids—all of those in Eliza’s party, as well as a bunch who were not—gathered, curious to see what was up.
“Good evening. Could we see everyone’s identification?” The trooper looked impatient with the whole scene.
“Is there a problem, Officer?” Macca asked, stepping forward and clearly trying to appear mature and responsible.
“Just get your identification.”
Eliza grabbed her bag out from under the edge of the tent and pulled out her passport as one of the cops walked up to her. He shined his flashlight at her face as he took the passport and looked at her name and photo before calling to his partner.
They weren’t shining the flashlight on anyone else’s face. Why were they shining the flashlight on her face?
Eliza was starting to get a very bad feeling.
This bad feeling was confirmed by the next words out of the officer’s mouth. “This is her, Bob.”
Eliza’s heart fell. They’re here for me. She was humiliated, and terrified, in equal measure.
“Young lady, you’ve caused quite a bit of consternation, do you know that? The state police were notified of a missing person because of you.” The officer no longer looked impatient, but seeing as he now looked angry, this development was not necessarily an improvement.
Someone from behind her giggled, and Eliza could feel her face burning with embarrassment. She looked around, hoping to find a large rock or something she could crawl under and die. Everything had been so perfect, and now it was perfectly ruined. She was certain Macca would never talk to her again.
“Why don’t you grab your things and say your good-byes.”
“This is ridiculous. Couldn’t we just make a call and let the Echolses know where I am, and that I’m fine? You know, clear this all up?” Eliza sputtered, searching for a way out.
“You are a minor who was reported missing by your custodians, and thus we have to return you to their care. Grab your things and we’re going. This is not up for debate. As for the rest of you, consider this a warning: we catch a beer in the hands of anyone under the age of eighteen and you’re all going to get written up. Got it?”
There were meek nods of understanding, and a few irritated grumbles from the other campers. Eliza hurried to her tent and quickly grabbed her few things, trying to avoid catching the eye of any of the others and wishing that something, anything (meteor? tidal wave? earthquake?) would happen so that this moment would just end. Finally she had her things, and as she turned to go, Macca came up to her and grabbed her arm.
“I’m so sorry, Macca. I ruined everything and, well, I don’t know—”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. We had a good time, and besides, ’round here getting taken away in a divvy van is a badge of honor. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
Eliza wanted to cry. How could he be so nice, so cool about this? She forced a smile and a nod. For the first time in a long time, she was feeling very far from home.
“Seriously, don’t worry about it. Okay?”
“Okay,” Eliza said as he gave her a hug. Of course she would worry about it. In fact, she planned to do nothing but worry about it for the immediate and foreseeable future. She couldn’t believe she’d been so dumb as to run off with her boyfriend. She couldn’t believe she’d risked her spot on the S.A.S.S. exchange. She couldn’t believe that she’d let her adventurous side get the best of her.
And most of all, she couldn’t believe that she’d been picked up by the police.
It was all she could do not to collapse into hysterics in front of Macca and all of his friends. It was through sheer determination only that she managed to maintain her composure.
“All right, time to go,” said the cop as he put his hand on Eliza’s shoulder and turned her back to the car.
She got in the backseat and waved at them as the car pulled away. Eliza turned and looked out the back window of the car until it turned onto the main road and headed back toward Sorrento.
A couple of hours later they drove off the ferry and into Sorrento. The closer they got to the Echolses’ house, the more anxious Eliza became. She really didn’t know what she was going to say to them. There had been an APB put out on her. This was beginning to feel like a Lifetime made-for-TV movie.
Had they called her parents? They would be mortified. Her dad was always worried about public opinion, and he never wanted to shed any negative light on the EPA or to take away from the work he was doing. This was exactly the type of situation he would not want. His daughter, in the back of a police car, in a foreign country.
Please let there be traffic....
Eliza prayed for anything to prolong the ride and put off the inevitable confrontation with the Echolses.
Traffic, it seemed, was not in the cards. It wasn’t long before the police cruiser headed up the road on the last leg of their journey from Bells Beach and turned into the Echolses’ driveway. The officers got out and opened the door to let Eliza out. They walked her up the front path and rang the bell. As they waited for someone to answer the door, Eliza could see people looking out the windows of the houses across the street, wondering what the police were doing there. She felt another wash of shame at the embarrassment this was probably causing the Echolses, but she didn’t have long to think about this before Frank opened the door.
“I believe this belongs to you?” one of the officers said to Frank.
“Yes, Officer, thank you very much for bringing her back. We’re very sorry for any inconvenience. Aren’t we, Eliza?” Frank’s expression was impassive, but his voice was firm.
“Um…Yes?” Eliza choked on her words. “Yes,” she repeated, strong this time. “I’m sorry for causing a problem.”
“No problem at all, Mr. Echols, that’s what we’re here for. Now, Ms. Ritter, I trust this will be the last we hear of you? If it is not, then we can revoke your visa and put you on a plane back to the States. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.” They could do that? Eliza vowed to spend the remainder of her semester holed up in Billie’s bedroom doing crossword puzzles and reading the classics of literature. Since she’d probably be grounded in perpetuity, anyway.
“Good. Now you folks have a good night.”
“Thank you again, Officer,” said Frank as he closed the door behind Eliza. He turned to her. “Let’s go to the kitchen. We need to have a chat.”
Eliza nodded solemnly, and followed him through the living room and into the kitchen, where Mrs. Echols was sitting at the kitchen table with a teakettle. She looked very…stressed. Eliza sat at the end of the table and waited while Frank prepared himself a cup of tea and sat across from her.
The room was silent for a moment, and Eliza found herself wishing again for a nice, random natural disaster to save her from the horribleness of it all.
Frank sighed. “Eliza, I don�
��t know what to do about you. You had us really scared. Do you know that? We didn’t even have the heart to call your parents, not being able to tell them if you were okay or not.”
“I—” Eliza mumbled, but she didn’t get to finish the thought.
“I don’t know what got into you, but the idea of running away was a very, very stupid one. Frankly, I am inclined to pack your bags and put you on the next flight back to the States,” Frank declared.
Eliza went white. This was her worst nightmare, playing out before her eyes. She’d be sent home, away from her new friends, and Macca—and worst of all, she’d be letting the Echolses and her parents down. It was the absolute worst outcome to her S.A.S.S. exchange that she could possibly imagine.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice breaking as tears welled in her eyes. “I know I messed up. I didn’t mean to let you down; it’s just, you know, I wanted to make the most of my time here in Australia.” Eliza was crying freely now. She sniffled and looked up at the Echolses meekly. “Please don’t send me home. I’ll write ten more reports for my internship. I’ll babysit every single night. I will lock myself in my bedroom whenever I’m not at school. Whatever you want. Just…please, don’t send me home.”
For a moment, no one said anything. Eliza could hear her heart pounding in her ears.
Finally, Frank spoke. “We are not going to do that,” he said quietly.
Eliza allowed herself a deep exhale.
“However,” he went on, “we are letting you stay only on some conditions.”
Eliza nodded gravely. Conditions were fine. She could do conditions.
Frank took a long sip of his tea. “First, you are going to have to sit with Estelle every Sunday to make a schedule for the coming week. This is a schedule you are going to stick to. No ifs, ands, or buts.
