I realized I had one last play and straightened up. “The thing is, I’m old enough to go without your permission. Having turned eighteen and all.”
My parents stared at me hard. But it was true: I had just turned eighteen last week. It was a long story why I was eighteen going into my senior year—I was a summer baby, on the cusp of the school cutoff anyway, and I’d been anxious and shy in preschool, so much so that my teacher at the time had suggested that I hold off on going to kindergarten until I was six. All these years, my being a little older hadn’t meant much … but today, it meant everything.
My mother’s lips were set in a tight line. “You’re going to have to tell Elena that you need to refuse her very generous offer. End of story.”
“But…” My thoughts scattered. I didn’t know what else to say. I wanted to bring up that I’d never asked for anything before—and also, this was costing them nothing. Remind them of how good I was, how easy I’d been, how I wasn’t prone to mood swings or wild behavior like my older brother and sister. It was why my parents were so strict with me—because they felt they’d failed with Anthony and Maria. But it didn’t mean it was fair to me.
But I could tell nothing would convince them. My mother had already gone back to studying her accounting books, a clear indication the conversation was over. My father stared at the magazine.
I felt my whole body wilt. “Thanks for nothing,” I mumbled, and then went upstairs. I wasn’t even enough of a moody adolescent to stomp. I just walked.
* * *
I didn’t have the guts to tell Elena the news over the phone. Even writing a text seemed impossible. I erased three different versions before settling on I’m so sorry, I tried, it’s a no-go and adding a string of sobbing-face emojis.
After I hit SEND, I flopped on my bed and stared at the ceiling. Above me, in the attic space we’d converted to a bedroom, I heard telltale creaks and thumps. Maria was home. Should I talk to her about this? Maria used to wheedle all kinds of unthinkable things out of my parents—like living at her best friend Lulu’s house for the summer of her sophomore year, or auditioning for a job as a character at Disney World (she didn’t get it), or forming a band with her friends and practicing in our garage on weeknights. My parents didn’t lord it over her schedule or decisions; she went to parties, dances, out on dates, lied about sleeping over at such-and-such’s house when she was actually out with a guy, and one time, turned up on the eleven o’clock news for a crowd interview outside Eminem’s tour bus after his concert in Atlanta—when she’d told my parents she was at the mall.
There were nights when my parents couldn’t find her, when she didn’t answer her phone. They stayed up all night, waiting for the police to knock on the door or someone from a hospital to call. The summer after her junior year, she ran away. For three whole days, Maria didn’t come home. Didn’t call. Went totally off the map.
I swear my father’s hair turned completely gray just in that single weekend. They were grateful when she finally turned back up—she’d gone to Memphis for a few days with some friends but, oops, forgot to mention it to anyone—but also shattered and wounded. After that, they were just relieved she graduated high school without getting pregnant or arrested or kidnapped. Their standards were so low for her—they were never pushing her to actually do something with her life, certainly not to be a lawyer—but she also had freedom to do what she wanted as long as she paid for it with her own income.
Which way was better? Which life was more gratifying? What would Maria do if she were in this same situation as I was right now?
I couldn’t talk to Maria. She was almost ten years older than I was; besides a brief stint of being friends when I was teeny-tiny, we’d always sort of been ships passing in the night. It would be strange to try to strike up a heart-to-heart after years of either being intimidated by her or ignoring her. As I lay in my bed, I wished we were closer. I needed a big sister to tell me what to do.
My phone rang. I felt a clench in my chest—it had to be Elena. She would be heartbroken, I figured, but not devastated. She’d probably just take someone else. While I was sitting in that windowless, airless cubicle at the law firm, transcribing depositions, my Instagram would be pinging with pictures of Elena and her guest on the beach, at the concert, on Lavender’s yacht.
But it was Hayden’s name on the caller ID. I answered it with a gloomy hello.
“You okay?” Hayden asked, sounding worried.
I sighed and explained as best I could about Elena’s invitation and my parents’ swift and decisive dashing of my dreams. “Wait a minute,” Hayden interrupted. “You were offered a free ticket to the Solstice Festival?”
“I was,” I muttered. “But I just gave it up.”
“Adri, you have to go.” Hayden’s tone was urgent. “It’s supposed to be the party of the century. Like, history will be made. You explained that to your parents, right?”
“Yeah, but they don’t really care. They think Myla sounds dangerous. My mother can’t find it on a map.”
“That’s because it’s a tiny island. But the guy who set it up, Zack Frazier? You know who he is, right?”
“Sort of…”
“He, like, invented the concept of the YouTube influencer. His channel has one hundred million followers.”
“Really?” I asked incredulously. I’d sort of heard of Zack Frazier, but YouTube wasn’t really my thing. Still, 100 million followers was unthinkable.
“The guy’s a marketing genius, and whatever he touches is really well done. The Solstice Festival is going to be safe; it’s going to be well run; it’s going to be an experience. This guy knows how to put things together. He threw a festival last year in New Orleans that was amazing.”
“You sound like the president of his fan club.”
“I admire what that guy’s doing. So seriously, you need to find a way to go. With that guy running it, it’s got to be legit.”
“How can I go?” I slumped on my pillows. “They already said no.”
“Couldn’t you just … go anyway? You’re eighteen, right?”
I’d told him about my birthday a few weeks ago. The bed creaked as I turned onto my side. Out the window, the streetlights turned on, casting long, golden shadows into my room. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure the concert is me, anyway. It’s going to be a bunch of rich kids.”
“I’m not going to tell you to do something you’re not comfortable with,” Hayden said. “But it really will be the experience of your life. And if you already have a ticket, you have nothing to lose. Call your parents once you’re in Myla. It’s not like they’re going to fly down there and haul you back.”
“Clearly you don’t know them,” I muttered. But maybe Hayden had a point. Could I sneak out? It was certainly what Maria would have done. I remembered, when Maria returned from her three-day stint in Memphis, how my mother had been so angry until the moment she saw her daughter’s face, and then she’d burst into tears and thrown her arms around Maria tightly, sobbing into her shoulder, just grateful she was okay.
“Look,” Hayden said. “I’m going to tell you a story. A few years ago, before our freshman year, my family went on this trip to Arizona. And we got in a car crash. A … a terrible one.”
I drew in a breath. “What?”
“We were driving on this winding road, and my dad lost control of the car, and … I don’t know what happened, really. I just remember rolling, and glass breaking, and then nothing. We were stuck, Adri. In the middle of nowhere, in the desert. No one could see us from the road, with no cell service, no way to yell. Nobody helped us for hours. I really thought it was the end.”
“Oh my God.” My skin suddenly felt cold. How did I not know about this? But I’d come into Huntley as a sophomore; if people knew about this, the stories had blown over the following year. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t be,” he said. “I mean, we were eventually rescued. It all turned out okay. No one was badly hurt
. And in a weird way, it was a great thing. It gave me clarity. I don’t worry about the little things anymore. I mean, obviously I don’t make choices that are going to screw up my life, but instead of being afraid to go for something I want, I just remember those hours in that canyon, thinking I wasn’t going to live. If I were you, this concert would be a no-brainer. I’d absolutely go.”
“Huh,” I said thoughtfully. I was still rattled by the idea of a younger Hayden lying in a ditch in Arizona with no food or water or chance of help. Something like that must change a person. I wondered how that sort of trial would change my parents. I wondered how it would change me.
I told Hayden I’d text him tomorrow, then hung up. I felt unsettled but also honored he’d trusted me with his story. It felt so intimate. Were we becoming … something?
If I didn’t go to Solstice, I’d regret it. If I did go—sneak out, in other words—would I even enjoy the festival, or would I be riddled with guilt and worry? But then, what was I worrying about, exactly? What could my parents really do? They wouldn’t take my college fund away—that would be like cutting off their noses to spite their faces. They certainly wouldn’t kick me out of the house, either, when they were still letting Maria live here. Was it possible that if I went and sent them an “everything’s okay” message once I landed, over the course of the three days, they’d realize they’d come down too hard? That I was busting my butt and doing everything they wanted, and I needed to have a little fun, too?
I could just go. I was eighteen. No one was going to arrest me. I wasn’t doing anything illegal. And, like Elena said, I was the responsible one—I wasn’t going to binge-drink or take weird drugs or even crowd-surf. I would work eighteen hours a day when I got back to make up for my missed internship time. I would work double shifts at the diner on weekends to say I was sorry. But, hopefully, I’d have an amazing experience that I’d always remember. And, like Hayden had said, that mattered.
I picked up my phone from the bedside table. Elena hadn’t replied to my text yet—chances were she was sleeping and hadn’t seen it. I pulled up my last message and started to type. Forget that! Please don’t take someone else! I’M COMING. Pick me up for the airport early Thursday morning!
The text made a whoosh as I sent it off. This message Elena saw right away, and she quickly replied. Yes! YES! Can’t wait!
I sat back, my heart hammering, my brain humming. I had to keep quiet about this for two days, but I knew I could do it. This was the best decision. This would be the most amazing thing I’d ever done. Next weekend, I was going to have the time of my life.
Or so I thought.
@SolsticeFestZa: Aloha, Solstice Travelers! We know many of you are boarding flights to make your way south very shortly. Here are the details on how you can find the limousine that will ferry you toward the bucket-list experience of a lifetime … aka Solstice. (1/7)
@SolsticeFestZa: If you are coming to Myla by private jet, a concierge will be waiting for you as you deplane; vans will take you to the waiting limos. (2/7)
@SolsticeFestZa: If you are flying commercial, it’s an easy walk outside the airport and past Long-Term Parking to reach the port. (3/7)
@SolsticeFestZa: Smart Cartes for your luggage can be rented for a nominal fee, or you can reach out to our Solstice Concierge (email below) and he will book you with a SOLSTICE SHERPA, who will schlep your stuff for the low, low price of $500. (4/7)
@SolsticeFestZa: If you by chance live on the island (lucky you!), the limos will be one street past the airport. We’d suggest hiring a private driver because there’s no public parking. (5/7)
@SolsticeFestZa: And this is totally one for my gratitude journal: Reports say that the weather is going to be BEAUTIFUL for our three days of decadent splendor. MAYBE a pop-up t-storm here and there—but hey, it’s the tropics! (6/7)
@SolsticeFestZa: So bring extra sunscreen, your skimpiest bikini, maybe an umbrella if you so choose, and your sense of adventure—we will see you SOON! (7/7)
Replies:
@ukulele7: On my plane now, first class, bitches!
@free_da990x: already into the Veuve!
@SOLSTICE4-EVA: I am freaking! Literally cannot breathe! Lavender, mofos!
@JAZrreK: Commercial fliers: def wear sneakers once you get off the plane because that walk to Long-Term Parking is NO JOKE. At least 3 miles! But still super pumped!
@AnonymousA: You spoiled millennials disgust me. I hope a shark eats you all.
4
“HOT TOWEL?” A flight attendant in a crisp blue uniform leaned over me, her green eyes wide and her mauve-painted lips stretched into a sincere smile.
I looked down at my hands. They were still red from the last hot towel I’d been wrenching for a good hour. “I’m fine,” I tell her sweetly. “But thank you.”
“You’re welcome!” She looked thrilled that I’d been cordial. I wondered if flight attendants, even first-class ones, got pushed around as much as diner waitresses did. Probably. I wanted to tell this woman—Traci, read her name tag, though she looked too serious to be a Traci—that I didn’t belong in this oversize leather seat at the front of the plane, gorging on chocolate-covered strawberries and practically being forced into underage drinking. (Everyone in first class was a teenager, though the airline didn’t seem to blink an eye at serving us alcohol. My flute of champagne had gone mostly untouched, but Elena was already on her third and tipsily giggling at everything.)
Speaking of Elena, she peered at something out the window. “I think we’re getting close. What are we going to do first when we land? We have a whole day to just chill. I hear they’re running free hot yoga classes in the main tent. Or maybe there will be helicopter rides, like on the video? Or maybe everyone will get their own helicopter? Do you think there will be shopping? What sort of food do you think they’ll have? Everything, I bet. Probably really good sushi—I read that Zack Frazier is a sushi fiend.”
“I read that, too.” I’d looked Zack up—research was my thing. His résumé was impressive. At only twenty-three years old, he’d launched a YouTube channel that was essentially a mix of comedy, pranks, and skateboarding, and gained enough sponsors to make millions of dollars. Zack had a zillion investments in other companies; a TV option on a short story he’d written at eighteen; he was sponsoring an X-Games-esque sporting event for extreme sports in Oregon next summer; and he was even thinking of getting into the space-tourism game. He’d also started several charities in LA; one was to bring music education to underprivileged children, and one was something about improving California public gardens without the use of harmful chemicals. I liked that he’d used some of his money for the greater good.
I’d also tried to do research on Myla Island. The Wikipedia page showed a lively tropical paradise with several towns, a capital, and some commerce. It didn’t seem as built up as some of the other islands nearby, but serenity and wide-open space was kind of the idea, right? Also, the page talked mostly about Myla West, where all the tourism was, and very little about Myla East, on the other side. As far as I could glean, Myla East was much less populated and not very easy to get to from the west side of the island.
I trolled for Solstice subreddits, too, but all I found were eager Solstice Festival attendees also gossiping about where we were going. According to some, Myla was like an island of paradise with a secret resort only accessible to the rich and famous—except for this weekend, when the great and powerful Zack Frazier would open it up to all of us. There were shadowy pictures of the Myla resort where we’d be staying—sleek terraces, negative-edge pools, nearly empty beaches, stunning sunsets. Some said the resort had been closed a few years ago, and we’d all be camping instead. I was okay with either. My family often did camping vacations because it was cheaper than hotels, resorts, or theme parks. I didn’t mind sleeping in a tent, as long as there was bug spray.
“Or, oh!” Elena squeezed my upper arm a little hard. “I think I read there are Jet Skis to rent, too! That would be f
un to cruise around the Caribbean Sea, huh?”
“Is that what it’s called?” I asked. “The Caribbean Sea?” I felt like Elena might be wrong—wasn’t it just the Atlantic? But then geography wasn’t my thing, so I wasn’t sure.
At the thought of geography, I felt a pang of guilt. I’d texted my parents after boarding the plane but then promptly turned my phone off because I wasn’t quite ready for the hysterical responses I knew I’d receive. I hadn’t paid for Wi-Fi access during the flight, either, still too afraid of their reaction. They couldn’t be too angry, could they? They wouldn’t do something rash like call the Mylan police to arrest me once I deplaned, right?
On the other hand, I’d never done something this rash before. I couldn’t quite believe I’d gone through with it. When I hopped into Elena’s car early this morning, it still felt like a hazy dream—like it was an alternate Adri going, not the real, levelheaded one.
The tone of the plane’s engine shifted, and the captain made an announcement that we were dropping in altitude. As I leaned across Elena to look out the window, I noticed we’d burst through the clouds. Below me, stretching as far as I could see, was glistening turquoise-blue water. I gasped. “Is that the ocean?”
“Yep.” Elena beamed. “Gorgeous, right?”
“It’s so clear.” My heart started to thump with excitement.
“The water’s super warm, too,” a girl across the aisle in gigantic Gucci sunglasses piped up. “It’s going to be perfect for swimming.” She reached under her collar and showed us the strap of a pink bikini. “I’m going straight in. Someone told me that there’s a guy there who’ll get you selfies with the dolphins that swim around the shore. He just holds them tightly so you can pet them and everything.”
Solstice Page 4
