A Whole Lot of Lucky (20 page)

Furthermore, this whole thing with Tanner. Was she going to tell me? I mean, I only found out through Facebook, and even my stopping over today was unplanned. The thought of her keeping secrets grates against our friendship same as my bike chain grates against its axle.
Big deal,
I tell myself—I keep secrets from her. Things she has no idea of, like how dingy some of her shirts look and how dumb she sounds when she asks things like
What's CSS?
when everyone at Magnolia knows it stands for cascading style sheets. Emily and Marna were polite enough to not point out anything, but at the sleepover, Amanda acted like Little Orphan Annie seeing Daddy Warbucks's mansion for the first time.

I'm plodding by Emily's house when I spy her sitting on her porch steps.

“Coming home from somewhere.” She states the obvious as I roll up her sidewalk, careful not to crush even one blade of their perfect grass. Today must be Annoy Hailee Day.

“Yep.” I set up my bike, then drop beside her. “I
heard you playing your flute before. I felt like sitting on your porch and listening to it.”

Her surprised little smile makes an appearance. “Do it.”

“What?”

“Sit on the porch. My mom won't care.”

“That would really be okay?”

“Yeah, and then leave me a signal that you were here, like …” She glances around. She snaps off a twig from the bushes, breaks it in half, and lays the halves as an X behind the banister. “This will be our code.”

I love this idea. It makes up for all the weirdness at Amanda's house and I almost feel normal as I fly home.

Almost normal, but for that nagging no-see-um feeling.

“MOM!” I scream from my bed the next morning. It's after nine o'clock—I'm going to be tardy. I
can't
be tardy! How could she let this happen? “MOM!”

“MOM!” I scramble down the stairs. “MOM!”

She bounces Libby on her lap, sitting at the table with Dad. Dad's home. Dad's home?

“Mom, I'm LATE!”

Why are they calm? What's wrong with them? I grab one of the bakery doughnuts off the counter, shove it in my mouth, and circle the table chopping the air.

Mom says. “Relax! No school today.”

“It's FRIDAY!” I wave my non-doughnut arm around. “Not SATURDAY!” Rivers of blood surge through my veins.

“We're spending the weekend at Daytona Beach.” Mom smiles at Dad.

My heart thunders. I sprint laps in the kitchen. “Honey …” Mom laughs.

I quicken my pace. “It's not funny. I'm going to get in trouble. I can't skip school.”

Dad says, “We're all playing hooky today.”

My hands fist in alarm. My arms bend, ready to punch if they weren't frozen in place.

Mom smirks at Dad. “Ryan, don't do that to her! Daddy and I were talking about how you didn't get a spring break this year. And between winning the lottery and you changing schools and everything else, we decided the whole family could use a break. I've already called the attendance office.”

So I
am
skipping school!

I hug Mom. I hug Dad. I hug Libby even though she didn't have anything to do with it. “Day-ton-a! Day-ton-a!” I make sharp movements with an imaginary baton as I march in front of the sink. “When are we leaving?” I yell like a cheer.

“As soon as you're ready,” Mom returns.

Quick as a cricket, I'm up the stairs. My teeth are brushed and so is my hair. I throw everything I need into my pillowcase and hammer downstairs. “Ready!” I sing.

Wait till I post this!

Tap, tap. Tap, tap, click.
Oh, no.
Tap, tap.
My phone is dead. “My phone!”

Dad takes it, clicks around, and gives it back. “You can charge it at the hotel.”

Groaning, I roll my head back. “That's a long time from now.”

“Hailee—Daytona Beach,” Mom says. “You should be happy.”

“I am! I just wanted to tell everyone else. Oh! Let me go get my laptop.”

Dad stops me. “You don't need a computer on our vacation, Hailee. It's time to hit the road. There's a beach out there calling my name.”

There won't be anyone calling
me
. My battery is dead, dead, dead.

Libby is so lucky. She falls asleep almost instantly in her car seat. Without my phone, the trip is long and boring. But I must admit, when the van climbs the high bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway, I start getting excited. A pelican perches on the wall with his back to us. He's waiting for just the right fish to come along, then he'll dive-bomb into the water for lunch. Though we're still a few blocks from the sand, I can see a red prop plane flying over the beach with a banner trailing behind it. Dad rolls down the windows and the salty sea breeze rushes through.

A strange, wonderful feeling gets me when we reach A1A. It's the end of the road, literally. When I gaze through the front windshield, there is no horizon. No
bridges, no crossroads, no buildings. The blue sky meets the blue ocean and it's a profound sight, seeing eternity right here on earth.

After we're checked in, Mom and Dad want to settle our stuff. The room is big. It has a kitchen! And a separate bedroom for Mom, Dad, and Libby. I get to sleep on the pull-out sleeper sofa. But I can't dillydally on that—the view from our balcony causes my stomach to drop. We are directly on the ocean.

I grab my mom's arm. My words are lost because I'm so happy.

Eleven stories high. A flock of seagulls stretches out their wings and coasts the air current right past us. The wind and the water roar in my ears. The waves whitecap, then crash on the shore in perfect rhythm. I taste the salt with every breath I take. I smell the fishy seawater. Laughter and music from the pool below sparkle in the air. Yellow, red, and blue beach umbrellas decorate the shore, and kids run into the waves followed by adults. My eyes water for the beauty of it.

Mom kisses the top of my head. “I'd better go help Dad wrangle Libby into her bathing suit.” But she lingers for a moment as if she can't tear herself away from the balcony, either.

There is so much to take in and I want to remember it all. When I gaze out as far as I can, the line of the ocean is round. I am seeing the curve of the earth—the actual
curve of the earth. This ocean was here before me and will be here after me.

The lull of the waves and the foreverness of the sea make me feel like the ocean is a spirit, old and wise, and I'm going to stick my feet right into it.

* * *

Libby's face contorts as she curls her toes in the wet, squishy sand trying to walk normally, but even her best effort makes her look like a man walking on the moon. Mom holds her hand, chuckling. The waves mute regular conversation—laughter and seagulls are the only sounds that pierce through.

Before we left our room, I plugged in my phone. Not only do I want to check my messages, I want to take pictures.

Dad stands beside me at our umbrella. “Let's go,” he says, and I run in front of him into the waves. The ice-cold ocean shocks me, but I know I'll get used to it. I sputter salt water. “A little farther,” Dad urges. “I'll teach you how to bodysurf.”

He tells me to hold on to his neck as he swims deeper and deeper. A force of water picks up height and speed. “Dad!” I yell. I don't think he hears me. The water rises into a high wall. I'm scared. I'm scared—oh, God! And it slams down on us. Water, salt, and sand rush over my head and drag at my legs.

But my dad is a porpoise. He kicks his legs and we jump out of the surf, me riding his back like a trainer on Shamu. When we're up for air, Dad's face is energized. “That was great!”

I'm trembling. I'm in over my head, but I've got Dad to hold on to and that's all I need. He explains to me what waves to watch out for and which are the best, and when a good one comes, he launches me like a rocket.

I'm doing it! I don't know how, but I'm doing it! I bodysurf so close to shore that when I stand up, the water is barely more than knee-deep.

We bodysurf, we splash in the shallows, and we all build the best sand castle probably ever made on Daytona Beach. Later, we stroll the boardwalk. T-shirts, beach towels, flip-flops—anything you want, they've got it. We stop for ice cream cones and keep walking. I lick and twist mine around, not letting one single chocolaty drop fall to the ground.

The Daytona Beach pier is boarded up and shuttered down for remodeling. Cables run on posts over it, but the chairs for the sky lift have been taken down. The restaurant, the trinket shacks, even the fishing end you have to pay to walk on are all closed. I feel kind of sad seeing it in this state.

But the colorful Ferris wheel rising on the other side picks up my spirits. A Tilt-a-Whirl spins nearby, and other rides light with excitement. “Come on!” I start
for the Ferris wheel because there's a line and I want to beat anyone else going for it.

Mom yells, “Wait!”

I quickly turn around and, oh, my gosh—Libby has picked this exact moment to start fussing. Selfish, selfish, selfish. Libby's tired, Mom and Dad say. They are, too, they say. As we head to our hotel room, I glance backward at the giant wheel and its huge gondolas. I can't wait till we come back tonight.

In our suite, the first thing I do is grab my phone and good thing, too, because I've got a million messages.

Nikki Simms:
Dude, I mean it. Text me back.
Urgent!

About an hour ago. Urgent! She must be in the hospital. My phone's full up with texts from her. Mom's opened the sliding door to the oceanfront, but I can't concentrate with all that noise. I shut it hard.

Dropping onto the couch, I start at the bottom of Nikki's texts and scroll up. It's like reading a book backward.

Nikki Simms:
Text me back.
Nikki Simms:
I'm not kidding. Your friend
Emily sucks.
Nikki Simms:
Urgent! Text me back.

A vice clenches around my chest. The time stamps on her texts show she's been trying to reach me since this morning.

Nikki Simms:
?
Nikki Simms:
?
Nikki Simms:
?
Nikki Simms:
Where are you?
Nikki Simms:
I'm in second period. Meet me
in the courtyard at lunch.

Dad wanders in. “Take your shower. We're going out to eat and then we'll ride the Ferris wheel. Sound good?”

I hear him. I lay my eyes on him, but I can't pop out of the bubble I'm in with Nikki. “Just a minute, okay? I need to text someone.”

“No,” he says. “Give me your phone.”

I panic. “Why?”

Irritation flickers across his face. “I want you to take your shower. Plus, it wouldn't hurt for you to be off the phone for a few minutes. I'm starting to think the only way your mom and I can talk with you is if
we
text you.”

All through my shower and all through blow-drying my hair, the only thing I can think about are Nikki's texts. Did Emily go to the principal about Nikki skipping? Did Nikki punch Emily out? I need my phone back.

When he gives it to me in the elevator going down, there are no bars.

“Hailee,” Mom says.

The doors have opened to the first floor. Finally, some reception. I follow the backs of my parents as I stare at the screen, which is taking forever and a day to load. We step out into the night. The ocean, the people—all form a busy backdrop to my trying to tap out a text to Nikki.

“Hailee!” Dad calls sharply from a distance.

Somehow, I've fallen behind strangers. I jog past them and catch up to my own family.

Dad's somewhere between anger and worry. Mom shakes her head.

Me:
Nikki, are you there? I'm at Daytona Beach.

Dad holds out his hand. “Phone.”

Wrapping it with both hands, I hold it close to my body. “Please, Dad.” I'm utterly begging. “I just need to see something.”

His eyebrows drop. As we weave through the crowd, I stare at my phone, tapping when it dims. I need to be right there when Nikki replies. Dad holds Libby on one side and Mom's hand on the other. I hold on to my phone, willing it to bleat with Nikki's reply.

Arcades and rides light up the night, and happy shrieks fill the air. Smells of french fries, popcorn, and
cotton candy drift down the boardwalk. I am a drone, dully aware of my surroundings while focused on the small point of contact I hold in my hands. My body folds on to a picnic table with Mom and Libby as Dad goes to the concession stand to get our food. Mom starts. “I wish you'd—”

Nikki Simms:
What are you doing in Daytona?

“Turn that phone off.” Mom's voice is gray with displeasure.

“No! I've been waiting all day for this text.”

Libby starts squalling, pulling Mom's attention from me to her. I'll have to thank Libby later.

I ignore Nikki's question because I know that's not the urgent thing here.

Me:
I got your texts.

Dad sets hamburgers and nachos on the table with drinks. I grab a soda and pull the nachos closer. The cheese is just the right kind of melty, stretching into a cheese string before snapping when I grab a chip from the basket.

Nikki Simms:
That stupid Emily girl got me into all kinds of trouble. Novey called my parents last night and they had a hissy fit.
Me:
What happened?
Nikki Simms:
I had to sit there while they took turns yelling at me. My mom said if she has to, she'll call the school every hour to make sure I'm there. My dad put KidTracker on my phone. Do you know what that is? It's a freaking GPS system that tells him where I am.

I don't know what to say. I send her a frowny face, but it hardly covers the situation.

Nikki Simms:
Then we had a little “visit” with Novey this morning. They talked about my grades, my absences, and my “attitude.” Your little—