“Caroline,” I said slowly. “You’re hurting me.”
“Oh, sorry! Sorry!” She let go of my shoulders but stayed close. “Are you in shock? Are you okay? Do you need something with electrolytes?”
I shook my head. “They found him? How—?”
Caroline grinned. “Your mom just called me. You weren’t answering your phone so she sent me to find you.” My mom knew what she was doing. Caroline is definitely the sort of person that you want to deliver news. Good or bad, she will rip that Band-Aid clean off.
“He’s in New York,” she continued. “He’s coming home.”
My knees were shaking. Maybe I needed something with electrolytes after all. “Who’s in New York?”
“Oliver, Emmy! God, focus!”
“Can I—? Where’s my phone? I need my phone!”
Caro was still jumping up and down as I ran up to my towel, digging around underneath it for my bag and finding my phone at the bottom. Seven missed calls and three texts from my mom: CALL HOME NOW, they all said.
“Did you tell my mom where I was?” I asked Caro, shoving my phone back into my bag and trying to get my wet suit off as fast as possible without taking my bathing suit along with it.
“No, of course not,” she said, then added “Here,” and offered me her shoulder for balance as I peeled off the lower half of the suit. “I said I thought you might be at the library and that’s why your phone was off.”
“Good.” My parents would never approve of me surfing, which is why they could never know. I love them, but if they had their way, they would have constructed a suit for me made entirely of Bubble Wrap and cotton balls. I didn’t want to be the kind of kid that snuck around and did things behind her parents’ back, but I loved surfing too much to stop. So I just lied to them instead, which, yeah. Not exactly the best solution to the problem, but it was all I had.
“They might wonder why your hair’s wet, though,” Caro said, interrupting my thoughts.
“We’ll think up a reason in the car,” I said, finally yanking a dress over my bathing suit. Caroline grabbed my towel and my hand and we took off up the hill toward the car. It sounded like there were jets flying overhead, but when I looked up and saw nothing but a few low clouds, I realized that the sound was just the blood rushing in my head, pulsing to keep me upright and alive.
“They found him,” Caro whispered, and when she squeezed my hand, I squeezed back harder and came down from the clouds once again.
I quickly dumped my surfboard into the back of Drew’s van before throwing myself in the backseat. Drew was waiting behind the steering wheel, frantically texting someone. His cheeks were flushed and he was wearing his soccer uniform. Drew used to be my best surfing buddy until soccer began taking up more of his time. Now he’s on track to get a full scholarship to Berkeley, just like his older brother, Kane.
“Oh my God,” he said without looking up. “Can you even believe it?”
“Not really,” I said. “Can you?”
“Nope,” he said, his thumbs flying over the mini keyboard. “How are you going to explain your hair to your mom?”
“Think something up for me,” I said, realizing too late that my feet were covered in sand and silt and gravel. Now all that mess was smeared over Drew’s floor mats.
Drew loves his van. It’s actually not a van, but a restored 1971 tomato-red VW camper bus. People actually take pictures with it, it’s so beautiful, and it has lots of room for surfboards in the back. The van used to be his brother’s, but after Kane went to college three years ago, he gifted it to Drew, like he knew that Drew was going to need it as a means of escape.
“Oh no!” I said once I saw the sand. “I’m sorry, Drew, I should’ve—”
“Who cares?” Caro screeched. “It’s sand, not acid. Just drive, okay?”
“Wait,” I said. “My car. My backpack’s in there, my homework. I have a quiz tomorrow!”
“Are you kidding me?” Drew backed the car up and the force of his acceleration smashed me into the seat. “Buckle up,” he said. “No one’s doing any homework tonight.” When we were finally cruising down the road, he glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Em, seriously, are you sure you’re not going into shock? You look pale.”
“I already offered her electrolytes,” Caroline said.
“I’m fine,” I told them. Only it came out sort of high and squeaky and any moron with average vision could probably tell that I was not fine.
Caro reached over the backseat and grabbed my seat belt. “Here,” she said. “Drew’s driving. It’s a requirement.” She snapped it into place and then squeezed my shoulders. “Is this really happening?”
Caro and I have known Drew since kindergarten. Actually, half our school has known one another since kindergarten. It’s one of those Southern California suburbs where few people move away from their pink stucco houses.
Here’s something you must know about Drew before becoming his friend: he drives as if he’s being chased by a carful of depraved, evil clowns. I took driver’s ed with him in sophomore year, so I can tell you that he’s always been like this. (I can also tell you that our driver’s ed instructor had to renew his Xanax prescription after Drew’s first on-the-road lesson.)
But when Drew’s upset or nervous or excited, that’s when he really lets it fly, and the day Oliver was found was probably the craziest driving I’ve ever seen from him. Caro kept one hand on her seat belt as he flew through a yellow light and when he hit a pothole, she yelped. “Drew, this van isn’t exactly built to break the sound barrier!”