Page 39 of Reckless Girls
I’ve never told anyone about this—not even Nico. I didn’t think he’d understand.
“He wanted to take me out to dinner that last night he was there,” I continue, “at this fancy place in the Gaslamp Quarter. I guess as some kind of sympathetic gesture? So I said I’d go, but then I showed up late. Waited for him to order his drink, get settled.”
“I am already loving this story.”
I smile, remembering the rush I’d felt when I walked in. “I went straight to his table, and just… let him have it. Told him what a shitty dad he was, how he thought he could start over with some new family, but they’d eventually work out how shitty he was, too.”
Eliza is sitting up now, her arms around her knees. “If this ends with you throwing his own drink right in his face, I’m going to bedelighted.”
“It does, yes,” I admit, my face flushing with the memory, remembering how the entire restaurant had fallen silent at that point, how the martini had made a splashing sound as it hit his forehead. “I also got escorted out and permanently banned from the restaurant, but honestly, I was fine with that. It’s not like I was ever going back there again.”
Later, I’d lain in bed thinking that I might have set myself on fire just to burn my dad, but it had felt worth it. The way his face had gone pale, the satisfaction of finally, finally saying everything I’d wanted to, of giving in to that side of myself that just wanted to fuckingdosomething, no matter how impulsive.
I shrug, suddenly shy. “It sounds stupid, I’m sure.”
“It doesn’t.” Her hand lands on mine, squeezing it. “It sounds brave.”
I look over at her, smiling even as I feel my throat go tight. “Thanks.”
“Told you,” she goes on. “Tough. Steely. A fighter.”
“Yeah, well, lately, I feel more like a drifter.” I sigh. “Like I’m just clinging on to someone else’s dream.”
“Nothing wrong with a little drifting,” she tells me, and then flashes me that bright white grin again. “Means you have options.”
“Options,” I repeat, and I like that. It feels more solid when she puts it that way. Like I’m not just drifting, but waiting. Waiting for the right thing, the right opportunity, the right dream to pursue.
If only I can figure out what it is.
We stay at the pool for another hour or so, and when we head back, the others are already gathered on the beach. It’s become a routine now, all of us congregating there by midday, and it’s like we’re a little family on vacation or something.
But as Eliza and I approach, I realize no one is talking. They’re all just staring at the horizon, frowning. I approach Brittany.
“What’s going on?”
She points.
There, out at sea, is a sail.
Given that there were other people here when we showed up, it shouldn’t surprise me that another boat might turn up. But it’s still unnerving, seeing someone sail directly toward us—toward what has started to feel like our own private island.
We watch in silence as the boat makes its way through the shoals. It’s not as nice as theAzure Sky, not even as nice as theSusannah. A solidly middle-of-the-road boat, and seeing it makes my heart sink.
“Shit,” Brittany says at my side, shading her eyes against the sun. “I don’t want to share.”
There’s something so plaintive in her voice that I laugh even though I’m disappointed, too.
“You’re already sharing with Eliza and Jake,” I remind her, and she glances over at me.
“But they’re friends now,” she says. “Friends with good booze, too. These people aren’t friends. They’re interlopers.”
“Wanna defend the island?” I ask her. “Make booby traps, go fullSwiss Family Robinson?”
I’m joking, obviously, but Brittany says, “Maybe we could go get that skull back at the airstrip. Put it on the beach, scare them into leaving.”
When she sees my horrified expression, she laughs, bumping her hip against mine. “Oh my god, your face.”
Before turning her gaze back to sea, she asks, “Speaking of, what were you and Eliza doing in the jungle?”
