The Last Song

"You don't have to do that, Pete."

The officer continued to study the group in the distance. "I think in this instance, it's better if I go."

Inexplicably, Will felt a strange wave of relief. It must have shown, because when he turned back toward his friends, each of them was staring at him.

"What the hell was that all about?" Scott demanded.

Will didn't answer. He couldn't, because he didn't really understand it himself.

6

Ronnie

Under normal circumstances, Ronnie probably would have appreciated an evening like this. In New York, the lights from the city made it impossible to see many stars, but here, it was just the opposite. Even with the layer of marine haze, she could clearly make out the Milky Way, and directly to the south, Venus glowed brightly. The waves crashed and rolled rhythmically along the beach, and on the horizon, she could see the faint lights of half a dozen shrimp boats.

But the circumstances weren't normal. As she stood on the porch, she glared at the officer, livid beyond belief.

No, change that. She wasn't just livid. She was seething. What had happened was so... overprotective, so over the top, she could still barely process it. Her first thought was simply to hitchhike to the bus station and buy herself a ticket back to New York. She wouldn't tell her dad or her mom; she'd call Kayla. Once she was there, she would figure out what to do next. No matter what she decided, it couldn't be any worse than this.

But that wasn't possible. Not with Officer Pete here. He stood behind her now, making sure she went inside.

She still couldn't believe it. How could her dad--her own flesh-and-blood father--do something like this? She was almost an adult, she hadn't been doing anything wrong, and it wasn't even midnight. What was the problem? Why did he have to turn this into something far bigger than it was? Oh sure, at first Officer Pete had made it sound like it had been an ordinary, run-of-the-mill order to vacate their spot on Bower's Point--something that hadn't surprised the others--but then he'd turned to her. Zeroed in on her specifically.

"I'm taking you home," he'd said, making it sound as if she were eight years old.

"No thanks," she'd responded.

"Then I'll have to arrest you on vagrancy charges, and have your dad bring you home."

It dawned on her then that her dad had asked the police to bring her home, and there was an instant when she was frozen in mortification.

Sure, she'd had problems with her mom, and yeah, she'd blown off her curfew now and then. But never, ever, not even once, had her mother sent the police after her.

On the porch, the officer intruded on her thoughts. "Go on in," he prompted, making it fairly clear that if she didn't open the door, he would.

From inside, she could hear the soft sounds of the piano, and she recognized the sonata by Edvard Grieg in E minor. She took a deep breath before opening the door, then slammed it shut behind her.

Her father stopped playing and looked up as she glared at him.

"You sent the cops after me?"

Her dad said nothing, but his silence was enough.

"Why would you do something like that?" she demanded. "How could you do something like that?"

He said nothing.

"What is it? You didn't want me to have fun? You didn't trust me? You didn't get the fact that I don't want to be here?"

Her father folded his hands in his lap. "I know you don't want to be here..."

She took a step forward, still glaring. "So you decide you want to ruin my life, too?"

"Who's Marcus?"

"Who cares!" she shouted. "That's not the point! You're not going to monitor every single person I ever talk to, so don't even try!"

"I'm not trying--"

"I hate being here! Don't you get that? And I hate you, too!"

She stared at him, her face daring him to contradict her. Hoping he'd try, so she'd be able to say it again.

But her dad said nothing, as usual. She hated that kind of weakness. In a fury, she crossed the room toward the alcove, grabbed the picture of her playing the piano--the one with her dad beside her on the bench--and hurled it across the room. Though he flinched at the sound of breaking glass, he remained quiet.

"What? Nothing to say?"

He cleared his throat. "Your bedroom's the first door on the right."

She didn't even want to dignify his comment with a response, so she stormed down the hall, determined to have nothing more to do with him.

"Good night, sweetheart," he called out. "I love you."

There was a moment, just a moment, when she cringed at what she'd said to him; but her regret vanished as quickly as it had come. It was as if he hadn't even realized she'd been angry: She heard him begin to play the piano again, picking up exactly where he'd left off.

In the bedroom--not hard to find, considering there were only three doors off the hallway, one to the bathroom and the other to her dad's room--Ronnie flipped on the light. With a frustrated sigh, she peeled off the ridiculous Nemo T-shirt she'd almost forgotten she was wearing.

It had been the worst day of her life.

Oh, she knew she was being melodramatic about the whole thing. She wasn't stupid. Still, it hadn't been a great one. About the only good thing to come out of the whole day was meeting Blaze, which gave her hope that she'd have at least one person to spend time with this summer.

Assuming, of course, that Blaze still wanted to spend time with her. After Dad's little stunt, even that was in doubt. Blaze and the rest of them were probably still talking about it. Probably laughing about it. It was the kind of thing Kayla would bring up for years.

The whole thing made her sick to her stomach. She tossed the Nemo shirt into the corner--if she never saw it again, it would be too soon--and began slipping off her concert shirt.

"Before I get too grossed out, you should know I'm in here."

Ronnie jumped at the sound, whirling around to see Jonah staring at her.

"Get out!" she screamed. "What are you doing in here? This is my room!"

"No, it's our room," Jonah said. He pointed. "See? Two beds."

"I'm not going to share a room with you!"

He tilted his head to the side. "You're going to sleep in Dad's room?"

She opened her mouth to respond, considered moving to the living room before quickly realizing she wasn't going out there again, then closed her mouth without a word. She stomped toward her suitcase, unzipped the top, and flung open the lid. Anna Karenina lay on top, and she tossed it aside, searching for her pajamas.

"I rode the Ferris wheel," Jonah said. "It was pretty cool to be so high. That's how Dad found you."

"Great."

"It was awesome. Did you ride it?"

"No."

"You should have. I could see all the way to New York."

"I doubt it."

"I could. I can see pretty far. With my glasses, I mean. Dad said I have eagle eyes."

"Yeah, right."

Jonah said nothing. Instead, he reached for the teddy bear he'd brought with him from home. It was the one he clutched whenever he was nervous, and Ronnie winced, regretting her words. Sometimes the way he talked made it easy to think of him as an adult, but as he pulled the bear to his chest, she knew she shouldn't have been so harsh. Though he was precocious, though he was verbal to the point of annoyance at times, he was small for his age, more the size of a six-or seven-year-old than a ten-year-old. It had never been easy for him. He'd been born three months prematurely, and he suffered from asthma, poor vision, and a lack of fine-motor coordination. She knew kids his age could be cruel.

"I didn't mean that. With your glasses, you definitely have eagle eyes."

"Yeah, they're pretty good now," he mumbled, but when he turned away and faced the wall, she winced again. He was a sweet kid. A pain in the butt sometimes, but she knew he didn't have a mean bone in him.

She went over to his bed and sat beside him. "Hey," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean i

t. I'm just having a bad night."

"I know," he said.

"Did you go on any of the other rides?"

"Dad took me on most of them. He almost got sick, but I didn't. And I wasn't scared at all in the haunted house. I could tell the ghosts were fake."

She patted him on the hip. "You've always been pretty brave."

"Yeah," he said. "Like that time when the lights went out in the apartment? You were scared that night. I wasn't scared, though."

"I remember."

He seemed satisfied with her answer. But then he grew quiet, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "Do you miss Mom?"

Ronnie reached for the covers. "Yeah."

"I kind of miss her, too. And I didn't like being here alone."

"Dad was in the other room," she said.

"I know. But I'm glad you came home anyway."

"Me, too."

He smiled before looking worried again. "Do you think Mom is doing okay?"

"She's fine," she assured him. She pulled up the covers. "But I know she misses you, too."

In the morning, with sunlight peeking through the curtains, it took Ronnie a few seconds to realize where she was. Blinking at the clock, she thought, You've got to be kidding me.

Eight o'clock? In the morning? In the summer?

She plopped back down, only to find herself staring at the ceiling, already knowing that sleep was out of the question. Not with the sun shooting daggers through the windows. Not with her father already hammering on the piano in the living room. As she suddenly remembered what had happened last night, the anger she felt at what her father had done resurfaced.

Welcome to another day in paradise.

Outside the window, she heard the distant roar of engines. She rose from the bed and pulled aside the curtain, only to jump back, startled at the sight of a raccoon sitting atop a torn bag of garbage. While the strewn garbage was gross, the raccoon was cute, and she tapped the glass, trying to get its attention.

It was only then that she noticed the bars on the window.