have to listen to your classic rock, can we at least listen to the Beatles?”
Jake relaxes his hands on the wheel. “You’re in luck.”
He flips a few tracks ahead, and a second later, “Hey Jude” comes pouring out of the speakers. Finally, something I know and love. I grew up with this music. My mom’s a big fan of the Fab Four, owns all of the albums. She used to sing “Yellow Submarine” as a lullaby when I was a baby. I wonder what she’s doing now, if she’s come home yet, how she’ll react when she discovers my note. The thought of it brings on a pang of guilt, heavy in my chest. I try my best to ignore it.
It’s easier to do when I have music to fill the silence. Jake sings along around his cigarette, his voice surprisingly on-key, and after a little while, I join in too, unsurprisingly off-key. Even Laney quits pouting long enough to chime in with the
nah-nah-nah-nahs
at the end.
Joplin hurtles down the highway, each mile taking us farther from Grand Lake and carrying us closer and closer to California—and to my sister’s last chance at salvation. Maybe it’s my last chance, too.
chapter five
The bungalow in White Haven is nestled on the side of a high dune, only two flights of wooden stairs away from the beach bordering Lake Michigan. Overgrown bushes in the small yard shroud the front of the house, and Jake drives past it twice before I point out the numbers on the mailbox and he realizes it’s the right address. There are two cars parked in the narrow drive, another right on the curb.
“It’s a sweet pad, isn’t it?” boasts the boy who answers the door. He’s young, not far from our age, with long, ratty dreads and a T-shirt that reads Free Palestine. “My grandpa left it to us when he kicked it a few months back. My dad’s itching to sell the place, but I convinced him to let me have it for the summer. Better than having me around his house.” He directs an affable grin at Laney and me. “I’m Seth, by the way.”
“Harper,” I reply, then motion to our bags. “Is there somewhere we should—?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sure. I’ll show you the room.”
Seth hefts two of Laney’s suitcases and leads us down a hall to a guest room. It’s more of a glorified closet, with only enough space for one frumpy twin bed to be squeezed in. That alone takes up three quarters of the room.
“Sorry it’s kinda tight,” Seth says.
Unfazed, Laney drops her suitcase and plops onto the bed, testing the mattress. “It’s cool.”
“I’d give you the bigger room, but Gwen’s taken it over—”
“Gwen?” Jake snaps to attention. “Gwen is here?”
I look over at him quizzically. Who is Gwen? Obviously someone he knows, seeing as the muscles in his neck have gone rigid, his hands fisted at his sides.
“Yeah, man, I thought I told you,” says Seth. “She’s been here for a week. Danny and Anna are, too. I swear I said something—”
“I think I would’ve remembered that detail.” Jake tosses his bag onto the floor and pushes a hand through his hair.
“Dude, chill,” Seth says, clapping him on the shoulder heartily. His smile widens. “I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up.”
“I told you, I don’t smoke pot anymore.”
“Not that! Hang on, let me go get it.”
Seth disappears from the room. As soon as he does, Laney grins at Jake and says, “So, pot, huh?”
“You handled the peer pressure well,” I chime in. “Your DARE officers would be proud.”
Jake scowls. “Shut up.”
Before I can think of more ribbing, Seth reappears with a plastic crate. He leafs through it and removes a slim vinyl record.
“This,” he says, presenting it with a flourish, “is for you.”
Jake takes the record and glances down at it. When he looks up at Seth again, his eyes are wide with disbelief. “No way.”
“Yes way,” Seth says.
I peer over Jake’s shoulder at the album cover. It’s a Jimi Hendrix LP—and the cover is signed in black pen.
Love Always,
Jake relaxes his hands on the wheel. “You’re in luck.”
He flips a few tracks ahead, and a second later, “Hey Jude” comes pouring out of the speakers. Finally, something I know and love. I grew up with this music. My mom’s a big fan of the Fab Four, owns all of the albums. She used to sing “Yellow Submarine” as a lullaby when I was a baby. I wonder what she’s doing now, if she’s come home yet, how she’ll react when she discovers my note. The thought of it brings on a pang of guilt, heavy in my chest. I try my best to ignore it.
It’s easier to do when I have music to fill the silence. Jake sings along around his cigarette, his voice surprisingly on-key, and after a little while, I join in too, unsurprisingly off-key. Even Laney quits pouting long enough to chime in with the
nah-nah-nah-nahs
at the end.
Joplin hurtles down the highway, each mile taking us farther from Grand Lake and carrying us closer and closer to California—and to my sister’s last chance at salvation. Maybe it’s my last chance, too.
chapter five
The bungalow in White Haven is nestled on the side of a high dune, only two flights of wooden stairs away from the beach bordering Lake Michigan. Overgrown bushes in the small yard shroud the front of the house, and Jake drives past it twice before I point out the numbers on the mailbox and he realizes it’s the right address. There are two cars parked in the narrow drive, another right on the curb.
“It’s a sweet pad, isn’t it?” boasts the boy who answers the door. He’s young, not far from our age, with long, ratty dreads and a T-shirt that reads Free Palestine. “My grandpa left it to us when he kicked it a few months back. My dad’s itching to sell the place, but I convinced him to let me have it for the summer. Better than having me around his house.” He directs an affable grin at Laney and me. “I’m Seth, by the way.”
“Harper,” I reply, then motion to our bags. “Is there somewhere we should—?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sure. I’ll show you the room.”
Seth hefts two of Laney’s suitcases and leads us down a hall to a guest room. It’s more of a glorified closet, with only enough space for one frumpy twin bed to be squeezed in. That alone takes up three quarters of the room.
“Sorry it’s kinda tight,” Seth says.
Unfazed, Laney drops her suitcase and plops onto the bed, testing the mattress. “It’s cool.”
“I’d give you the bigger room, but Gwen’s taken it over—”
“Gwen?” Jake snaps to attention. “Gwen is here?”
I look over at him quizzically. Who is Gwen? Obviously someone he knows, seeing as the muscles in his neck have gone rigid, his hands fisted at his sides.
“Yeah, man, I thought I told you,” says Seth. “She’s been here for a week. Danny and Anna are, too. I swear I said something—”
“I think I would’ve remembered that detail.” Jake tosses his bag onto the floor and pushes a hand through his hair.
“Dude, chill,” Seth says, clapping him on the shoulder heartily. His smile widens. “I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up.”
“I told you, I don’t smoke pot anymore.”
“Not that! Hang on, let me go get it.”
Seth disappears from the room. As soon as he does, Laney grins at Jake and says, “So, pot, huh?”
“You handled the peer pressure well,” I chime in. “Your DARE officers would be proud.”
Jake scowls. “Shut up.”
Before I can think of more ribbing, Seth reappears with a plastic crate. He leafs through it and removes a slim vinyl record.
“This,” he says, presenting it with a flourish, “is for you.”
Jake takes the record and glances down at it. When he looks up at Seth again, his eyes are wide with disbelief. “No way.”
“Yes way,” Seth says.
I peer over Jake’s shoulder at the album cover. It’s a Jimi Hendrix LP—and the cover is signed in black pen.
Love Always,
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