Beach Day

27: Clearing the Air (and Other Acts of Cowardice)

Wouldn't Drake be upset that she's giving him this second chance at all? After all the times her father slammed on the brakes so hard she would hit her head on the car's interior, so hard her neck would hurt for the rest of the day— wouldn't Betty be so disappointed? Wouldn't Denny lose her goddamn mind?

It's a good thing that only two of them know how he was in any capacity. Both times, it was a revelation afforded by some supernatural force outside herself. Mark Croft working under Oneiron, Despina controlled by the Mop Wizard: both had key insights on how to push her buttons and immobilize her. She never would have told them willingly. It's the kind of thing that ruins the mood, unless you're sitting with a friend on a rooftop with a can of spray paint and a discount box of pastries from the grocery store.

There's a part of her that could call this cowardice. It's a coward's move to let someone walk all over you and never raise your voice to say anything about it. It's been two years, though, and giving her father a second chance isn't the same as letting him control her. This isn't cowardice. This is hope. This is redemption. Optimism, however desperate, is more than necessary.

They wouldn't get it anyway. Drake might be fine with leading Lester out into the woods to die, but Tiff hasn't seen her father in years. She sees Lester all the time. She has solid proof that he's a piece of shit.

And Drake doesn't feel guilt in the way she does, anyway. Two teen punks running around and ruining a documentary for the former mayor's re-election can have differing views on their similar parental figures. Rage and grief walk hand in hand, anyway.

That's the issue, then. Doing something drastic would leave her with a heaving, guilty chest. It would be narratively satisfying, but how could she go on living with herself once the story is over? There is no good solution. There's just trying to make a good decision and trying to give other people the same chances she knows she would appreciate. If she can be excused in her actions trying to save the world, can't they be excused post-repentance? That's the essence of prodigality: repentance. It makes the readers swoon. Her arc is so satisfying, they say. Her growth is chartable and we can condense it into whatever the hell we want. She's earned the label of "good." Truly, truly. They'll read the book again and again, wondering if this was always the path, never asking if she had to take it. If she believes in redemption, then she has to put her money where her mouth is.

And, for some reason, her mouth is stumbling over the answers to questions she can barely hear over the rushing of blood in her ears. A thousand words, double-spaced, about how her school year was, what she's been up to, and a thousand worthless little things. If she could dodge the topic of what she did over the summer, she would be golden.

She can't, though. She was never good at dodging attacks.

"So, between graduation and starting college, what did you get up to? During your last summer of freedom?"

"Nothing much." Isolated myself because I unnecessarily took the non-existent blame for all of my friends and role models getting arrested for some stupid reason. "Read a lot. Nothing much else."

"Well, I'm sure that wasn't all."

Laid in bed and listened to Counting Crows. Barely painted. Hid in the shed when people came to check on me. Tried to rebrand myself as normal. Started wearing sweaters. "It kind of was. My friends weren't back yet, or were constantly sick, or were touring—" She winces. She should have left it at Eddy being sick all the time. Now that she has acknowledged it, she can't move past it.

Her father can, though. It's like he didn't even hear it. He didn't latch on to the 'one of your friends is more mature and successful than you' but at all. His eyes soften a little. "You have friends?"