So this is how it ends.
Finn finds me waiting on the porch, suitcase packed. He doesn't say anything, just sits down on the stairs next to me, shoving his hands into the pockets of his varsity jacket.
"I'm going back to New York," I tell him. (Might as well bite the bullet now. Ha.) "My mother needs me to testify at her trial."
"What happened to your hand?" he asks, as if I hadn't spoken at all. He frowns at the rust-colored scabs on my knuckles. "Did you get into a fight?"
"Nah. Got into a disagreement with a brick wall."
"It looks like the wall won."
"They usually do."
Finn gives me a level look. "When are you going to tell me what's really going on?"
"I can't. Plausible deniability, remember?"
"I'm not the one testifying," he points out. There's something in his expression that I can't place. Something that wasn't there before. "You know I'm in your corner, right? I don't care about the company. I care about what's gonna happen to you."
"You shouldn't," I say. "Not if you know what's good for you."
He smiles wryly. "I think I'll take my chances."
A breeze scuttles across the porch, jarring the wind-chimes. The hollow wooden ringing strikes an eerie contrast to the chirping of songbirds in the juniper tree. I drum my fingers restlessly against the handle of my suitcase. How much longer am I going to have to wait for this damn taxi? I'm sweating through my last clean shirt.
"Ronan," Finn says. "Can we please talk about this?"
"Let's not and say we did."
"Why do you have to go back to New York? You didn't do anything wrong."
I let out a dry laugh. "Not according to my parents."
"What do you..." To his credit, it only takes Finn a few seconds to work out my dad's allegedly bullet-proof plan. "You're going to take the fall for them? Again? Ronan, you can't --"
"I don't have a choice, do I? The company is falling apart. My mother is going to jail, my father is one misstep away from being disbarred. Someone needs to face the music, and I'm the only one with nothing to lose."
"What about high school? What about college?" His freckled face is starting to turn a blotchy pink, the way it always does when I'm really getting on his nerves. "You're almost eighteen. The court could decide to try you as an adult. Hell, with your record, and your attitude, you'll be lucky if they send you to juvie, so don't tell me you have nothing to lose. This is your future on the line. Your life."
Which, I'm starting to realize, has about as much bargaining value as a poker chip. "My parents have friends in high places. I'll be fine."
"That doesn't mean you can lie to a judge, Ronan! That's perjury."
"Are you my fucking attorney?" I demand. "This isn't a group discussion, and I don't remember asking for your advice. Just let it go, Murphy."
Finn folds his arms across his chest and scowls at me. Stubborn bastard. I knew I should've skipped town from that motel and never looked back. A clean break, that's what I need; I've got to put this summer behind me or I'll never be able to focus on the trial.
"What's this really about?" he asks. "What are you running from?"
"I'm not running," I say.
He looks unimpressed with my hypocrisy. "If this is about Jesse, I don't care that he's not a girl. I mean, I think he's kind of a jerk, but I don't care if you used to like him. Or still do. It's none of my business."
"This isn't about Jesse!" I swear, if my taxi doesn't show up in the next five minutes, I'm walking to the airport. "This is about my family, and the company they worked to build."
"You've been here all summer, and I don't think you've gotten a single phone call. Are you really gonna sacrifice your future for parents who couldn't even bother to call?"
His words sting, mostly because I know they're true. "They're still my family. What am I supposed to do, throw them to the wolves?"
"I don't know," Finn admits. "Just don't martyr yourself for them. They don't deserve it."
A cloud of dust appears at the end of the driveway. A few seconds later, a cab pulls up to the house, wheels grinding over the gravel.
The driver rolls down his window. "Ronan Lockwood?"
"That my ride," I say, grabbing my suitcase. "I've got to --"
"Wait." Finn stands up too and grabs my hand, a move that I think takes both of us by surprise. "What about Rachel? What about the Joshua tree? She'll tear this town to the ground if we don't stop her."
"The people with the money always win," I tell him. It's shitty advice, but it's the truth. "You can't help everyone. Sometimes, all you can do is cut your losses and move on."
"I'm not moving on," Finn says. He leaves the rest unspoken: unlike you.
"Everybody leaves." I yank my hand away, leaving a smear of blood on his palm. Call me selfish, call me cruel, but this is what needs to happen -- because this is how it ends. This is how the game is played. "Get used to it."
Finn takes one step towards me, then stops. I don't wait to hear what he has to say. Instead, I hurry down the stairs and toss my suitcase into the trunk, throwing myself into the backseat of the cab before I can give in and look back. I don't want to see Finn's hurt expression; I don't want to see the house I'm leaving behind. I just want to forget this town before I remember how much I miss it.
"San Bernadino," I say. "I'll give you an extra fifty if you get us to the airport before ten."
When the cabbie turns around, I see it's the same guy that dropped me off in Dusty Valley. He gives me a crooked, nicotine-stained smile and asks, "What about your friend? Not going with you?"
"No," I say, adjusting my sunglasses. "Just drive."
***
"You want to listen to the radio?" Moe asks, as soon as we hit Route 40. His driving skills haven't improved since we last met -- he still has a lead foot and a whiplash tendency to swerve around slow drivers like we're in a NASCAR race. Not exactly the full circle I was hoping for.
I slump lower in my seat. Outside the window, the desert is a twilight blur of lavender clouds and sage green scrub-land. "Whatever."
"I need a yes or no answer, kid."
"Sure," I mutter. I could care less if the radio is on. I lean my head against the window and close my eyes, hoping the rumble of the engine will lull me to sleep.
It doesn't. The car hits a pothole with a vengeance, and I jerk upright just in time to catch one final glimpse of the faded "Welcome to Dusty Valley" sign. Population: one less self-pitying idiot. Good riddance.
Moe turns up the radio, and the familiar whine of an electric guitar distracts me from my miserable thoughts. I sit up a bit straighter. I remember this song. I listened to it at Lightlake, at my lowest point of the summer...
Silly boy, you got so much to live for
So much to aim for, so much to try for
I've never been a big fan of the Kinks, but I loved this song. The obsessive lyrics, the frantic pulse of the guitar, the keyboard ringing in the background. When I got back to New York, I bought the album "Give The People What They Want" and listened to it on repeat until the tape was too distorted to play.
I haven't heard the song in months, but I can still recite the words as easily as my own name. Self-destroyer, wreck your health. Destroy your friends, destroy yourself. I never related to it more than I do now.
The time device of self-destruction
Light the fuse and start eruption
The lyrics remind me of something that Jesse said -- The company is burning down, and if you're not careful, you'll go up in flames with it. At the moment, I just thought he was being dramatic, but now I hear the ring of truth in his words. Fire doesn't discriminate. It doesn't care who gets burned.
My heart starts to pound in my chest, echoing the fast-paced beat of the drums.
I've been such a fool. I was so ready to believe that my parents had outplayed me that I never considered how they'd already revealed their cards -- while I have yet to show my hand. I think about the box of papers I have hidden under my bed at home. All the files that I secretly copied last year after Simon threatened to report the company to the SEC.
I didn't know why I was saving the files then, but I do now. They're the gasoline I'm going to pour on the flames when I burn the company down.
The FBI wants damage -- fine, I'll give them damage. I'll tell them everything they want to know. I'm done taking the fall for my parents' mistakes. I'm done giving away my loyalty to people who have none.
If not for myself, then for the boy who shared his headphones and played this song for me when I thought I'd never feel okay again.
The boy that I just left without saying goodbye...
"Stop the car," I say. I mean for it to sound dramatic, like it does in the movies, but Moe doesn't react. He can't hear me over the roar of the radio. "Hey. Hey! I want to get out. I changed my mind."
He spares me a glance in the rear-view mirror. "You did what?"
"I made a mistake!" I shout. "I made a terrible mistake, and I'm never going to be able to fix it unless you stop this car! So could you please, please pull over?"
Moe doesn't stop the car, but he does slow down to the speed limit. "Why," he asks, in a beleaguered voice, "are you kids always yelling?"
"You're playing the music very loudly," I point out.
This earns me a glare. "I'm not driving you back to town," Moe says. "I have to pick up someone in Riverside at midnight, and I don't have time for detours."
"I don't need you to drive me. I can walk."
"Walk? In the dark? In this heat? Kid, are you crazy?"
"Yeah," I say. Then I start to laugh. I probably am crazy. But I've also never felt so sure of myself. "Are you going to stop the car, or do I have to jump out?"
Moe stops the car.
I hand him a sweaty twenty and leap out of the backseat before he can ask if I want change. I don't bother retrieving my suitcase from the trunk; there's nothing in there that I can't replace, and I know it'll only slow me down.
I take off at a run down the side of the highway. Moe honks his horn and sticks his arm out the window, but I don't let myself think about turning back. I can't. There's no time left to waste; I've got to get back to Dusty Valley before it's too late. My Chucks pound against the asphalt, kicking up mini dust devils behind me, that white line fever humming in my blood. I feel like I can run for five, ten, twenty miles. I feel like I can run forever.
My legs chew up the stretch of highway like it's nothing. As I run, I replay my father's words in my head: The Lockwood name still means something in New York.
But what can a name mean when it's worth nothing?
I think about Finn and his yellow Walkman. I think about adjusting his tie before Rachel's open house. Showing him how to shift gears without stalling the car. Listening to him talk about pink dolphins and air pollution and juniper trees, and falling asleep to the sound of his snoring every night...
As the orange streetlights flicker above me, I make myself a promise.
When it's time for the trial, I'm going to testify. I'm going to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, until the story of Sabrina's corruption is on the front page of every major newspaper. I'm going to take the company for all it's worth.
And then, when this is all over, the Lockwood name will have a new meaning.