Piper
On Friday, thirty-six hours after Henry and I snuck into the Marine Conservation Park, Turtle catches up with me during my lunch break. Somberly, he asks me to come to his office for a conversation.
The blood rushes out of my face like the whoosh of a toilet after its flusher is pressed, leaving me light-headed, unsteady on my feet.
I have to command my head to nod.
I follow Turtle into the admin building, my feet iron-heavy, and down the corridor to his office. He gestures to one of the empty chairs across from his desk, his expression as stern as I’ve ever seen it.
My heart thud-thud-thuds.
I have an idea why I’m here, but it’s still a nightmarishly out-of-body experience, sitting across from my stone-faced boss, my dead parents’ mentor, a man who treats me like family: with kindness, without judgment.
He hasn’t spoken yet, but my throat’s already clogged with sadness.
“Two nights ago, there was a break-in here at the park.”
I keep my face neutral but chafe my palms against my shorts. It’s killing me, but I maintain eye contact.
“Do you know anything about it?” he asks.
“No,” I say, aiming for innocence, for ignorance.
Bile inches up my throat, riding the lie’s wake.
I might be better off coming clean, begging for forgiveness, but there’s the tiniest, tiniest chance Turtle’s bluffing.
Maybe he’s talking to all the employees.
Maybe he’s collecting intelligence, attempting to discern who knows what.
If I can sit out this interrogation with as few words as possible, I might be okay.
Or maybe that’s the grandest of delusions.
Turtle watches me, spine curved, shoulders by his ears.
He looks so disappointed.
“The park is equipped with security cameras, Piper. Surely you know that.”
I remember coming with my dad after they were installed.
In his office, he pulled the system up on his computer and showed me how the different zones were captured in grainy black and white.
The other night, as always, I was careful to keep out of the cameras’ range, right up until Henry and I were nearly caught.
That sprint from the bathroom to the exit—that path was in a covered area.
Turtle isn’t collecting intelligence. He’s calling me out.
“Yes,” I say. “I know.”
“Did you forget about them while you and your friend were running from security?”
My gaze falls to my lap as I try to manufacture an excuse. What reason, what story would make him pardon the unpardonable?
But I can’t lie. Not this time.
“Turtle, I’m so sorry.”
He expels a breath. “I’m glad to hear it. Unfortunately, that doesn’t excuse the fact that you betrayed my trust. How could you do such a thing, Piper?”
I was having a rough night. A rough week. A rough summer. I’m a bird flying alone, searching for a place to roost. I do stupid things because sometimes—a lot of the time—my wings get so tired, and there’s no place to land. Somehow, the buzz of mischief lifts me.
But none of that justifies sneaking into the park, and it wouldn’t make sense to Turtle, a man rooted in his principles.
I’m not going to insult him with a tale of woe.
“We didn’t mean any harm,” I say, looking down at my hands. An irrelevant truth at this point. “We didn’t come to cause trouble. We sat with the rays and talked. That’s it.”
He hums, a sound of contemplation. A sound of bewilderment. “You couldn’t have had a conversation elsewhere? On the beach? At a restaurant? At home?”
I lift my gaze to his. God, he looks as gutted as I feel. “Yes, of course. But the park is special to me—you know that. I love it here. I’m happiest here. I see now, though, that I made a huge mistake. I’m sorry, Turtle. I’ll never do it again. You have my word.”
He regards me for a long moment. A bead of sweat cascades down my spine as I consider his possible responses.
Finally, gently, he says, “I’m going to be very honest with you, Piper.
Your word doesn’t hold weight with me anymore.
You’re a hard worker and a lovely girl, and I was proud to give you an opportunity here.
But I can’t disregard this breach. What you did was foolish and dangerous.
It speaks to a deficit in maturity. It pains me to say this, but you are no longer part of the Marine Conservation Park’s staff. ”
“But Turtle—”
“I’m sorry. You’re welcome during operating hours—you always will be—but as far as your employment goes, my decision is final.”
Losing the source of my income, the letter of recommendation I’ve been hoping for, and Turtle’s trust in me all at once...it’s too much. Mom and Dad would be crushed.
“I understand,” I say quietly, and I do. Regret feels like two strong hands wrapped tightly around my throat. This is nobody’s fault but my own. “Will you give me a chance to tell Tati? She should hear it from me.”
He nods, and I leave his office after a final apology, one that’s meant sincerely but sounds hollow.
I walk the corridor with my chin up, my shoulders back, trying—poorly, I’m sure—to project false confidence.
I manage to avoid crying as I enter to the locker room to gather my things, then make a quick detour to my parents’ memorial.
I’m still battling tears as I bend to touch their names, gleaming in the sun.
They’d be so sad to know what I’ve done.
I don’t fall apart until I’m through the park gate, on the sidewalk, dragging my feet toward home.