Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Skye
The morning comes too quickly. The sun slants through my thin curtains as my alarm blares, dragging me from a dream I can't quite remember. I shut it off with a groan and lie there for a moment, reality settling in. Today's the day.
Mom's already in the kitchen when I stumble in, hair a mess, still in my sleep shorts and tank. She's made coffee—the good kind we usually save for weekends—and pushes a steaming mug toward me as I slide onto a stool.
"Sleep okay?" she asks, her own cup cradled between her hands.
"Yeah," I lie. I'd tossed and turned half the night, mind racing with a weird mix of excitement and anxiety about the summer ahead.
We sit in comfortable silence, sipping our coffee.
Justin's still asleep—typical teenager on summer break—and the house feels peaceful in the early morning light.
Mom doesn't try to fill the quiet with last-minute advice or worries, and I'm grateful for that.
She just sits with me, present in these final moments before I leave.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Harper: You ready?
Me: I'm almost ready be out in ten.
Harper: K
"That Harper?" Mom asks, and I nod, downing the last of my coffee before heading upstairs to get ready.
Back in my room, I throw on a pair of cut-off shorts and slip my favorite grey hoodie over my white tank top.
The hoodie's seen better days, frayed at the cuffs and softened by countless washes, but it feels like armor—something familiar to take with me.
I grab my small overnight bag, double-check that I have my charger, sketchbook, and the emergency cash I've been saving, then head back down to the kitchen.
Mom steps in as I'm sitting on the floor, pulling on my beat-up Converse.
"Have fun this summer, sweetie," she says, her voice deliberately light.
I stand up, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "I will."
"I'm serious, Skye. You deserve it." Her eyes are a little too bright, and suddenly there's a lump in my throat.
I step forward and wrap my arms around her, breathing in her familiar scent of her perfume and coffee. "I will, I promise," I say against her shoulder, "but you have to promise me that if you need me, you'll let me know."
"I will," she whispers before releasing me from her hug.
"I love you, Mom. Tell Justin I said I love him when he wakes up."
"I will." She straightens her shoulders, forcing a smile. "And you be good. Don't get into trouble over there."
"Who, me?" I press a hand to my chest in mock offense.
"Yes, you. Now get out of here before I cry," she says, her laugh only slightly watery.
"Okay. Love you," I say, picking up my bag and walking out the back door.
"Love you too," she calls from the doorway.
The morning air is cool against my face as I cross our small yard. Harper's already in the driveway, her car idling, windows down and music playing. I see her lean over to pop the passenger door open as I approach.
I hop in, tossing my bag into the back seat beside our larger suitcases. Her perfume fills the car—vanilla and something expensive—and she looks perfectly put together as usual, even at this early hour.
"You ready?" she asks, sunglasses perched on top of her head, hair gleaming in the morning light.
"Yep," I say with a smile that feels more confident than I actually am, ignoring the tightness in my chest as I glance back at my house one last time.
Harper shifts into reverse and backs out of the driveway, her playlist already blaring through the speakers. "Summer road trip playlist, activated," she announces, turning it up another notch.
"It's not exactly a road trip when we're just driving to the airport," I point out, but I'm smiling despite myself.
"Details, details," she waves a dismissive hand, her red nails flashing in the morning light. "The summer adventure begins now, Skye. Embrace it!"
The first hour of the drive flows seamlessly—too smoothly, in fact.
We're laughing until our sides hurt and singing along to Harper's meticulously curated playlist, fantasizing about all the things we want to do in California, when the traffic ahead suddenly transforms into a sea of red brake lights.
"What the hell?" Harper cranes her neck, pushing her sunglasses up on her head to get a better view of the endless line of stationary cars stretching before us.
"No, no, no," I mutter, anxiety immediately flooding my chest as I check the time on my phone. The numbers seem to mock me. "We can't be late. We absolutely cannot miss this flight."
Harper taps her perfectly manicured fingers anxiously on the steering wheel, the rhythmic sound matching my racing heartbeat. "We'll make it. We have to. My dad's expecting us." Her usual confidence wavers slightly.
But the minutes tick by with excruciating slowness as we inch forward, the tension in the car building with each passing moment.
By the time we finally break free of the congestion, Harper's knuckles are white on the wheel and I've chewed my bottom lip raw enough to taste the metallic hint of blood.
"We're cutting it way too close," she says, speeding up and weaving through traffic with a precision that would be impressive if I wasn't terrified we'd miss our flight.
When we finally reach the airport, the parking situation becomes our next nightmare. The long-term lots are completely full, and we drive in circles looking for extended parking, each loop making my stomach twist tighter.
"There!" I point frantically at a spot just as someone pulls out, nearly jumping out of my seat with relief. Harper whips into it with barely a pause, and we grab our bags from the back, slamming the doors with enough force to echo across the concrete structure.
"Got everything? Phone? Wallet? Ticket?" she asks, already moving toward the elevators.
"Yes, yes, everything. Let's go!" My voice cracks with urgency.
We race through the parking lot, my overpacked bag bouncing uncomfortably against my hip, probably leaving bruises I'll discover later. Inside, the airport is a chaotic mass of humanity, lines snaking in every direction like some nightmarish maze.
"Security's gonna take forever," I groan, taking in the sheer volume of people with dismay. Every person represents another minute of delay.
Harper grabs my hand, her grip firm and reassuring. "Come on, we can make it. We're not missing this flight."
The security line seems to take years off my life.
I bounce anxiously on my toes, watching the enormous clock on the wall tick closer and closer to our boarding time.
When we finally make it to the front, I'm frantically untying my shoes, nearly flinging them into the plastic bin while simultaneously trying to remove my laptop from my bag.
"Flight 2187 to Los Angeles now boarding," the announcement echoes through the terminal just as we're collecting our scattered belongings on the other side of security.
"Thank god," Harper exhales, grabbing her bag and shoving her feet back into her shoes without bothering with the laces. "Let's go!"
We sprint through the terminal like Olympic athletes, dodging slow-moving travelers, leaping past families with luggage carts, my bladder protesting violently with every jarring step—I've needed to pee desperately since we hit the traffic jam, but there's absolutely no time now.
"Gate B22," Harper pants, pointing ahead at a sign, her face flushed beneath her freckles. "Almost there! Don't you dare stop, Skye!"
We skid to a stop at the gate just as they're calling the final boarding group. I bend over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath while my lungs burn from the unexpected cardio workout.
"We made it," Harper says, grinning triumphantly despite her flushed face and disheveled appearance. "Barely, but we made it."
My bladder sends another urgent, painful signal. "I really need to pee," I whisper, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
"No time," she grimaces sympathetically. "You'll have to use the one on the plane as soon as we're in the air."
When our turn comes, we hand over our slightly crumpled boarding passes, and the gate agent gives us a knowing look, eyebrows raised. "Cutting it close, ladies."
"Traffic," we say in perfect unison, then dissolve into breathless, slightly hysterical laughter.
"Window or aisle?" Harper asks as we step onto the plane, the recycled air cool against my overheated skin.
"Can I have the window? I want to see everything," I admit, already thinking about potential sketches of clouds and landscapes from above.
"You got it." She steps past our row to let me in first, always accommodating.
I slide my carry-on into the overhead compartment with trembling arms and collapse into my seat, still catching my breath, relief washing over me in waves. Harper drops in beside me, her hair slightly wild from our sprint, but somehow she still manages to look put-together.
"You ready for California?" she asks, buckling her seatbelt with a definitive click.
"Yep, I'm ready to get there. I'm absolutely starving," I admit, my stomach growling audibly. "I only had a cup of coffee this morning before we left. Too nervous to eat."
"We can hit up an In-N-Out Burger when we land. I'm dying for you to try them," she says with that familiar Harper enthusiasm that makes everything sound like the most exciting adventure. "Trust me, it'll change your life."
"Sounds good to me. Can't go wrong with burgers," I agree, settling back into my seat as the flight attendants begin their safety demonstration, trying to ignore my screaming bladder.
Six hours to California. Six hours until I see my best friend's childhood home and meet her father.
Six hours until the summer officially begins.
As soon as the seatbelt sign dings off, I leap from my seat like I've been spring-loaded, practically climbing over Harper in my desperation.
"Jesus, you weren't kidding," she laughs as I stumble into the aisle.
"Be right back," I mutter, already speed-walking toward the bathroom, one hand pressed against my bladder like that's somehow going to help.