Free Cry of the Sea by D. G. Driver Page A

I
took it off-roading with some friends my second weekend owning it
and destroyed it.”
    “Oh no!” I shouted. “You didn’t!”
    He grinned sheepishly. “I did. Stupid. My
folks informed me in no uncertain terms that if I wanted another
car I had to buy it myself.” He lifted his right hand and presented
his car like a game show host. “Voila! This is what weekends
stocking shelves at the grocery store gets you.”
    We laughed about that and joked about parents
in general. He never once asked about why my mom was so pissed at
me, and I was grateful for that. We didn’t turn on the radio at all
because we talked whole ride. I did wind up having to swing by my
house after all, because I needed my backpack and I had to change
my shoes. I could not face going to school in my nasty boots
covered with oil and sand. While home, I quickly changed into my
own pants, too, and returned the ones I borrowed to Carter.
    “I’m afraid I’ll damage them,” I told him. Of
course, I could have changed out of his shirts and didn’t. I know
he realized this, too, but he didn’t say anything about it and
seemed mildly pleased with me that I kept them on. Returning them
was an excuse to see him again.
    We arrived at school right about 10:30. I’d
missed most of third period, but I would catch fourth if I
hurried.
    “I’ll pick you up here at 3:00,” he said.
    “Really?” I asked. “I can just get a ride
home with Haley and wait till Dad gets home later.”
    “Your dad will still be out at the beach, and
I know you want to get back to our friend in the tank.”
    He was absolutely right. Carter was cute and
smart and wonderful. But despite his company and the impending
lunchtime of school politics, the thought of that poor creature
never left my mind. The mermaid needed help, and I wanted to be
there with her. The last place I wanted to be was at school.
    “Sounds good,” I said. “3:00, right
here.”
    I got out and strolled through the front
doors of the school.
    Or I would have, except the front doors were
locked. So, I had to push the office button, which is apparently
attached to some kind of truancy alarm. When the doors opened for
me to stroll through, I was intercepted by a pissy office attendant
who whisked me off to the Vice Principal’s office to explain why
I’d ditched school all morning. Because, naturally, with everything
going on I had forgotten to have my dad sign an excuse note
explaining why I was late for school.
    They called him, but they couldn’t get
through. I knew he was busy on the phone with reporters trying to
convince them that the oil damage to the shoreline of Washington
was news—important news—and the public needed to be aware of what
was going on. That didn’t matter to the office staff. They were
annoyed by my dad, and I heard them muttering to each other about
how my dad was “neglectful”, “disrespectful”, and “a bad
influence.”
    Like usual, I found myself in that really
weird state of mind where I hated my dad for not answering the damn
phone and sparing me this humiliation, and being so proud of him
for the hard work he does. These women led such small lives. They
had no idea what was happening down at the coast and that it might
actually ruin their next trip to the beach or the fish they were
going to eat for dinner one night this month. They really had no
idea that there was this silver sea creature with a woman’s torso
and giant, sad eyes covered with oil in a tank, only alive because
my dad and I found her this morning.
    By the time Dad managed to call the school
back to verify that, yes, I had been helping him all morning, only
five minutes remained until lunchtime.
    According to Vice Principal Slater, a
heavy-set woman with one of those short porcupine hairdos that has
some kind of gel/hairspray product stuck to every individual strand
and teeny-tiny eyebrows that had been plucked too much, my dad’s
reason for my absence was not an excuse. Vice Principal