to avoid the crowds, and taking the residential streets instead. Just past the park, I head down toward the water again. The wind has picked up and big puffy clouds blow across the sky. Scenes and conversations from this morning keep coming back to me. I run through them, again and again, like when you’re watching a movie and you hit rewind a couple of times to try to figure out what exactly happened in the scene. In my replay, insulting Harris and running from Lena feel wrong now and I have this sudden urge to make them both right.
I’m not really looking where I’m going when I suddenly feel something brush against my leg. I stop, just catching myself from tripping over a rope somebody has strung across the beach road, stretching all the way from the water’s edge up to the house that faces the beach. Without thinking much about it, I lift the rope and bend down to scoot under.
“Hey!” a loud voice yells. “Can’t you read the sign?”
I look up. It’s Grace, wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap with the word Cruiser, the name of her father’s boat, on it. Her family owns and rents out this whole row of houses. When she sees it’s me, she sprints down the front steps of the porch.
“Beach access. Five dollars,” she demands, pointing to a handwritten cardboard sign swinging from the rope divider.
I stare at her, not understanding. “What?”
“Five dollars.” she repeats. “To cross our beach if you want to see the whales.”
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