Cry of the Sea by D. G. Driver Page B

“and
I can’t go looking like this.”
    He woke up. “Oh!”
    Carter, my new hero, stepped up again with
his chivalry. “How about you both come over to my house? June can
clean up while I get you started on the computer, Mr. Sawfeather.
Then I’ll drive June to school.”
    My dad nodded. “Sounds perfect.”
    “Clothes?” I asked, gesturing to my stained
and smelly outfit.
    Carter winked. “I’m sure we can come up with
something.”
    It could have been a tease or a flirt.
Winking was a deceptive thing. My mind argued that it was just an
innocent eye twitch to let me know he had things in control. The
hot lava rushing through my veins and my heavy pulse led me to hope
that wink was code for something much more romantically
devious.
     

 
    Chapter
Five
     
    Can’t say how I managed to get into the truck
and put my seatbelt on. I don’t remember any of that. Next thing I
knew I was there, beside my father, with a plan to follow Carter up
the road into town. My dad started the engine and backed out of the
parking lot. He sported a goofy little smile, his first smile of
the day.
    “Looks like someone’s got a crush.”
    I tried to be nonchalant about it, but
instead I sputtered out a totally fake, “What are you talking
about?” As if I didn’t know.
    “He’s going to drive you all the way to
Olympia,” Dad pointed out. “He doesn’t have to do that.”
    I blushed a little and rolled my eyes. “No.
That’s not it. He wants to impress you , that’s all. He knows
about you from his professor at school. He thinks you’re some kind
of idol probably, and he’ll get extra credit for knowing you.”
    My dad shrugged his shoulders. “If you say
so.”
    As much as what I said to my dad made sense,
I couldn’t help but hope my dad was right about Carter. Maybe his
graciousness was a little about me too. Everything about him was
turning out to be wonderful.
    Dad clicked on the news as we rode along. It
was seven-thirty in the morning, and the local stations had now
received word of the oil spill. So far the reports weren’t anything
but headlines, not offering a lot of information. Within an hour
that would change. Affron leaked news as much as it did oil, only
their version would be skewed to express that no real damage had
been done. ‘Nothing for the public to worry about,’ their report
would attest. The news anchors across the country would soon be
reporting that the oil spill was just a small one and easily
cleaned up. Then it would be forgotten.
    No one would mention how many animals,
including two apparent mermaids, had died—or would continue to die
for the next few years.
    That was my father’s job. He’d be on the
Internet all week, trying to get reporters to acknowledge the
seriousness of the situation. With his buddy, Randy, they’d add new
statistics and the photographic evidence to his web site and make
sure that all of the politicians on the West Coast were aware of
crisis. Most of all, he’d be working closely with Mom to make sure
Affron was punished for sending out that leaky vessel.
    Carter turned into a gated neighborhood of
houses with matching red tile roofs and procured a parking pass for
us. We followed him down a couple winding streets and ended up in
front of a beautiful house that was angled on a hill to have a view
of the ocean from the upstairs bedroom windows. Each bedroom had
its own balcony. I envisioned myself leaning over one, a glass of
cool iced tea in my hand, a wide summer hat on my head and a silk
scarf fluttering off my neck in the warm salt-water breeze. Dressed
in a white silk button down shirt and slacks, a very tan Carter
stepped up behind me and put his hand on my waist...
    A honk pulled me out of my reverie. Carter
waved us over to the circular driveway where he’d stopped his car.
But my dad parked along the curb in the street, regardless. Our
ugly, old pickup did not belong anywhere on that lovely
property.
    We got out of the truck and met Carter at