Wish You Were Here, Liza Read online

  “All I’m telling you is that you should have made a right.”

  “No, you’re telling me that you got us lost, aren’t you?”

  My parents almost never fought…unless they were trapped in a car together. Yet another reason that a summer-long family road trip was an awesome idea.

  Every once in a while, between long car rides during the day and lumpy motel beds at night, there was sightseeing. A miniature Stonehenge. An old bridge that you could use to walk across the Mississippi River. And the Mississippi itself, which was kind of cool, except that the water was almost brown and had a bunch of bottles and food wrappers and an old sneaker floating down it. Oh well.

  Other than car time, the other families were always around. Always. Dillie was always there, very excited and very loud and very weird. Caleb was always there, telling me that a word didn’t mean what I thought it meant or that a sign reminded him of some book he’d read about something no one had ever heard of, or just clearing his throat with that little nervous cough that meant he had something to say but wasn’t sure anyone wanted to hear it. (We usually didn’t.) Kirsten was always there, pretending she was better than us.

  And Jake was always there, too. Slouching in the background with his earbuds in, listening to a baseball game, pretending he was somewhere else.

  Looking massively, brain-hurtingly cute.

  We had so much in common. Well, we had one thing in common, at least: Both of us wanted to escape. Once he figured that out, we could team up. It was just a matter of time.

  So that’s another thing I had to get used to on this trip: waiting.

  Location: Ash Grove, Missouri

  Population: 1,430

  Miles Driven: 899

  Days of Torment: 21

  “All right, everyone, time for an official announcement,” my father said, trying to make himself heard over the noise of Auntie Horvath’s Family Dinner Palace. When that didn’t work, he stood up and clinked his spoon against his glass. “It’s announcement time,” he said.

  It was our seventh diner dinner in a row, and I was getting a little tired of instant mashed potatoes and chicken pot pie. As usual, the adults talked to each other, droning on about whatever sight we were going to see the next day. Kirsten played with her phone, waiting for Thomas to call. Dillie and Caleb sculpted mashed potato fortresses and made bets about how high they could build their green bean towers. And Jake stared into space, while I watched him out of the corner of my eye, half hoping he wouldn’t notice — and half hoping he would.

  “Quiet, everyone!” Professor Kaplan boomed. That did it. Everyone at our table turned to stare. So did the rest of the restaurant.

  Great.

  My dad smiled at the group. “As you know, we came on this trip hoping to see the real America.”

  I swallowed a sigh.

  “And so far, so good,” he continued. “I think you’ll all agree, this has been an eye-opening experience.”

  Jake glanced at me and smirked, then stretched his eye wide-open between his thumb and index finger. I burst into laughter.

  “Yes? Liza?” My father raised his eyebrows.

  I turned the laughter into a coughing fit.

  “As I was saying.” My father cleared his throat. “During the day, we’re doing a great job of seeing the countryside. But at night, we just go into our rooms and watch TV — same as we’d do at home. What’s real about that?”

  “Well, if it’s what we do, then isn’t it real by definition?” Caleb asked quietly. Unlike Jake, he was trying to be helpful.

  But that didn’t keep me from needing to stage another fake coughing fit. This time, Dillie joined in.

  “We’ve decided to change things up a little,” my father said. “So after dinner, we’re going to have some live entertainment.”

  “Are we going to the theater?” Kirsten asked. “I just love the theater.”

  “In a way,” my father said. “Only better. We’re going to be our own theater.”

  I swallowed hard. “Like…karaoke?” I asked, feeling the chicken pot pie churning in my stomach.

  But my father didn’t seem to notice my I’m-going-to-be-sick look.

  “Excellent idea!” he said. “That’s exactly the kind of creativity that’s going to make this work.”

  “That’s not really what I —”

  “Family Entertainment Hour,” he said proudly. “We’re going to split into groups, and each group will be assigned one night of the week, Monday through Friday. On your night, you’ll be responsible for providing live entertainment for everyone else.”

  “Don’t forget the best part!” my mother prodded him.

  “It gets better?” Jake muttered.

  “That’s right,” my father said. “There’s just one rule: The entertainment has to be tied into our location.”

  “Doesn’t that sound like fun?” my mother asked. “Just a little extra challenge.”

  The other adults nodded enthusiastically.

  “I think it sounds great,” Kirsten said in a flat voice. Even the queen of sucking up couldn’t manage a happy face. We were in trouble.

  I just didn’t know how much trouble.

  My parents — who I knew were the masterminds behind this whole thing — assigned us to our groups. Professor Novak and Professor Kaplan. Mr. and Mrs. Schweber. The “kids” —which included me, Dillie, and Caleb. It apparently did not include Kirsten and Jake, who got to be in a group of their own. And the final pairing, my parents, who volunteered to provide the first night of entertainment, “to show you all how it’s done!”

  I wanted to disappear.

  Dinky as it was, the Eastern Grand Motel had a small room next to the lobby where they served continental breakfast. In the morning, it would be filled with rubbery bagels, stale doughnuts, and a few bleary-eyed truckers eager to hit the road. But that night, it was all ours. My parents sweet-talked the night manager into letting us use it for Family Entertainment Hour. Which meant that at eight P.M. sharp, we sat cross-legged on the floor, waiting for my parents to put on a show. It also meant that anyone wandering by could join the audience. By the time my parents were ready to start, there were two truckers, three guys decked out in motorcycle gear, and an exhausted-looking family with three toddlers.

  My parents burst out from behind the “curtain” (utility closet) and skipped out onto the “stage” (the square of floor not filled with truckers, bikers, and one very embarrassed daughter).

  My mouth dropped open. They were wearing top hats.

  “Branson, Missouri, the Live Music Show Capital of the World, is fifty miles south of here,” my father boomed. “But who needs Branson when you’ve got all the live entertainment you could want right here?”

  “So, in honor of the Live Music Show Capital of the World,” my mother continued, “and to inaugurate a special tradition for a very special group of travelers, we present to you…”

  “The Gold Family Showtime Revue!” they cried together.

  Dillie sucked down a giggle. Caleb went even paler than usual. I just groaned and tried to pretend I was somewhere else.

  My parents launched into some incredibly cheesy song about a man slaying a dragon for his lady love, and a woman drinking poison for hers —and at this point, I realized things were even worse than I thought. My parents weren’t just prancing around in homemade costumes, singing corny show tunes. They were prancing around in homemade costumes, singing corny love songs. Thirty seconds into the dragon song, they switched gears to some song I sort of recognized about finding a time and place for their beautiful love.

  Vomit.

  I took a few pictures, figuring they’d make the perfect addition to the Journal of Torment. Complete with caption: These people are not related to me. I swear.

  The nightmare dragged on and on and on. My parents gazed into each other’s eyes. They flipped their top hats and pretended they knew how to tap dance. They sang ridiculous lyrics in loud, off-key voices. Song after s
ong after song.

  And then, the grand finale: “Oh, give me one last kiss…”

  Oh, give me a break, I thought, and slapped my hands over my eyes.

  When I pulled them away, my parents were still kissing.

  There was a long pause, and then a few people started to clap. Very slowly. “That was great, Mr. and Mrs. Gold,” Kirsten said limply.

  My parents joined hands and took a deep bow. “You’ll get your chance soon enough,” my father promised Kirsten. “You all will.”

  I could hardly wait.

  “You asleep?”

  I opened my eyes. Dillie’s face was about an inch from mine. Yikes. “Not anymore.” I yawned.

  “Shhh!” She jerked her head at Kirsten, who was sound asleep. “You don’t want to wake her up.”

  “No, I don’t want you to wake me up,” I corrected her. But I did it in a whisper. “What’s going on?”

  Dillie tugged me out of bed. “What’s going on is that we’re going swimming.”

  “Huh? It’s the middle of the night,” I said. “And the motel doesn’t even have a pool.”

  “This motel doesn’t have a pool,” Dillie agreed. “But the one next door totally does. Grab your suit — let’s go.”

  I checked the clock. It was past midnight. Under normal circumstances, I would have ignored Dillie, rolled over, and gone back to sleep. But my parents had just spent the night dancing and singing in plastic top hats — and they’d made it very clear that pretty soon I’d have to do the same thing.

  These were not normal circumstances.

  I climbed out of bed and stumbled through the dark room, fumbling to find my bathing suit. We changed and made it safely outside, where Caleb was waiting for us. I glanced at Dillie. “We couldn’t go without him,” she whispered. “It was his idea!”

  “Really?” I asked, surprised.

  “Well…” Dillie grinned. “He did say he wanted to go swimming. I’m just the one who figured out the where, when, and how.”

  “You sure we’re not going to get caught?” Caleb said nervously.

  “I’m sure it will be worth it,” Dillie whispered, and led us into the dark, empty parking lot where our motel butted up against the Deluxe Motor Palace. A chain-link fence separated the two lots. It rose about five feet above our heads. “Come on,” she urged us.

  “What if it’s electrified?” I asked.

  “An electric fence? In a place like this?” Dillie laughed. “We’re lucky the rooms have electricity. Besides, it’s probably illegal to have an electric fence around a hotel.”

  Caleb cleared his throat. “Actually, as long as the owners comply with minimum safety standards, it’s perfectly legal to —”

  Dillie tied her towel around her waist and scampered up the fence, her hands flying along the chain links. “I’m not electrocuted!” she called down to us, a little too loud for my liking. “You coming?”

  Caleb looked at me. His face glowed orange under the parking lot’s fluorescent lights. “I will if you will,” he said.

  “Well…we’ve come this far,” I conceded. With that, we climbed side by side, dragging ourselves up to the top. There was no electric shock, no barbed wire. We scrambled over the edge and climbed down the other side. The pool awaited.

  If you could call it a pool.

  “We snuck out for this?” I asked. Yes, it was a cement cube filled with water. And yes, it was surrounded by familiar NO RUNNING! and NO DIVING! signs. But that didn’t make it a pool. More like a cesspool.

  “Have a little vision,” Dillie said. “Think of this as our tropical oasis.” She leaped into the air, curled her knees up to her chest, and cannon-balled into the water with an enormous splash. “Feels great!”

  Caleb ran toward the edge, but stopped just before plunging in. He dipped in a toe. “It’s cold.”

  “Isn’t that the point?” Dillie asked, backstroking across the pool.

  It was an incredibly hot night. There was no breeze. I could feel the sweat trickling down my back. Caleb took a deep breath, pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and jumped in. He surfaced with his hair plastered to his face. “She’s right, Lizard,” he said. “It feels great!”

  “Don’t call me Lizard,” I growled. But I sat down on the edge and dipped my feet into the water. It was ice-cold — perfect.

  “Maybe…” I murmured.

  That’s when Dillie surfaced beside me, grabbed my ankle, and pulled.

  “Aaaaagh!” I shrieked. Bad idea. Water flooded my mouth. I burst to the surface, coughing and shivering. “You’re going to pay for that!” I shouted, forgetting that we were supposed to be quiet. I splashed toward Dillie. She ducked underwater again. I chased after her — partly to get revenge, partly because swimming was warmer than staying still.

  Dillie popped her head above water just long enough to shout, “Come and get me!” then took off for the other end of the pool. I chased her back and forth, always just a few arm lengths behind. When I finally caught up, I was too tired to do anything but flip over onto my back and float.

  The stars were diamond bright.

  Dillie was squealing, Caleb was splashing, some kind of night bird was keening some kind of night song. But when I let my ears drop below the water-line, there was nothing but a rushing silence.

  That lasted about forty-five seconds.

  Then Dillie and Caleb launched a sneak attack, popping up from beneath me and tossing me halfway across the pool. After that, it was war.

  But it turned out that splashing, swimming, pouncing, chasing, sputtering, dunking wars are the kind you can’t actually win. “Truce!” I called, gasping for breath. I started inching closer to Dillie. If she bought the truce thing, it would give me the perfect chance for an ambush.

  “You give up?” Dillie taunted, then struck first. She launched a tidal wave straight at me.

  “Never!” I shouted, ducking under just in time. As soon as I surfaced, I launched another offensive in her direction. Dillie got clear; Caleb got doused.

  “I give up!” he offered, spitting out a mouthful of water.

  We ignored him.

  “You’ll never win,” Dillie warned me.

  “You’ll never win,” I shot back. I was a champion splasher.

  Caleb moaned and sank beneath the water. “I’ll never win,” he whimpered, paddling toward the shallow end. It gave me an idea.

  “Truce,” I suggested again. But this time I meant it. I raised my arms high above the water, where they couldn’t do any splashing harm. “I’ve got a better way to settle this. We race.”

  Caleb served as starter, judge, and referee. “Ready…Set…Go!” He karate-chopped his hands into the water and we took off. I swam as fast as I could. I imagined that the other side of the pool was New Jersey, and I was swimming home. Back to my house, back to my friends, back to the summer I was supposed to have. And when I slapped my hand against the far ledge, I was certain I’d won.

  “Tie!” Caleb shouted. Dillie looked just as surprised as I did.

  So we tried again.

  I won the swim-without-moving-your-arms race, the swim-like-a-mermaid race, the who-can-swim-the-farthest-underwater race, and the dead man’s float contest. Dillie won the swim-without-moving-your-legs race, the hopping-across-the-shallow-end race, the doggy-paddle race, and the who-can-hold-a-handstand-longer-without-falling-over contest. She also lasted longer than I did — ninety-eight seconds — sitting in the incredibly gross nearby hot tub with its lukewarm water and its suspicious smell.

  For a tiebreaker, we decided to dive for objects on the bottom of the pool. We didn’t have any coins or colored rods, so we tossed in our shoes. At least, Dillie and Caleb tossed in their shoes. I tossed in my flip-flops: They floated.

  Dillie burst into laughter.

  Caleb shook his head. “I wonder if it’s some combination of their composition and surface area distribution. Huh.”

  I stared at him. Under any normal circumstances, tha
t would have been a good time to explode with frustration. Dillie was laughing at me, Caleb was being a know-it-all…It should have been annoying. It was annoying. But it was also two A.M., in some random motel pool that we weren’t even allowed to be swimming in — and the soaking clumps of brown hair plastered to Caleb’s face made him look like a soggy poodle.

  What could I do but laugh?

  And then the grin dropped off my face.

  “Shhh!” I hissed. “You hear that? Someone’s coming.”

  “Ha-ha,” Dillie said. “Very funny.”

  “No!” Caleb whispered. He sank low in the water. “Look!” He pointed toward the hotel, where a flashlight beam was wobbling through the darkness.

  “It must be a security guard,” I moaned. “We are so busted.” There was no way we could get out of the pool area in time. And even if we could, what were we supposed to do — run through the dark in our bathing suits, soaking wet, and somehow sneak back into our motel room without anyone noticing?

  I wondered if cheap motel security guards came with attack dogs.

  “Stay calm,” Dillie ordered. “We’ll think of something.”

  “My mom’s going to kill me,” Caleb muttered, sinking so low that the water lapped against his nose.

  Footsteps approached the pool.

  “Everybody hold your breath,” Dillie commanded.

  “What?” I asked, then felt her hand clamp around my wrist. I barely had time to suck in a deep lungful of air before she dragged me down under the water.

  We sat at the bottom of the pool, eyes wide-open in the gross murky water, hair flowing like seaweed, cheeks puffed out with air.

  Ten seconds passed.

  Twenty.

  Thirty.

  Caleb broke first, blasting helplessly to the surface. Dillie shot up a moment later, air bubbles streaming from her mouth. I stayed down there until it felt like my lungs were going to explode. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed off from the bottom of the pool and rocketed toward the surface. Water streamed down my face as I gasped for air. It had never felt so good to breathe.