I Hid My Perfect Score novel · Chapter 26 of 32

Chapter 26: East

"Yes," I said. "Stand up."

The red-eye left Fairbanks at one in the morning with the sky still pale over the hills.

Dodie had never flown farther than Seattle.

She had a window seat and a tin of rolls on her lap and she narrated Canada.

"That's a lake. That's another lake. Gavin, how many lakes does one country need?"

"All of them, apparently," Gavin said.

He fell asleep on her shoulder somewhere over the Yukon.

She sat very still for three hours so she wouldn't wake him.

Emory had the aisle.

He slept for ten minutes and then woke up and caught me staring at the seat back.

"You're writing it in your head," he said.

"Writing what?"

"Whatever you're going to say."

"I'm not going to say anything. I'm going to show them the papers."

He took my hand on the armrest.

"Then stop writing," he said.

I didn't.

But I held on.

Bradley was gray and humid at eleven in the morning.

Dad was waiting at the curb in his sedan, the one Emory had driven to the castle.

He was wearing a gray suit.

His tie was red.

"The blue one's on the bed," he said, before I could ask.

He got out and hugged me in the drop-off lane.

Then he hugged Gavin, longer.

Then he turned to Dodie, who held out the tin of rolls.

"Sir. I'm Dodie. I'm dating your son. These are rosemary."

Dad looked at Gavin.

Gavin looked at the sky.

"Thank you, Dodie," Dad said, and took the tin with both hands.

In the car he handed me a manila envelope from under his seat.

"Every page," he said. "The originals. I didn't call her."

I opened it in my lap.

The loan was there, with the straight J and the little curl.

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