He’d already started for the door. Now he turned around, shrugging. “Tallent Hill,” he said. “No one’s ever heard of it. It’s like an hour outside of Tampa.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Gemma said quickly. And she had—Tallent Hill was just outside the Chassahowitzka National Wildlife Refuge, a little more than an hour south of Barrel Key, where boats carrying staff and supplies to and from Haven launched. She remembered seeing Tallent Hill on one of the detailed maps on the Haven Files website.

With a sudden, electric sense of clarity, she knew: she had to get to Florida. She had to go there, to Haven, and see it for herself.

“My aunt has a time-share there,” he was saying. “And she makes a killer margarita. Alcohol free, but still. What’s spring break without relatives and cocktails, right?” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “What about you? You got any big plans?”

“Actually”—Gemma licked her lips; her mouth was suddenly dry—“I was supposed to be driving down to Florida. To Barrel Key.”

Perv raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

She kept going, elaborating on the lie as she went, hoping he couldn’t see how badly she was blushing. “There was a problem with my car”—a clumsy lie; there were three cars in the driveway alone, but whatever, he wouldn’t know the difference—“and now I’m kind of stranded. I was thinking of taking a Greyhound . . . ?” She trailed off hopefully.

“No,” he said immediately. “No way. I once got stranded on a Greyhound for nine hours with nothing to eat but a pack of Tic Tacs. And the toilet backed up. Friends don’t let friends take the bus.”

Gemma raised her eyebrows. “So we’re friends now?”

“Sure we are,” he said, reaching out and chucking her gently on the arm. When he took a step forward, she could smell him. He didn’t smell like hot dogs at all, but like something clean and also a little bit spicy. “We became friends when we agreed to take a road trip. I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow.”

April screamed when she found out that Gemma was coming down to Florida after all—Gemma had to yank the phone away from her ear to avoid having her eardrums blown out. April was so excited, she didn’t even ask Gemma how she was planning to make the trip—thankfully, since Gemma thought she might die if she had to admit Perv Rogers was going to drive her.

“I don’t believe it,” she said. Their fight had been completely forgotten. “Gemma Ives. I didn’t know you had it in you. And your parents just caved?”

“I guess they were done playing bad cop,” Gemma said. Lying gave her a sticky feeling in her chest, like she’d accidentally inhaled a condom. Fortunately, her father’s business trip would keep him in Shanghai for at least the next week, so that left only Kristina to deceive. Still, Gemma had no idea how she would deal with lying to her mom—and not just lying, but sneaking off to a different state.

She wasn’t exactly a natural rebel. The one time she and April had decided sophomore year to try an e-cigarette, Gemma had been so terrified the next day that she was dying of cancer that she had confessed to her mom just so she could be reassured.

But at eight a.m. the next morning Kristina would be in a long board meeting of one of the charities she supported, which meant that Gemma had a solid four hours to get the hell out of the state before her mom even found out she was missing.

Kristina and Gemma ate in front of the TV that night, side by side, as they often did whenever Gemma’s dad was traveling. Usually, their game was to turn on a trashy reality television show and make fun of all the contestants. But tonight, Gemma was too antsy and distracted to concentrate.

“Can you believe her lips?” Kristina said, gesturing with a fork at the TV. “It looks like she got attacked by a vacuum cleaner.” Gemma laughed, but a second too late. Kristina turned to her. “Are you all right? You seem quiet.” Then, alarmed: “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” Gemma said. She set down her dinner—takeout from Whole Foods, since her mom considered cooking selecting from the various prepared options—on the coffee table and nudged it away from Rufus’s nose with a toe. The sticky feeling was still lodged in her chest. Without meaning to, she blurted out, “Why did Dad leave Fine and Ives?”

Kristina turned to her, obviously startled. For a second, she looked almost afraid. Then she became immediately suspicious. “Why are you asking?”

Gemma shrugged. “Just curious. I mean, it was his, wasn’t it? It still has his name and everything. I was so little. . . .” Gemma was two when her dad had first decided to leave Fine & Ives, but the subsequent lawsuit had dragged on for more than three years. She remembered nothing about that time; her childhood memories consisted mostly of hospital visits, doctors and constant evaluations, illnesses, relapses, injections, and bitter medicine spooned to her by her mother. But she did remember her parents had celebrated the end of the lawsuit in her room at Duke University Hospital, and she remembered being overwhelmed with happiness and with a sense even then that it wouldn’t last. It never lasted.

Kristina turned back to the TV. But she was no longer watching. That was obvious. And after a second she picked up the remote and clicked the mute button. “Your father and Matthew Fine had . . . disagreements about the company’s direction.”

“What kind of disagreements?” Gemma pressed.

Kristina sighed. “To be honest, Gem, the details were never clear even to me.” She said the words lightly, and Gemma knew they’d been practiced before. “Matthew Fine wanted to make some investments and your father disagreed. It was all boring and very, very complicated.” Kristina’s eyelids flickered: a sure sign that she was lying.