I came out of the bathroom and hung around for a bit to see if he was coming out too. When I saw him, I waved and pointed towards the book section, like, ‘let’s go there’. But he just waved and walked the other way. I guess he didn’t want to hang out anymore.

Maybe he didn’t get what the wave and point meant?

I don’t think so. I even wore my cut-off shorts and singlet with the sunflowers.

Nobody can resist your sunflower top. I’m sure he just didn’t understand.

Haha. Whatever. His loss, right?

Totally.

Poor Lucy. I really wanted it to work out for her.

Next, there’s a bunch of messages from Oliver, spread out over a few hours. The last ones arrived late last night.

Are you okay? What happened?

Please message or call me!

I’m trying to get through but your phone’s not ringing or anything.

Should I call your aunt?

Sky? Are you there?

There are three missed video chat calls from him too.

My father’s messaged and called, freaking out that I’m not at the truck stop. Jaxon, obviously fed up with texting me and not getting an answer, has instead sent YouTube clips. YouTube I can handle, so I press play and watch as I’m stripping off.

It’s not quite the luxurious shower I was hoping for but washing myself feels good, bucket or not. Listening to ‘Running Away’ by Bob Marley and then some eighties song called ‘I Ran (So Far Away)’, I can’t help but smile. Even though I’m mad at him, Jaxon’s funny.

As I’m drying off, I message Paula that all’s well and she immediately calls. I know I can’t ignore it, and even though I don’t feel like talking at all, I pick up. I tell her how sorry I am to have stressed her out. She tells me how she was in touch with Melody and my father all day, tracking my movements—she was so worried, she missed her doctor’s appointment—and to never ever do that to her again. Never. She sounds tired, more relieved than angry.

After I hang up I reply to Oliver, telling him I’m fine now and not to worry. And my father, well, he knows I’m safe and there’s nothing more to say.

My phone rings again. Oliver. I plonk myself down on the chair, the towel on my lap—may as well get comfortable.

‘Sky, I was so worried,’ he says before I can even say hello.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. I’m saying this so much lately I should just print it on a T-shirt or something. ‘I’m okay, really.’

‘But what happened?’

I fiddle with the corner of the towel. ‘My father isn’t who I thought he was.’

‘That bad?’ he asks.