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It was a rare weekend morning, a even rarer day that Waylon was off on a Saturday but always...always on call. A lifeguard down at the beach had called and put in a request for a business check because supposedly they had heard a lot of movement inside when the owner had went to open. While he did respond that he would check it out Waylon didn't appear to look like a cop, in fact if it wasn't for the old bronco with the big sheriff decal on the side most would have mistook him for a tourist.

He wore khaki cargo shorts that exposed serious white legs, sandals with socks, a combo shirt package with a undershirt consisting of little bear and a big bear eating from a basket, and a very Hawaiian floral patterned shirt. His greying hair blew in the wind and the reflection of the ice cream being devoured shined off his very cop like sunglasses.

Sitting shotgun. His very annoyed daughter, @kyrii. He of course had to trick her to come and she went with what seemed very heavy rebuttals.

"look kiddo," he turned down the folk music blaring from his rustic speakers, "you going to be mad at me all day? Why do you think I tried to get you ice cream?"

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Emma never understood why her father insisted on dragging her around on his work calls and tried to say it was 'quality family time'. She sat in the passenger seat of his car with her attention on her phone. Her blonde hair was piled on her head in a messy bun. Her tanned legs were clad in jean shorts that were short enough to make her dad frown, but she'd changed her cropped top for a tank top to avoid the impending argument she'd seen brewing on his face. On second thought, maybe she should have just gone with the crop top, then he wouldn't have wanted to be seen around town with her. Shoot.

"I don't eat ice cream any more, Dad," she told her phone pointedly. "Where are we going, anyways?"

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"you don't eat ice cream period anymore?" Waylon asked his daughter very sarcastically, like his mind was blown completely, flabbergasted even, "can you send these kinda things in a memo next time? Because evidently you also don't bother to know your Father and brother still exist," from sarcastic to serious in a flick of a switch but when he spoke next it was in a whisper, "or because you are failing most of your classes?"

The. Cat. Was. Out. Of. The. Bag. Waylon had wanted approach the subject much later in the day but his dad instincts were, I want better for my kids, which Em hated. Rip the band-aid off as the say.

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Okay, so it hadn't been entirely true, but the real truth was that she just hadn't wanted to let her dad think that he could buy her happiness with ice cream. There weren't many things that made her happy anymore. She didn't even respond to his weird request for a 'memo', just kept on scrolling through her phone.

His comment about her status in school stopped her cold. Emma froze for a long moment, then slapped her phone down onto her lap and folded her arms, staring straight ahead at the road before them. "I don't want to talk about school," she told him. How did he even know about that, anyways? It wasn't any of his business whether she was failing her classes. "Besides, you didn't answer my question. Where are we going?"