Munny has some change.
“Don’t you guys have any wallets with pocketknives?” I ask.
Dale groans. “Who carries a pocketknife in his wallet? That’s retarded.”
“We put all our wallets and cell phones in a drawer belowdecks,” Wick says. “Burr suggested we do that because once while night sailing, they hit choppy water and his wallet and phone went overboard.”
“So you knew you could hit dangerous water and you went out anyway?” I ask.
I’m madder about this than I realize. When it first happened, I thought, well, this is my fault because I drove here. But now I’m thinking, no, this is all their fault because they took the boat out.
“Pockets. Pockets,” Wick says. “Let’s focus on pockets.”
Wick has less than twenty dollars. It’s a mix of fives and ones. Sov has quarters and two old movie tickets. Burr has five bucks. Dale has three dollars and a pale pink pebble. He takes it out and then puts it back in his pocket.
“What’s that for?” Wick asks.
“It’s nothing,” Dale says.
“Maybe we can use it,” I say. Isn’t that the whole point of this exercise?
“You know I have it. If you think of something we can use it for, I’ll pull it back out.”
He is so difficult. Why can’t he be more like his brother? I look around at the random junk pulled from all the guys’ pockets. I’m surprised. I thought there would be something valuable besides minimal amounts of cash.
“What can we make with this?” Dale says.
“Wait, let’s not give up,” Wick says.
I glance back and forth between them. This is a typical way they interact, so typical it reminds me of Dale’s reaction to one of our twin tests: the situational-problemsolving exam. We’re often given a series of multiple-choice questions meant to measure our problem-solving styles. I tend to forget them as soon as I answer them, but Wick often retains nearly the whole test and drills Dale about his answers on the drive home. Once, a question asked what you’d do if everyone you worked with got a new computer except for you. You were given a few possible reactions to choose from. I don’t remember the options. But Wick said he would assume it had been a mistake and ask to see his supervisor. I answered that way too.
But Dale said he’d take a new computer from a coworker. Wick mocked his brother’s problem-solving abilities the entire way home. And then, at a stoplight, Dale reached around from the backseat and smacked Wick in the head. Hard. I couldn’t believe it. Luckily, Landon was there, and he broke up the fight. I remember thinking that day that Wick and Dale couldn’t be more different. I don’t even understand how Dale can be related to the rest of his family.
Wick takes a dollar and folds it lengthwise four times. “If we tear these into strips and tie them together we can create a line to dangle in the water. We can fish.”
“Couldn’t you use your shoelaces?” I ask. That seems simpler.
“No way.” Dale says this emphatically. “If we hit an island, we’ll need our shoelaces because we’ll need our shoes. We might have to outrun a wild animal.”
“What?” I ask. I think I must have misheard him.
“What if we end up beached on a deserted island that has wild boars?” Dale says.
“Shouldn’t we focus on scenarios that will actually happen?” I ask.
“I agree,” Landon says. “The dollars work fine.”
Munny shakes his head. “We don’t have a hook.”
Wick begins to tear the dollar. “If we tie a coin at the bottom and lure the fish to the surface, we can catch them with our hands.”
“Really?” I ask. That seems impossible.
“Why would a coin lure fish to the surface?” Burr asks.
“Fish like shiny things,” Wick says. “They’re like monkeys.” He has finished tearing the first dollar and begins on the second.
“That idea seems impossible,” Sov says.
Wick doesn’t stop tearing.
“It’s probably better than doing nothing,” Skate says. “Right?”
“I don’t know,” Dale says. “We’re destroying good cash.”
I am so thirsty. My head is pounding. I’m tired. If Wick wants to tear apart all the bills and tie them together and attach loose change to them, then I am going to let him do that. “I’m going to take a nap.” I move to the bottom of the raft to sit. Dirty water pools around me, but I don’t care. I don’t want to risk falling asleep on the raft’s side. What if I slipped? What if a shark came? What if, unlike last time, nobody saved me? I wonder what it feels like to die.
I wake up and notice that Skate and Burr are both sleeping. So is Dale. So are Sov and Munny. It’s one of the few options we have on the raft. For the first time I take stock of everyone’s feet. Sov’s and Munny’s, like mine, are bare. The rest of the guys are wearing sneakers. I wish I had sneakers. The sun is shining a little stronger now, burning off the clouds. Wick and Landon have tied together all the money, making a long, thin rope of cash.
“Do you really think you’ll be able to catch a fish?” I ask. Looking at the fully assembled line, it seems beyond impossible.
“We’ll try,” Wick says.
They toss it into the water, and the quarter tied to the end drags the line down. I watch it sink. I keep hoping that a big fish will arrive. I’m hungry. I’m really hungry. Wick tugs the quarter to the surface and then it beings to descend again. It mesmerizes me.
“What do you think Mom is doing?” Landon asks. “How do you think the Coast Guard will tell her? Do they call, or send somebody to the door?”
I think back to the last time I saw my mother. She looked so small and anxious. Oh God. I wonder what she did when she found the marzipan bride and groom.
“Enid?” Wick asks. “Did you zone out? Landon asked you a question.”
I lick my lips. They are so dry they ache. My tongue is dry too. “I don’t know how the Coast Guard notifies families. I’m not sure how they’d know exactly who was on the boat.”
I lift myself from the soppy bottom of the raft and sit on a side next to Wick.
“I left her at the Sheraton,” I say.
“Who?” Wick asks.
“My mother.”
“What did you use as an excuse?” Landon asks.
I shrug. “I didn’t make any. I just left. I damaged some marzipan and dropped it off on the sidewalk for her and drove down. I think I snapped.”
“Jesus,” Landon says. “You abandoned Mom at the Sheraton. That’s mean.”
He’s right. But it didn’t seem mean at the time. It seemed necessary.
“You two shouldn’t argue about it now. What’s done is done,” Wick says.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” I say. After watching the quarter fall for the umpteenth time, I decide I’d like to be in charge of it for a while. “Can I drop the coin?”
“You can’t drop it,” Landon says. “You just let it fall a little, and then you pull it back up.”
“That’s what I meant,” I say.
“Sure,” Landon says.
Wick moves over so I can pass him to get to where Landon is, and when he does that, he bumps Dale awake.
“It is so frigging hot,” Dale says. “I hope it rains.”
I sit next to Landon. “I don’t. Think of the waves. I’d rather have calm seas and warm temperatures.”
“Rain doesn’t have to mean storm,” Dale says.
At the sound of the word storm, Burr stirs and wakes up. “Next time I wake up, I’m hoping to see a rescue ship.”
“That would be nice,” I say.
“I’m so hungry. Does anyone have any food?” Dale asks.
“I don’t,” I say. I watch Munny and Sov blink their eyes open.
“Nobody has anything in their pockets?” Dale says.
“I don’t have anything,” Landon says.
“Me either,” Munny says, yawning.
“Nothing,” Burr says.
“We’ve already emptied our pockets,” Sov says.
Skate is asleep.
“Did Skate empty his pockets?” Dale asks Burr. “He’s been a little out of it. Maybe he forgot to check.”
“He doesn’t have anything,” Burr says. “None of us has anything.”
“No Milk Duds, no Junior Mints, no red licorice ropes?” Dale says.
“We were headed sailing,” Wick says. “Not to an afternoon matinee.”
“I just can’t believe that nobody grabbed any chips. We had, like, eight bags of Doritos.”
“Good point, Dale. Right as the ship was going under, I asked myself, do I call the Coast Guard? Or secure a couple of bags of Doritos?” Burr says.
“It’s great that the Coast Guard is coming, but it would be nice if we had something to eat,” Dale says.
Burr looks away and doesn’t say anything.
“It’s really surprising,” Dale says, dangling his hand in the water. “I thought that stuff would float. Shouldn’t it be everywhere?”
“It probably floated away,” Sov says.
“Maybe your life jacket has something in its pockets? Did you check those?” Dale asks.
Sov shakes his head.
“Nobody has anything. Not even a toothpick. Do you want us to take our pants off so you can check the pockets yourself?” Landon asks.
There’s a pause.
“I’m not taking my pants off,” Landon says.
“I didn’t want you to.”
“We’re all hungry,” Wick says.
I rest my head on Wick’s shoulder. I haven’t eaten a real meal in over twenty-four hours. Wick cradles me under one arm. As I relax, I’m reminded again how thirsty I am. I lick my lips.
“How long can a person go without water?” I ask.
Actually, I thought I was just thinking the question. I’m surprised when I hear my own voice asking it.
“It depends on the conditions,” Munny says.
“I think we know the conditions,” Dale says. “These are them.”
I glare at Dale.
“I think what Dale was trying to say was that maybe we need to take a status check,” Wick says.
“Really?” I ask. We all know our situation is bad.
“Munny, why don’t you hit some high points on things we should be thinking about?” Wick says.
“Okay. To avoid getting jungle foot, everyone wearing sneakers should consider taking off your shoes,” Munny says.
“I’m not gonna throw my shoes overboard,” Dale says.
“Right,” I said. “The boar island.”
“Shh,” Landon says.
“You don’t have to throw them over,” Munny says. “But think about taking them off.”
Dale kicks at the water in the bottom of the raft. “Maybe later,” he says.
“Yeah,” Burr says. “They feel pretty good now.”
“What else?” Landon asks.
“People who drank alcohol will feel the effects of dehydration first,” Munny says.
“What?” Dale says. “Are you putting a moral spin on this because you didn’t drink anything?” Dale’s pink face is creased by lines of anger, especially around his mouth and eyes.
“Those are the facts,” Munny says.
“He’s telling the truth,” Wick says. “I remember this from AP Bio.”
I don’t know who has been drinking and who hasn’t. I mean, I know Burr and Skate were, and I know Sov and Munny weren’t, but I don’t know about Wick, Dale, or Landon. I’m afraid to bring it up. I guess I don’t want the answer.
“The people who were drinking are going to be peeing more than the rest of us. Ethanol depresses the level of arginine vasopressin, or AVP. It’s an antidiuretic hormone. This means you’ll lose more fluid.”
“What?” Dale asks again. His voice sounds alarmed. “What should we do?”
“You should consider drinking your urine,” Munny says.
“Holy shit,” Dale says. “There’s no way I’m drinking my own pee.”
“He’s right,” Wick says. “We should start thinking about stuff like this. It’s better than losing all that fluid.”
“I’ve never heard of doing that,” Dale says. He looks down at his crotch.
I am tempted to tell him that had he pushed himself and taken AP Bio, maybe he would have heard of doing things like that.
“The Coast Guard will get here before it comes to that,” Burr says.
“Enid!” Wick yells.
I flop reflexively into the center of the boat, certain the reason Wick screamed was due to sharks.
“You dropped it,” Wick says.
“Enid, if you were tired of holding it you could have given it to me,” Landon says.
I don’t know what they’re talking about.
“Enid, the dollar rope and the quarter,” Wick says. “It’s halfway down to the bottom of the ocean.”
I remember. How could I forget I was holding it? I didn’t mean to drop it. I don’t feel terrible, because I don’t think there’s any way we could have really caught a fish by using that method, but I say, “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t look upset at all,” Landon says.
I glance at Landon. The skin below his eyes is a dull gray color. That’s what happens when he doesn’t get enough sleep.
“I do feel bad. I zoned out. I think I’m still zoning.”
Landon looks at me sternly. It isn’t until I mouth the words
I’m sorry
that his face softens and he gives me a nod, letting me know I’m forgiven.
“Do you have any extra dollars?” I ask.
“We still have two twenties,” Wick says. “I’ll see if I can make another line.”
“Good,” I say.
I sit back and look into the water. It is so never-ending. The sun’s glare bounces off the waves, creating a painful halo. If I were a painter or a photographer, maybe I’d think this image was beautiful. Or maybe I would see it as a metaphor for death.
“Okay!” Dale says. “Here’s where I stand on drinking my own pee.” His voice sounds flat and definitive. “If the Coast Guard doesn’t come in three hours, I’ll do it. And if Munny and Wick say it’s what we should do, we should all do it. And once we get home we never tell anyone. I swear to God. This can’t get out. We’ll do the things we need to do to survive. We’ll act like cave people. Go primal, but when we get home, none of this happened.”
I agree with him in a weird way, but I also can’t help myself from laughing. Only Dale would get this worked up about the potential rumors involved with drinking urine.
“I have two questions,” Burr says.
“Shoot,” Dale says.
“How will you know when three hours has passed? And what are you going to use for a cup?” Burr laughs when he’s finished. But Dale doesn’t.
“Shut up, man. None of this is funny.”
“Some of it is,” Skate says.
I didn’t realize he was awake. I wonder how his head is doing. I wonder if we should dip the wound in the sea to clean it. I close my eyes. Is salt water sterile? Munny would know. Or maybe Wick. I don’t think it is.