Authors: Jolene Perry
“Uh…” I try not to laugh. “Yeah.”
Different is the nice way of saying it.
He nods once,
and I’m suddenly kind o
f afraid I’ve hurt his feelings. H
e’s weird, not bad, despite my argument to Mom.
“I
guess. I mean, I guess I’m
trying to say that I’m glad you’re here.” He spoons out two small plates of eggs, and hands one to me.
Our eyes don’t meet. Dad looks
down as he sits across the small t
able from me—
more like a booth
since the table is
egg-shaped
and
half surrounded by a curved bench seat. The thing probably turns into a bed like a motor
home or something.
“Uh, thanks.” I don’t know what else to say. I don’t want to be here. Not at all. I want my apartment and my friends in New York. I thought about
tailing it back home, and
being on my own, but Mom doesn’t need the stress, not with what she’s doing. I owe it to her to at least give this a chance.
Well, and I really don’
t want to add anything
to her—
Antony’s spoiled
file.
“Lynn and I are headed south to Gig Harbor for some boat parts later on today. I’m sure her daughter Ambe
r will tag along
. She’s a home-school kid like you. Smart. Driven.”
“How do you know I’m smart and driven, Dad?” I push the eggs around my plate.
I’m sure I sound like a jerk, and I don’t really mean to. I must still be in shock over this whole un-real situation.
Now our eyes meet. “I guess. I guess I don’t. I hear from your mom more than from you, and I know you two are a lot alike. I kn
ow you speak a few languages,
that you take advanced math, and she says your writing is fabulous.”
Right.
I
may be in advanced math, but I
suck at it
.
W
riting, that’s t
he one thing Dad and I have in common. “You’
re still writing, right?” I ask, even though I know he does.
“Oh, yeah. Couldn’t stop if I wanted to.” He stands up and does a quick wash of his plate. No dishwasher here. Probably no takeout either. Different world.
I couldn’t stop writing if I wanted to either, but I don’t say that
. “I’ve got some school stuff to do.
I’m going to hang back today.”
“’Kay.” Dad runs a hand over his
head and walks back to his room
.
I take a bite of my eggs, and damn they’re good. A little green onion and garlic. I down my plate in seconds and then take Dad’s lead and do a quick wa
sh in the miniature sink
.
The first part of
day one
down, and what feels like a
million to go.
- - -
The sun’s out, and only the front half of Dad’s boat is under cover. The mast wou
l
dn’t fit under the blue roof of the marina.
I stretch out
to lounge
with my phone and send a text to my friend David back in New Yor
k. I tell him that it’s rainy, but that
the boat’s nicer than I thought.
I don’t want him to know what it’s actually like
—
not that it’s bad or anything
.
I’m sure it’s
nice for a sailboat, but i
t’s
embarrassing that half of my family lives like this
. My friends freak out if someone has to move too far south
in the same city
. But here? I’m a long way from Manhattan.
“Hello again.” Lynn
wav
es from the dock.
I jump to sitting when her daugh
t
er smiles from behind her.
“Uh, hi. Dad
went in to get something before you guys took off.” I stuff my phone in my pocket.
“This is my daughter, Amber.”
Amber isn’t in shorts today, but her jeans are snug, and her legs are still amazing. Her thick blond hair is pulled into a ponytail.
I stand,
and it feels like I should be polite an
d shake her hand or something,
but I’m way up on the boat,
and they’re on the dock. “Hey, I’m…”
“Antony, I know. Your Dad’s been talking about you coming since he found out.” There’s n
othing but relaxed normal in Amber’s
eyes.
I’m almost…
offended.
Is that the right word? Girls usually react to me in some way. Small smiles, biting their lower lip, something. She’s looking at me like I could be her brother, or like
she’s
somehow better than
me
. The gi
rl who lives o
n a boat.
I chuckle.
Unbelievable.
“We ready?” Dad climbs out
.
“Yeah,” I say. I’m sort of unnerved that this girl isn’t looking at me. And hanging out on Dad’s boat alone all day
suddenly
doesn’t sound like much fun.
“Oh,” He turns to me with a smile. “Glad you’re tagging along.”
I shrug.
- - -
After a few polite questions back and forth in the backseat o
f Dad’s car, Amber pulls out a Kindle. A K
indle makes you look like a dork. I read a lot, bu
t at least I do it on my iPad—
way less n
erdy. And no one knows I’m reading
a book. She doesn’t seem bothered.
She’s in a worn old pair of jeans and shoes that look like running shoes. Like she
just
threw something on this morning and left.
She pulls a knee up to rest her head against, and I’m glad she’s not wearing shorts,
because
there’s no way I’d be able to focus. She’s pretty damn flexible.
The
vibration of the
phone in my pocket brings me back to reality. I pull it out and spend a few more minutes texting to
David and my occasional on/off girl, Gem, back
in New York. I want them to know how lame this is, without actually knowing the reality.
Dad and Lynn talk non-stop in the front seat. They’re practically speaking in
a foreign language of Garmin,
props, and furlings.
“Wha’
cha reading?” I ask
Amber
as we stop.
“
The Maze Runner
.
James Dashner. You know it?
” Her eyes catch mine,
and I stare again.
I really, really need to
stop reacting to them. She doesn’t strike me as
a girl who would be up for a little fun, so she needs to be left alone.
“It’s a great book
.” But I’m also a bit surprised.
I figured her for a girly book kind of girl.
Th
e Maze Runner
is sort of a kick-
ass guy book.
“Don’t ruin it for me.
I hear the ending’s awesome.” Her mouth pulls into a small smile, but there’s no flirt in it at all. I must be losing my touch.
We step out in front of a store called West Marine.
“I’m gonna let
you two play in the candy store.
I’m headed out to pick up a few books
.”
Amber smirks at her mom.
“Can I come?” I ask. What the hell’s wrong with me? “And wait. Candy store?”
Dad laughs. “It’s a joke, because Lynn and I hang out in her
e
like kids in a candy store.”
Weird. “Oh.”
My eyes pass back and forth between them.
Dad never said anything about a girlfriend
,
or whatever Lynn is to him.
Amber dr
ops her K
indle in the car and rest
s her hands in her raincoat.
“It’s this way if you want to tag along.”
“Y
eah, okay.” I stuff my hands in my
jeans
pockets and follow. We walk next to each other, but not
next
to each other. I guess this is okay, but I can’t remember the last time I did anything with a girl where I felt
like nothing more than friends
.
Well, and that the possibility
of more
wasn’t
there. O
r maybe it’s
that she’s not looking at me like she
wants
more from me
, and that also feels off
. I know what to do with girls who smile through thick lashes and bite their lip. I don’t know what to do with girls who wear running shoes, faded jeans, and read on
Ki
ndles.
We’re on
a small street lined with
bakeries, coffee shops,
and tourist traps.
Everything looks as if it’s perpetually soaked in rain
—
moss grows in crevices on buildings, and paint peels
.
“You look out of place,” Amber says.
Guess she’s one to
put it out there.
“What?”
I’m in Dolce jeans, my black coat and shoes. Nothing special. I didn’t even know we were going out.
“Too cool or slick or something for way out here.” Her smile is slight, but makes her comment less awkward.
“Oh.”
I start to say how the people we pass don’t seem to give a crap what they look like in their functional raincoats and worn jeans and hiking pants, but Amber blends in well, so I keep my mouth shut.
Besides, I’m smart enough to know I’d sound spoiled and pout
y
or something, and I really don’t want to give off that impressio
n
.
“Oh, this place has great hot choco
l
at
e.
I’m gonna stop. Yo
u can follow. O
r the bookstore’
s right up the street
.” She points.
“I could go for something hot.” Not a drink for a
kid
. But I keep that to myself
.
In five minutes I’m sitting across from this girl who’s prettier every few minutes. No makeup,
raincoat, worn-out shoes
. It’s her perfectly shaped lips, high cheekbones and straight nose tha
t have me.
“You don’t seem thrilled to be here.”
Her voice isn’t accusatory, just curious.
“Not particularly.” I
slowly spin my cup in my hands
.
“I’ve known your dad for a couple
years, and I’ve ne
ver seen you, so I guess I
assumed
you two don’t get along
.”
“We don’t really know each other.”
“I know who your mom is.”
She has this faint smile—
just enough that
I can see her dimples and a teeny strip of white teeth.
I laugh. “Most people know who my mom is.
” Then I realize I may have
sounded like a jerk. “Sorry. Most people know who she is, but not how cool she
really
is.” What’
s
with me? Getting all personal
and noticing strips of teeth?
“You two are close.” Her deep eyes are on me so intently I can’t look at her
as directly as I normally would
.
“Very.” Which is another reason I can’t believe she’s doing this to me
—
leaving me out here with my dad
.
“This assignment must be a big deal for her.”
I shift in my seat,
needing to change the subject
.
It all
makes me feel dumped
. For three
months.
“Sorry.” She blows on the top of her cup. “You probably don’t want to talk about this.”
“Not really, no. It sucks because
I have places I could’ve stayed in New York, and Paris, but she wanted me here
. We’ve been all over the world together, and now…”
I can’t even finish. It hurts. I probabl
y should have played that card—
only it felt too personal even to share with Mom.
“You’re stuck o
n your dad’s boat.”
She’s kind of frowning, but her dimple’s still there. Like a perma-dim
ple or something. It all
adds to her
appearance of general wholesomeness
.
“
Yep.” I lift the cup to my lips.
I don’t
c
are if this crap will burn me—
I
have to
do
something.