Reckless Girls(13)

“Some of it,” Nico says, crossing his arms over his chest, his skin very brown against the ragged sleeves of his T-shirt. Only now do I see that the faded letters on the back read, JOHANNSEN & MILLER FAMILY PICNIC 2011.

“But nothing is better than these,” he goes on, forking his fingers and pointing at his own eyes. “And trust me, the last thing you want is to miss an alarm and have a container ship bearing down on you at two in the morning.”

I’ve heard this particular warning before, and I know where Nico’s going with it.

“Lot of those big-ass ships get back into port and find the rigging of smaller sailboats tangled up in their bow,” he says, and there’s a little bit of a gleam in his eye as he smacks one palm against the other, pushing. “They just creamed some boat in the dark, and never even knew it.”

If he’d expected the girls to look alarmed, he must be disappointed because Brittany looks unfazed. “Well, we definitely don’t want to be creamed,” Brittany says, and Amma snorts into her water.

Nico looks a little at a loss. I get up from the table, collecting our dishes. “I’ll relieve you at three,” I say, and he slips an arm around my waist as I pass, bringing me in for a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Perfect, babe. Thanks.”

He swats at my ass before jogging back up the steps to the deck, and I turn to Brittany and Amma, my cheeks a little flushed. Is Nico always this … bro-y? I mean, I definitely knew he had tendencies. But there’s something about seeing him through Brittany’s and Amma’s eyes that makes me feel like I have to say, “This trip is clearly bringing out his inner Sigma Nu.”

Brittany smiles and waves me off. “He’s a good guy,” she says, and Amma nods, folding her arms on the table.

“Not bad to look at, either.”

The words don’t make me jealous, only proud, which is maybe a little pathetic.

“Do you need any help with those?” Brittany asks, nodding at the plates, but I shake my head.

“No, I got this. Go on up to the deck. The stars are unreal, I bet.”

They don’t need to be told twice, and I hear Nico call out to them as they emerge above.

Without three other people in here, the galley actually feels a little open, and I take a deep breath, relishing these few moments alone.

I wonder if I maybe should’ve let the girls find their own boat, a bigger one where we weren’t all on top of each other.

But no, it’s worth being a little crammed. The Susannah is finally fixed. And as soon as we’re back from this trip, Nico and I will be free to start our own adventure, and it won’t feel claustrophobic. It will feel … cozy.

Homey.

Besides, in two days, we’ll reach the island—atoll—and there will be plenty of space. Too much, probably.

After rinsing the dishes in the little pump sink, I go back to the table to collect the water bottles, sticking my fingers in the necks to gather them all up. As I do, I glance at Brittany’s phone, still lying on the table. The lock screen shows a picture of Brittany and Amma with their arms around each other’s shoulders, the Colosseum in the background. Their smiles are broad, but they both look a little paler than they do now, thinner, too—Brittany almost alarmingly so, her cheekbones standing out so much that they create their own shadows. Amma’s knuckles on Brittany’s shoulder are almost white, her fingertips digging into Brittany’s skin.

Frowning, I lean in a little closer, but before I can study the photograph further, I hear feet on the steps again, and quickly turn back to the sink. I’m rinsing out the bottles when Brittany appears in the galley, reaching for her phone.

“Just wanted to get some pictures of the sky,” she says, then looks again at the sink. “You sure you don’t need help? I feel bad.”

“Don’t,” I assure her. “I’ll be up in a second.”

“Okay, but you’d be up in half a second if I help,” she says, and I find myself smiling back at her. They’re just both really nice—not what I expected girls like this to be.

Brittany joins me at the sink, close enough that our hips bump as she reaches for one of the plates. The pump sink doesn’t have the best water pressure, but we manage to clean the remaining plates and forks pretty quickly, and then I’m on the deck with all of them, staring up overhead.

There are so many stars that they almost seem fake, and I rest one hand against the mast as my eyes try to take it all in. The sea is open and empty all around us, the sky stretching out overhead, and it’s all so clear, so vast, that I can see the curve of the earth, and suddenly I understand why Nico enjoys this so much.

I don’t feel small or scared or alone. I feel part of something bigger.

And when I look over at Brittany, her face tipped up to the sky, I see a grin stretching wide across her face.





BEFORE





Brittany is crying again.

Amma lies on the bottom bunk, listening to the sobs above. They’re muffled because Brittany has buried her face into her pillow or the wall or a blanket—she tries to hide it, but this isn’t the graceful crying that girls do in movies, silent tears tracking down pale faces. This is full-body shit, shoulders shaking, tears spraying, nose leaking, throat aching.

Amma knows because she’s done her share of this kind of crying.