Matt de la Peña - The Living

All these “talks” eventually turned to bad news.

He typed a message to his mom saying he’d log on to Skype at some point between two and two-thirty. Tomorrow afternoon. Then he closed the computer and left the cabin to wander the halls and think.

The entire ship was like a ghost town. Tumbleweed rolling past in Shy’s imagination. He kept expecting to find a pack of black-suit-wearing FBI agents lurking around every corner, but every corner was empty.

The ship’s great weight pitched subtly under Shy’s shell tops. Tiny movements in the floorboards that made him feel uncoordinated as he climbed a few flights of stairs. His whole body tired and achy from lack of sleep.

He moved through one of the premier-class levels. Rustic light fixtures made to look like old-style lanterns, spotless framed mirrors, doors made of real wood with brass handles and brass locks and brass knockers.

So much money went into these premier decks.

The hallways alone.

How would it feel, he wondered, if he’d been born someone else? Not a housekeeping crew member who couldn’t sleep, but a first-class passenger coming back from a night of killing it at the casino. He’d key open one of these fancy doors, toss his winnings on the oak table. Strip out of his clothes while watching the ocean through his cabin window. Climb into bed next to his smoking-hot wife and pull the silk covers up under his chin.

People in premier class probably fell asleep within seconds.

Shy climbed back up to the Honeymoon Deck and stood at the railing in the exact spot where he’d dropped the comb-over man. His first time back to the scene of the crime. Even hooked his right leg into the railing to remember what it felt like. But the only thing it made him feel was stupid, so he pulled his leg back out and just stood there, staring down at the dark water.

Listening to its constant whispering.

Still unable to make out any meaning.

Seemed like forever ago that the bus dropped him off for that first voyage—though it had only been eleven days. He remembered looking out the window as his bus squeaked to a stop. There was the massive, sparkling ship at anchor. It towered over everything around it, even what was on land, and he couldn’t wrap his head around the immensity of it. The giant hull perfectly white, lined with orange-bottomed lifeboats and row after row of single square windows. The glass-covered atrium reaching up from the highest deck, into the sky. Thick synthetic cords jetting out of the bow, tied to solid steel hitches built into the pier. The name “Paradise” written across the side in huge calligraphy letters.

It stood there in the water, motionless.

Waiting for him.

Now Shy was aboard that ship for a second time, staring out from the empty Honeymoon Deck. The ocean stretching out endlessly in front of him. Far as the eye could see. Nothing but water and more water.

It made Shy feel incredibly alone.

A tiny, insignificant human.

This sudden awareness crushed down on him and stole his breath, and for a split second he understood how someone could be moved to jump.

After wandering a while longer, Shy found himself outside Carmen’s cabin, knuckles raised in front of her door, ready to knock.

But he couldn’t knock.

It was three-thirty in the morning.

He lowered his fist and just stood there a few minutes, trying to think.

On his first voyage, he and Carmen had hit it off right away. They realized they were from the same area, went to rival high schools—though Carmen had just graduated. Then they discovered something else they had in common. Romero Disease.

Shy had lost his grandma.

Carmen, her old man.

They talked and talked that night. Carmen crying in front of him. Leaning her head against Shy’s shoulder at one point, and him telling her, “It’s okay, Carm, it’s okay,” even though they both knew it wasn’t okay.

Shy turned and started back to his own cabin.

He only made it a few steps down the hall, though, before he heard a door creak open.

Then a tired voice: “Shy?”

He turned, saw Carmen peeking out from behind her door. Eyes puffy from sleep. Hair reckless. An oversized guy’s T-shirt barely covering her long brown legs.

“What are you doing up?” she said.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Again?”

Shy shrugged.

The girl looked so good it made his heart hurt. A few strands of thick brown hair in her face. Full lips and dark eyes. Chest stretching out the vowels of her vintage-looking Padres shirt. He did his best to keep his eyes on her eyes so she wouldn’t think he was being sketchy.

He cleared his throat. “How’d you know someone was out here, anyway?”

Carmen frowned as she considered this. “I woke up and…I don’t even know, I just went to the door. I had a feeling you’d be here. Is that weird?”

So she wouldn’t see his smile, Shy leaned over to retie his shoelace. He double-knotted and gathered himself and then stood back up, saying: “Anyways, I was out walking and I passed—”

“Hang on,” Carmen interrupted, and she ducked back into her cabin.

Shy stared at her closed door, butterflies now going in his stomach. Back home he’d been with a respectable number of females. He was the starting point guard on his hoop squad. Found occasional notes stashed in his locker. Girls sometimes stepped to him at a house party or on a basketball road trip. And he always played it mellow. But with Carmen—even just as friends—it was a different story. He never really had a handle on his vibe. Felt awkward, even. Maybe because she was a year older. Or because she had a fiancé. Or maybe because he actually cared what she thought.

The door reopened and Carmen came all the way into the hall this time. She was wearing baggy sweatpants now and holding her laptop and a nearly full bottle of wine with a plastic cup over the top.

“Sit,” she said.

Shy sat.

Carmen sat on the floor next to him and opened up her iTunes. “My roommate’s sleeping,” she said, putting on some Brazilian music, lowering the volume. She unscrewed the wine cap, poured some into the lone cup. “We’ll have to share.”

“For real, though,” Shy said, making like he was about to get up. “I wasn’t trying to pull you out of bed.”

“What, you can’t share a cup with me? You think I got cooties?”

He smiled. “You shouldn’t have to suffer ’cause I can’t sleep.”

Carmen rolled her eyes and took a sip of the wine. “That first night we met. You remember the long conversation we had at Southside?”

“Yeah.”

“At the end of it, what’d I tell you?”

Shy remembered her exact words, remembered the tears he saw going down her cheeks. “You said I could stop by whenever I wanted to talk. Didn’t matter what time.”

“So?” Carmen said, swirling the wine in her cup. “What are we gonna talk about, then?”

Shy settled back in and took the cup from her, pulled a sip of his own. Cool red wine running down his tired throat, settling in his tired stomach.

It was nice sitting here with Carmen.

In the hall.

Listening to music.

Everyone else on the ship miles away in their sleep.

“Kev says some suit guy’s been asking about me,” he told her. “Maybe FBI or something.”

“That’s why Kev followed you out to the pool?”

Shy nodded. “The guy might’ve been watching us, too. Kev thinks the whole time we were talking.”

“Ay, creepy.”

Shy shook his head. “I can’t believe people are still asking me questions.”

“They’re being thorough, I guess,” Carmen said. “You know these passengers are all, like, super important, right? Costs a grip to go on a Paradise cruise.”