Diana Peterfreund - Rites of Spring (Break)

A captain and a teenaged boy emerged from the pygmy cabin on the deck and smiled at the new arrivals. “Ready to get going?” the man asked.

Everyone else grabbed their luggage and hopped aboard. I watched as the tiny craft pitched and bobbed under the onslaught of all that extra weight. Waves splashed up and down the side of the craft, and some water even spilled on the dock.

“What’s the holdup, young lady?” the man said.

“I was wondering,” I said, “what’s the weight limit on that thing?”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Plenty enough for you and your bag. Now hop on. We’ve got a schedule to keep.”

I hesitated, then handed my bag over to the man. But I couldn’t bring myself to climb aboard. “Is there a lifeboat or something?” I asked.

“A lifeboat?” George said from the deck. He laughed. “What do you think this is, Amy? The Titanic ?”

It had better not be. I must have looked even more scandalized, because the captain snorted and shook his head at me.

“Will you feel better if I fix you up with a life jacket? I think I have one or two on board.” He lifted his head. “Kid!” he cried, and the teenager looked up from where he was fiddling with some ropes on the deck. “Get Miss—” He looked at me. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Amy Haskel.”

“Get Miss Amy Haskel a life vest.”

The kid shot me a quick, incredulous look and ducked into the cabin. Great. Now I was an object of mockery to an adolescent.

Even knowing that I was about to be stuffed into some neon nylon-and-polyurethane fashion disaster/safety device, I didn’t want to get on board. Everyone was starting to make impatient noises. I looked up at them, standing above me on the raised deck of the boat, superior and smug because they had no problem with the bobbing and the splashing and the unfathomable depths of the ocean. I peered over the edge of the dock and caught a glimpse of seabed about four feet below the surface. Okay, well, maybe not unfathomable, but still .

The teenager emerged again and tossed me a cornea-searing orange vest held together with bright yellow straps. “That do?” he asked.

I slipped it over my head. The vest was made of two squares of foam sewn together at the shoulders, with a hole for my head. The straps went beneath my arms and attached in front with a big plastic buckle. I snapped myself in, feeling stupider by the second. And then I steeled my nerves and climbed aboard.

Okay, this wasn’t so bad. Nice, even, what with the gentle rock and sway. I stood for a moment in the middle of the deck, hands splayed for balance. The spring sunlight flickered out from behind a cloud and spilled onto the skin of my arms.

Warmth. Why is it that sunlight warms so much more thoroughly than radiators? It was the first time in months that I’d felt that sensation, and I lifted my face to the sky, soaking it in.

There was a rumbling beneath my flip-flops as the boat’s engine turned over. The deck pitched and I dropped into an alarmed crouch.

Clarissa laughed. “Midwesterners.” She beckoned to me. “Come here. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

I rose and cast a quick look around. Most of the others were enjoying the sun and the view and hadn’t noticed my humiliating moment.

But at least one person hadn’t missed it. Poe shook his head at me, one brow raised above the rim of his sunglasses, and turned away.

Whatever. I wouldn’t let him see me sweat. Poe was the only one on the boat who really knew how much this experience freaked me out, and I intended to keep it that way. I took a deep breath and edged toward the railing near the—prow? front?—to join Clarissa and George.

Up here, the rise and fall of the deck was even more pronounced, and I gripped the rails securely. Just to the side, the railing gapped at the “entrance.” [3] The confessor is most frustrated by her lack of boating jargon. Only a thin chain dangled between the two bits of rail. I suppressed a shudder and huddled closer to Clarissa.

“…sailing,” I heard George say.

“Right, tomorrow,” Clarissa said. “I can’t wait.”

I could. I hadn’t yet figured out what I’d be doing on the island all day while my brothers went swimming or jet-skiing or who knows what else. Hopefully, the sunbathing-and-catching-up-on-reading contingent would be just as popular.

Clarissa held her arms out over the abyss. “I mean, look at how pale I’ve gotten. I need a tan like no one’s business.”

As George and Clarissa compared skin tones, I tried my best to relax. I attempted to roll the tension out of my shoulders and neck, but the life jacket limited my mobility quite a bit. Not that I had any intention of taking it off until I was back on dry land. Safety first, and all that.

However, I had to admit that once you got into the rhythm of the boat—the way it smacked hard against the waves, then rose and swooped into the dips between the swells—it was almost fun. Like a little roller coaster. I could understand why folks of Clarissa’s stock actually enjoyed this kind of activity.

And then I remembered that Brandon and Felicity had gone on a yacht tour of Fiji. Another example of why she worked so much better for him than I would have: boating trips. I would never suggest such a thing to him. I didn’t even know he liked boats. (Just airplanes—and paper ones, at that.)

I loosened my white-knuckled grip on the rail a bit. Maybe if I’d been more adventurous, he would have…

No. Stop it. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t do this anymore, that I wouldn’t spend any more time thinking about what I was lacking. I’d made mistakes with Brandon, but it didn’t make me a bad person. Just a different person. A person who wasn’t right for him.

Still…I moved my hands a few inches from the rail. It didn’t hurt to try.

The boat pitched again and I tightened my grip. Maybe I should wait to try until we were closer to the dock?

The boy who’d given me the life jacket joined us by the rail, and George and Clarissa scooted over to give him room. I did not scoot. Someone else could stand by that chain-enclosed gap.

“Hi,” George said, sticking out his hand. “I’m George. You the skipper here?”

The kid shrugged. “Today. Gets me off the island.”

He’d been on the island for a while? Maybe…hiding out from the media? I looked at him more closely, trying to recall the photo I’d seen online. “Are you Darren?” I asked.

“And you’re Amy,” he stated, smiling.

“How did you know that?” Clarissa asked.

“The captain said it.” He flicked a chip of paint off the railing and over the side. “So, are all you guys Diggers?”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to tell you that,” Clarissa said.

Darren shrugged again. “It’s pretty obvious with everyone else. You’re either a Digger, or the girlfriend or wife or kid of one. But not anymore.”

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

“Because they’ve got girls now. So you guys could all be Diggers.”

“I’m just the boyfriend of one,” George volunteered. As if he was ever the boyfriend of anyone.

“No,” said Darren. “ You’re a Prescott. You I know.”

Clarissa laughed. “Your reputation has preceded you even here, George.”

I squinted through the sunlight at Darren Gehry, trying to find in him some resemblance to his father, but noticed none. Where Kurt was beefy, red-faced, and scowling, Darren was skinny, freckled, and had an easy, open (if vaguely smug) smile.

“How do you know Rose & Grave has girls?” I asked him.

“There’s nothing better to do here than read up on you guys.”

Funny, to talk to some of my fellow knights, there was nothing better to do than read up on his family back at Eli. I could see now why the Gehrys had spirited their children off to Cavador. There was no need to subject the kids to that sort of media frenzy, especially after they just lost their nanny!