A Star to Steer Her By

by Beth Anne Miller

From the sudden outburst among my shipmates, it was clear that a few others hadn’t done their research, either. The crew seemed to be enjoying themselves—they obviously went through this at the beginning of every semester and never got tired of it. Finally, the captain called for our attention.

  “Ms. Bradford, I’m sorry you were misinformed. Of course no one expects you to go for over two months without bathing. There will be a few ports along the way where showers will be available at the docks. But when we’re not at those ports, you’re going to have to make do with Lemon Joy, which lathers in salt water. Buckets if we’re at sea, and if we’re anchored, and I give the okay, then you can lather up and jump in.” He grinned. “Seriously, this isn’t the end of the world. No one has died from bathing in seawater…at least not in the last two years or so.”

  His expression sobered. “The purpose of this semester is to give you guys an experience unlike anything you’ve had before. You will learn about the sea, about sailing, and most of all, you will learn about yourselves. I promise you that when you step onto the dock in New York City in ten weeks, you will be different people than you are now. Okay, I’d like the crew to come up and introduce themselves.”

  A fit, middle-aged man with graying blond hair stepped up. “I’m Professor Arthur Sullivan, but you can call me Sully. I’ll be teaching maritime history, literature and writing, and marine biology and ecology. This program is so exciting because it offers a unique opportunity for an up-close-and-personal look at the marine life and ecosystems of coral reefs, mangroves, and the open sea. The experience is always different, and I can’t wait to see what you guys think.”

  He was practically bouncing with enthusiasm. I had a feeling Professor Sully was going to be pretty awesome.

  A man in his mid-twenties with a shaved head and ebony skin stood up next, introducing himself in a lilting Caribbean accent as Justin from Trinidad. Then Jenny started complaining about the “inhumane hygiene conditions” again, and I couldn’t make out anything else.

  “Shh!” I hissed. “I can’t hear what he’s saying.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said insincerely. “Just because you’re okay with not showering for two months doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

  I shrugged. Primitive showers were the least of my concerns. “I just figure it’s all part of the experience, you know? Besides, we’ve had months to get used to the idea. Didn’t you read the brochures and stuff?”

  She flushed slightly, then looked down her nose at me (even though I was taller, which made it an impressive feat). “I didn’t see anything about the lack of showers. I thought this was more like a cruise.”

  Really? This was a really competitive program, requiring a ridiculously high grade point average, in addition to glowing recommendations and a kick-ass essay. She must have applied at least last spring, like I had. How was it that in all that time, she hadn’t bothered to read everything (or anything) she could about the program?

  Before I could ask if she was joking, her eyes flicked to something behind me, and her face underwent a complete transformation, her lips curving in a slow smile.

  I turned to see the hot deckhand from before coming up behind me. “Hey, Red.” He flashed that killer grin at me, displaying deep dimples in both cheeks that I hadn’t noticed earlier, and then hopped up onto the locker.

  “I’m Tristan MacDougall, deckhand for A Watch.” MacDougall—that explained the accent. He was the captain’s son. I could see the resemblance now. They had similar features, though the captain was thinner, almost haggard-looking, as though he’d been ill in the recent past.

  The name suited Tristan. With the wind tousling his long hair, his strong body outlined against the sky, it wasn’t hard to imagine him in a kilt, standing on some misty moor like the Arthurian hero with the same name.

  There was a sharp poke in my side and, startled, I looked over to see Kevin smirking at me. “Put your tongue back in your mouth.”

  “Zip it,” I said, jabbing him with my elbow. I looked back as Tristan hopped down from the locker and joined his fellow deckhands. I watched Jenny’s heavily mascaraed eyes track him before she turned back to me. The look in her eyes clearly said, Game On.

  This was going to be an interesting few months.

  Chapter Two

  We had thirty minutes to “stow our gear” down below before orientation. I stood on the bench in front of my bunk and stuffed my clothes and toiletries into the cubbyholes in semi-organized piles.

  We’d been told not to bring laptops or cell phones as there would be no service aboard the ship, and limited sources of electricity with which to charge things. I had my cell with me anyway, for emergencies, and for use once we were back in the States. I would probably go through some severe texting withdrawal with my friends back home, but for now, I was actually looking forward to unplugging.

  I pulled out the photos I’d stuck in a book to keep them from getting bent, and tacked them up next to the mirror with some pushpins. One of my parents, one of me and my two best friends from home, and one of me and Josh.

  There was something soft at the bottom of the bag that I hadn’t put there. I reached in and pulled out a pillowcase stuffed with something. At the top was a note in Josh’s neat-for-a-guy handwriting.

  Hey Ari-

  Thought you’d like to have this to remind you of home. I wanted you to know that I’m so proud of you for having the courage to go through with the semester at sea after everything you’ve been through. I hope one day you’ll forgive me.

  ~Love, Josh

  I glanced up at the photo of the two of us. I hadn’t even planned to bring it, but I’d grabbed it at the last minute. Our red hair was shining in the sun, and we were holding up rabbit ears over each other’s heads and grinning like fools. We looked silly and carefree. That was six months ago, and neither of us had smiled that way since.

  And it was his goddamn fault.

  I crumpled his note and tossed it into a corner of my bunk. I didn’t want to see what he’d put in my bag, but curiosity got the better of me.

  I reached into the pillowcase and withdrew a ragged stuffed horse. Lancelot. Josh had given him to me for my tenth birthday. He smelled faintly of Josh’s cologne, and I had an awful image in my head of my brother holding the toy to him, despondent and full of guilt. I shoved Lancelot back into the pillowcase and returned it to my duffel bag, blinking away tears.

  “Homesick already?”

  I looked up, startled to see Kevin standing there. Embarrassed that he’d caught me at a vulnerable moment, I quickly wiped my eyes. “A little,” I replied. It was easier to go with that than talk about my brother with a stranger. Or with anyone.

  “I bet once we’re out at sea, you’ll be having such an awesome time that you’ll forget all about it.”

  Unlikely. “I hope you’re right. It’s my first time really being away.”

  “You go to college near home?”

  “I’m from Key Largo, Florida, and I go to U of Miami. Only an hour or so away.”

  “I’m at Miami, too. I don’t remember seeing you around, though.” He tweaked the end of my braid. “I don’t think I’d forget the hair.”

  “Well, it’s a pretty big school.”

  “True.” He cocked his head to the side. “Though…there’s a Josh Goodman in my dorm, who has hair the same color as yours.”

  Not a big enough school, apparently. “My twin brother.”

  “That makes sense. Nice guy.”

  Yes, my brother was a nice guy. Which made everything that much worse.

  “All hands on deck!” came a shout from up above, saving me from replying to Kevin.

  “We’ll talk later.” I grabbed a notebook from my bag and hopped down from the bench without thinking. I couldn’t stop the hiss of pain that shot up my leg when my feet hit the floor, and Kevin looked at me sharply.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, just stiff from the flight.”

  “No shit. Those
airplane seats are ridiculous if you’re not a hobbit.” He grinned. “I’m really glad to meet you, Ari. We’re going to have a blast!”

  I grinned back, glad to have met someone who seemed so genuinely nice.

  Back on deck, we were greeted once again by the captain, who held a clipboard. “There are three watch groups. Each group is led by a mate and a deckhand. The groups will be on a rotating schedule. We use a twenty-four hour clock, like in the military. It’s easy to figure out, just subtract twelve hours to get the standard time. So for example, 1500 is 3:00 p.m.”

  A blond guy raised his hand. “How do the watches work with our classes? Do we just skip class when we’re on watch?”

  “Good question, Mr.—?”

  “Steve Ryan.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Ryan,” said the captain. Steve groaned dramatically, and everyone laughed. “Students are excused from watch during classes, unless something comes up and we need all hands.”

  Within minutes, we were divided into three groups. I was in A Watch with Kevin, the exotic African-American girl, whose name was Amanda, and—oh joy—Jenny. The fifth member was Steve, who was already on his way to earning the title of “Ship’s Wiseass.”

  “A Watch, listen up!” We snapped to attention at the booming voice. The tall, burly man resembled a pirate, with his shaved head, dark beard and mustache, hoop earrings, and the plethora of tattoos running down his powerful arms.

  “I’m Davey Robertson, the Chief Mate for the Meg, and I’m also a licensed captain.” Another Scottish guy? Had there been some kind of mass exodus from there? “Tristan and I are in charge of turning you lot into sailors.”

  Tristan was in my group? That meant we’d be spending an awful lot of time together—which would be either really good or really bad.

  He came up and slung his arm around Davey’s shoulders. Davey ruffled his hair, an affectionate smile blooming across his face that completely transformed his stern features. Clearly, they had a closer relationship than shipmates. Maybe they were related, which would explain all the Scotsmen on this small ship.

  Over the next hour, Davey and Tristan gave us a detailed tour of the ship. I knew some of the basics from many years of boating in the Keys. Front and back were fore and aft, the very front and rear of the ship were the bow and stern, and then, of course, there were port and starboard, the left and right sides of the ship when facing the bow.

  We were gathered at the foot of the mainmast, which was supported by the shrouds, ladder-like structures on either side of the ship that led from the top of the mast down to the rail. I craned my neck back, my eyes following the mast up, up, up, nearly one hundred feet from the waterline.

  I imagined standing all the way up there while the ship soared across the water, the sun on my face, the wind riffling through my hair. It would be incredible.

  A gust of wind suddenly rocked the ship. I staggered slightly to keep my balance, and a shooting pain knotted my right thigh. I clenched my teeth and massaged the aching muscle. Six months ago, I could have—and would have—climbed the mast in a matter of minutes, without thinking twice. But now…if I managed to go even partway up, it would be a miracle.

  I returned my attention to Tristan, who went over the six sails, which had names like mains’l, fores’l, stays’l—clearly sailors had no time for full words—and then casually wrapped his hand around a rope that led down to a big wooden pulley bolted to the deck. He shoved a lock of hair out of his eyes with his other hand. “You’ll need to learn which lines are which, so that if you’re asked to tend a line, you can just run and do it.”

  Easier said than done. The lines ran all along both sides of the ship, coming down from somewhere up above and ending in small coils that hung from the rail or big coils that sat heavily on the deck. How would I ever remember which one did what? From the murmuring around me, my watchmates felt the same.

  “I know there are a lot of lines to learn,” he said, “but as you start handling the sails, you’ll get to know what they do. In your free time, walk around the deck and follow each line up into the rigging, tugging on them—gently—to see where they lead. This will help you learn which ones do which tasks.”

  Next, we had a safety tour, in which fire extinguishers, life jackets, lifeboats, and such were pointed out, along with drills for Man Overboard, Fire, and Abandon Ship.

  Finally, the captain dismissed us. “All right, guys. I reckon your brains are full enough for now. We have a little while before dinner, and Peggy is going to need help setting it out, so be back on deck in thirty minutes.”

  My head spinning from all the information that was just crammed into it, I stood at the port rail, just where the ship began to narrow toward the bow, and gazed out at San Juan, just across the water.

  We were setting sail in the morning, so there was no time for sightseeing, but our course would take us west to the Dominican Republic, then southeast to the island of Dominica and some of the Windward Islands, then back up to Puerto Rico before we headed northwest to the Bahamas and up to the States. We’d be able to explore San Juan then, or so we’d been told.

  The turquoise water seemed so calm, so inviting, and yet so many unseen dangers lurked beneath its surface. I wrapped my arms around myself to stave off the chill that crept down my spine. Get a grip, Ari. You made the decision to come out here, now suck it up and do what you came here to do.

  It started with learning the ropes—literally and figuratively. The ship was like a foreign country, with a whole new language, new customs, and new rules. There were new friends to be made. Then there was Tristan—maybe by the end of the trip I’d stop blushing every time he looked at me.

  It wasn’t like I had a chance with him, anyway. And even if I did, we’d been given a list of rules and regulations that we’d had to sign, kind of like an honor code. We were forbidden to use drugs, and were discouraged from underage drinking (though in the islands the drinking age was generally eighteen). And we were also forbidden to “fraternize with” (i.e. hook up with) the crew. Breaking the rules could result in being put off the ship at the next port-of-call, which in turn would mean a failing grade for the semester, which would screw up my GPA and my scholarship and send my hopes of a kick-ass internship straight to the bottom of the sea.

  So while I could admire Tristan’s…assets…and perhaps even become friends with him, that was the extent of it. There was no way I was going to trade my future for a guy.

  Dinner was amazing. There was a huge bowl of salad, and trays of rice, veggies, and chicken. Plus freshly baked bread. Everyone gaped at the buffet laid out before us.

  “Don’t get too used to meals like this, guys,” said the captain. “Peggy is a wonderful cook, but we won’t have fresh produce all the time, and when we do, we pretty much have to use it within the first two or three days or it goes bad.” Which was good to know, because if we ate like this every night, I’d gain twenty pounds. In the first week.

  The sun began to set as we finished cleaning up from dinner. I stood at the rear of the ship and undid the tight braid that had confined my hair since early that morning, finger-combing the heavy mass. I sighed as the gentle breeze caressed my face, and watched the sun melt into the water, leaving in its wake a sky painted with streaks of fiery orange, yellow, fuchsia, lavender, and violet. The surface of the sea was a pinkish purple, reflecting some of the colors of the sky above.

  I felt a presence next to me and turned to see Tristan leaning against the rail a few feet away, his own hair blowing in the breeze, his features hard to distinguish as the light faded from the sky.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “I always stop what I’m doin’ to watch the sunset. Always.” His voice trailed off in a whisper.

  He sounded sad, but before I could ask if he was okay, he was gone. What was that about?

  As the stars began to twinkle into view, I heard…a drum? Everyone was gathered at midships, and I headed over to join them.

  Davey sto
od atop the hatch, a strange, flat drum held from the bottom in his right hand, while with his left, he pounded out a light, steady beat. It surprised me that a man with hands as massive as Davey’s could wield the small drumstick so effortlessly.

  Then Tristan joined him, tucking a violin under his chin. A violin? I could easily picture him playing something sexy, like an electric guitar, his hair flying around his face as he rocked it out. But a violin?

  Then he raised the bow in his right hand and drew it across the strings.

  This was no violin—it was a fiddle. Same instrument, different intentions.

  And just as freaking sexy as a guitar.

  His left hand flew up and down the neck of the fiddle as his right hand whipped the bow across the strings at an inhuman speed. I watched, mesmerized, as his hands worked their magic. His eyes were closed, his foot tapped in time with the music.

  The music was upbeat—an Irish reel, I thought. I saw a flash of movement and turned to see the prof, Sully, twirling Maggie, the fortyish blonde who was the third mate and his wife.

  A thumping to my left turned out to be Kristy, deckhand for B Watch, doing a fair imitation of an Irish step dancer. I watched her enviously, wishing I could dance like that.

  The song ended, and everyone burst into applause, even Jenny, which shocked me. I would have thought it beneath her to enjoy this type of foot-stomping music.

  The fiddle started again in yet another upbeat song, and more people began to dance. I swayed back and forth, my fingers tapping out a beat on my hip.

  Kevin grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the “dance floor.”

  The music washed over me, and I threw my head back, my hair swinging around me as I danced, trying not to put too much weight on my right leg.

  I was passed from Kevin to Steve and then to Nick. Then a calloused hand took mine, and I looked up to see Tristan.

  But the fiddle was still going strong. “Um, who’s playing?”

  “The captain,” he replied, spinning us around so that I could see for myself.

  “He’s good,” I said lamely.