by Jen Malone
He stands and holds out a hand to help me up. “Stinging eyeballs is probably not great criteria for a lookout.”
“What about you? Aren’t you dead on your feet too?”
“The captain always goes down with the ship,” he jokes. When I squint at him in reply, he says, “I’m one of those freaks who only need a few hours of sleep a night. I’m completely fine, honest. Get some rest—you’re totally safe under my command.”
You’re never totally safe, I badly want to tell him. Although at the moment, I actually do feel pretty okay.
“Thanks. Good night, then. Or . . . good morning, I guess.” I pass behind him, suddenly feeling a little shy, which is silly.
Even with my back to him, I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Night, Sprite. Don’t let the bedbugs bite. Hey, did you catch that rhyme? I didn’t even mean to do that. Must be my fancy private school education.”
I’m still half groaning, half laughing as I retreat to my berth and fall onto my bed.
15
“Okay, check this out,” Drew says, reading off his laptop as we lounge aboard Tide Drifter. “This is from the Pier 39 Marina’s website: ‘We have a sea lion herder on the docks every day to keep the sea lions from hauling out on guest areas. . . . If you find a sea lion on your dock, contact the marina staff.’”
I cross my ankles under me and break off a piece of turkey sandwich. “So, what, like, a pretty decent-sized animal could be flopping around on our boat and we’re supposed to casually call for the herder?”
At the moment, we’re docked at the oh so romantically named Spud Point Marina in Bodega Bay, where Christian and Jonah are off picking up the new Zodiac. But all our thoughts and planning are on San Francisco, which we’ll be setting sail for tomorrow and will be able to explore the day after that.
I’m so ridiculously excited. After seventeen days at sea, we’ll finally be in a city! People! Buildings! Restaurants! SOLID LAND!!! Absolutely anything civilized a person who’s been living on a sailboat for weeks could want!
“What kind of background do you think is necessary to become a sea lion herder?” Amy asks, passing Grace a napkin mere seconds before the Popsicle she’s eating drips onto the deck.
“And who sets out to become one?” Miranda adds.
“I want to be a sea lion herder,” Abigail pronounces.
We all share a smile over her head.
“Well. Then we should be asking you these questions,” my mother says. She holds her fist like a microphone under Abigail’s chin. “Just what makes you determined to be a sea lion herder when you grow up, young lady?”
Abigail squints at Mom’s hand and then leans over to me. “What’s she doing?” she whispers.
I swallow around a piece of sandwich that suddenly sticks in my throat. “She’s, um—” I take a deep breath and avoid looking at Mom. “It’s a game she and I used to play when I was your age, Abs. I would be so tired out from school that I would only give one-word answers to questions about my day, so she invented this game where she was a news reporter and I was her interview subject, to get me talking.”
Abigail looks doubtful. “Did it work?”
I smile. “I was kind of obsessed with the idea of being on TV back then, so yeah, pretty much.”
Abigail leans over Mom’s hand and says, “I want to be a herder because sea lions are cute and bald and wrinkly like my gramps.”
My mother ruffles her hair.
“Do you still play the TV game?” Grace asks me, her eyes big and round.
I have to take a second before I can get out, “Nope. Not anymore, Gracie.”
Now I do glance up at Mom, only to find her eyes on me. They’re hauntingly sad, and I drop my gaze immediately before she sees my own fill with tears.
I gather a shaky breath and make my voice as cheerful as possible. “You know what? You guys are pretty lucky. You can take a nap in the middle of the school day whenever you want. How cool is that?”
Mom clears her throat and begins busily taking our paper plates.
“We’ll be finding out for ourselves soon enough,” Drew says.
Even though it’s only July and back home we don’t start school until the end of August, we’re planning to start our online courses any day now. They’re pre-ordered courses, so we can bang them out anytime, and because we both want shorter school days, we’re planning to spread two months’ worth of classes over three.
A motor draws near, and Jonah’s voice sounds across the water.
“We’re back in business!” he says, pulling up in the brand-new Zodiac.
Everyone hops up to ooh and aah over it, while I take the advantage of the relative privacy to glance at a text I get from Tara.
Tara: Picture. ASAP. You promised yesterday.
I type a quick reply.
Me: Haven’t had opportunity to take without him noticing.
Tara: No time like the present. Where is he?
Me: Here.
Tara: Do it. Now. I’ll loop Jess into our convo.
She’s been bugging me for a photo of Jonah since I told her about him joining us. If I don’t deliver soon, she’ll probably resort to texting Drew. I peek at Jonah helping Abigail aboard the Zodiac.
I tuck my phone next to my hip, my finger on the camera button, and call down, “Hey, Abby!”
As hoped, they both look up at me. I snap the shot, then slide my cell farther out of view.
“Yeah?” she asks.
“Oh. Um, I just wondered if you wanted the rest of your chips?”
She gives me a weird look. “No. You can have them.”
Jonah smiles and waves, and I return the gesture before slinking back to my seat. I shield my eyes from the sun and check out my paparazzi work. Jonah has a quizzical look on his face, but the guy is pretty undeniably cute no matter what expression he’s making, so I attach it to a text. Within seconds, they both reply.
Tara: Um, holy hotness! You should hit that.
Jess: If you don’t, I might.
Me: Hit that? Are we frat boys now?
Jess: Ooh—can I be president? I christen us Eta Alpha Theta Me.
Me: I miss you guys!! Why aren’t you here?!??
Tara: Because four’s a crowd and you have Pirate Sexytimes to bag.
Me: Negative. Dealing w/enough drama already on the Elise front. Besides, he’s a GIANT flirt. Flirt = player. Been there, done that.
Jess: Player = fling. Don’t see a problem. Go get you some pirate’s booty, my sweets!
Me: Until fling fizzles out and we’re stuck in a boat caravan together for next 3 months! Hella awkward!
Tara: She may have a point.
Of course I have a point. Jonah is adorable and fun and . . . well, adorable. But there’s no way I believe that he’s flirting with me specifically. He would be chatting up any girl in front of him on this trip; I just happen to be the only one in his path right now.
Besides, even if I wanted to add more drama to my life, I’m not sure I’m built for casual, so why bother going there and risking heartache when I’m already feeling fragile enough emotionally?
There’s not much about this trip that’s in my control, but this one thing is.
I tap my screen to type a response to my friends.
“Hey, Sprite.”
Aaaah! I was so absorbed in the thought of Jonah that I didn’t notice his actual person climbing the ladder to board the boat. I jump, and the phone falls from my hand and skitters across the deck, landing practically at his feet. He bends and scoops it up, turning it over in his hand and glancing down.
Please let it have shut off, please let it have shut off.
But even in the bright sun, I can see the green word bubbles of my text conversation with Tara and Jess.
Please don’t let him have read, please don’t let him have read.
Jonah passes it to me, and I swear there’s a tiny smirk on his face. “You got lucky—doesn’t look like the screen cracked.”
<
br /> Lucky, my ass. I’m not feeling anything remotely like lucky.
My skin burns, and I’m torn between wanting to check which parts of our conversation might have been visible and wanting to get the thing out of sight/out of mind as quickly as possible. I stuff it into the pocket of my shorts.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“My pleasure,” he replies, and there is definite amusement in his eyes.
We’re close enough to the San Andreas fault line, right? Where is a non-damage-causing-but-very-distracting earthquake when you need one?
I lean over the side of Tide Drifter and call to my mother and Drew. “Are you guys ready to head back to Sunny?”
“Sure,” my mom replies. “I’ve got a phone interview to prep for—the one and only bite I got on all those résumés I’ve been sending out. But it only takes one, right?”
My mother, ladies and gentlemen. Eternal optimist.
“I’m staying with Jonah,” Drew says. “He’s gonna show me a hack he knows for my game.”
I hop down and climb into Minecraft, tossing off a quick “bye” to Jonah. Ordinarily I would not relish the idea of being alone with my mother, but I’m pretty desperate to escape at the moment.
It could also be the perfect opportunity to ask her about touring San Francisco with Jonah. Wondering whether he did or did not see the texts wouldn’t keep me from exploring with him . . . but my mother could. I’m dying to be free of her for a whole day, especially when it means checking out the city with someone my own age who is also pretty fun. But I haven’t been able to work up the courage to ask. I wanted to have it to look forward to for as long as possible, without opening myself up to the risk of her ruining everything by saying no.
As far as I’m concerned, this is the first big test as to whether she really means it when she says she’s going to start treating me like an adult and giving me more freedom on this trip.
There hasn’t been much chance for that so far. In Crescent City, where we landed following our sail through Gale Alley, we spent most of our time at dock restocking, refueling, refilling our water supplies, and repairing. Oh, and pumping out the poop tank. Let’s not forget that. The marina was practically five-star accommodations after our remote anchorages, so I didn’t really mind that we were still more or less confined to it. None of us has access to wheels (apart from Drew’s skateboard and Christian’s bike) and there wasn’t all that much to do in the walkable vicinity.
Same with today’s stop.
But in San Francisco we’ll be docked right in the heart of things, and there will be everything to explore.
Once Minecraft is motoring toward our sailboat, I collect my breath and then spit out the words fast. “Hey, so, Jonah kind of asked if I wanted to go around San Fran with him. You know, get the lay of the land from the hometown kid . . .”
I trail off and wait for all the excuses for why she’d prefer I stay with her and Drew and do the family thing. After that, she’ll probably restate her feelings about Jonah’s life choices, and then she’ll most likely—
“Sure, honey. Sounds fun,” she says.
I startle. “Really?”
We reach Sunny-Side Up, and she hops out to tie us on. She glances over the rope at me. “I told you I’d make more of an effort.”
I force my jaw not to drop. “Yeah, okay. Cool.”
“All I ask is that you bring your phone and check in now and then, ’kay?”
“Done.”
Freedom? A whole city to explore? With Jonah as a guide?
San Francisco, here I come!
16
Jonah is waiting at the end of the dock, wearing a pair of frayed khaki shorts, a navy Henley shirt, and a Giants cap that leaves his hair curling around its edges.
“So you’re really a virgin, huh?” he asks with a goofy eyebrow waggle, once I’m close enough to hear him over the constant barking of the sea lions lining the docks.
I blush, despite knowing perfectly well he’s talking about the fact that I’ve never been to San Francisco before. But, skin reactions aside, I’m ready for any Jonah-patented witty banter. I may not be willing to let things progress past that, but I’m totally gonna enjoy myself with it.
“Be gentle with me,” I purr, fluttering my eyelashes. I’m rewarded with his laugh.
We wave at Amy, who’s trying to pry Grace and Abigail away from a railing overlooking a platform where a massive quantity of sea lions are flopping across one another. They call guttural ark, ark, arks, and I have to admit, they’re completely endearing. Except if one comes aboard my boat while I’m on it. Then I’m going ninja on its ass, no matter how cute it is.
Jonah places his hand at the small of my back and steers me around a street performer dressed as a bride who’s setting up a box in the center of the sidewalk. We’re docked right on Pier 39, which has to be stop one for all the sightseers, judging by the gimmicky shops and the kiosks hawking harbor tours. There’s an energy that buzzes through the air, and I wonder if I can feel it so acutely because it’s been forever since I’ve been around this many people at once.
“Okay, so we’re close to Fisherman’s Wharf,” Jonah says as we pass the aquarium and turn right (actual right, not “to our starboard side,” because we’re on land, praise the gods). “This area of town has the best provisions to get our day started, despite being a tourist trap. But after that, I show you your San Francisco this morning, then this afternoon I show you mine. Sound good?”
“My San Francisco? I’ve never been here before. How can I have my own version?”
Jonah laughs easily. “I may not know you that well yet, but I’ve gleaned enough. I predict I’ll be able to make you fall head over heels in love in three hours flat.”
My jaw drops open, and Jonah playfully nudges my shoulder with his. “I meant with the city, Sprite. Take it easy there.”
I knew that. I nudge him back, not quite as gently, and he laughs.
“Inhale,” he orders as we approach a two-story glass structure with its own silo that has the words “Boudin Sourdough” printed on it. He nods in satisfaction when I follow his instruction and sigh happily.
I may not have wanted to come on this trip, but I’d be crazy to let that stop me from embracing everything about today, starting with the turtle-shaped loaf of bread Jonah buys us. It would go better with coffee, but he refuses to let me order any. Instead, he tugs me down the street and up a short hill, where we bypass the crowds waiting to board a cable car and duck into Ghirardelli’s.
“Screw Rice-A-Roni. This is the San Francisco treat,” Jonah says, snagging us each a free sample square of chocolate from the greeter and steering me straight to the café. “Trust me?”
“I’m pretty sure you sailing us through those waves last week established that, and besides, we’re talking about a chocolate bar. How wrong could it go?”
Turns out, not wrong at all. At all. Jonah orders a latte for me with swirls of caramel sauce the barista drizzles on top in an elaborate design. He chooses a peppermint bark mocha that smells like Christmas in a cup (and tastes even better, when he offers me a sip). I snap a close-up of a giant bin filled with wrapped candy to send to Dad as today’s “plus” picture, although I suspect I’ll have my pick of shots to choose from before the day is out. San Francisco is making a very good first impression.
Once we’re properly caffeinated, with some bonus chocolate boosters and a bit of sourdough to soak it all up, we head back into the pale sunshine.
Jonah practically bounces on his heels. “Ready for this, Sprite?”
I don’t know what he has planned, but I’m game. “Bring it, Abrahmson.”
He steps to the curb and whistles for a nearby cab.
“I’m good with walking,” I protest as I slide across the seat anyway.
“We’ll be doing tons of that today, but for now I just want to be there.” He turns to the driver. “JFK and Conservatory.”
I stare out the window, taking in views of the
iconic bridge, the crazy bicyclists zooming by, and the pastel-colored buildings. We leave the streetscapes behind and enter a huge wooded area.
“What is this place?” I ask Jonah.
“Golden Gate Park,” he answers, looking out his own window.
“Is it good to be home? Are you planning to see your family?” I ask, watching him ogle all the eye candy San Francisco has to offer.
“Nothing quite compares to this city.”
I notice that isn’t quite an answer to my question, but I don’t press the matter because the cab slows and pulls to the side. Jonah pays, slapping away the cash I offer, and motions me out.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear we were in the middle of a country estate. There aren’t even regular city noises. Instead there are bird calls and rustling leaves and a far-off lawn mower.
I clap my hand over my mouth as I spot a sign for the Conservatory of Flowers. “Are we going there?”
“We could,” Jonah says, stepping behind me and putting his hands on my shoulders to spin me in the opposite direction. “But I thought you’d appreciate Tree Fern Dell even more.”
“Tree Fern Dell?” I’m intrigued. Very, very intrigued.
Jonah laughs at my expression. “Yup. It has ‘leaf-sketching wood sprite haven’ written all over it. It’s a whole forest of giant ferns, and being in it is like hanging out at the bottom of the world’s largest salad bowl.”
He points the way down a paved path where lush greenery spills over from both sides, and enormous leaves, practically the size of my berth on Sunny, form a canopy above us. I more or less skip into the center of it. Immediately the vegetation swallows me up, and damp earth fills my nostrils. After going so long without greenery—save for the tiny bonsai tree Christian gave me—I inhale like a crazy person.
When I turn, I find Jonah right behind me. “This seems off the beaten path, even for a local. How do you know about this place?” I ask, running my fingers across the bumpy bark of a tree trunk.
He cringes. “Promise not to laugh?”
I shake my head. “I can’t promise not to laugh, but I can promise not to laugh meanly. Does that count?” I have my phone out, Googling, so I can find out what this species of fern is called.
