by Trish Doller
“We could,” Willa says carefully, not wanting to start an argument. Especially since the little girls from Michigan have moved on to bickering over whose Queen Elsa is going to look the prettiest. When it comes to fighting, she and Taylor could easily give them a run for their money. “But what do you think about mosaic? We could make her tail different shades of pink and—”
“Yes,” Taylor interrupts. “Let’s do that.”
Willa blinks. “Really?”
“Really.”
Together, they plot out a pattern for their mermaid’s tail and gather shades from deep fuchsia to light pink. They choose a variety of browns for the hair and the palest tans and pinks for the mermaid’s skin. Two hours later, Taylor glues the final mosaic tile in place as Willa fastens a compass charm to the mermaid’s hand.
“She’s so beautiful,” Taylor says, her eyes shining with tears. “What are we going to do when the trip is over? We should have made two.”
For two hours Willa’s mind had been blissfully blank, but now she wants to lay claim to Mermaid Finley, to snatch her up the way Taylor snatched Finley’s list of clues before the trip even began. But they’d collaborated instead of arguing. They’d had fun. Willa doesn’t want to be the one to ruin it, even though she wants to ruin it. “You can have her.”
Taylor gnaws her lower lip. “Are you sure?”
Willa nods, but as she pedals back to the boat with the mermaid sparkling in the front basket of her bike, she thinks about the way the pendulum has swung in the opposite direction from where they started. Now they’re being deferential to each other. Extra nice. But it feels every bit as false as the way they’d once tolerated each other for Finley’s sake. Like their friendship will never be real.
“Do you think we should take the Dismal Swamp or the Virginia Cut into North Carolina?” Taylor asks.
“I don’t care,” Willa says dully.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Willa says, but it’s not true at all. Her skin feels tight, like she’s wearing it incorrectly. Like her life no longer fits properly and she doesn’t know how to fix it. But instead of telling Taylor any of this, she deflects. “What does Captain Norm say?”
Now that Taylor has a direct line to the author, she’s taken to texting Norm instead of referring to the book.
“He says the Dismal Swamp Canal is peaceful and more protected,” Taylor says, and Willa likes the sound of peace and protection since right now she’s feeling neither. “But the Virginia Cut comes out near the Currituck National Wildlife Refuge, where—” Taylor stops abruptly. “I think I found the answer to the next clue. ‘Get a little wild.’ Currituck is a refuge for a herd of wild horses.”
Willa wants to be more excited about the next stop, but she can’t muster any enthusiasm at all. Instead she just says, “Then I guess that’s where we’re going.”
Across the gap between their bunks, Taylor snores softly, but an idea grips Willa’s mind in a way that won’t let her sleep. She takes the laptop and climbs out onto the foredeck to do . . . what? She’s not sure yet. She tries to sit and listen to the breeze in the rigging, but the thought prods at her. What if? What if? What if? She opens a blank Word document and writes a letter. Rewrites. Edits. Rewrites it again. Finally, she copies the letter into the body of an e-mail addressed to the director of admissions at Case Western. Next she replies to Olivia.
To: Olivia Szymanski
From: Willa Ryan
Subject: Re: Roommates!
Hi Olivia,
I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be your roommate this fall. I’ve decided to withdraw my enrollment and take a gap year so I can finish the Great Loop route that my friend and I started this summer. You seem like a really nice person, so I’m sure your next roommate will be lucky to have you.
Wishing you all the best
—Willa
Taylor
WILLA HAS BEEN QUIET SINCE they started down the Virginia Cut. Scratch that—she’s been quiet since they decorated Mermaid Finley, which now hangs on the bulkhead above the sink. Taylor is sitting on her bunk, uploading new pictures from Norfolk, when she hears the whine of an outboard motor excessively close to Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.
“Hey. How you doing?” a male voice drawls.
“Fine, thanks.” Willa’s response is overly polite as she reaches for her balled-up tank top lying on the cockpit bench and pulls it on over her bikini.
“Name’s Glenn. What’s yours?”
“Nice to meet you, but we’re kind of in a hurry to make the next bridge opening, so if you wouldn’t mind moving along . . .”
“Aw, come on, now,” he says. “It’s a beautiful day to party and I’ve got plenty of beer.”
At the metallic thump of cans against fiberglass, Taylor climbs out into the cockpit to make sure Willa is okay.
“Well, hello.” Glenn is standing in a camouflage-colored aluminum fishing boat with his fist curled around one of their lifelines. He’s older than them by at least a decade, maybe more, and he’s wearing a dirty trucker cap that matches his boat. A six-pack of Budweiser sits on the gunwale, as though he’s about to invite himself aboard. He grins at Taylor. “There’s two of you.”
“We really don’t have time to party,” Willa says, a note of desperation in her voice. “But thanks anyway.”
Glenn doesn’t release his hold on the lifeline, and Taylor can see his mind working on his next sales pitch. He’s not an unattractive guy, but he doesn’t seem to understand that he’s not welcome here. “Aw, come on. I’m a nice guy.”
Taylor flings open the cockpit locker and pulls out the speargun that Campbell stashed away. The one Taylor couldn’t imagine ever needing. Now she aims it at Glenn, whose blue eyes go wide as she says, “My friend told you to keep moving.”
“Hey, now,” he says. “I didn’t mean any harm. I was only looking for a little fun with two pretty ladies.”
“Don’t care what you meant. Don’t care what you want,” Taylor says. “And you’re gonna have a whole lot less fun if you don’t take your hands off this boat.”
Glenn lets go of the lifeline, but when he reaches for his Budweiser, Taylor lowers the point of the speargun toward his hand. “We’ll be keeping that.”
“Couple of crazy bitches,” he says as he sits down in his boat. “That’s what you are.”
“All I’m hearing right now is wah, wah, wah,” Taylor says. “Move along.”
He flips his middle finger at them as he motors away, but she grabs the six-pack, snaps a can out of its plastic loop, cracks it open, and takes a slurpy drink. “Thanks for the beer, asshole!”
Taylor is still cracking up when she looks back at Willa, expecting her to be laughing too. Except Willa is sobbing, her shoulders shaking violently as tears stream down her face. Taylor puts the speargun away and touches Willa’s arm. “Hey,” she says softly. “It’s okay. He’s gone.”
Willa screams, a furious sound that rips through the trees on either side of the river. Her hands are clenched so tight it’s a wonder her fingers don’t break.
“It’s not okay! Nothing is okay!” Her words scrape against her throat as she sobs them out. “Why do we live in a world where that asshole thinks doing shit like that is acceptable . . . where your brother can fuck with people’s feelings and get away with it . . . where my mom is so broken she can’t hold a job . . . where I have to be perfect all the goddamn time so no one will think I’m trailer trash?”
She screams until her voice gives out. Willa rages her fists at the sky, as if doing battle with God. “Why the fuck are we allowed to even be alive in a world where Finley Donoghue is dead?”
Taylor’s skin burns hot as she’s forced to face the role she played in Willa’s pain. She takes over the tiller, keeping the boat steady in the channel while Willa’s tears fall faster than the hem of her tank top can handle. Taylor wishes she could pull over to the side of the river—like
she would if they were in a car—because her own vision is blurred with tears. But they are in a remote stretch where there are no towns, no docks. They have no choice but to keep traveling forward.
“I wish I could rewind time to that day at the sailing club and take it all back,” she says. “I was so jealous that it was easier to hate you than admit I understood why Finley wanted to be your friend. She was right about you. You’re the coolest person I know, and I’m sorry. For everything.”
Willa pushes the heels of her hands against her eyes to stanch the flow of tears and sniffles wetly. “If I’m the coolest person you know, you really need to meet more people.”
“Well, that was a lie anyway. Captain Norm is way cooler than you.”
The corners of Willa’s mouth quiver. Not quite a smile, but almost. “Obviously.”
She goes down into the cabin to use the bathroom, and when she comes back out on deck, she is wearing a dry tank top and her hair is damp around her face. Her eyes are still kind of puffy as she sits down. Taylor takes a drink of the Budweiser, then passes the can to her. Willa takes a sip, then crinkles her nose.
“I know,” Taylor says. “It’s not fine Canadian hockey-flavored beer.”
Willa’s smile is cheerier this time, and she laughs a little. Taylor adjusts course slightly. “So . . . can we unpack the rest of your meltdown?”
“Do we have to?” Willa sounds congested from crying. “Maybe we can pretend I didn’t just lose my shit in the middle of the Intracoastal Waterway.”
“Whether he meant it or not, Cam was cruel to you, and I’m sorry.”
“I keep wondering what I did wrong,” Willa says. “Like, was I so boring that running away was his only option?”
“You’re the one sailing to Key West. If anyone is boring, it’s Campbell,” Taylor says. “It’s one thing to get accepted into an Ivy League school, but another to flunk out because you never go to class.”
“Wait . . . that’s what happened? He told me he left.”
Taylor shakes her head like the lie doesn’t even come as a surprise. “Maybe someday my brother won’t suck, but until then you deserve so much better than him.”
Willa is silent for a beat, then rests her head on her knees. “I am such a hypocrite.” When she looks up, there are fresh tears in her eyes. “I’ve been pissed at my mom for believing Steve will break up with his girlfriend for her, but I’ve been the same way with Campbell. I really thought I was different. That I’d be special enough to change him.”
“Maybe your mom feels the same way about Steve,” Taylor says. “Or maybe she knows and doesn’t care. I know you love her, but it’s kinda not your business.”
“She said the same thing.” Willa sighs. “I have to apologize to her.”
“You can use my phone whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks,” Willa says. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
Willa shifts to sit cross-legged on the cockpit bench, and Pumpkin creeps up from the cabin to curl in her lap. Willa leans in, like she’s about to dish gossip at a sleepover. “Why didn’t you tell me about the girl in New York?”
Taylor blinks. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already been planning to tell Willa about Vanessa, but she’s a little thrown that Willa already knows—and slightly worried that her sexuality might never have been a secret. What if Finley knew too? “How did you find out?”
“I saw you kissing in the bathroom at the Donut Shop,” Willa says, her dimples popping as she smiles. “And I’ve been trying not to pry, but oh my God, Taylor, I need whatever details you’re willing to share. Or, you can tell me to mind my own business.”
“No. It’s cool. Her name is Vanessa.” It feels good to finally share her feelings, and Taylor is relieved that Willa isn’t being judgmental. Not that Taylor expected her to be, but it’s nice to have support. “I met her at the party in Oswego. We bonded over Sister Kismet while hiding from the cops.”
“Total meet-cute,” Willa says, nodding.
Taylor’s skin warms, and she can’t stop herself from smiling. “I know, right?”
“Are you going to see her again?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “There’s the whole long-distance thing and we’re both going to be in college. And it feels a little . . . I don’t know . . . soon.”
“I totally get that, but don’t forget that Finley would want you to be happy. And if Vanessa does that for you—” Willa stops abruptly. “Did Finley know you like girls?”
Taylor shakes her head. “I wasn’t even sure myself because the only girl I ever liked was her.”
“Wait. Are you saying you had feelings for her?”
“Basically for as long as I knew her.”
“Whoa,” Willa says softly. “That kind of brings that day at the sailing club into perspective. I mean, it’s still not okay that you called me trailer trash, but I couldn’t figure out why you were so mad at me when you didn’t even like sailing.”
“Oh, it gets weirder,” Taylor says. “I was also mad that Campbell chose you over Finley.”
Willa scratches behind Pumpkin’s ears. “That shouldn’t make sense, but I guess it does. You wanted Finley’s happiness, even if it wasn’t with you. And if she wanted Campbell . . .”
“Exactly.”
“Well, the bright side is that he never got the chance to break her heart,” Willa says wistfully. Then, “So how does Brady fit into the picture?”
“I loved him too.”
Willa’s eyebrows lift. “How . . . interesting.”
“I was going to tell you when we were in New York City, but kissing a girl was brand-new for me, and I just wanted to keep it private a little while longer.”
“I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”
“It’s totally fine,” Taylor says. “I’m glad you know.”
“I know it’s not the same as being able to tell Finley,” Willa says. “She was your best friend.”
“It would have been unfair to dump my unrequited love on her, so this isn’t something I could have talked to her about. Thanks for listening.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I haven’t said anything to my parents yet, so . . .”
“Hey, what happens on the boat stays on the boat, okay?”
Taylor nods. “Agreed.”
Willa slides on her sunglasses and makes a locking motion over her lips. “Now, give me that tiller. We’ve got wild horses to see.”
36.5141° N, 75.8653° W
Get a little wild.
Willa
“THERE IS LITERALLY NO WAY we can get to Corolla in this boat,” Willa says as she studies the depth chart of Currituck Sound. “This whole bay is practically shallow enough to walk across without getting your hair wet; our keel would get stuck in the mud in a hot minute.”
Taylor strokes a bit of navy-blue polish on her big toe. “Is there a ferry?”
“Nope.”
“Could we take the dinghy?”
“We could, but it would probably be a two- or three-hour trip each way, and then we’d have to find a safe place to beach it,” Willa says. “There are other places in the Outer Banks where we could see wild horses, but this is really the only place where they’re not penned.”
“So how are we going to make this happen?”
Willa steps into her flip-flops. Her ruby polish has chipped down to tiny bits of color and she thinks maybe she should paint her own toenails. “I’m going to ask the people who work at the marina. Maybe someone will have a suggestion.”
The marina manager is standing on the fuel dock when Willa walks up, but it’s the guy in the skiff that’s tied to a piling who catches her attention. He has reddish-blond hair, sun-stained skin, and dimples—oh my!—but it’s his faded brown T-shirt that makes the hair prickle on the back of her neck. Because across his chest it says GET A LITTLE WILD.
“Where did you get that shirt?” she asks, only vaguely aware that she’s interrupted th
eir conversation.
“It’s my work shirt,” he says. “I run wild horse tours over in Corolla.”
“Oh my God.” Willa barks out a laugh. “This is just—Finley had to have something to do with this.”
“Sorry, but you’re not making any sense at all.”
“No. I know,” she says. “But my friend and I were just trying to figure out how to get to Corolla”—she makes an effort to pronounce it kuh-RAW-luh, the way he just did—“and now here you are, wearing those exact words on your shirt, and there’s no way this is a coincidence.”
“Nope. Still not making sense,” he says. “But if what you’re getting at is that you want me to ferry you across the sound to see wild horses, then heck yeah, I’m gonna do that. Because I’d be six sorts of stupid to say no to a girl that looks like you.”
Her cheeks are sunburn-hot as she smiles at him. “I’m Willa.”
“Just in case it matters to you at all, I’m Wyatt.”
Willa and Wyatt. It’s toothache-sweet, and she can already hear Taylor teasing her about it. What’s more, it’s ridiculous to even let her thoughts run that far ahead, but his eyes are the color of the ocean and Willa can’t stop looking at him. “It definitely matters.”
Completely squeezed out of the conversation, the marina manager walks away, shaking his head and chuckling.
“When do you want to leave?” Wyatt asks.
“As soon as Taylor’s nails are dry.”
“If Taylor is your boyfriend, the whole deal is off.”
“She is not my boyfriend or my girlfriend.”
His dimples deepen. “Then I’ll wait right here while you go get her.”
Taylor is wiggling her toes in an effort to help the polish dry faster when Willa returns to the boat. “So the weirdest thing just happened,” she says. “I met a boy.”
“I hate to break this to you,” Taylor says. “But meeting boys is not weird. There are hundreds, probably thousands, who would love to meet you.”
