Chapter Nine

Late that afternoon, someone knocks on my door.

“Hey,” greets Abbie. She’s wearing heels that make her already towering stature seem like she’s seven feet tall. I have to crane my neck to look up. She should probably play volleyball or basketball or something. Or maybe she does.

“We’re all headed downtown for a bit,” she says. “Want to come?”

“Um.” I’m a little surprised she invited me after getting annoyed with me on the beach. “I thought you were irritated with me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because of what happened on the beach?”

She makes a face. “Sorry about that. It was more to do with the thought of spending an entire day with my dad. I lose my temper pretty quick when it comes to him.”

“Oh.” I get it. I do. The thought of spending a day with my reject of a father would spark my irritability, too.

“So, you coming?” she asks. “We’re not going to be gone long. Maybe just an hour.”

I smile. “Sure.” Everyone deserves a second chance, and I do want to make friends while I’m here. I can spare an hour.

Minutes later, we all pile in a BMW and head downtown. We find a place to park, and they head toward the Windbreaker Café, the place Mr. Hamns owns. Where Riel works. Automatically, I scan the parking lot for his Jeep, but don’t immediately see it.

“Aren’t you coming?” Abbie asks.

I look out over the adjoining marina, and I spy Mr. Hamns on one of the docks. “I’m going to go say hi to Mr. Hamns. I’ll meet you inside in a few.”

She gives me a little wave before heading in, and I turn toward the dock. I’ve never walked a dock before. This should be fun being up close with all the power boats and sailboats.

I pick my way down, dodging buckets, washrags, and rope. I pause for a second, gazing up the side of a blue-and-white yacht so large and fancy I wonder if someone famous might be on board.

A slight breeze rolls through, bringing a scent of salt and fish, and I continue on. Mr. Hamns is just up ahead, kneeling near what I assume is one of his fishing boats.

A heavy-set worker sits on the bow coiling rope. He has a tattooed bald head, a braided beard, and glasses so dark I have no clue where he’s looking. Sweat dampens his filthy shirt and even though a lit cigarette dangles from his lip, he still lifts a beer bottle to his mouth and downs what has to be half of it. Then he lets out a watery belch.

Ugh.

I step around a toolbox to greet Mr. Hamns. “Hey.”

He glances up from his crouched position and recognition immediately dawns. “Viola, right?”

I smile. “Yes, sir.”

“What brings you to the docks today?”

I motion up to the Windbreaker Café. “My friends are up there. But I saw you down here and thought I’d say hi.”

“Well, that’s mighty nice of you.” He nods to the boat’s hull. “Rammed an oyster bar this morning.”

I eye the missing chunk. “Oysters do that?”

“Yep.”

“Mr. Hamns!” Someone yells from the dock house. I recognize that voice, and things inside me do a nervous little backflip as I glance over my shoulder to see Riel. He gives me a quick glance and then turns back. “Need you to sign those papers!”

Mr. Hamns waves. “Be right there! Listen,” he says to me, “feel free to wander around. This’ll take a while.”

“Oh, okay.”

Mr. Hamns strolls off, Riel gives me one last look, and then he disappears back into the dock house.

It’s a small island, small academy, small everything. I suppose I’m going to be running in to Riel just about everywhere I go, and it is absolutely obvious I’m attracted to the guy. But the facts are: I’m here on a scholarship that used to be his; he’s my peer mentor; I need him to sign off on my probationary period; I need to fly so far under everyone’s radar that I could be invisible if need be; but most importantly, I am here for school—I am not here for boys. Boys can come later. Much later. Like after I graduate MIT and have a job later.

With that resolve, I turn and look at the marina again. The sun shifts from behind a cloud, and I lift my face to feel the heat on my cheeks. Another breeze drifts by, and despite the warm weather, it feels almost cool against my bare arms.

Across the way a gray-haired man lays stretched out on his boat reading a book. A few slips over I see a young woman tying a sail. At the end of the dock, a boy hoses down a cushion. Beyond him, a small row boat cruises to shore. Wind whistles through the ropes, knocking them against the hollow masts, and making me smile.

Another watery belch cuts through my moment. I glance over my shoulder and up to the man still sitting on the bow of Hamns’s boat. Even though he’s still wearing those dark glasses, I get the distinct impression he’s looking right at me.

I smile a little.

He doesn’t smile back.

I lift my hand in a tiny wave.

He doesn’t wave back.

O-kay. Enough of that. Turning, I make my way back to the Windbreaker. When I reach the porch of the café I’m not entirely sure why, but I turn and look at the man again. And even though yards of dock now separate us, I swear he’s staring right at me. Why is he staring at me?

Abbie comes through the door. “There you are. We’re going to head back. Riel’s not here, and he’s the whole reason I came. You staying or coming?”

I should tell her Riel is in the dock house, but I don’t. “Coming,” I say instead and head toward the BMW.

As we pull from the parking lot, I give in to my urge to look again, only to find weird bald guy still watching me as we drive from the lot.