Their car finally arrived, and in no time Plum and her friends were tugging their bags down a dock with a small boat waiting at the end.
“Well, that’s not exactly what I expected.” Marlowe quirked an eyebrow at Plum while handling the pier planks with her usual grace.
One of Plum’s suitcase wheels got caught in a gap between the boards.
“Yeah, it’s smaller than I would have thought?” Plum yanked at her suitcase handle, freeing the trapped wheel.
The boat bobbed at the end of the dock. It looked like a charter fishing boat. White hull and chrome fittings, with a navy-blue canopy shielding the few other passengers already waiting on the padded U-shaped bench.
“Hi,” Sofia chirped as they drew up to the boat. “Hello!”
“Hi!” a young woman’s friendly voice replied.
The boat’s captain, a middle-aged Black man, stood on the dock to help them board.
“Hello, is this the Pyre Festival boat?” Sofia asked him.
“Yes, it’s a charter boat,” the captain answered. “Going to Little Esau, yes.”
“Okay,” Sofia said, but her voice was still uncertain.
“It’s okay,” Marlowe reassured their friend. “I’ll go first.”
As she waited to board, Plum darted her eyes over to the other Pyre Festival VIPs waiting in the boat. She held her breath. Would she recognize anyone?
Apparently not.
There were only three others on the boat: two young women who were probably in their late teens or early twenties—one was white, the other was maybe Latina—and a white teen boy, who smiled at Marlowe and her friends with open welcome.
He was . . . well, wow. He was super cute, actually.
Plum usually noticed girls more than boys, but he was absolutely her type, with curving dimples and sun-streaked blond hair and a tan.
“Hey there,” the boy said, jumping up to help the captain stow the bags behind a nylon cargo net. His perfectly floofed hair fell over one eye in a rakish veil.
Plum stepped onto the boat, trying to act like standing on boats was something she did all the time.
Sofia came last. She looked a bit anxious to leave solid ground.
“Hi!” the white girl said, glancing up from her phone with an apologetic I have to get back to this smile. She looked back down. She was pretty, with freckled skin and long, chemically bright red hair. She wore a scarf skirt and a white lace tank top. Her ears, neck, and arms glittered and chimed lightly with every movement, her large jewelry mesmerizing.
“Hola,” the other girl said, smiling affably and moving over so the three new arrivals could sit together. She was gorgeous, with long brunette hair pulled into a high ponytail that trailed down her back.
“I’m Cici.” She stuck out a manicured hand. Her nails were pink and sparkly. “Cici Bello.”
The name didn’t ring any bells in Plum’s mind, despite sounding so much like music that she wanted to say it again, wanted to hear her say it again.
Cici cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow at Plum’s pause in replying.
“I’m Pl . . . um . . . I mean, uh . . . I’m Pea . . .” Plum stammered.
Should she give her real name? They weren’t at the festival yet. What if the pretty redhead still on her phone worked for Pyre Festival? Or what if Cici did?
Marlowe saved her, smoothly cutting over the moment of Plum’s indecision.
“I’m Marlowe Blake.” Marlowe stuck out her hand.
“Nice to meet you!” Cici replied, smiling at Marlowe warmly. Plum noticed the interested light in Cici’s eyes as they quickly swept down, taking in Marlowe’s impeccably stylish suit.
“Oh my God, I love your outfit!” Cici said.
“Thanks!” Marlowe said.
“Marlowe is so talented! She makes so many of her own clothes! And others she finds online or at vintage shops. She’s got such an eye.” Sofia stuck her hand out in the middle of the cascade of words. “I’m Sofia Torres.”
“¿Habla español?” Cici asked.
Sofia smiled. “¡Sí! ¿Eres una blogger de moda?” Sofia glanced over at Marlowe and Plum, switching to English as they all sat down. “I asked if Cici was a fashion blogger,” Sofia explained.
“No, makeup. I do tutorials and stuff.” Cici smiled. It explained a lot, because her makeup was flawless.
How had she not sweat any of it off?
“Well, that makes sense,” Plum joked, leaning forward. “You don’t look hot at all.”
Cici laughed uncertainly, glancing at Sofia. “Thanks? I think?”
“Oh, crap.” Plum slapped her hand to her forehead. “I meant hot as in sweaty. You don’t look sweaty.”
“She’s obsessed with sweat,” Marlowe told Cici, keeping a completely straight face.
Plum glanced daggers as Marlowe.
“No, I mean, you totally look hot,” Plum plowed on. “As in good-looking.” Plum held up a thumbs-up.
“Anywaaaaaaaay,” Sofia drawled, cutting into Plum’s unremitting awkwardness. “Cici—is that a nickname? I like it!”
Cici laughed and fluffed her hair. “Yes, it’s short for Cielo. I like how Cici is more casual, but also that no one mispronounces it.”
Sofia gave a little chuckle of recognition, then asked, “Where did you travel from?”
The boat rocked as the captain climbed back out onto the dock and began unwinding the first of two mooring ropes.
“Miami,” Cici answered. “My entire family lives there. Cousins, the whole deal. Big Cuban American family. How about you? Where’d you travel from?”
“Huntington, Alabama,” Sofia answered. “My dad’s a geologist at the university, and my mom’s a librarian. I’m Puerto Rican on my dad’s side.”
The girls continued to chat as the captain jumped back onboard, the last rope that had held them to the dock looped in his hand. He spun the helm, pointing the small vessel out to the open ocean.
Plum’s fears of whatever would happen if she was discovered receded with every moment they pulled farther from land.
The disco ball of excited light scattered through her again.
Pyre Festival! Set the night on fire! It was starting! Well, near enough, and as the dock and the cliffs of Saint Vitus grew smaller behind them, Plum felt safe.
She couldn’t wait to see the villa in person. She had no doubt the festival would be life-changing. When she got back, she knew all the other kids at school would die of jealousy.
They’d just die.