The canoe had obviously been left there some time ago. Dr. Paradis had been dead for six years, and she’d been really, really old when she died, so it wasn’t super likely she’d been going on any wild river-rafting adventures in her final years. The canoe was aluminum, and it was partially buried under some fallen palm fronds and river detritus, but it wasn’t too hard to dig out. There was even a silver paddle underneath.
“Dr. Paradis mentions canoeing in the guide, remember?” Fig said as she dragged the canoe down the riverbank. “I bet that was a clue! She must want us to follow the river.”
Milton bobbed his head back and forth. “I guess,” he said. “But she mentioned it in the Push-Pull Centopus entry. What if we run into that thing?”
“Let’s see if the canoe floats,” Fig said, “and worry about that later.”
She climbed into the canoe while Milton held it still. After a few bounces, the vessel hadn’t sunk or even leaked.
“We have buoyancy!” Milton cried, lifting his arms in victory.
Fig jumped into the shallow water. “I don’t like that there aren’t any life vests,” she said as they pulled the canoe back to shore. “We’ll have to be very careful. There’s also only one paddle, and … I kind of think I should be the one to use it.”
“Having never canoed before,” Milton replied, “I am in full agreement.”
After a quick lunch of granola bars and apricots (Fig had, in fact, packed extra food so Milton didn’t have to start on the grisly gray jerky quite yet), they prepared to set sail (so to speak). Milton found a big branch that he thought would make a perfect second paddle. It had lots of little twigs that he was sure would move the water more efficiently. He checked to be sure the dry bag was secure, then clambered into the front of the canoe.
Then, with a push and a jump from Fig, they were off.
The tide must have been going out, because the current was against them as Fig paddled up the wide, deep river. In spite of his lingering fears about cephalopods potentially lurking in the murky shallows, Milton was in much better spirits now that they weren’t walking anymore. He didn’t even feel that seasick (riversick?).
“Are you going to paddle?” Fig asked from the back of the canoe.
“I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference,” Milton replied. “I’m not known for my upper body strength.”
“At least pretend,” Fig said.
Milton shrugged. “If it will make you feel better.” He trailed his branch over the side. The twigs dragged in the water. The canoe drifted off course.
“Okay, stop pretending,” Fig said with a laugh.
For a while, there was silence and hard work (on Fig’s part). Milton’s thoughts wandered, but not to his same old rotten thoughts. Instead they wandered to the incredibleness he’d witnessed at the vines—and the truths he and Fig had told.
“I don’t mean to pry, Fig,” he said, “but I find it difficult to believe that someone of your caliber would ever be without friends.”
Milton kept facing frontward, but he could hear Fig’s paddling slow. “Well, I was. After my dad…” She trailed off, and when she spoke again, her voice was lower and sort of heavy. “After he died, I was really sad, and I guess not exactly fun to hang out with. All my friends were really awkward and weird around me. And then I found out they were having sleepovers and birthday parties without me. So I decided I didn’t care. I didn’t need friends.”
Milton found that he could understand this decision. After the Bird Brain Incident, he had stopped trying to get Dev to be his friend again. He had stopped trying to get anyone to be his friend. But he had still wanted friends. He had wanted them desperately. Maybe it would have been easier—would have hurt less—if he could have just said I don’t care.
“When we moved here,” Fig continued, “I started feeling better—happier. I was reading a lot though—hiding in my books is how my mother put it. She was always trying to get me to go outside. Then the Alvarezes showed up, and she was so excited for me to spend time with Rafi and Gabe.”
“But you didn’t want to?” Milton asked.
Fig sighed. She paddled once, but the canoe barely moved. “Things didn’t start off well. I used to spend a lot of time in the tree ship—reading mostly—and then one morning, Rafi was there, and he didn’t want to be on the island, and—” She sighed again, louder this time. Her paddle was motionless. “It wasn’t a good combination, I guess.”
“I’m sorry, Fig,” Milton said.
“Like I said, it doesn’t bother me,” Fig replied. The canoe jolted forward as she gave a tremendous push. “I don’t care.”
Milton knew this wasn’t true. He knew, in fact, that the opposite was true. But, again, he understood not wanting to care. There were plenty of things he wished he didn’t care about.
And this, he realized, was the time to tell Fig about them. She had told her truths. Now he needed to tell his.
That was how it worked, wasn’t it? When someone reached out their hand to you (metaphorically speaking, since Fig was paddling right now and her hands were otherwise occupied), you were supposed to reach out your hand too. Both hands had to move or neither one would get held.
“I don’t know exactly how you feel, of course,” Milton said, “but I will tell you that I had the Most Totally, Terribly, Horribly, Heinously Rotten Year of All Time. I’m not sure that I want to discuss every horrendous detail, but perhaps you would like to hear some of it?”
“If you want to tell me, you can, Sea Hawk,” Fig replied.
“I don’t want to,” Milton said. “I don’t want to think about it at all. In fact, I’ve been trying my best not to think about it. But you’re my best friend right now, Fig, and if you can’t tell your best friend the truth about the rotten stuff that happens to you, who can you tell? So here is the story of the Bird Brain Incident.”