Cute Boy in Line to Buy Food

 

“ISN’T IT FUNNY,” said Rex, “that we’re in a house that’s a car on a boat?”

They stopped in Seattle and then drove north to Anacortes, Washington, where they waited four hours to board the ferry that would take them to Orcas Island. Mom had made the ferry reservations before they’d even left California; to transport something as big and heavy as the Coach, the ferry required advance notice.

After some low-level cursing as he maneuvered the Coach onto the ferry and into its parking spot on the bottom level, Dad cut the engine. They sat listening to the quiet ticking Odette had grown used to in the three weeks since the Coach had become her home until Mom said, “Well, let’s go see the ferry!”

Georgie had peed before they’d boarded, so Odette left her sleeping on the big bed. Dad locked the door behind them, and even though they were squished between a bunch of cars in a floating parking lot, it felt oddly like back home, when they’d leave for the day and Dad would lock up on their way out.

The ferryboat was huge. It was called the Yakima, and it was white with green stripes along the sides. From the dock Odette had seen its rows and rows of windows stacked three high. Now, on the lowest level, she followed Dad to the far back of the boat—the stern, he’d said it was called—and up a set of metal stairs that reminded her of the Coach’s stairs.

They emerged in the galley to find themselves among a crowd of tourists taking their seats on benches along the windows. A line formed in front of the snack bar, where two harried-looking servers rang up orders of coffee and candy bars.

There was a boy in line for snacks. Actually, there were lots of boys in line for snacks, but this one gave Odette the tingly-anticipation feeling she got just before running.

He had earbuds in, and he wasn’t dancing, exactly, but his whole body sort of vibrated with whatever music he was listening to. He was wearing all black—black T-shirt, black jeans, black Chuck Taylors—in a way that normally Odette would roll her eyes at, but on him it seemed to make sense. He was dark everywhere else, too—dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes—and he wore his hair short on the sides, with a longer strip down the middle, which he kept running his hand over.

“Mom,” Odette said, “give me the phone, okay?”

Mom had been digging through her purse already, looking for money to give to Rex, who wanted a cup of hot chocolate, so she found the phone almost immediately, which was nice for a change. More often than not, it seemed, the family cell phone was lost at the bottom of her immense bag, its battery completely drained.

This time it was at almost full charge. Odette did her best impression of a spy as she held up the phone to take a picture of the boy, pretending that she was super interested in the sign just behind his head.

Then she sent the picture to Mieko.

Almost immediately the phone pinged back. Cute! Who is he? Where r u?

Stinging tears filled Odette’s eyes. They were tears of relief, and they surprised her. Mieko had been harder to get ahold of the last week or so, but Odette told herself that she understood. Between babysitting her sisters and hanging out with her other friends back home, of course Mieko was busy. She couldn’t be expected to always answer when Odette called, or respond to every text.

And Odette had been pulling back too, because she didn’t want to seem needy or anything. But a boy—that was something the two of them could talk about for a while. Mieko wasn’t exactly boy crazy, but she was, of the two of them, way more likely to notice a guy.

On a boat, Odette typed. Cute boy in line to buy food.

“Hey.”

The voice interrupted Odette before she could hit Send. She looked up. The boy from the snack line stood directly in front of her, holding a bag of potato chips and a soda can.

“Did you take my picture?”

If a zombie had appeared in that moment, wandering through the galley searching for brains, Odette would have gladly offered hers.

“Um,” she said.

“Do I know you?” The boy didn’t look mad. Confused, maybe, or embarrassed.

“No,” she managed to say.

“No, you didn’t take my picture?”

“No, I did take your picture,” Odette said. “I meant, no, you don’t know me. I’m sorry,” she said, shoving the phone in her pocket.

“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said. “It looks ridiculous.”

The boy looked miserable, and this time when he ran his hand through his hair, Odette realized that he was embarrassed about it. “No, your hair is cool,” she said. She couldn’t believe she was standing here talking to this guy about his hair.

He didn’t look like he believed her, and Odette figured, what the heck, she’d never see him again anyway, so she pulled out her phone and thrust it in his direction. “Here,” she said. She watched his eyes widen as he thumbed through the texts between her and Mieko, and a grin spread across his face.

“Cool,” he said, handing back the phone.

It was maybe the most awkward Odette had ever felt. But it was worth it—the relief in the boy’s face, the open smile.

“I’m Harris,” he said.

“Hi,” said Odette. “I’m Odette.”

“Detters,” said Odette’s mom, right behind her suddenly. “We’re going up to the sun deck to look for dolphins. Come on!”

Harris smirked a little, probably because of her embarrassing nickname.

“Sure,” said Odette, and then, in a jolt of bravery, to Harris, “Wanna come?”

“Okay,” he said.