I drag myself to the ticket window, panting. The woman behind the glass, a blonde with heavy makeup and teased bangs, looks at me with amusement. “Ease up on the heavy breathing, handsome. You’re too young for me.”
“Ticket,” I gasp, digging in my pocket for my wallet. “For…the…one…twenty.”
She shakes her head, and my pounding heart drops to my feet. Then she says, “You like to cut things close, don’t you? You almost missed it. That’ll be eighteen dollars.”
I don’t have enough breath left to thank her. I pay, grab my ticket, and push through the doors into the station. It’s bigger than I thought, so I pick up my pace to the exit, one hand pressing against the stitch in my side.
There’s a fifty-fifty chance I’m going to hurl before I get on this boat.
When I reach the dock there’s hardly anyone on it, just a few people waving at the ferry. A guy in a white shirt and dark pants is standing at the entrance of a walkway connecting the dock to the boat. He checks his watch and grasps a chain that dangles to the ground, fastening it across the two posts on either side of the walkway. Then he looks up and catches sight of me lunging toward him with my ticket outstretched.
Don’t do it, I think. Don’t be a dick.
He takes my ticket and unclips the chain. “Made it in the nick of time. Bon voyage, son.”
Not a dick. Thank Christ.
I stagger up the pier and through the ferry’s entrance, almost groaning with relief at the air-conditioned chill that greets me, and collapse in a bright-blue seat. I dig inside my bag for my water bottle, unscrew the top, and drain almost the entire thing in three long gulps. Then I pour the rest over my head.
Note to self: take up running this summer, because that was pathetic.
My fellow passengers all ignore me. They look primed for vacation, wearing baseball caps, flip-flops, and T-shirts with what I’ve come to realize is the unofficial Gull Cove Island logo: a circle with the silhouette of a gull inside and the letters GCI above it.
I keep still until my breathing returns to normal, then pull a Gull Cove Island tourist brochure out of my bag and flip to the transportation section in the middle. The ride is two hours and twenty minutes, and we’ll pass Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket along the way. Gull Cove Island is smaller than either of them—which is saying something, since Nantucket is only fourteen miles long—and what the brochure calls “more remote and rugged.”
Translation: fewer hotels and worse beaches.
I put the brochure away and survey the crowd. It looks like people are just leaving their luggage wherever, so I stuff my bag under my seat and get up. Might as well check the place out. I head for a staircase next to the snack bar, and my stomach instantly growls. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast and that was five hours ago.
Upstairs looks almost the same, with a staircase that goes to the top deck. That’s open air, and everyone is clustered around the railings that overlook the ocean. It’s overcast, threatening rain, but the air that was choking me onshore is crisp and salt-scented here. Seagulls circle above the boat with noisy cries, water stretches smoothly on every side of us, and for the first time in a month this doesn’t seem like the worst idea I’ve ever had.
I’m more thirsty than I am hungry, so I decide to head back downstairs and get something to drink from the snack bar. I’m preoccupied, digging for my wallet to check how much cash I have on me, and almost bump into somebody who’s heading up as I’m going down.
“Watch it!” says a girl’s voice.
“Sorry,” I mumble. Then I look up and gulp. “I mean, hey. Hi.”
At first, all that registers is that this girl is drop-dead gorgeous. Dark hair, dark eyes, and full lips curved in a smirk that should probably be annoying but isn’t. She’s wearing a bright-red sundress and sandals, with sunglasses holding back her hair and a large, man-sized watch on one wrist, and—oh.
Oh, shit. I can’t believe I blanked for a second. I know exactly who this is.
“You mean hi?” she asks. The smirk gets bigger. Possibly a little flirty. “Are you sure?”
I step back, forgetting I’m on a staircase, and nearly fall. I take a few seconds to consider my predicament while I grasp the rail to steady myself. I was hoping to avoid this particular person, at least until we got to Gull Cove. But now that I’ve almost literally run into her, I guess there’s no going back.
“I’m sure,” I say. “Hello, Milly.”
She blinks in surprise. Behind us, someone clears his throat. “Excuse me,” calls a gruff voice. “I’m trying to get downstairs.” I turn to see an old guy in plaid shorts and a Red Sox baseball cap hovering behind me, one foot on the top step.
“Hang on. We’re going up,” I say, and reverse course. He steps aside to let me pass, and I lean against the wall of an alcove beside the staircase.
Milly follows, her hands on her hips. “Do I know you?”
Crap. I can’t believe I was just checking her out. I don’t think she minded, either. Awkward. “Yeah. Well, sort of. I’m Jonah.” I hold out my hand. Her eyes widen, and she doesn’t take it. “Jonah Story.”
“Jonah Story,” she repeats.
“Your cousin,” I clarify.
Milly stares at me for a beat. Then she takes my hand so gingerly that her fingers barely graze mine. “You’re Jonah?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
I let annoyance edge into my voice. It’s my trademark, after all. “Do you have auditory issues? I’ve responded affirmatively multiple times.”
Her eyes narrow. “Oh, there you are. I got a little confused by this whole”—she waves a hand near my face—“J. Crew model look you have going. I have to admit, that’s unexpected. I thought you’d look how you talk.” I’m not going to rise to the bait and ask her what she means, but she keeps going without prompting. “Like a constipated gnome.”
Points for creativity, I guess. “Nice to meet you too.”
Her nose wrinkles as she looks me up and down. “Why are you all sweaty?”
I resist the urge to sniff myself to see if I smell. From the look on her face, I probably do. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“Why are you even here? I thought you didn’t see any point in arriving in tandem?”
I fold my arms, wishing I’d never come upstairs. Talking to her is wearing me out. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep it up. “My schedule changed.”