Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“What do you do during the school year?” he asks.
Oh, shit. “I work in a club.”
“Bartender? Bouncer?”
He’s just making conversation, and I should never have mentioned a job at school. But it’s not a good idea to lie to my future employer. Jim might even be my boss if I show up here next year. “I’m a male entertainer,” I tell him with a smile that’s more confident than I feel. “You might call it a stripper.”
“Ha!” He slaps the desk. “Good one, kid. Now how long until you finish that report?”
“Half hour?” I squeak.
“Cool. I’ll be waiting.”
Relieved, I walk away.
A lot of offers. That sentence sort of echoes through my head as I go back to my desk. And as I sit down in my ergonomic chair, something unfamiliar unfurls in my chest.
I think it might be optimism.
Beef Jerky
Keaton
“Ahoy matey! Beef jerky?”
I glance up from my book as Mateo bounds into the miniscule cabin we’ve been sharing for the past five weeks. He thrusts out his hand, offering me a stick of dried jerky.
I almost gag. “Seriously? Do you want me to keep you up all night as I’m hurling my guts out into poor Lucy?” I nod ruefully toward the bright red bucket underneath the small desk that’s bolted to the cabin floor.
Nothing in this room is unsecured. The way the Esmeralda rocks and pitches and lurches and dips, no item is safe. Even Lucy, my puke bucket, is secured with a bungee cord to one desk leg.
I’m not going to lie—the sea and I aren’t the best of friends. I’m not a novice to sailboats, and normally I love being out on the open water, but this stretch of ocean near Cape Horn is brutal. The waves are choppy and the wind is constantly gusting. After five weeks, my stomach has settled for the most part, but when it’s storming outside like it is tonight, I try not to eat.
My roommate, on the other hand, is addicted to eating. You’ll never see Mateo without food in his hands. Beef jerky, fruit, granola bars, those sunflower seeds he munches on and spits over the deck every morning. It’s a wonder he’s as thin as he is, considering how much stuff he shovels into his mouth.
“Dios mio!” he says, blanching. “No, please don’t bring out Lucy. I can’t suffer through that again.”
I grin at him. Honestly, I lucked out having such a cool roomie. Mateo is a grad student at the University of Miami, and this is his third summer on an expedition like this. He’s also fluent in four languages, and he’s been teaching me the dirtiest phrases. Luke would love him.
Ugh. I was hoping not to think about Luke today. But who I am kidding, I think of him every day. I’ve messaged him non-stop since I left Darby, but aside from that one message about deli sandwiches and my dad, he’s been disappointingly quiet.
“Doc VanBoerk is setting up a poker game in the galley,” Mateo says as he munches on his beef jerky. He chews loudly before speaking again. “I told him we’d be there soon.”
I groan, my gaze darting toward the tiny porthole. It’s way past sunset, so I can’t actually see anything, but the incessant rocking of the boat tells me the waves are probably pretty huge. The last time we tried playing poker during a storm, the chips kept rolling off the galley table and bouncing onto the ground.
“C’mon, what else are you gonna do?” Mateo coaxes. “Read? You read too much, Keaton! Come experience life!”
I hide a smile. I guess “experiencing life” means playing cards with a bunch of science geeks, including our Dutch captain whose best friend is a dolphin named Pippy. Dr. VanBoerk runs a marine-life sanctuary in Florida, where he and his staff rescue animals affected by oil spills and rehabilitate them. He’s a pretty awesome dude.
So I haul myself off the bottom bunk and join Mateo and the others in the galley. We play poker as the Esmeralda bobs in the angry waves like a cork in a wine bottle. Afterward, Mateo and I head back to our bunk. He passes out almost instantly. Me, I make use of the very shitty Wi-Fi signal to send a quick message.
LobsterShorts: Stormy again tonight. I swear, I’m popping anti-nausea tablets like candy!
To my shock, Luke replies within seconds.
SinnerThree: Still seasick??
LobsterShorts: Only when the water’s rough. Which here, apparently, is all the time.
SinnerThree: What are you doing up so late?
It’s past midnight in Chile, so just after eleven in Connecticut.
LobsterShorts: Playing poker with the crew. I lost 50 bucks.
SinnerThree: Of course you did. You suck at poker.
I smile at the screen. Fuck, I’ve missed him. Missed the easy flow of conversation between us. Which is why it kills me to have to sign off.