Chapter 5
One day before the first dive
The flight to Dallas is short. I watch one movie, read a couple of chapters of my book, and try to temper my panic. When I’m standing in front of the boarding gate for Cairns, I text Millie and my parents that I’m about to board my flight. Once I’m in Australia, I won’t have service, and I’ll only be able to talk to them on Wi-Fi, which I won’t have on the boat. I try not to think about the fact that I’ll have no idea how Millie’s doing until I’m back on land.
‘You’re gonna be great,’ Millie texts back immediately. ‘You’ll find that butterfly wrasse. I know it!’
‘Hugh’s gonna be sorry,’ I respond. Instantly, I regret it. Hugh should be the last thing on my mind, especially considering I hadn’t talked to him in almost a week. I watch Millie’s three dots appear in our chat, realising that she might think it’s weird for me to bring Hugh back up. Thankfully, all Millie does is love the message and send back multiple muscle arm emojis which are code for ‘you got this’. I breathe out a sigh of relief.
I am turning to make one final bathroom run when the intercom crackles. Everyone around me looks up, boarding is supposed to begin any minute. We wait as the gate agent behind the microphone, a middle-aged woman with perfectly coiffed hair, speaks.
‘Could a passenger by the name of Andi Paxton please come see me at the counter?’
Heat rises in my cheeks. Is this about Millie switching the tickets? What if they don’t let me board? I feel like I’ve just been called to the principal’s office. I half expect someone next to me to say, ‘Ooo, Andi’s in trouble,’ but no one around me seems to care – everyone returns their attention to their phones. I make my way towards the gate agent, falling in line behind a young couple whispering to each other.
I all but gape at the woman in front of me, who has managed to tie a silk scarf around her hair flawlessly. She looks like an old Hollywood movie star. I think back to when I’ve practised tying a bandana around my hair and all I ended up doing was making myself look like I got lost on my way to shovel hay. The gate agent peers around the pair and motions for me to come forward.
‘Andi Paxton?’ she asks, as I skirt around them. They don’t move an inch to let me pass them by, the woman is too busy looking at her phone. The gate agent shoots me a sympathetic look as I wiggle around.
‘Don’t worry,’ she says kindly, ‘nothing’s wrong.’
‘Phew,’ I sigh out.
‘Passport?’ she asks.
I slide it over and she begins rapid-fire typing into her computer.
‘We have notes in the system when there’s a last-minute ticket change due to exceptional circumstances.’ She drops her voice to a whisper. ‘It says here that your sister had to cancel due to unexpected health issues.’
I feel my eyes start to fill with tears, a lump forming instantly in my throat. I nod.
‘My sister is my best friend.’ The gate agent smiles kindly. ‘And we had an extra seat in first class.’
‘First class?’ I gasp, I can’t help myself. I laugh as a tear spills onto my cheek. Wait until Millie hears about this.
She smiles at me and slides back my passport and a ticket. ‘I’m glad it seems like you’ll enjoy it.’
Dazed, I pull my luggage behind me and swerve around the couple. The scarved woman gives me a thorough up-down, appraising my haphazard outfit like she wants to stop me from being in first class on appearance alone. I hear them approach the table to ask if the gate agent has been able to complete their upgrade.
‘Unfortunately, not at this time,’ the gate agent replies calmly.
‘But you just upgraded her to first class.’ The scarf-lady points at me. I scuttle further away from them, wanting to disappear into the faded airport carpet.
‘You asked to be seated together, and there was only one seat left in first class.’
The woman huffs and turns to go, but not before giving me a pointed glance.
Her partner remains behind, asking the gate agent if there’s anything he can do. After another minute of bargaining, he turns to go, lugging a mysterious and heavy-looking black box after the woman in the scarf.
When I land in Cairns it’s morning. My first-class experience was nothing short of blissful, even if I did spend an inordinate amount of it watching videos of Murphy as a puppy and wondering if he missed me. The food was so good I didn’t even finish my own snacks and when I reclined my chair all the way down, I almost let out a scream of excitement. Thankfully, I didn’t see the glamorous woman and her boyfriend again. Now that I know first-hand how wonderful a first-class upgrade is, I see why she was so disappointed.
I clear customs and try to tamp down my yawns. I glance down at the notes I’d written on the plane. The flight gave me time to make a game plan and I resolved to spend the next six days accomplishing two things: 1) finding the butterfly wrasse for my sister, and 2) using this time with no distractions, no work, space from a routine that used to be filled with Zach and our friends, to think about what I really want in life. I know I don’t want to stay at Sunshine Foods forever, and I also know I made the right choice breaking things off with Zach, but that’s about it.
Before I take my phone off Wi-Fi, I get a text from my parents wishing me well. Becca has sent me a barrage of texts, including I miss you already loser!!! and Can you get an Australian hunk’s number for me please??? Tell him I’ll marry for a visa! I reply to them both before sending one last message full of hearts to Millie. I start to weave my way through the airport, towards the open air, hoping to find sunscreen on my way out.
Not a single store seems to be selling the sunscreen I need but my frustration clears as soon as I step outside. Instantly, I’m hit by a wave of humidity. I breathe in long and slow, a huge smile covering my face as I am blanketed with warmth. Compared to an Ohio winter, it feels incredible, blissful, even. It’s early enough that there’s still dew sparkling on the grass lining the parking lot. The airport is small, palm trees lining the building. I spot the sign for the shuttle to the docks right away.
I’m nervous and tingly that I’m about to be deep in a lie. I remind myself that I know everything about my sister and that these people don’t know her at all. They will have no idea. I place her ID strategically at the front of my wallet in case I need it when I board the boat. I step in line behind the other tourists queueing for the bus. An older couple takes their place behind me. They bicker softly until one of them laughs. When I glance behind me, they’re holding hands. I feel a tug at my heartstrings – they have what I want one day.
We barely have to wait five minutes before they start to load us onto the bus. I’m last to board because I need to physically kick my suitcase into the space underneath the bus (it barely fits, and I feel my face heat with embarrassment). But I end up with the front seat to myself, and as I unpack my water bottle to take a large sip, I think to myself, I did it . I actually made it all the way to Australia. I’m about to dive the Great Barrier Reef . Just as I’m about to take another sip, cheersing myself as I do so, a straggler boards the bus and throws his backpack between us before taking his seat. I jump at the sudden movement and spill water down the front of my shirt. Great , I think, giving the man serious side-eye. He’s fiddling with his wallet, so he doesn’t even notice. I roll my eyes. I know I’m one of them, but why do American tourists seem to suck so much?
As soon as we pull out of the parking lot and onto the main road, sunlight streams through the windows. I dig out my toiletry bag to rub some sunscreen onto my face, no sense in getting burned before my trip even starts, and try to enjoy the ride. Air is rushing through the cracked windows and it smells like the ocean. I can barely contain my excitement.
We haven’t even been driving for five minutes before I notice the man next to me is staring at me. Well . . . not exactly at me . . . he’s staring at the toiletry bag that’s resting in my lap . . . really staring at it. I watch him studying my bag, weirded out that he’s taken such an interest in my lap, but he doesn’t notice. He has shaggy blond hair and tanned skin. He’s wearing a loose-fitting slate-grey T-shirt. He looks . . . familiar . . . but I can’t place him. I quickly remind myself that I’m extremely jet-lagged and know nobody in Australia. Maybe he looks like a famous person.
I stare at his nose, which slopes perfectly straight, like the profile outline of Prince Eric from A Little Mermaid .
He catches me staring and we make direct eye contact. I feel the back of my kneecaps prickle with sweat. Suddenly, my heart is pounding, and my throat is dry. I clear my throat awkwardly and look away. I resolve not to let my new-found singleness make me extremely nervous around every hot guy I encounter. I remind myself of my goals – not even perfect Prince Eric noses will distract me.
Before rotating my shoulders to completely face the window, I steal one more look at his eyes, which are a dark, grey-ish blue that reminds me of a rainstorm. They’re not the aquamarine that Prince Eric has. They’re almost the colour of the skin of a dolphin. And he looks angry.
It clicks. He reminds me of Hugh Harris. I dismiss the thought as soon as it crosses my mind. There’s no way. It must be the jet lag.
I almost ask if there is something I can do to help him but think better of it. Maybe he had to sit next to a crying baby on his flight. I look out the window instead. We are passing palm trees that sway in the wind. In the distance are huge, vividly green mountains. Some are shrouded gently in fog. The whole place is lush and breathtaking. Occasionally, water appears in between buildings. It’s bright blue and calm. I’m in paradise.
The bus clanks over a huge pothole, sending his backpack and my bag straight up in the air. I attempt to catch my toiletry bag and fumble, sending it straight into his lap. He looks at me with fury, his eyes even darker than they were a second ago, his brow furrowed.
‘Here.’ He thrusts it into my hands. He has an Australian accent, so it sounds like ‘heeya’.
‘Thanks.’
‘You know they make reef-friendly sunscreen, right?’
I almost point out that he’s so tanned it looks like he’s never used sunscreen in his life, but instead I diplomatically say, ‘OK.’
‘And yet you brought that.’ He gestures to my bag.
I am grateful Australians speak English, but man, this guy is hard to understand. He sounds like he’s trying to talk with rocks in his mouth. It takes me a moment to decipher what he’s trying to say, which is: Why do you have non-reef-friendly sunscreen when you’re at the biggest reef in the world? Instead of thinking of a response, I panic. I stare at him, blinking, thinking, Oh my God, how is this already happening? I’ve barely left the airport parking lot and they already know I’m a fraud.
He raises his eyebrows at me and the space between his eyebrows crinkles. As I clock his disgust, my thoughts shift from embarrassment to annoyance. Is this guy serious? He continues staring at me. ‘I forgot my other sunscreen,’ I say finally, unsure of why he thinks I owe him an explanation.
He nods but I can tell by his face he doesn’t believe me. ‘I’m serious!’ I double down. ‘I really did. I looked for a different kind at the airport before I came.’
‘Sure,’ he says. He turns his attention forward.
‘What, you don’t believe me?’ Immediately upon asking, I blush. I don’t know why it’s important to me that a stranger believes I wouldn’t willingly bring reef-harming chemicals to the Great Barrier Reef. Maybe because he’s Australian, and I don’t want to enter the country and get off on the wrong foot. Maybe because he is undeniably very cute. Maybe because I’m pretending to be somebody who would never make the mistake I just did.
‘Sure,’ he mumbles.
All right, asshole , I think.
We sit in silence the rest of the bus ride. I try to focus on absorbing every bit of scenery. I take a picture to send to Millie. I double-check I have her ID. I try not to look at who I’ve now labelled as ‘angry suntan man’, even though, despite his temperament, he’s nice to look at. He’s muscular in a gentle sort of way. Not like he goes to CrossFit, but more like he goes on runs and helps his neighbours move their furniture when they need it.
We’re in line to get off the bus when I see his backpack. He’s so much taller than me that I’m face to face with the logo: University of Sydney Marine Biology Lab. There’s no way . . . I think, shaking off the unease in my chest.
I debate asking if he knows Hugh but think better of it. He’s so unfriendly, if I tapped him on the shoulder, he would probably have a panic attack at the idea of talking to me again. Plus, I realise, I don’t want Hugh to know that I was using the wrong sunscreen.