Chapter 15
Time Flies – Kayla
T he next week comes and goes—and the only exchanges I have with Jack are in the dining area. But I still see a desperation in his eyes as we glance at each other.
“I finished this one last night,” Callie says after joining me, Denver, and some other members of the crew who are seated at our usual table.
It’s the third book in Yannis’s series, and there’s a steamy scene on the cover.
“What in the world?” Denver picks it up. “Is this that one guy?… uh, Fabio! Yeah. That’s it.”
I snatch it back. “No, it is not.” Yes, Issy, the fictitious character, may have long, light hair. But he’s much more handsome than Fabio. At least on the cover and in my mind.
Denver laughs. “What is that, anyway?”
“A book by Yannis Drakos. The guy we’re sailing across the world for Jack to meet.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, he’s a literary genius, if you ask me.”
He grimaces. “If you say so.”
“She’s right,” Gwen agrees after joining us.
“Thank you!”
“And you could do with some reading, Denv,” she jokes.
He makes a funny face at her. “Oh, shut up.”
Their relationship reminds me of one shared between siblings.
“Anyway,” Callie changes the subject, “Do we have all of our outfits ready for Morocco?”
My brow furrows. “Outfits?”
She swings back to look at me. “Are you kidding me, Kay?”
I shrug.
“We’re getting a few nights off once we get there.”
“Really?”
Callie lightly shoves my shoulder. “Seriously? What were you doing during that meeting Captain Bryant gathered us for?”
Staring at Jack.
“Oh…” As if reading my mind, she glances back toward him, and he looks away. “Right.”
“What?” Denver and Gwen try to follow her gaze.
I look at her in horror, hoping she’ll come up with a believable fib.
“Nothing. Never mind. Back to our wardrobe.” She flicks my bow. “This will not do in the Moroccan clubs.”
“What?” I make it straight again. “I like them.”
She rolls her eyes and sighs. “And they’re very, very cute. If you’re on your high school poms team.”
I cross my arms. “I’ll have you know that I was.”
All three of them laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I demand.
“It just makes a lot of sense,” Denver confesses.
I still don’t fully understand.
Gwen adds, “Do you or do you not have sparkly eyeliner on right now?”
I do.
“So, as I was saying, none of that cutesy shit in Morocco. We’re all going to exude sex appeal.”
“Not me,” Denver pushes back.
Callie scoffs. “Come on, dude. You can still have fun while also being faithful to your precious Maria.”
“I guess.”
That has me thinking. I should probably establish where Jack and I stand beforehand. I’ve let things hang up in the air, but it’s enough. Especially if I want to have fun, like Callie said, in Morocco.
So, I start trying to devise a plan to slip him a note before we dock.
“I really need to know where I stand with Jack,” I explain to Callie later while we’re sitting in her cabin.
My legs crossed like a pretzel, and she’s laying on her stomach across her bed while looking at pictures she brought from home.
“How do you plan to do that?”
I’m kind of embarrassed to admit it to her because it sounds so juvenile, and it’s absolutely something I did to boys I had crushes on in middle school. But I force it out, “I was thinking of leaving him a note.”
Her pupils raise up to meet mine. “Seriously?”
I cross my arms. “Well, do you have a better idea?”
She purses her lips and wiggles them from one side of her face to the other. “Other than just straight up asking him…”
“Oh, god.” Even the suggestion makes a shiver run down my spine. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?” She sits up.
“Because what if he rejects me. I’d much rather that be on paper and not in person.”
“But at least you’d know.”
“I’ll know doing it my way too. Won’t I?”
Her fingers fiddle with her bangs. “I guess. Do you know how to cut hair?”
“What?” I wasn’t expecting that hard of a pivot in our conversation.
“Do you know how to cut hair? I could really use a trim. These pieces are practically hanging in my eye sockets.”
Judging by the horrific haircut I gave myself when I was a child, I suggest she should ask someone else.
“It’s really not that hard, I promise. I’ve watched dozens of YouTube videos about it.” She stands up and examines herself in the small mirror hanging near the door.
“So, why can’t you just do it then?”
“Because I have shaky hands.” She turns and holds them out to demonstrate it to me.
Still, I feel uneasy. “I think we should maybe ask Gwen.”
Callie flicks her wrist at me. “Gwen is a klutz. Please?”
Ugh.
She then digs through a cosmetics bag before pulling out an extra sharp scissors with one circular and one oblong handles.
I gulp hard.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Yeah.” I stand behind her. “You just have to do this.” She carefully makes a triangle near the front of her head and then combs all her shorter hair into a big clump. “See? You twist it, and that’s what gives it like the cascading effect.”
“If you say so. But please know you only have yourself to blame if this goes badly.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. It’ll be fine. Just cut along the edges.”
I have to force myself not to close my eyes as I do as she says, little chunks of hair falling as I go along.
When I’m done, I hold my breath as she examines my work.
“Well?”
“It looks great. I told you.”
Oh, thank god. I can breathe again.
She opens and closes the scissors multiple times. “Your turn?”
I hold onto my hair, which is falling freely past my shoulders. “Absolutely not.”
“Really? I think you’d look adorable with some swoopy bangs.” She takes some of it and makes it look like I have short chunks on my forehead.
Backing away, I remind her of something. “I thought the goal was for me to be less cute ?”
She exhales and puts her hands on her hips. “Very good point. About that.” Her index finger is raised as she walks over to her closet. “What do you think about this?” When she turns around, there’s a lacey and teeny tiny bikini in her hands.
“What about it? I can hardly see it .” I emphasize the holes by making them bigger with my fingers.
She looks at me curtly. “Come on, Kayla. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Imagine all the hot Moroccan guys we could meet.”
That makes my heart sink. “But what about—”
Letting the suit fall to her side, she blows raspberries and says, “That’s right. Well, let’s write this little note of yours.”
I scowl. “I thought you didn’t like that idea.”
“I didn’t… at least not at first. But now it sounds kind of fun.”
I sit back down on her bed, and I notice a picture of a handsome man with sandy brown hair, long sideburns, gauges in his ears, and a leather jacket on.
“Hey, Cal? Who is this?”
When I pick it up, I read a handwritten message on the back. “Dear Callie, You will always be my special girl. Love, Dirk.”
Dirk. I didn’t think anyone in real life had that name.
“It’s nothing.” She rips it out of my hands and shoves it into a drawer.
Obviously, it isn’t “nothing.” She wouldn’t have taken the time and care to bring it with her on board if it was.
I note to get to the bottom of that. But for now, she seems more intent on writing my little note to Jack.
She pulls out a notebook and gel pen.
Now this feels just like middle school.
“What are you going to write?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
“’Dear Jack, Can we make out with other people in Morocco?’ Then, draw one box under ‘yes’ and one under ‘no.’”
I make a funny face at her. “I think not.”
“Suit yourself. It’s short, sweet, and effective.”
True. “But it also seems needy… like I want to hook up with random people while we’re there.”
“Well, don’t you?”
“No.” That’s not the kind of person I am—especially if Jack wants me. “What if I just say, ‘I was just wondering what your thoughts were about us. Please write back. Heart, Kayla.’ What do you think?”
She pretends to fall asleep, snore, and then wake up again. “Boring.”
“Okay, you come up with something better than that!” I insist.
She then takes the paper from me and bounces the pen against her chin. “Hmmm. This is kind of hard.”
I know.
“What if you just put something like, ‘Jack, just wondering where we stand. ~K.’”
“Just K? How will he know it’s me.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s actually the genius of it! If he does, it’ll prove that you’re at the forefront of his mind.”
I guess. It seems like a risky game, but then again, my whole entire entanglement with him has been just that.
When I’m alone later in my own room, I write and rewrite those words over and over again before finally settling on a version I was happy with.
After that, I sneak near his door in the wee hours of the night, and I slide it under the small gap between it and the floor.
“Holy shit,” I whisper to myself when it’s done.
Part of me wants to reach and get it back, but when I hear muffled sounds coming near me, I book it.