Chapter Six #2
“I think we can all agree: very fast,” Melanie says.
Her proclamation is met with cheers from the cohort, and I grin as I make my way back to my seat.
The easy camaraderie of the group makes even a night in this unfamiliar place feel comfortable, and I’ve almost forgotten that we’re technically competing tonight.
I just clap my way through Liam’s karaoke performance and cheer alongside everyone else when Ms. Barlowe and Ms. Galanis declare Henry and Bodhi the undisputed winners of the night.
—
The rolling waves swoop deep in my stomach as I toss on the thin mattress. I’m on the top bunk of a tiny four-bed room, with Lucy asleep in the bed below me. Amalia’s light snores fill the cabin from the bunk opposite.
I don’t understand how either of them can sleep through this. The waves outside may be mild, but they’re enough to pitch a tsunami in my gut. How am I supposed to go to sleep in these conditions?
Annoyed, I fling myself down the ladder and grab a sweatshirt from my suitcase, pulling it on as I slip out the door, careful not to wake any of my cabinmates. Maybe some salty nighttime air will fix me.
Remembering my conversation with Melanie, I make my way to the store. A crispy-bagel-chip situation would go a long way in settling my stomach. Melanie clearly had the same thought—when I get there, she’s just ahead of me in line. She beams when she sees me and then blushes.
The pink creeping into her cheeks might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“I shouldn’t be so happy that you’re having a hard time sleeping,” she says.
I grin. “Here to keep you company. Where would I be without our midnight treats?”
We buy our chips, and I follow her outside.
It’s cold out on the deck, the night air slapping the waves against the sides of the ferry, but Melanie had the foresight to bring the blanket from her bunk.
She sits close to me, our thighs touching, so she can spread the blanket over both of us.
I bravely ignore the heat of her body against mine.
I’d sit like this with Liam or Lucy without giving it a second thought.
It doesn’t have to be any different with Melanie.
This is my window to prove to myself that we can just be friends, that we can have a version of this summer where I’m close to her without having anything to fear.
Not even if it makes that now-familiar yearning ache explode in my chest.
She tears open the bag of bagel chips and props it between us.
I snag a handful. She leans back, staring up at the night sky.
We’ve settled close enough to the side of the boat that the lights from inside don’t intrude much on our view of the stars.
With the churning black sea meeting the inky sky, the darkness beyond the ship seems like it could swallow us whole.
The constellations glint above it all, the glimmering pinpricks enough to light up the heavens.
I let my head tip back to take the stars in.
They’re all-consuming, the sky seeming to envelop the entirety of the space around us.
When I see them like this, away from the streetlights casting a heavy glow above New York, it’s easy to understand why the ancients brought the sky to life with the stories they told about the shapes in the stars. For them, the sky was already alive.
“So, why are you along for the ride?” I ask. “Knowing how much of a nonclassics girl you are.”
Melanie laughs. “I mean, I love art and all. Greece is my home, and I love its history. I’m just a science geek at heart.”
The first word that springs into my mind in response is hot, which I stamp out as fast as I can.
“What kind of science?” I ask.
“Physics,” she says. “I want to study astronomy, when it’s finally my turn for college.”
“Damn,” I say, tilting my head up again to look at the stars.
I went to a talk once about how the ancients viewed the sky, and the presenter showed a photo of what the sky used to look like from Earth—without all the lights that are now blocking our view.
Even just the sight of it on a screen was sheerly awe-inspiring—an infinite number of stars, the Milky Way clearly banding its way through the sky.
This night—under this sky—makes me feel like that kind of magic might be possible for me too.
I tell Melanie about the talk, and she grins.
“That’s part of the obsession, to be honest,” she says. “I love that humans have been staring at the stars since we’ve been here, trying to understand them.”
“I get it,” I say. “That’s what I love about the classics too. All the ways humanity has been the same this whole time. And all the ways we’ve grown too. Nothing makes me more emotional than stuff like ancient art of people playing with cats.”
Melanie laughs. “That’s adorable.”
And suddenly her hand is in mine again. Under the blanket, she quietly slips her fingers into mine. I freeze, my muscles tensing up for a moment. I have no idea what to do. The part of me that wants to run away screaming is losing in the face of her warmth, the light in her eyes.
I take a deep breath and relax into the moment. Nothing has to come of it. We’re just two girls, holding hands under a blanket and a nightful of stars.
It’s going to be fine.
“Being into science is cool,” I tell her. “All my friends are art geeks of one kind or another.”
“Science is just a different kind of geekdom,” Melanie says. “Although we do have some pretty cool lab equipment.”
“I don’t know,” I tease. “I’ve seen the goggles they make us wear in chemistry.”
The image of Melanie wearing said goggles pops unbidden into my mind, and it occurs to me that they might actually be really cute.
“Hey, the goggles are adorable,” Melanie says, and I laugh.
“I don’t doubt it,” I admit.
We fall into a companionable silence, staring out at the sea with our fingers intertwined. I meet her eye, and the contact sets off a flurry of sparks in my gut. Their crackling feels like a warning. An alert, screaming danger.
Her eyes flick down to my lips, and I fall into a panic zone.
Holding hands is one thing. It’s plausibly platonic. But kissing?
This can’t happen. Not here, not now—not ever. This isn’t safe. I’m not safe here.
I have to go.
I fake a yawn, letting go of Melanie’s hand to cover it. “It’s getting late.”
“Oh.” She nods, blinking quickly to cover the surprised look in her eyes. “Yeah. We should get some sleep.”
“Long day tomorrow,” I say, folding the blanket off me and handing it back to her. “See you in the morning?”
“Yeah,” she says. She’s giving me a look like she’s trying to read me but doesn’t know how. I can’t say I blame her. I’m not entirely sure how to read myself these days.
“Good night,” I tell her. It’s a quietly intimate phrase, and it feels nice saying it to her. Enough so that I find myself wishing I could let myself lean into the moment, lose myself in it with her.
But I know where that leads. So I give her a small smile and head back to bed, where I spend the rest of the night tossing, seasick, in my bunk.