CHAPTER ELEVEN
J ason
“Jason.” Cal calls my name, and I freeze. I turn around slowly. “You don’t give up.”
“Aw... You complimenting my journalism skills?” He grins, then his face sobers, like he remembers joking isn’t something we do anymore.
Something in my stomach squeezes, and I remember that moment in the airport, where I’d been almost disappointed when I’d thought he’d left.
I square my shoulders, and my jaw goes Mussolini. “I can’t talk now.”
His face falls, and I hate it. When did he start looking like a puppy dog?
“I’m, uh...” I fling my gaze around the resort.
For some reason, I don’t want to tell him I want to be in my villa so I can avoid him.
I don’t want to see disappointment on his face again. I have the feeling other people have put it there, and I don’t want to add to it.
An excellent thought occurs to me, and I beam. “I’m going jet skiing.”
“Jet skiing?” He repeats the words like they’re unfamiliar in his mouth.
They probably are. Jet and ski aren’t a word combination normally used in Boston.
“Yeah.”
I stare at the machines. I’ve only ridden one on that one vacation in Florida, but this is the perfect time to go again. I feign disappointment. “Unfortunately, I can’t talk.”
“Oh.”
“Too bad, Prescott.” I grin and head toward the jet skis.
Eight machines are lined up. They’re black-and-white.
All sleek Fiberglass. Beside them are some kayaks and paddle boards.
I’m more experienced with those, but right now I want something faster.
Something tougher. Something that will distract me from thoughts of Cal.
I head toward a small hut. A guy sits inside. The prices are painted on a board on the side of the hut. “I want to rent a jet ski.”
“Sure. Room number?”
I tell him.
I sense Cal beside me. I almost smile, then turn it into a frown in time. I don’t like that he’s following me.
I glance at him. “You want to jet ski too?”
“Uh, yeah.” His voice wobbles slightly. “Huge fan. Major jet ski enthusiast.”
I blink. “Oh. Cool, then.”
“You can go to Mirror Island,” the guy in the hut interjects, handing me a lifejacket.
“What’s that?” I slip the lifejacket on, then zipper it up.
“Private island,” the guy explains. “We normally have tour guides there, but our guide is sick. You want? I show you map.”
I take the map. It’s bright and colorful.
“So we can just jet ski to another island?” Cal asks.
“Yeah. We do it all the time.”
“Isn’t the water bumpy?” Cal asks. “Like, with waves?”
The guy raises an eyebrow, and Cal’s cheeks redden.
“I’m not scared.” I saunter toward the row of jet skis. I turn back to the guide. “I can take any of them?”
“Yes, sir. Just grab a lifejacket.”
The jet skis bob in the water, like floating motorcycles. I straddle the seat. This is the life. I’m glad I wore my swim trunks to breakfast.
“Wait! I’m coming!” Cal rushes toward me, zipping up his orange lifejacket, and I groan.
“Can’t get rid of you.”
Cal plops onto the jet ski, and it sinks into the water. His face whitens, and I roll my eyes. I start the jet ski, then head toward the ocean.
The sun glints over the waves, and I stare into the distance.
“I can’t see a private island,” Cal says. “Is that real?”
“Yep. It was on the website. Fiji has over four hundred islands, many uninhabited.”
“Cool.”
“Let’s go. Unless you’re scared.”
His eyes narrow. “I’m not scared.”
I laugh.
He will be.
I quicken my speed, then my jet ski is thundering over the waves.
The sun makes everything sparkle, and the water is a deep blue, the color that’s in every child’s starter pack of crayons.
Spray hits my chest, and I lean forward.
Let’s see if he can keep up.
CAL
Jason cuts through the water on his jet ski like he’s auditioning to play James Bond.
I’ve never actually been on a jet ski before, and it takes me a moment to orient myself. I get the hang of it quickly, then follow Jason into the open water.
Waves bump and splash against the jet ski, and I tighten my grip on the handles.
Jason flicks a gaze at me. If I didn’t know him better, I would say he looked concerned. “You okay?”
“Totally.” I press onto the accelerator and hurry past him. “I beat you!”
“First one to the island wins!” He surges beside me.
Spray lands on my pants, lands on my shirt, lands on my sunglasses. The world becomes blurry, and I slow and wipe my sunglasses down.
“You’re slow, Prescott!” Jason’s voice booms, and I accelerate toward him. The sun makes his gold hair glitter.
I zoom toward him, then he swings around and heads straight toward me. He hunches his torso forward. I hunch my torso forward.
Waves spray against me. My khakis are soaked. He’s right, I should have worn trunks to breakfast. I’m not dressed for jet skiing at all.
I quicken my speed, and we’re headed straight for each other.
I laugh.
He laughs.
We zoom in the water. The ocean waves are uneven below me, and I bop up and down, side to side, clutching on because God, I sure don’t want to fall off.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” I murmur. “It’s so beautiful.”
For a moment, I let happiness swell through me. Wonder at the world. Amazement such a place exists while I was stomping through gray-tinted sludgy snow in Boston.
Jason moves ahead of me. He stands on his jet ski too, clutching hold of the handlebars, a paragon of health and masculinity.
He gets smaller, and I frown.
The speed of my jet ski is slowing for some reason. I’m just gliding. What happened to the engine? I press the button, and the engine sputters.
Shit.
I try again.
Nothing.
The waves bounce around me. The jet ski has stopped.
This is bad.
I look around to find Jason, but he’s disappeared completely, and I clutch onto the jet ski handles, suddenly aware of every wave, of how far I am from shore, of what might be in the water. Like sharks.
I’m completely alone.
On a jet ski that doesn’t work.
And if no one finds me...
Tears sting my eyes, and the world wobbles. No. I’m not going there.
I stand on the jet ski gingerly. I look down at the waves. How far down is the ocean floor?
I hold on to the handlebar, then wave my arm. “Jason! Jason!”
He doesn’t come.
I’m alone.