Chapter Thirteen
I shuffle to my window and peek through the blinds. The street is empty except for a few porch lights glowing like lonely beacons. Even the ocean sounds muted at this hour, waves rolling against the shore in a sleepy rhythm.
I can smell coffee brewing from downstairs. I grab my robe and hurry down the stairs.
“You’re up,” she says, handing me a travel mug filled with coffee that’s more cream than caffeine. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired. Excited.” I take a sip, grateful for the warmth. “Ready to think about something other than… everything.”
Robert appears in his bathrobe, hair sticking up at odd angles. “Big day, kiddo. You have everything you need?”
I pat my duffel bag sitting by the front door. “Sunscreen, notebooks, underwater camera. I’m ready.”
“Call us when you get there,” she says, then catches herself. “Oh wait, they’re taking phones, aren’t they?”
“Complete digital detox for three days. No phones, no social media, no distractions.” The idea should make me anxious, but instead I feel oddly relieved. Three days without compulsively checking for messages may not come.
“I love you, see you when you get back.” They pull me into a hug and practically shove me out the door. Gosh, eager.
I’m pulling into the school parking lot, joining a small army of sleepy teenagers hauling duffel bags and sleeping bags toward the waiting buses.
Maya practically bounces over to me, somehow looking completely awake despite the early hour. “This is it! Three days of freedom!”
“You’re disturbingly cheerful for someone who’s been awake for less than an hour.”
“I’ve been up since three. Too excited to sleep.” She hefts her overpacked bag. “I may have brought too much stuff.”
“All right, everyone, listen up!” Mrs. Henderson appears with a clipboard and a megaphone, her voice cutting through the morning quiet. “Before we board the buses, we need to collect all electronic devices. Phones, tablets, smartwatches, everything goes in the lockbox.”
A chorus of groans rises from the assembled students. Sophie clutches her phone dramatically. “But what if there’s an emergency?”
“The chaperones will have communication devices for real emergencies,” Mrs. Henderson replies patiently. “This is about unplugging from the digital world and connecting with the natural one.”
Derek appears beside me, looking annoyingly awake for someone who probably stayed up too late playing video games. “Ready to survive without Instagram for three days?”
“I think I’ll manage.” I pull my phone from my pocket, staring at the dark screen for a moment before dropping it into the collection box.
“Buses are loading!” Mrs. Henderson calls. “Cabin assignments determine your bus. Cabins 1-8 on Bus A, Cabins 9-16 on Bus B.”
Maya grabs my arm. “That’s us! Come on, let’s get good seats.”
We climb onto Bus A, the interior smelling like vinyl seats and industrial cleaning products.
Maya claims a window seat halfway back, and I slide in beside her.
The seats are designed for elementary school children, not high school seniors, and my knees immediately press against the seat in front of me.
Derek passes by our row, heading toward the back where Tyler and Jake are already causing a minor commotion with an improvised beatboxing session.
“See you at the dock,” he says, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze before continuing down the aisle.
As the bus pulls out of the parking lot, the sky begins to lighten, revealing wisps of fog clinging to the coastal mountains. Students settle into the rhythm of the road trip, sharing snacks, playing word games, and gradually waking up as excitement builds.
“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Maya says, pressing her face to the window. “Real marine biology research. Like actual scientists.”
“With significantly less education and experience.”
“Details.” She waves a dismissive hand. “We’ll figure it out. How hard can it be to identify a sea anemone?”
The drive passes quickly, filled with Maya’s running commentary on everything from the changing landscape to speculation about which classmates might get seasick on the ferry.
By the time we reach the harbor, the sun has burned through most of the marine layer, promising a beautiful day on the water.
It’s beautiful out here. Fishing boats heading out for the day, joggers on the waterfront path, and seagulls diving for scraps with their usual aggressive enthusiasm.
“Bags go in the storage area below deck,” Mrs. Henderson announces as we disembark from the buses. “Keep your day packs with you. We’ll be on the water for about an hour.”
I follow the stream of students toward the ferry, my duffel bag bouncing against my leg. The smell of salt water and diesel fuel fills the air, along with the cries of seagulls and the general chaos of harbor activity.
“Olivia!” Derek’s voice cuts through the noise.
I turn to see him jogging over, having apparently escaped from his bus buddies. “What’s up?”
“Come with me for a second.” He grabs my hand, leading me away from the main group toward a quieter section of the dock behind a stack of cargo containers.
“Derek, what are you,”
Before I can finish the question, he’s pulling me closer, his hands framing my face as he kisses me.
Not the gentle, tentative kisses we’ve shared under the bleachers, but something deeper and more urgent.
His lips are warm and slightly salty from the sea air, and I can feel his heartbeat through his t-shirt when I press closer.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since we got off the bus,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Here? Now?” But I’m not complaining. If anything, the semi-public location makes it more thrilling.
“Three days without being able to sneak away like this,” he says, his thumb tracing along my jawline. “Had to make it count.”
I kiss him again, shorter this time but no less intense, tasting coffee and toothpaste from his warm lips. He slides his hands slide down to my waist, pulling me against him.
“Lance! Kline! Where did you two disappear to?”
Mrs. Henderson’s voice cuts through our moment like a bucket of cold water. We spring apart, faces flushed and probably looking incredibly guilty.
“Sorry, Mrs. Henderson,” Derek calls, running a hand through his now-disheveled hair. “Just, uh, checking out the harbor.”
“Well, check it out from the deck of the ferry. We’re boarding now.”
We hurry back toward the group; I try to keep a straight face. Maya takes one look at my face and raises her eyebrows knowingly.
“Checking out the harbor?” she whispers as we join the boarding line.
“Shut up.”
“Your lips are all red and Derek’s hair looks like he stuck his finger in an electrical socket.”
“I said shut up.”
But she’s grinning, and I can’t help grinning back. Maybe three days without phones isn’t such a bad thing if it means three days of moments like that.
The ferry’s interior is all polished wood and marine blue upholstery, with large windows providing panoramic views of the harbor. Most students head straight for the outdoor decks, but I find a spot by a window where I can watch Long Beach recede into the distance.
Maya settles beside me, still wearing that knowing smile. “So. You and Derek seem to be getting more… affectionate.”
“We’re dating. Affection is normal.”
“I’m not complaining. I’m happy for you. It’s just funny watching you two figure out the whole couple thing.”
Through the window, I watch Catalina Island grow larger on the horizon. From this distance, it looks like a sleeping giant rising from the Pacific, all golden cliffs and hidden coves. The ferry picks up speed as we leave the harbor, and I feel a corresponding lift in my spirits.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the captain’s voice crackles over the intercom, “welcome aboard the Catalina Express. We’re looking at perfect weather for crossing, calm seas, clear skies, and excellent visibility. Keep your eyes open for marine life. Dolphins are commonly spotted during this crossing.”
As if summoned by his words, a pod of dolphins appears off the starboard side, their sleek bodies cutting through the water in graceful arcs. Students crowd against the windows and railings, phones replaced by pointing fingers and excited voices.
“There!” Sophie squeals from somewhere behind me. “Did you see that one jump?”
I press closer to the window, watching the dolphins pace the ferry with effortless grace.
They seem to be playing in the boat’s wake, diving and surfacing in what looks like pure joy.
For the first time in days, I feel completely present in the moment, not thinking about unanswered messages or family complications.
Just dolphins and salt spray and the promise of three days focused entirely on the world beneath the waves.
The crossing passes quickly, filled with marine life sightings, snack sharing, and the gradual transformation from sleepy morning travelers to excited marine biology students.
By the time Avalon Harbor comes into view, a perfect crescent of white sand beaches and red-roofed buildings nestled against dramatic cliffs, the bus full of teenagers has become something more like a research expedition.
“Look at that water,” Maya breathes, staring at the impossibly clear blue-green harbor. “You can see straight to the bottom.”
She’s right. Even from the ferry deck, I can make out the sandy bottom and dark patches of kelp forests beyond the harbor mouth. Fish move in silver schools beneath the surface, and the water is so transparent it’s like looking through glass.
The ferry glides into the harbor, passing smaller boats anchored in the protected waters.
Avalon itself looks like something from a postcard, the iconic Casino building with its distinctive round architecture, the Green Pleasure Pier stretching into the harbor, and hillsides dotted with small houses that seem to tumble down toward the water.
“This is going to be incredible,” Derek says, appearing beside me at the window. His hair has returned to its normal state, though his cheeks are still slightly pink from our earlier encounter.
“I know. I can’t believe I almost didn’t want to come.”
“What changed your mind?”
I watch a pelican dive for fish just outside the harbor, emerging with its catch and gulping it down with casual efficiency. “I realized that some experiences are worth having whether or not your life is complicated.”
The ferry docks with a gentle bump, and Mrs. Henderson’s voice rings out over the excited chatter. “All right, everyone, stay together! We’ll be taking the bus up to the research station. Keep your day packs with you, and remember, we’re guests on this island. Treat it with respect.”
As we file off the ferry, I catch my first real breath of Catalina air—salt and sage, eucalyptus and something indefinably wild.
The bus ride to the research station winds along narrow roads carved into cliffsides, offering glimpses of hidden coves and pristine beaches below.
Native vegetation covers the hillsides, prickly pear cactus, coastal sage scrub, and the occasional grove of eucalyptus trees swaying in the ocean breeze.
“The Catalina Island Marine Institute has been conducting research and education programs for over forty years,” Mrs. Henderson announces from the front of the bus. “You’ll be working with real scientists, conducting actual research, and contributing to our understanding of marine ecosystems.”
The research station appears around a bend in the road like something from a nature documentary, low, modern buildings blending into the landscape, with solar panels gleaming on the roofs and native plants landscaping the grounds.
Beyond the buildings, trails disappear into coastal sage scrub, and wooden stairs lead down to a protected cove where research boats bob at their moorings.
“Welcome to your home for the next three days,” Mrs. Henderson says as the bus comes to a stop.
As we gather our belongings and prepare to disembark, I feel a buzz of genuine excitement. This place is beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with Instagram filters or social media posts. It’s real and wild and completely disconnected from the digital world I’ve been living in.