Chapter 16. In Which I Lie About Knowing How to Canoe and Now I Look like a Crab Rangoon Drenched in Orange Sauce
IN WHICH I LIE ABOUT KNOWING HOW TO CANOE AND NOW I LOOK LIKE A CRAB RANGOON DRENCHED IN ORANGE SAUCE
Luca surveys the canoe by the shoreline that Jameson assigned us, placing his hands on his hips. His bright orange life jacket stretches taut over his chest from being a size too small. “Our canoe isn’t in the water.”
“Correct,” I say. I think. I’m more focused on my own life jacket. Why did it have to be orange? That color makes me look like I caught the flu. And in front of Luca?
“How do we get it in the water, then, canoe expert?” Luca asks.
“Um,” I say, then immediately regret it. Not what a future Harvard graduate would say, nor a canoe expert. “Running start? You sit down? I push it and jump in?”
Luca huffs as if I said something funny. “How about you get in, and I push?”
A part of me wants to be offended. I’m a man, too. I’m strong. But Luca’s life jacket, once again, is stretched taut across the muscles of his chest.
So, I get in the canoe and silently hold my paddle.
“On three,” Luca says, leaning forward to grip the edge of the canoe. He presses his weight firmly against it. “One, two—”
Next thing I know, the wood beneath me is sliding, then bumping, and then teetering way too much. Luca jumps in the moment we’re off land, sending a shock wave through the canoe. His paddle slips off the edge and into the water.
“Whoa!” Luca shouts, scrambling to catch it in time. As he pulls it back onto his lap, the handle knocks him in the head. He flinches.
“You okay?” I ask through a wince.
“Never better.” But it comes out raspy. Defeated.
Not romantic.
Readjusting myself on my wooden seat, I nervously try to bring our legs closer together. Touch is romantic. As I do, my shoe jams between the boards and clunks loudly against the side.
Luca looks at my foot. Stares strangely at it, really.
I clear my throat, pretending that never happened. So, not touch. Maybe words. Which can be equally romantic. I should shower him in compliments. He probably expects them, being a constant winner at life. “You got us into the water. You’re as clever as they say, Luca Melendez.”
Luca’s grin returns. “Thanks.”
“Everyone here has a crush on you,” I say as clearly as I can. To not be misconstrued in any way, no matter how oblivious he wants to be. “I bet you’re everyone’s CC.”
His expression falters. “Where did that come from?”
That was a compliment. Why did it kill the mood? What am I doing wrong? “I’m just telling the truth.”
He dips the paddle in the water and steers us in the correct direction—whatever that may be—reminding me that I should, too. “They barely know me.”
“You might not know them, but everyone knows you. You’re the smartest high schooler in the nation. Your cabinmates are lucky to have you.”
“No way. I’m lucky to have them.” But then his head tilts, his curls sliding to one shoulder. “Maybe minus our mentor, Jameson.”
“Jameson? He’s your mentor?”
“Between being the committee leader and a lifeguard, he’s usually gone. And last night, he was also randomly missing, even though it wasn’t his day off. That let us come to your party.”
So was Felix. Is that who he’s dating?
None of my business. “That’s good. The being gone part, at least.”
“I guess. But he also burns thirty candles every night to ward off the Bachelor Island Ghost. Which is bright. And annoying.”
“Yikes,” I say a bit distractedly. I’m too busy wondering how my romantic conversation pivoted to the Bachelor Island Ghost and how to crawl my way out.
“Yeah,” Luca says. “Really, if anyone at this camp knows me best, it’s you.”
The statement stuns me. All my thoughts dissolve. “Me?”
“We’ve been attending the same competitions for a long time now, right?”
A long time now.
Does that mean Luca knows we met three years ago? That I existed?
It shouldn’t matter. Our history hasn’t changed. He still constantly beats me, and he’s still my enemy. Yet my world feels thrown out of orbit.
I must be misunderstanding.
“You’ve known I’ve been competing against you?” I try to sound nonchalant, even though my insides feel like they’re on an impromptu roller coaster. “But you ignored me at JSHS. When you cut into my presentation.”
He winces and looks at where our feet rest together at the bottom of the canoe. “It was a chaotic day. Coach let me have it because my slap shot isn’t what it used to be lately. I really am sorry.”
“Oh. What about all the other times?”
“To be honest, I thought you were mad unapproachable. And intimidating.”
“Me? You mean you, right?”
Another small laugh leaves Luca. “Nah, I’m not intimidating.”
I give Luca a good once-over, scanning down to his stained sneakers and back up to his soft curls and bright smile. His warm features and casual clothes conflict with my point. But when he defeats me at every competition without seeming to try, how is he not the intimidating one?
Maybe, though, that’s why we never had a conversation before coming to this island. Could he actually have been intimidated by me? Not overlooking me?
“I don’t want to be seen as intimidating,” I mutter, even though the part of me that fears Mom and Dad’s disapproval is telling me that’s exactly what I should be. All fight, no distractions. The best. But another part—one that feels wholly and completely me—is the one that spoke just then.
Revealing something so personal leaves me too exposed. But the only reason I’m speaking to Luca is to build up ammo in case I need to sabotage him. This layer of deception between us, separating us from real connection, is a bit of comfort.
And who knows? Luca could be deceiving me now, too. Lying about recognizing me at competitions because he thinks it will make me like him more.
I stare him down. “When did we first compete against each other?”
“DECA,” Luca answers without missing a beat. “October, three years ago. Why?”
Well.
“No reason,” I lie.
“You’re very hard to miss, Rory,” Luca says playfully, but then his face stiffens out of nowhere, as if he just said something terribly wrong. Same for his shoulders, hitching in his shirt. “Because you look good.”
“What?”
“Sorry, you did before, too. I mean, you seem good now.”
“What?”
“Like you feel good! Since, you know.”
I stare at him wildly. “What?”
He gestures vaguely at me, from top to bottom.
Finally, it hits me. He’s trying to talk about my transition without saying it outright. Maybe he worried he insinuated I was hard to miss because of that?
A laugh bubbles out of me. A real one—half snort, half short giggle, and arguably very unattractive. Not the light, airy one I fabricate every ten seconds for Prince List. It’s been a long time since I last heard it.
But then the regret kicks in. No one would fall for that laugh.
Luca’s eyes widen. The golden brown of his irises glistens in the sunlight. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” I say. My paddle snags, halting my rowing. Seaweed. Or algae. Whatever gross green gunk grows in the wilderness. I flick my paddle hard to try to escape. It doesn’t work. A fishy, rotting stench puffs up between us.
Our canoe spins in a pathetic half circle. The way it should not if I were a canoe expert.
“I am good now, thanks,” I add, trying to keep talking as a distraction. “At least, I want to jump off a bridge less now. So.”
Luca finally laughs, too, albeit significantly weaker, like he still needs a minute to work off his embarrassment after complimenting me so forwardly.
A surprising amount of relief floods through me, knowing he thinks I “look good.” Well, he needs to, if he’s going to fall for me. If I follow through with my plan.
“Anyway, you shouldn’t be intimidated,” I say, steering us back on track. “You’re the Expert Genius of this camp.”
“Really? I see myself as an impostor.”
“Seriously?”
“Everyone here is super connected, or royalty, or both.” He points at me. “Or running whole companies with their ridiculous talent, like you.”
Pride warms my chest. It’s one thing to hear that from Mom or Dad, but from Luca? It feels better than any award I’ve ever won.
“But not me,” Luca goes on. His face grows tense.
Almost stern. I didn’t know someone as fun-and-games as Luca could look that way.
“I just live with my mom on Long Island. While everyone else is taking over the world, I’m taking care of my siblings while my mom works nights as a nurse.
If I don’t have practice. I don’t even want the Medal of Victory to get into their elite club.
I just want to go to Cornell for hockey. Not like my mom can—” He pauses.
“What?”
“Sorry, I’m rambling.”
“You’re not. I get family problems. I have them, too.”
Luca’s posture relaxes again, like the serious version of him I just saw never existed. “Anyway. That’s my long way of saying I’m honored to be here with you.”
All this time, I assumed Luca came from some sort of secret notoriety because he’s at brAIN. But from the limited lore he revealed, it sounds like he doesn’t.
My head spins with too many hypotheses and not enough answers. “You shouldn’t feel like an impostor,” I say. “I meant what I said about how everyone sees you. They all have a crush on you for a reason. And, for what it’s worth, I see you the same way.”
Luca blinks at me. Like he’s stunned.
Once I replay what I said, I realize why.
I basically just confessed to having a crush on Luca.
This was a goal I was considering. I just hadn’t intended to yet, and now the heat in my face is spreading through my whole body.
I meant that I see Luca as intelligent and impressive like everyone else here does.
Not that I have a crush on Luca like everyone else does. But it doesn’t feel that way.
This feels too real.
“Thank you,” Luca says, a smile cracking along his face. One I’ve never seen him show—instead of the usual tilted cockiness, it’s sweet and unassuming.
It’s barely enough to pull me out of my breakdown. I stare back, never more unsure of how to handle a response in my life.
Thank you? That’s it?
“Uh, yeah,” I say. Because what else can I? Was that a rejection?
Or is he still oblivious?
Our canoe—which I somewhat forgot we were on—knocks up against something hard. The force sends me slipping off my seat and onto the bottom of the boat.
Luca laughs, light and goofy as always. He rises off his seat and offers a hand to help me.
I glance behind us. We’re at the shoreline where we boarded. Luca must’ve been steering us back. I weakly take his hand.
“Guess we didn’t study much,” Luca mumbles.
Right. We were supposed to be studying. How did I get that distracted? This wasn’t even a real date, and I could barely keep my head on straight.
No wonder Mom and Dad made dating against the rules.
This stuff is dangerous. Even when it’s fake.
“Let me know if your team starts struggling again,” Luca adds when I don’t respond. “We can try to rope them in again.”
“Sure,” I say. “Thanks.”
“Of course,” Luca says, and then, as he’s deboarding the canoe, he leans down to give me a friendly, unromantic, and very confusing fist bump.