Chapter 13 #2
Within 15 minutes, the other two teams return to the boat and pass up their collections.
Thomas found a cracked iPad and is barely suppressing a smug smile, but I don’t think either of their bags are heavier than ours, even though they carried two per team.
A small flame of hope ignites in my chest.
We chat over crackers and sliced fruits while the boat rocks gently in the waves, trolling for a new spot.
Captain Banyu plays the radio, a mix of familiar hits and local songs.
I load up on dragonfruit, papaya, and pineapple.
The fruits are so sweet and juicy here, it’s like trying them all for the first time.
Thomas is stretched out on the bench, slicing something round and purple with his knife. When he splits it open, the inside looks like cloves of garlic.
“What is that?” I ask.
“Mangosteen, want to try?” He hands me one of the sticky white wedges. “It’s sort of like lychee.”
I pop the segment into my mouth and moan as flavor bursts on my tongue. It’s sweet and tart, like strawberries, peaches, and all my favorite fruits combined.
“Holy fuck, that’s divine.” I suck the juice off my fingers.
“You really like to eat, huh?” I whip my head around to find Steven watching me.
“Of course. Is that a problem?” I snap. Fuck him for trying to body shame me. Just because he’s not attracted to me doesn’t mean he gets to be a dick.
“Not at all,” he says, biting back a smile. Something softens in me at the sight. “I love to eat.”
“Wow, so you do enjoy some things.” I roll my eyes and move further down the boat to start switching my tanks.
We work well as a team. Underwater, he doesn’t make me so nervous. Maybe because I can’t hear the lilt of his accent, or because we’re both covered in thick wetsuits and bulky gear.
It’s hard to miss the subtext that he’s just another fish in the sea. His opinion of me doesn’t matter at all. So why do I want to hear him say “Good girl” —I mean— “Good job” again so badly?
On our second dive, I ask Steven for my own bag.
All the other teams have two. There’s no way we’ll be able to collect the heaviest load unless we both carry our weight.
He eyes me warily and I valiantly ignore the sticky fruit juice glistening on his kissable lips as I await his judgment.
Despite his sour face, I’ll bet he tastes sweet and delicious.
“Fine. But your main priority is controlling your buoyancy. If I see you bouncing around or bumping into anything, I’ll carry it.”
“Deal.” I grin.
The second dive is even better than the first. I’m growing more confident in the water, the slow, measured breaths becoming more natural. The steady trickle of bubbles from my regulator soothes me as I hunt for treasures.
Then we hit the motherload. I squeeze Steven’s hand, directing his attention to a metal pipe half buried in the sand.
We both tug, trying to dislodge it without disrupting the seabed, and it slips right out.
We find five more of the long, heavy rods scattered around the site.
They’re small but hefty and I feel my heart flutter with excitement.
Will they be enough to give us the edge in the friendly competition?
Will my discovery be enough to vindicate me in Steven’s eyes?
A few minutes later, an oddly shaped rock catches my eye. I swim toward it and my heart begins to pound. This has to be it.
We return to the boat feeling light and airy despite the fact that I carry both bags while Steven cradles an anchor that has to weigh at least 20 pounds.
It should’ve been hard to read each other underwater, but I can feel excitement and pride rippling off him like ocean waves.
We swim so close together, our arms occasionally brush, sending bolts of electricity through my body.
We finally have something in common: we both like to win.
I pass my fins up to the Boat Boy and drop my tank into its slot before stripping out of my wetsuit and finding a patch of sunlight. I’m covered in goosebumps, shivering in the breeze, but I can’t stop grinning.
With a twist to his lips that I would almost call a smile, Steven takes our bags while I break down my gear. Unless one of the other groups pops up with some kettlebells, I have a good feeling about this.
I take my time removing my empty tank and rolling up my regulator hose as the other divers return. “We saw some hawksbills!” Mason announces as he climbs aboard, shaking the water out of his springy hair. “It never gets old.”
I blush, realizing I’d been so focused on winning that I hadn’t even looked for any sea life. Maybe I am a little too competitive—but if it helps me break down the walls between us, maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.
“I want to grab some pictures of everyone with our haul to highlight some of the work we do as volunteers,” I say, changing the subject.
“Do you think you can find a way to make litter sexy?” Thomas asks.
I snort. “No, but the stats are pretty impressive. Why do you break it down into types?” There’s a chalkboard with tally marks next to categories like plastic bottles, clothing, boat parts, and fishing. Maybe I just love seeing the way his eyes light up when he gets to talk about trash.
“Data always tells a story. It gives us insight into who might be leaving it behind. If we notice a trend in certain areas, then we can make better decisions about where to focus our outreach efforts. Talking to fishermen or boat captains is different from targeting the tourism industry or reaching out to schools.”
“Who do we think is responsible for this selfie stick?” Juliette holds up a slimy rod and pretends to snap a photo.
I shake my head. This trip has forever altered my view of vacationers. Are the oceans and waterways back home this bad? Honestly, probably worse. We don’t even have the crystal clear waters of the South Pacific or vibrant coral reefs to protect.
Steven emerges from the front of the boat and I swear he flashes me a wink before approaching the table. I feel it like a wave of heat in my core.
“Everybody in and accounted for?” We glance around, nodding at each other, and Steven says something in Indonesian to the captain who turns the engine on. The smell of diesel fills the air as we crowd around the table for a debrief.
“It was a great dive, everyone. Thanks for giving up your morning and pitching in. We collected a total of 296 pieces of rubbish today, for a total of 25 kilos. That’s our best haul in a while.” I do the mental math quickly, it’s something like 55 pounds. My eyebrows rise.
Steven continues. “I’m sure I surprise absolutely no one when I say that” —the table erupts into a drum roll as everyone slaps their hands down— “the winners of Most Tech are Thomas and Mason. One phone and one tablet today.” He rolls his eyes, clearly as confused about how many people drop their valuables as I am.
“Thank you, thank you.” The boys clasp hands and take a bow like they’ve just won a great honor.
“And the most weight goes to…” I hold my breath, eyes locked on Steven’s face. His gaze flicks to mine just as he announces, “me and Junie.”
I’m so charged with energy—so antsy with anticipation and hanging all of my hopes on that singular outcome, that my body reacts without conscious thought. That’s the only excuse I have for what happens next.
I squeal, jumping in the air, and cling to Steven’s body like a koala. My arms fly around his neck as my legs wind around his waist. He moves instinctively to catch me, holding me to his warm chest, and after the slightest moment of hesitation—less than a breath—he swings me around in a circle.
Instantly, I erupt into flame. My thighs burn hot, my pulse skyrockets. His lips are inches from mine, but this isn’t supposed to be happening—I can’t do this here, in front of everyone. Not after he unambiguously shut me down the other night.
My breath catches in my throat as our eyes meet and I bite my lip, hard.
He’s so close. I squeeze my legs together and he slowly drops me back to the ground, clearing his throat and looking back at the assembled group.
They’ve fallen silent for the space of a heartbeat but try to cover the awkward moment with scattered applause and one lone whistle.
“With 12 kilos.” Mike coughs, clearly trying to bite back a smile. I slink back into my seat, avoiding everyone’s eyes although I can feel Juliette buzzing with the desire to say something.
Steven remains standing behind me, but his arms are crossed over his chest and the vibe between us has instantly cooled.
Embarrassment floods my senses and I groan internally.
Why am I such a freak where this man is concerned?
I pounced on him! It can’t just be a hot accent and a fit body, but what else do I even know about him to explain this animal magnetism?
Because I want him, bad. He’s grouchy and closed-off. He’s run away from me on more than one occasion. But for just a moment there, I thought I felt his body… respond. Just the thought of it sends color blooming through my cheeks again.
I don’t blame him for keeping his distance from me after that. We vote on the weirdest find of the day, but I can’t muster the same enthusiasm I felt earlier. Mike found a bright red propeller hat that still spins, narrowly beating out a bicycle seat with a tiger print cover.
Everyone has started to drift away from the table when Juliette reminds me about the pictures I wanted.
“Would anyone mind if I just snap a few pics? It will only take a minute.” I say, my voice coming out softer than usual, thick with shame.
I get a few group shots then sneak in some candids while everyone’s cleaning up.
I avoid Steven as much as I can, pretending like I can’t feel his eyes, or the way he keeps as much distance as possible between our bodies.
We could be on opposite sides of the ocean and I still wouldn’t be able to forget the heat of his skin or the bulge in his wetsuit.
Does he keep a flashlight in there, or had he just been happy to see me?
“Are you sure you don’t need any more sexy ones?” Thomas winks. “I could dunk my head in this water and fling it back like that one of Steven—”
I nearly choke. That’s the last thing I need him to hear right now. He’s going to think I’m obsessed! I really messed up by showing everyone those edits—some things should just stay inside thoughts.
“I’ll definitely do more silly ones, but I think we’re good for today. I just want to highlight the hard work we’re doing and show people what sort of impact they can make as a volunteer.” I say through a tight smile, hoping I can distract him by getting him on his soapbox again.
“Mike, have you seen the GIF yet?” he asks, not taking the bait. “They’re hilarious.”
I choose that moment to slink away, finding a quiet place to rest on the bow while the boat heads back to shore.
If Steven hears about the posts, it definitely isn’t going to help his opinion of me.
I wouldn’t blame him if he never talked to me again.
He has to know I never would’ve posted them without his permission, though.
He doesn’t actually know you at all, I remind myself.
I feel truly alone for the first time—untethered to the version of myself that exists back home. The people I’ve met here are seeing me without the story of my past shaping every interaction. It’s a fresh start. I control the narrative. Who do I want to be?
I pull my knees up to my chest and try to let the thoughts pass like clouds in the sky.
The breeze kisses my skin and clears my mind.
I stare out at the island that has become a little paradise, growing closer every moment.
My escape. A temporary shelter from the mess that my life has become.
How did I end up here, and where will I go next? I have a month to figure it out.
When we get back to the dive shop, Steven disappears. I don’t know what I want to say to him yet, anyway. Before we disperse, Mike asks if I’m interested in doing my first turtle watch.
“You might want to take a nap this afternoon. At least one of you should stay awake all night, but you can take turns, and it should be worth it. The mother turtles have been very active this week.”
“At least one of us?” I clarify.
“You or your buddy. I’ve scheduled you and Steven tonight.” I swear that asshole winks.
“Keeping the dream team alive,” I joke like the thought of being alone with Steven all night doesn’t turn my stomach sour after my embarrassing behavior.
But the excitement of getting to watch a nesting sea turtle is quickly overriding any negative feelings.
This is exactly what I came here to experience.
I’m a jumble of emotions; there’s no way I’ll be able to nap. I head back to the volunteer cabin to shower then take my laptop down to The Local.
I want people to see me as a hard worker, someone who gets results—not just the silly TikTok girl.
No one here knows my grade point average, or how many hours of unpaid labor I’ve spent at the realty office, tweaking every detail to get it just right.
Just because I like to have fun doesn’t mean that I lack depth or intelligence.
I can do better than the goofy Steven edits.
My bosses, the Harpers, hadn’t been happy to hear that I was extending my trip, and even threatened to replace me. I’m not as devastated by the idea as I expected to be. I’d almost welcome it if they’d stop emailing me with URGENT subject lines about opening zip files and converting PDFs.
I’ve been putting a lot of thought into the sanctuary’s social media strategy and I feel like I’m starting to get somewhere.
We’re such a small island, and a small conservatory, we don’t need to go massively viral or attract the attention of people who will never travel here.
But by targeting people already visiting Bali, or who post about upcoming trips to the Gilis, we can get our name out there.
We also need a way to accept donations online so that people who are inspired by our work can contribute from anywhere.
I’ll have to check in with Mike about how that could work with the business model of the sanctuary and dive shop.
It might be a bigger undertaking than I’m imagining or surely someone would’ve set it up already.
Desperate to distract myself from the idea of being alone with Steven later, I throw myself into my work. The turtles are what brought me here, so focusing on them seems like a safe bet. Actions speak louder than words, right?