Chapter Five
Since the beginning, Emmy and I have always fought like volcanoes.
We’re both quick to anger, quick to yell, and then we cool down and lie dormant for a century or two.
Before today, I think the last fight we had was at freshman Homecoming.
Emmy got so caught up trying to curl her hair that she forgot to tell her mom I needed a ride until she was already at the dance.
I had to walk a mile and a half in heels.
I found her pacing in front of the school, waiting for me.
She shouted her apology across the parking lot.
I threw my shoes at her.
We were inside dancing ten minutes later.
Today is no different. Within twenty minutes we’re giggling about Captain Keith’s tattoo.
The rest of the morning is much less explosive.
We watch whales jump from the water in the distance.
We tan on the bow. Captain Keith teaches the boys the basics of sailing, each of them taking the Be-Yacht-Ch in wide circles near the mouth of the bay, the boom swinging from one side to the other as the wind catches the sail from different directions.
Bennett spends his entire lesson boasting about the sailing camp he went to three summers in a row, and I roll my eyes because that’s the most rich-kid thing I’ve ever heard.
Keith steers us to a cove and drags out a duffel full of snorkel gear.
We spend the better part of an hour swimming and watching fish blink in and out of view around underwater rock formations.
Ben swears he sees a sea turtle, but when we climb back on board, Captain Keith meets my gaze and shakes his head.
Liar, he mouths as I pass him, and I have to turn my laugh into a cough.
The day stretches on, and we eat the fruit, sandwiches, and snacks the resort packed for Ben until the entire “picnic” is reduced to a mess of wrappers we stuff back in his backpack.
Our full stomachs and hours in the sun make us tired, but as the sun disappears behind the clouds, a pod of dolphins finds us and chases the boat.
It’s magical. By far the best part of the whole day.
I’m so unexpectedly relaxed that I almost forget about the storm.
A streak of lightning interrupts Emmy excitedly taking photos of us looking at the dolphins from the bow. It’s so close, it makes all four of us instinctively crouch down. The answering clap of thunder is right on its heels, the sound ripping through the sky.
The dark storm clouds that have been hovering on the horizon are suddenly…not on the horizon anymore. They’re practically on top of us.
“Um, I think we’re done sailing,” Emmy says, nervously wringing her hands in her cover-up.
Jackson stares up at the sky like it’s about to drown us. “Yeah, this isn’t good.”
Even Ben looks worried. “Did that sneak up on us, or have we been heading into the storm this whole time?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
He points at the ominous clouds. “We’re aimed right at the storm, straight out toward the open ocean. Keith promised to keep us in the bay in case of bad weather.”
Shit. Shit. I squint toward the mainland, but all I see is water—in every goddamned direction. I couldn’t even tell you which way the mainland is, which probably means we’re way too far out.
“Where is Captain Keith?” Jackson asks.
We turn toward the helm in unison. There’s nobody behind the wheel.
“He was just there,” Ben says. “I swear, he was at the wheel the last time I looked.”
We scramble back to the cockpit. A stretch of rope is tied to the wheel to keep it steady.
Ben dives into the cabin first. “He must have ducked into the bathroom. There’s no way he’d let his boat drift around under sail with a bunch of teenagers on board.”
Logically I know Ben has to be right, but I’m almost positive I haven’t seen him standing at the wheel while we’ve been watching the dolphins—and that’s been at least twenty minutes.
In fact, the last time I remember seeing him was when he let Ben take the wheel and the two of them spent a considerable amount of time pretending to be pirates.
They even changed the music to a playlist of sea shanties.
There’s no music now, and I can’t pinpoint exactly when it shut off. The only sounds on the boat are the rush of the wind, the occasional snap of the sails, and the rhythmic splash as the hull cuts through the waves.
We follow Ben below deck as the panic builds. Ben’s right: Captain Keith wouldn’t leave the boat cruising for that long, especially knowing about the storm. This is his home. There’s no way he’d be so careless with it…right?
The interior of the boat has a tiny kitchen alcove at the base of the stairs with a micro stove and a cluster of cabinets on the left.
There’s a small workspace beneath half a wall of radio and navigation equipment on the right.
Beyond that, a U-shaped seating area wraps around a square laminate table.
A long blue bench, presumably with storage underneath, runs along the other wall.
The bin with all our shoes has fallen sideways into the walkway, likely from the last wave.
Three round portholes on each side let in weak storm-tinted sunlight. Two pocket doors sit in the wall ahead of us. The edge of the same rumpled mattress I spotted through the hatch on the bow is visible through the door on the left. The door on the right is closed. The bathroom, I’m guessing?
Ben rockets ahead of me and barges into the bedroom. “Not here.”
I yank open the other door. Captain Keith is slumped inside the tiniest bathroom in the world, ass on the toilet, forearms braced on a sink that’s approximately a foot in front of him, shorts bunched around his ankles.
“Oh my god, is he sick?” Emmy asks, peeking around me.
I shake his bare shoulder, and Captain Keith jerks upright, batting away my hand, but his eyes don’t open. His leg kicks out, like a reflex, and something shoots past me. I twist as Ben emerges from the bedroom, and the four of us stare at the empty bottle of tequila on the floor.
“Isn’t that yours?” Jackson asks.
Ben nods. “It was in my bag. But the last time I saw it, there was a lot more in the bottle.”
We all look at Captain Keith as a wave rocks the boat. I fall into Ben. Jackson catches Emmy before she face-plants onto the table. The boat flops back a second later.
Ben steadies me, and we all turn to stare at our captain again.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and blow out a breath. “He’s trashed.”
“Yup,” Ben and Emmy say at the same time. They sound almost amused.
I whirl on them. “The guy in charge is blacked-out drunk with his pants down, and we’re aimed straight for a storm. How intensive was that sailing camp of yours, Ben? Do either of you know how to get us back to the marina in this kind of weather?”
Ben scowls at me. We both know the answer is no.
Emmy gestures toward the bathroom. “Just, like…wake him up!”
I start to say that’s not going to do any good if he’s downed half a bottle of tequila in less than an hour—never mind whatever he’s been drinking from his water bottle all day—but Ben takes the suggestion to heart. “Out of my way.”
He grabs Captain Keith by the forearms and hauls him to his feet, slamming him against the bathroom wall, and slaps him across the face.
The captain blinks, and his eyes widen in surprise. “Whaddya want?” he slurs.
“Pull up your damn pants!” Ben shouts.
For some reason, Keith listens and yanks his shorts and underwear up over his hips.
Ben’s stance in the doorway thankfully keeps the rest of us from seeing anything we don’t need to see.
When Captain Keith’s righted, his button and zipper still undone, Ben takes him by the back of the neck and shoves him out of the bathroom.
We move out of the way, parting to give him the aisle.
Ben propels Captain Keith through the boat and up the stairs.
“What does he think he’s going to do? Beat the guy sober?” Jackson asks.
Emmy rolls her eyes. “He clearly has a better plan than that.”
But as she runs up the stairs, Jackson gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe that for a second.
Neither do I. We can’t afford to let Ben take out his frustrations on the one person who knows how to get us out of here before the storm kicks our asses.
We hurl ourselves up on deck after Ben and Emmy.
The moment my head clears the cabin, a gust of wind hits me in the face.
The sky is significantly darker than it was when we went below only a few minutes ago.
I step onto the deck, and a wave crashes into the boat and rocks us violently to the side, nearly knocking me off my feet.
Fear blooms in my chest as I slide across the teak.
Jackson catches me around the waist, but the force of the wave throws us both to the side.
He grabs ahold of the lifelines, and we jerk to a stop.
Frothy water washes across our bare feet.
Screaming cuts through the wind, and we spin toward the wheel.
Ben’s shouting in Captain Keith’s face at the helm. Emmy hovers anxiously at his back, dancing from foot to foot like she doesn’t know what to do.
Ben’s face is twisted with rage and his hands are balled into fists at his sides.
Keith looks a little dazed, likely from the tequila.
I’m not entirely sure how he’s upright at this point.
Ben’s almost his exact height—and he’s not trashed.
Captain Keith doesn’t have the upper hand if this gets violent.
The thought sends a chill down my spine that feels unnatural in this humidity. I pull Jackson toward me and shout to be heard over the wind. “If Ben’s making the decisions, this could get out of hand really fast.”
He nods and moves around the wheel. I’m a vibrating ball of anxiety following behind him, holding on to the lifelines to steady myself. I have no idea how he’s planning to defuse this.