It hits me that this was the reason they took the boat out to begin with. They wanted to watch dawn from the water.
“Are you okay?” Landon asks.
Nobody answers.
“Me?” I ask. “I’m fine. I’m going to float.”
I let my legs lift up and I recline. I stare up into the sky. Water enters my ears, and I can’t hear anything. I feel like I’m falling down staircases inside of myself. I close my eyes. I could stay like this for a long time. Hours. I’m hardly using any energy. Maybe by the time I’m tired of floating, a rescue ship will arrive. Maybe it will arrive before I get tired of floating. I need to stay positive. I feel a bump from beneath me against my right hip. I open my eyes. I see an arm flying at a frightening speed toward me. It’s Wick. He yanks on me hard. But I’m confused. I resist.
“You’re hurting me,” I say. His hand is gripped firmly around my arm.
“Get out of the water, Enid!”
I let him lift me. My legs still dangle in the ocean.
“Get your legs in the boat!” Wick says. “Now!”
I swing my legs in the raft. Landon’s arm has a hold of them, and even once I’m totally in the raft, he doesn’t let go of me.
“Jesus,” Dale says.
I look into the water. I can’t believe what I see. It’s a shark. Once I figure out what it is, I can’t stop staring at its dorsal fin. I am in shock. I see movement a few feet away. I let my focus widen. As I sit in the raft, shaking, I see at least a dozen fins.
“They’re everywhere,” Burr says.
“Do you think they’re man-eaters?” Landon asks.
I don’t say anything, but I totally think they are man-eaters. First, I once attempted to watch Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. Second, why else would they be here?
Did they come to eat the raft? Oh my God. A new fear sweeps over me. Do sharks eat rafts? I replay everything I can remember from the two hours I managed to endure of Shark Week, and then move on to Jaws. Didn’t the shark in that eat several people? And a dog? And air tanks? And a helicopter?
“I think they might be man-eaters,” Burr says. “Sharks in water this deep are opportunistic feeders. They think we’re their next opportunity.”
If it wanted to, when it bumped me, the shark could have eaten me in a few bites. And right now, instead of listening to Burr, I’d be dead. Dead. Me. Now. The circumstances of my life have become too crazy. I don’t want this. Boring as it is, I want my old life. Considering what I have here, I’d prefer an unvarying and tedious life punctuated by moments of ennui and weariness until I become a senior citizen. Then let me die. And let that death be shark-free.
“Are they real?” I hear myself ask.
“Real?” Dale says. “We’re lucky they didn’t bite our asses off last night.”
“Your ass? They would have bitten our legs off first,” Munny says.
“Most likely,” Sov adds.
“Shut up,” Burr says. “Let’s try to stay positive. This is the thing that happens, and now Wick is the hero.”
I look at Wick. He is pale white, and his bottom lip seems to be trembling. “My girlfriend almost got eaten by a shark.”
It is ridiculous for my heart to leap at hearing Wick refer to me as his girlfriend. But it does. I’m happy I’m alive. I’m happy he saved me. I am thrilled we’re back together.
“What the hell are we supposed to do?” Dale asks.
We all look into the ocean. The fins exist. Some of the sharks are bold enough to bump against the raft with their noses and sides. I find it hard not to hypothesize, at least to myself, about the order in which a shark will eat my body parts.
“Why didn’t we see them before?” I ask.
“Sharks like to feed at dawn and dusk,” Munny says.
I actually think I can remember that from Shark Week. “What do we do now?”
As I’m speaking, a large wave comes and nearly dumps us into the ocean. I scream. Wick grabs my waist and pulls me on his lap. Sov and Munny lower themselves into the bottom of the raft. Because of where he’s sitting, Skate is knocked into the raft’s center. The rest of the guys stay seated on the edge, holding tightly to the side. After the raft settles, the water around us foams.
“We need to keep it balanced,” Landon says. “We always need to watch for the big waves.”
Triangular fins continue to rise and fall in the water, cutting through the sea like the tips of dark knives. I try to tell myself that Jaws was just a movie. That I’m safe in the raft. I try to convince myself that they’re just curious and will eventually go away. But then I remember something else from Shark Week. A show where sharks tore apart seals and seal-shaped plastic boards. The sharks breached and chomped for two entire hours.
“This is just like Jaws,” Dale says.
I hate that Dale and I could be thinking nearly the same thought. I want our brains to be running on very different wavelengths.
“That was just a movie,” I say.
“Actually, I think it was based on a true story,” Wick says.
“You’re right,” Sov says. “A shark went crazy and started killing swimmers. It even attacked them in rivers.”
“Shut up,” Burr says. “We can’t focus on crap like that.”
Skate nods in agreement. “Stay positive.”
“Do you think this is what survivors are supposed to be talking about? We’re survivors. Now let’s focus on staying safe until we’re rescued,” Burr says.
“I totally don’t think of you as the captain anymore,” Dale says. “I mean, I sort of blame you.”
“I don’t care if you blame me. Just knock off the Jaws talk.”
“I agree,” I say. “Let’s stop talking about sharks.”
Dale points into the ocean at a passing fin.
“I think our situation speaks for itself.”
“Don’t look in the water,” Landon says. “I agree with Burr and Enid. Let’s stay positive. Let’s focus on staying safe.”
I adjust my position in the boat. I just now realized that my skirt is so wet that it’s nearly transparent. So is my shirt. When it comes to my private parts, I’m not leaving much to the imagination. I cross my legs and fold my arms across my chest. I look at my bare feet.
“I wish I would’ve worn something more appropriate,” I say.
Landon rolls his eyes.
“I feel a little exposed is all.”
“We’ll be rescued soon. None of us is really dressed for a nautical disaster,” Landon says.
He smiles at me. It almost makes me feel better, and I consider smiling back. But as I survey their clothes, I realize that the guys are all dressed for a nautical disaster far better than I am. Except for Sov and Munny, they’re all wearing jeans. And their T-shirts don’t look as flimsy as my ridiculous blouse. And Dale is fortunate enough to be wearing a Windbreaker. I’ve made the worst wardrobe mistake of my life. And I’m haunted by it. I close my eyes and rest my head on the raft’s side.
“You really think somebody has a candy bar?” Dale asks.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m talking to Burr. He said that somebody would have a candy bar,” Dale says.
“I think if one of us had food, they would have offered it up by now.” I am so thirsty my mouth feels unfamiliar.
“I don’t have food,” Munny says. “But maybe we should empty our pockets and see if any of us have anything useful.”
“Good idea,” Sov says. “Maybe we have something that can attract food.”
“Yeah,” Wick says.
I don’t have anything in my pockets. Because my skirt was white and formfitting, and I didn’t want to create bulges at my hips, I’m not even carrying any ChapStick.
Landon empties his pockets first. There are some coins, wet mushy receipts, and two soggy twenties.
My nagging hunger leads me to ask a stupid question. “Do bills have any nutrients? Can we eat money?”
Munny shakes his head. “It’s cloth. And it’s
saturated in salt.”
“The Coast Guard will be here soon. This is just an activity that gives us something to do,” Burr says.
“Not for me,” Dale says. “I’m hoping we find something that we can use to catch fish.”
What could any of the guys have in their pockets that could be used to catch fish?
Munny has some change.
“Don’t you guys have any wallets with pocketknives?” I ask.
Dale groans. “Who carries a pocketknife in his wallet? That’s retarded.”
“We put all our wallets and cell phones in a drawer belowdecks,” Wick says. “Burr suggested we do that because once while night sailing, they hit choppy water and his wallet and phone went overboard.”
“So you knew you could hit dangerous water and you went out anyway?” I ask.
I’m madder about this than I realize. When it first happened, I thought, well, this is my fault because I drove here. But now I’m thinking, no, this is all their fault because they took the boat out.
“Pockets. Pockets,” Wick says. “Let’s focus on pockets.”
Wick has less than twenty dollars. It’s a mix of fives and ones. Sov has quarters and two old movie tickets. Burr has five bucks. Dale has three dollars and a pale pink pebble. He takes it out and then puts it back in his pocket.
“What’s that for?” Wick asks.
“It’s nothing,” Dale says.
“Maybe we can use it,” I say. Isn’t that the whole point of this exercise?
“You know I have it. If you think of something we can use it for, I’ll pull it back out.”
He is so difficult. Why can’t he be more like his brother? I look around at the random junk pulled from all the guys’ pockets. I’m surprised. I thought there would be something valuable besides minimal amounts of cash.
“What can we make with this?” Dale says.
“Wait, let’s not give up,” Wick says.
I glance back and forth between them. This is a typical way they interact, so typical it reminds me of Dale’s reaction to one of our twin tests: the situational-problemsolving exam. We’re often given a series of multiple-choice questions meant to measure our problem-solving styles. I tend to forget them as soon as I answer them, but Wick often retains nearly the whole test and drills Dale about his answers on the drive home. Once, a question asked what you’d do if everyone you worked with got a new computer except for you. You were given a few possible reactions to choose from. I don’t remember the options. But Wick said he would assume it had been a mistake and ask to see his supervisor. I answered that way too.
But Dale said he’d take a new computer from a coworker. Wick mocked his brother’s problem-solving abilities the entire way home. And then, at a stoplight, Dale reached around from the backseat and smacked Wick in the head. Hard. I couldn’t believe it. Luckily, Landon was there, and he broke up the fight. I remember thinking that day that Wick and Dale couldn’t be more different. I don’t even understand how Dale can be related to the rest of his family.
Wick takes a dollar and folds it lengthwise four times. “If we tear these into strips and tie them together we can create a line to dangle in the water. We can fish.”
“Couldn’t you use your shoelaces?” I ask. That seems simpler.
“No way.” Dale says this emphatically. “If we hit an island, we’ll need our shoelaces because we’ll need our shoes. We might have to outrun a wild animal.”
“What?” I ask. I think I must have misheard him.
“What if we end up beached on a deserted island that has wild boars?” Dale says.
“Shouldn’t we focus on scenarios that will actually happen?” I ask.
“I agree,” Landon says. “The dollars work fine.”
Munny shakes his head. “We don’t have a hook.”
Wick begins to tear the dollar. “If we tie a coin at the bottom and lure the fish to the surface, we can catch them with our hands.”
“Really?” I ask. That seems impossible.
“Why would a coin lure fish to the surface?” Burr asks.
“Fish like shiny things,” Wick says. “They’re like monkeys.” He has finished tearing the first dollar and begins on the second.
“That idea seems impossible,” Sov says.
Wick doesn’t stop tearing.
“It’s probably better than doing nothing,” Skate says. “Right?”
“I don’t know,” Dale says. “We’re destroying good cash.”
I am so thirsty. My head is pounding. I’m tired. If Wick wants to tear apart all the bills and tie them together and attach loose change to them, then I am going to let him do that. “I’m going to take a nap.” I move to the bottom of the raft to sit. Dirty water pools around me, but I don’t care. I don’t want to risk falling asleep on the raft’s side. What if I slipped? What if a shark came? What if, unlike last time, nobody saved me? I wonder what it feels like to die.
I wake up and notice that Skate and Burr are both sleeping. So is Dale. So are Sov and Munny. It’s one of the few options we have on the raft. For the first time I take stock of everyone’s feet. Sov’s and Munny’s, like mine, are bare. The rest of the guys are wearing sneakers. I wish I had sneakers. The sun is shining a little stronger now, burning off the clouds. Wick and Landon have tied together all the money, making a long, thin rope of cash.
“Do you really think you’ll be able to catch a fish?” I ask. Looking at the fully assembled line, it seems beyond impossible.
“We’ll try,” Wick says.
They toss it into the water, and the quarter tied to the end drags the line down. I watch it sink. I keep hoping that a big fish will arrive. I’m hungry. I’m really hungry. Wick tugs the quarter to the surface and then it beings to descend again. It mesmerizes me.
“What do you think Mom is doing?” Landon asks. “How do you think the Coast Guard will tell her? Do they call, or send somebody to the door?”
I think back to the last time I saw my mother. She looked so small and anxious. Oh God. I wonder what she did when she found the marzipan bride and groom.
“Enid?” Wick asks. “Did you zone out? Landon asked you a question.”
I lick my lips. They are so dry they ache. My tongue is dry too. “I don’t know how the Coast Guard notifies families. I’m not sure how they’d know exactly who was on the boat.”
I lift myself from the soppy bottom of the raft and sit on a side next to Wick.
“I left her at the Sheraton,” I say.
“Who?” Wick asks.
“My mother.”
“What did you use as an excuse?” Landon asks.
I shrug. “I didn’t make any. I just left. I damaged some marzipan and dropped it off on the sidewalk for her and drove down. I think I snapped.”
“Jesus,” Landon says. “You abandoned Mom at the Sheraton. That’s mean.”
He’s right. But it didn’t seem mean at the time. It seemed necessary.
“You two shouldn’t argue about it now. What’s done is done,” Wick says.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” I say. After watching the quarter fall for the umpteenth time, I decide I’d like to be in charge of it for a while. “Can I drop the coin?”
“You can’t drop it,” Landon says. “You just let it fall a little, and then you pull it back up.”
“That’s what I meant,” I say.
“Sure,” Landon says.
Wick moves over so I can pass him to get to where Landon is, and when he does that, he bumps Dale awake.
“It is so frigging hot,” Dale says. “I hope it rains.”
I sit next to Landon. “I don’t. Think of the waves. I’d rather have calm seas and warm temperatures.”
“Rain doesn’t have to mean storm,” Dale says.
At the sound of the word storm, Burr stirs and wakes up. “Next time I wake up, I’m hoping to see a rescue ship.”
“That would be nice,” I say.
“I’m so hungry. Does anyone ha
ve any food?” Dale asks.
“I don’t,” I say. I watch Munny and Sov blink their eyes open.
“Nobody has anything in their pockets?” Dale says.
“I don’t have anything,” Landon says.
“Me either,” Munny says, yawning.
“Nothing,” Burr says.
“We’ve already emptied our pockets,” Sov says.
Skate is asleep.
“Did Skate empty his pockets?” Dale asks Burr. “He’s been a little out of it. Maybe he forgot to check.”
“He doesn’t have anything,” Burr says. “None of us has anything.”
“No Milk Duds, no Junior Mints, no red licorice ropes?” Dale says.
“We were headed sailing,” Wick says. “Not to an afternoon matinee.”
“I just can’t believe that nobody grabbed any chips. We had, like, eight bags of Doritos.”
“Good point, Dale. Right as the ship was going under, I asked myself, do I call the Coast Guard? Or secure a couple of bags of Doritos?” Burr says.
“It’s great that the Coast Guard is coming, but it would be nice if we had something to eat,” Dale says.
Burr looks away and doesn’t say anything.
“It’s really surprising,” Dale says, dangling his hand in the water. “I thought that stuff would float. Shouldn’t it be everywhere?”
“It probably floated away,” Sov says.
“Maybe your life jacket has something in its pockets? Did you check those?” Dale asks.
Sov shakes his head.
“Nobody has anything. Not even a toothpick. Do you want us to take our pants off so you can check the pockets yourself?” Landon asks.
There’s a pause.
“I’m not taking my pants off,” Landon says.
“I didn’t want you to.”
“We’re all hungry,” Wick says.
I rest my head on Wick’s shoulder. I haven’t eaten a real meal in over twenty-four hours. Wick cradles me under one arm. As I relax, I’m reminded again how thirsty I am. I lick my lips.
“How long can a person go without water?” I ask.
Actually, I thought I was just thinking the question. I’m surprised when I hear my own voice asking it.
“It depends on the conditions,” Munny says.
“I think we know the conditions,” Dale says. “These are them.”
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