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Authors: Melissa Walker
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on the weekends.”
He’s looking at me with those blue eyes that match his blue shirt. His face is just a few inches from mine. And suddenly I don’t have a problem being in the present moment.
“I don’t know … ,” says Olive.
“Stop being a baby,” I say, holding James’s stare. It’s not like I’m a badass or like I’ve ever gone onto someone else’s boat before, but why not? “Let’s go.”
We climb onto the side deck easily. There’s gorgeous teak that my dad would definitely appreciate if he let himself get close enough to this boat, but he wouldn’t, because it’s not a sailboat and Dad doesn’t do motorboats.
“Let’s go up to the flybridge,” says James. We climb the spiral stairs to the top level and I sit down, putting my legs up on one of the long seats, while Olive perches nervously at the helm next to the captain’s wheel. James sits across from me and stretches out on the other seat. We’re looking up at the dark sky, but it’s a cloudy night and I can only see a handful of stars.
“I have never wanted to be an astronaut,” says James.
I laugh.
“The sky is completely overwhelming,” I say.
“Exactly,” he says. “I mean, who in their right mind would want to leave our planet ? For what? A closer look at the moon?”
“No thanks,” I say.
“I think it’d be fun,” says Olive.
“You’re crazy, Olive,” says James. “Would you hate it if I called you that all summer, ‘Crazy Olive’?”
Did he say all summer ?
I hear my little sister giggle. I sit up and look over at her; she’s relaxing a little, leaning back in the captain’s chair and staring up with us. I settle back down.
“I like being Crazy Olive,” says my sister. “Better than being Boring Olive.”
“Good point,” says James. “Boring is the worst . It’s better to be almost anything than bored.”
“Even depressed, like Clem?” Olive says.
My head snaps up. I know she was joking, going on with the crazy thing, but that’s not funny.
“Shut it, Olive,” I say sharply.
She looks over at me with wide eyes, realizing she hit a nerve that she didn’t mean to touch.
“What in the world could Clem have to be depressed about?” asks James, still staring at the sky, still using a light and teasing tone. “She’s out here on a beautiful summer night, aboard this luxury vessel with Crazy Olive and Handsome James, whose blue shirt makes his red hair stand out.”
I smile in spite of myself. He’s paying attention to every word I say.
“And besides, I want you guys smiling for this next part,” he continues.
“Next part?” I ask.
He sits up and whips a sketchbook and a dark gray pencil out of the tote he’s been carrying.
He glances over at Olive, who looks enchanted, and then at me.
“Perfect,” he says. And he starts to draw.
While he’s drawing, he asks us to stay quiet so he can capture our “still selves.” But he keeps talking, making us laugh. “Have you guys ever noticed that when you need ChapStick it’s like you’d pay any amount of money to have it right now ? Like your lips are about to flake off your face and you need the sweet relief that only that tube of petroleum-based product can bring?”
Listening to him is like being at the dentist in the chair with your mouth open and full of tools while the dentist asks you how school’s going. I try to indicate with my eyes that I know what he means about the ChapStick, because I do, but I’m not sure I’m good at ocular communication—especially in the almost dark.
James keeps talking. “But then when you don’t need ChapStick and everything is fine with your lips’ moisture level, you’ll find like twenty half-used tubes at the bottom of your backpack from the times when you were completely desperate for the stuff.”
He shakes his head.
“So weird. This is what I think about while I draw.”
His hands keep moving the whole time, faster than his mouth even, and I wonder how anything that
He’s looking at me with those blue eyes that match his blue shirt. His face is just a few inches from mine. And suddenly I don’t have a problem being in the present moment.
“I don’t know … ,” says Olive.
“Stop being a baby,” I say, holding James’s stare. It’s not like I’m a badass or like I’ve ever gone onto someone else’s boat before, but why not? “Let’s go.”
We climb onto the side deck easily. There’s gorgeous teak that my dad would definitely appreciate if he let himself get close enough to this boat, but he wouldn’t, because it’s not a sailboat and Dad doesn’t do motorboats.
“Let’s go up to the flybridge,” says James. We climb the spiral stairs to the top level and I sit down, putting my legs up on one of the long seats, while Olive perches nervously at the helm next to the captain’s wheel. James sits across from me and stretches out on the other seat. We’re looking up at the dark sky, but it’s a cloudy night and I can only see a handful of stars.
“I have never wanted to be an astronaut,” says James.
I laugh.
“The sky is completely overwhelming,” I say.
“Exactly,” he says. “I mean, who in their right mind would want to leave our planet ? For what? A closer look at the moon?”
“No thanks,” I say.
“I think it’d be fun,” says Olive.
“You’re crazy, Olive,” says James. “Would you hate it if I called you that all summer, ‘Crazy Olive’?”
Did he say all summer ?
I hear my little sister giggle. I sit up and look over at her; she’s relaxing a little, leaning back in the captain’s chair and staring up with us. I settle back down.
“I like being Crazy Olive,” says my sister. “Better than being Boring Olive.”
“Good point,” says James. “Boring is the worst . It’s better to be almost anything than bored.”
“Even depressed, like Clem?” Olive says.
My head snaps up. I know she was joking, going on with the crazy thing, but that’s not funny.
“Shut it, Olive,” I say sharply.
She looks over at me with wide eyes, realizing she hit a nerve that she didn’t mean to touch.
“What in the world could Clem have to be depressed about?” asks James, still staring at the sky, still using a light and teasing tone. “She’s out here on a beautiful summer night, aboard this luxury vessel with Crazy Olive and Handsome James, whose blue shirt makes his red hair stand out.”
I smile in spite of myself. He’s paying attention to every word I say.
“And besides, I want you guys smiling for this next part,” he continues.
“Next part?” I ask.
He sits up and whips a sketchbook and a dark gray pencil out of the tote he’s been carrying.
He glances over at Olive, who looks enchanted, and then at me.
“Perfect,” he says. And he starts to draw.
While he’s drawing, he asks us to stay quiet so he can capture our “still selves.” But he keeps talking, making us laugh. “Have you guys ever noticed that when you need ChapStick it’s like you’d pay any amount of money to have it right now ? Like your lips are about to flake off your face and you need the sweet relief that only that tube of petroleum-based product can bring?”
Listening to him is like being at the dentist in the chair with your mouth open and full of tools while the dentist asks you how school’s going. I try to indicate with my eyes that I know what he means about the ChapStick, because I do, but I’m not sure I’m good at ocular communication—especially in the almost dark.
James keeps talking. “But then when you don’t need ChapStick and everything is fine with your lips’ moisture level, you’ll find like twenty half-used tubes at the bottom of your backpack from the times when you were completely desperate for the stuff.”
He shakes his head.
“So weird. This is what I think about while I draw.”
His hands keep moving the whole time, faster than his mouth even, and I wonder how anything that
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