Changes in Latitudes Page 16

  “And I so appreciate the extra layer of graphic detail. Thank you for that.” My head is still tucked into my knees, but I turn my face to smile at him.

  He holds my stare. “Sprite?”

  “Hmm?” I’m scared for what he’s going to say next, especially because of how serious his expression turns.

  “I need you to know something.”

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  His eyes are locked on mine, and somehow they’re gentle and hard at the same time. Earnest, maybe?

  He exhales and says, “If one or both of those hypotheses are even close to the truth, I need you to know that it’s fine. You don’t ever have to spill your guts to me if you don’t want to. And I know I joke around and make suggestive teasing comments, but those are just to make you laugh. I want this actual-friends thing to work . . . even if it stays a little lopsided on the give-and-take gut-spilling part.”

  I have to look away. Does he have any idea that when he says things like that, looking at me the way he is, it’s almost impossible for me not to fall sideways—right into his arms?

  Instead I replay all the reminders of why I should shut up and say thank you and let our platonic friendship resume: drama, expiration date, potential for heartache in a year where I’ve had more than my share of it.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  His smile is soft and he shakes his head slightly. “Not necessary.”

  We hold eyes for a long moment and I have to force myself to look away.

  Jonah stands and brushes sand from his legs. “I feel like maybe this moment needs a mood-breaker. Do you know any filthy limericks?”

  I laugh and take his outstretched hand, letting him pull me to a stand. “You mean, like, ‘There once was a man from Nantucket’?”

  “Ah. An oldie but a goodie. Go on, then.”

  “Except I don’t really know the rest of it.”

  He laughs and begins walking toward the jetty that juts far into the bay to offer a buffer to our anchorage. I follow.

  It feels like everything is set back to normal, but I really do hate that he thinks our friendship is one-sided. How crappy is that?

  I didn’t want to talk about my family yesterday when he offered to listen, but it was because I didn’t want to ruin such a great day by digging around in that muck. Okay, if I’m being honest with myself, it’s also because I knew it would be way easier to slam a lid on my attraction to him if I stayed guarded. But that’s not really fair of me. If I want him as my “actual friend,” I need to be one right back.

  I kick at a pebble as we walk. “Jonah?”

  He looks down at me. “Sprite?”

  “My parents split up at the beginning of the year and it’s totally messed with my head.”

  He reaches for my hand, and we walk in silence for a little bit before he says, “I’m sorry.” He takes a deep breath and adds, “Don’t be mad, but Drew kind of already told me about the divorce thing. I mean, he didn’t say a word about you in relation to it, though.”

  I’m so stunned I nearly slip on the rocks. “What? When?”

  Jonah raises a shoulder. “This morning, before we left San Fran. I stopped by your slip to see if you maybe wanted to talk about last night over a run, but Drew said you were dead to the world and went with me instead.”

  “What? What time was this? I didn’t even sleep in this morning!” Except now that I think about it, I did a little, because I’d been up so late tossing and turning over my guilt at the expression on Jonah’s face when he realized I’d lied to him.

  “Um, pretty early. I’m kind of an up-at-dawn type.”

  “Drew didn’t even mention anything.”

  Jonah makes a noncommittal “mmm” sound in the back of his throat. He’s quiet for a second. “I am really sorry about your parents splitting up. I mean, in my parents’ case, that might actually be a blessing for everyone concerned, but to hear Drew talk about how close your family was, it sounds like a totally different situation.” He still has my hand in his and now he squeezes it.

  “What did Drew say about us?”

  Jonah grins. “Not that much. He was having a tough time keeping his breath on the hills.”

  If they were anything like the one we rode down on a cable car yesterday, who could blame him?

  “He said he thinks your mom’s kind of a badass for handling this trip on her own. I gotta agree on that one.”

  My laugh is as much of a bark as a sea lion’s. Jonah turns his head to stare at me before uttering a low whistle. “Ah. Got it.”

  “Got what?” I hate how defensive my voice sounds in my ears.

  “I take it you’re not Team Elise. Now that I say that, I’m piecing together moments from the last few weeks.”

  I drop my eyes to the rocks. “My mother isn’t that badass, trust me. She kind of hijacked me from my life.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, well, parents, right?”

  Jonah shakes his head. “Amen to that.”

  We walk in silence for a little bit, until he says, “I’m trying to keep quiet over here, to give you space for anything else you want to confide.”

  I smile. “What if I said that’s about all the gut spilling I can handle for tonight?”

  I feel a million pounds lighter for having confessed the little I did to him. There’s so much more, obviously, but small doses are perfect for my comfort zone right now.

  “Then I would say, no problem. And, since it appears you don’t actually know any filthy limericks to conclusion, I would suggest a rousing game of Would You Rather instead.”

  I love that Jonah knows exactly when and how to change the mood. I really was not giving him enough credit before yesterday.

  But he doesn’t need to know that. Instead I say, “You’re seriously weird.”

  “No. What’s weird is this question. Okay, would you rather . . . eat a thirty-pound block of cheese in one sitting or . . . have a metal pin in your jaw for one month that constantly picks up radio stations?”

  “What?”

  “Answer fast, Sprite. These are gonna keep coming.”

  22

  I grin like an idiot at Dad’s email:

  Lassie,

  See, I told you if you’d just stop bugging us about the homeschooling thing, we’d take it under consideration. Only took five years . . .

  Happy first day of school from someone who refuses to admit he is anywhere near old enough to have a daughter starting her senior year in high school. I should have held you to that promise you made when you were three, that you’d stay my little girl forever!

  Hugs and kisses,

  Dad

  Ha! I can’t believe he even remembers the start of seventh grade, when I begged my parents for months to let me homeschool. Tara and Jess weren’t in any of my classes that year, and Kelsey Jacobi had made torturing me her pet project. I endured backhanded compliments in the locker room about my being “super lucky not to need a bra yet, because it’s just so uncomfortable to have all the constant attention from the boys,” and more “innocent” offers at the bathroom sinks to “tweeze just a tiny bit here and there, unless you’re married to the idea of a unibrow.” I swear, why are girls always one another’s worst enemies?

  Of course, both my parents laughed off the idea and claimed learning good social skills was as important to my future as learning the stuff inside the textbooks, so being isolated at home was therefore “not in my best interests.”

  Oh, how times have changed. Now it’s not concerning to anyone but me that I’m cut off from all my peers and getting my education from an on-screen woman who may or may not be an android. Her monotone voice droning on and on about the roots of a polynomial makes Siri on my phone sound like the Tasmanian Devil on speed.

  This is not the senior year I ever pictured. But at least school is something different to do. With a projected ten hours under sail, today’s journey from Half Moon Bay to Santa Cruz is one of our longest segments of the past th
ree weeks, so even though it’s a Saturday, there is no time like the present to knock out a few online class recordings. I have plenty of time on my hands.

  I attempt it, I do. But by hour seven, I’ve had all the studying I can take and I’m about ready to climb the walls. I twitch with relief when the radio bursts to life.

  “Reality Bytes to Sunny-Side Up. Sunny-Side Up, do you copy? Over.”

  I spring into action at the sound of Jonah’s voice and am across the cabin in two-point-three seconds. Finally, a distraction other than Drew’s incessant recitation of anchoring and mooring regulations. As opposed to throwing himself into any studying of the school variety, he’s decided he wants to get his captain’s license and has been reviewing documents online to prep for an exam. I can’t even . . .

  “This is Sunny-Side Up. I copy. Over.”

  “Hey, Sprite. Got iTunes loaded on your laptop? Over.”

  Drew and Mom are doing their usual sailing stuff, so it’s just me down here to interpret what nautical information could be gleaned from iTunes. “Uh, yeah. Over.”

  “Okay, follow my instructions precisely. Wait, you’re not needed to help sail right now, are you? Over.”

  I snort, although who knows what that ends up sounding like on his end. “No! Never! Over.”

  “We’re gonna have to work on that, you know. You can’t go home after months at sea not knowing how to raise a sail. Over.”

  That’s debatable, as far as I’m concerned. I choose to ignore him. His next words are, “Follow my instructions. Open iTunes. Type in The Lost Boys. Over.”

  I do as he says, still not sure what he could need from this. “Okay, I’ve got it. Over.”

  “Good. Rent it. Pop pretend popcorn because I know you don’t have a microwave on board, and I doubt you bought any Jiffy Pop to make on the stove top. Over.”

  “Wait, rent it? Why? Over.”

  The laugh comes again. “So we can watch it together. Obviously. Over.”

  “But I don’t—”

  He doesn’t wait for me to finish my thought or say “over.” Instead, he continues, “We’re three hours from anchoring in the town where this movie was filmed and it will make it way more fun to explore the amusement park later, because after seeing this you’re gonna be looking over your shoulder the whole time. Over.”

  I guess we’re watching a movie “together.”

  We chat for a little while as the movie loads, and then we both push play at the same time. The plot is total eighties cheese. Two teens are forced to leave their home when their mom gets a divorce (oh, how I can relate) and they land in the fictional town of Santa Clara, California, which, according to the self-proclaimed vampire hunters who own the comic book store on the boardwalk, is home to a local gang of hard-partying, hot teens who moonlight as Cold Ones. And the grandfather they move in with is into taxidermy.

  I kind of adore it.

  I also kind of adore watching a movie this way. Skype would be far more private, but who’s to say nearby boaters don’t need a little eighties pop culture education. Besides, this is definitely more unique.

  Near the end, Mom comes below for some water. “Oh my god, I used to love that movie when I was in high school. I had the biggest crush on Corey Haim. Or, wait, is that one Corey Feldman? I could never keep the Coreys straight. Whichever one died from a drug overdose . . . he was the one I liked.”

  “Nice.”

  “Well, I didn’t like him because of the drugs, or anything. I liked him because my fifteen-year-old self thought he was cute.”

  I squint a little at the screen and, yeah, I can see it.

  Mom watches over my shoulder. “Jason Patric was in this too? I forgot how many hotties this had!”

  The receiver crackles and Jonah says, “Did you catch that part with the noodles turning into maggots? I couldn’t look at Chinese takeout containers for the longest time after I first saw this. Over.”

  Mom’s eyebrows rise. “This is why the VHF’s been going crazy?”

  I keep my eyes glued on the screen as I speak into the radio. “Sorry, I missed that because my mom was running through a list of which cast members’ posters she used to have over her bed. Over.”

  Mom makes a face at me as Jonah’s voice sounds through the cabin. “I hope you’re referring to Edward Herrmann, Mrs. McClure. Over.”

  Mom snatches the transmitter out of my hand. “It’s Elise, remember? And that man is old enough to be my father. I was referring to Corey Haim! Over.”

  “Okay, that makes sense. Total druggie though, right? Over.”

  I laugh and Mom sighs. “You two should cut the guy some slack, he was a troubled child actor.” She shakes her head and I see the smile she’s biting back. “Over.”

  To me she says, “I don’t know why you’re laughing. You get Lindsay Lohan. We had Corey Haim. Why do you think I never let you try out for that car dealership commercial when you were eight?”

  I pause the movie. “Mom, they were auditioning for a kid to play a crash test dummy. I hardly think that would have led to a life of booze and slamming my Mercedes into restaurants.”

  My mother dips two fingers into her water glass and flicks them at me.

  I ignore that. “Laine Medley bought an entire Lego village with the money she made off that commercial. Although, come to think of it, she did go rogue last summer. Do you think she could have been at”—I lower my voice to a whisper—“rehab?”

  Mom rolls her eyes. “You know perfectly well she was a volunteer for the Special Olympics.”

  “Such a shame. She had so much potential before that run-in with showbiz.”

  She grins and flings three more successive water sprays at me (completely ineffectual since I’m used to enduring the same from the ocean every time I step on deck) before turning to the steps.

  Behind her back, I grin too. Maybe it’s just my relief at having things with Jonah resolved that’s mellowing me out right now, but I don’t think Mom and I could have shared a moment like that a few months ago. As angry as I am at her, part of me likes knowing some of how we used to be is still there, underneath everything else. It doesn’t change my feelings in any huge way, but . . . maybe I need to hold on to those glimpses of better times too. Process them along with everything else.

  I pick up the transmitter. “Okay, don’t kill me, but I had to pause for a few minutes there. Tell me your time stamp so I can catch up. Over.”

  “I’ll rewind to you,” Jonah replies. I tell him which scene, and in the silence that follows, I hear a distinct crunching.

  I squint, trying to decipher the noise. “Wait, how do you have popcorn? Over.”

  “Duh. Because I’m an experienced seaman and I knew to pack Jiffy Pop. Now stop talking, you’re ruining the part with the impaling. Over.”

  “Um, did you just use the words seaman and impaling in the same breath? Over.”

  “You are fantastic, Sprite. Now shush with your dirty mind. Just watch.” It’s quiet, and then there’s a whispered, “Over.”

  An hour after the movie ends, we’re motoring into the harbor next to where it was filmed. It’s actually the real-life town of Santa Cruz, but everything about the pier ahead of us looks the same as its movie version, from the roller coaster to the boardwalk. Although I can’t imagine how the filmmakers managed to capture any dialogue over the constant barking of what has to be a thousand sea lions hanging out under the pier. They almost put San Francisco’s numbers to shame.

  “We can go ashore, right?” I ask Mom. We got such an ass-crack of dawn start this morning that it’s only late afternoon, and I’m itching to get off this boat as soon as possible.

  “Bag up your laundry for me first. Miranda and I have a girls’ night in at a Laundromat planned. Otherwise, as soon as we secure this mooring, you’re both free to head over, so long as you stick together and you let Drew captain Minecraft.” Mom smiles at me. “And watch out for any cute guys on motorcycles who might actually be vampires.”

/>   “Gross,” says Drew, before asking me, “Wanna check it out?”

  “Obviously. Jonah wants in too. Hey, think there’s funnel cake?”

  Santa Cruz is everything I would picture if asked to imagine a quintessential California beach town. There are kayakers all around us in the harbor and, in the distance, along a wide swath of beach, surfers swoop through cresting waves. Seagulls circle overhead, ready to pounce on any wayward boardwalk food, and carnival music and occasional screams from the rides at the edge of the pier float out across the water and mingle with the sea lion racket. The white wooden roller coaster lords over the scene, postcard-ready. I can practically taste the cotton candy and smell the sunscreen.

  We swing by the yacht for Jonah, and then Drew steers the dinghy around some playful sea otters and toward the public landing along the pier, where we “park.” No matter how many times I’ve done it now, I still need a moment to get my land legs back whenever I come ashore after more than a few hours at sea. Jonah takes my elbow to steady me.

  “Happens to me too,” he says, grinning.

  Drew, on the other hand, must have been a merchant marine in a past life, because he seems perfectly comfortable maneuvering back and forth between land and water. I’m a proud big sister, watching how expertly he secures the dinghy.

  By unspoken agreement, we all head straight for the roller coaster. In under five minutes we’re buckled into aqua-blue cars, Drew and me in the first row and Jonah directly behind us. I was all bravado when I insisted the front was the only place to ride, but I have to admit I’m a little fluttery as the car enters a tunnel, takes a few shallow dips, and emerges at the base of a giant hill. I love the big thrill rides, but usually not until I get to the middle parts.

  Click. Click. Click. The car ticks off each section of track as we climb the first hill with excruciating slowness. I peer over the side at the wooden slats. How old is this coaster anyway? Didn’t I read somewhere that salt water rots wood at a much faster rate?

  “Is anyone else nervous?” I ask.

  “Nope. This entirely beats stuffy lecture halls and the quiet room at the library,” Jonah says, leaning forward to speak into the gap between where Drew and I sit.