Page 24 of Second Tide's the Charm
Day one was an unqualified disaster, but I’m back on a shark study with a good friend. The angst with Adrian will sort itself out if I focus on what I came for, starting with a marathon watchfest so I’m prepared to crush the assignment on our next trip out.
Unfortunately, I have to wait for my shot at redemption. Everyone else has plans for the next day, so no fieldwork was scheduled. I’m all too familiar with the unavoidable reality of weather delays that halt projects in their tracks, sometimes for weeks on end. You’d think a few more days after years of time away from sharks wouldn’t matter, but being this close and not being able to get back on the water is like an ice cream shop flipping the sign to closed in a toddler’s face.
Part of me is grateful for a breather from Adrian. But a bigger part of me knows that out of sight doesn’t equal out of mind when it comes to him. Never has, and if I don’t find a way to break his hold on me, I’ll be eighty and looking over my shoulder for a glimpse of his smile. His dang hoodie will be moth-eaten and still at the back of my closet—or in this case, crammed under the rest of the clothes in my suitcase, since I forgot to change out of it the morning I left.
Tossing it in the trash at a gas station on the way felt creepily akin to evidence disposal, so I stashed it away from prying eyes. Not like Marissa will be going through my stuff, but with my “room” being an air mattress in the corner of her living room, I don’t exactly have a lot of privacy. I took advantage of her being out of the house to check out their channel, since watching videos of Adrian is not something I want an audience for.
In a shocking turn of events, it’s hard to remain objective and pick up tips for how to act comfortable on camera while your ex-boyfriend is on-screen. When I find myself staring dreamily at his smile for the third time, I switch to a more productive form of research: seeking out the research Adrian’s published in the past few years.
I spend an hour or so on a deep dive of his studies, and don’t come up for air until my phone—brought back from its watery demise after hours spent trying out hacks we found online—buzzes with a text. I slam the laptop screen closed like whoever texted me has access to my search history.
Zuri: Scale of 1 to 10: how much do you hate me for not spilling the beans about your influencer ex?
Hope: You tried. I just chose not to listen.
Zuri: Ostrich-syndrome at its finest.
Hope: That’s a myth. Ostriches don’t actually stick their heads in the sand.
Zuri: Seeing him again can’t be all that bad if your ability to bore me with biology factoids is intact.
I press the call button and lift the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” Zuri answers right away.
“It absolutely is that bad.” I slump back against the chair. “Also, ‘factoid’ is a buzzword. Facts is perfectly adequate.”
Her groan of annoyance makes me smile but also sends a pang of homesickness through me. I’ve missed her even in the short time we spent apart. Our friendship has always been of the pick-up-right-where-we-left-off variety, and I’ll never stop being grateful for that.
“You could’ve tried harder to warn me that Adrian is famous.”
“Mega famous,” she says, and then we’re both laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Last time I checked he only had a few thousand followers.”
Now that I’ve had time to come to grips with it, his social media success doesn’t surprise me. Adrian’s parents had to move around a lot for work and that meant he had to learn how to make friends fast. Between his enigmatic personality and his expertise, it’s no wonder people flock to his content.
“Still can’t believe I’ve been sucked into all this.”
“In a way, I think it was good to go in with no expectations. No time to talk yourself out of what’s a really cool opportunity.”
“You sound like Marissa.”
“I always knew I liked that woman,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh. One of my friends tried to warn me, another hid the full truth, but they both thought I could do this. That counts for something.
Still, Zuri knows how badly I botched things the last time I had a big audience; she was there. I tell her about what happened when Gabe turned on the camera. “It was just like what happened at the town hearing, Zuri. Stakes were high, and I lost my cool.”
“You should tell them about what happened,” she says.
“And lose what’s left of my dignity?” Not to mention the shame of letting down my colleagues and friends.
The whiz of a blender comes on in the background. Probably making one of her signature smoothie bowls. My stomach rumbles in response and I pull the phone away to check the time. Well past lunch.
The noise cuts off and she says, “At least explain you’re not a fan of going on record. Maybe they have some strategies.”
I stand, stiff from sitting in the chair for hours, and grab my purse and the spare key Marissa made for me. “They already offered, but it’s not just the camera, it’s—”
“Your sexy ex?” Zuri sighs. “I’d be flustered around that man, too.”
“Watch yourself, woman.”
