Page 57 of Second Tide's the Charm
Professional, distant. No one but me would know he said the same thing in the moonlight outside a restaurant eight years ago, right after our first kiss. Keeping things professional is supposed to help me fall out of love, but he keeps pulling me right back in, without even trying.
twenty-two
adrian
I shouldn’t have said it.
The moment the words left my mouth, I should’ve wished them back, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. Hope and I used to laugh when we’d reminisce about our first kiss, about how her roommate almost caught us making out by my car outside the restaurant where we were having dinner with the group. Our first kiss is a hazy memory, but I still can feel the heat and urgency and overwhelming rightness of the way our bodies fit together.
The instant we heard voices, we’d broken apart, and I loudly announced that I’d see her on the boat, in a voice about three octaves deeper than normal, overcompensating out of surprise. She told me later, giggling, how serious I’d looked when I’d used her last name. She called me Hollis-Parker the rest of the summer.
Going out last night brought back the memory of team dinners after long workdays the summer we met, and when I startled away, realizing I was dangerously close to kissing her in public, the same words spilled out.See you on the boat, Evans.
Except things aren’t the same as that summer almost a decade ago. We’re drifting apart, not tumbling together. I wasn’t able to take her in my arms and comfort her after discovering she got trolled by that jerk of a classmate, but my protective hackles are up, even though she’s not mine to protect.
Physically, I’ve kept my distance, but I’ve also kept an eye on the comment section. She didn’t tell me Owen’s last name, but I remembered a few nights later. McHugh. The urge to find and report his account had my fingers itching, but that wouldn’t help Hope in the long run. Neither would overstepping bounds again, risking where we are for the sake of who we were to each other.
Three weeks since I last kissed Hope, and we haven’t touched since the night at Horizon Line. No casual high fives, no ecstatic hugs, no catching her by the waist on rough seas. We haven’t slipped, haven’t stumbled, haven’t crossed a single line. We’ve tagged sharks and filmed with my mentor in North Carolina. Everything is textbook. Routine. Uneventful.
Agonizing. Exactly how things need to stay until the end of the summer and Hope heads off for her future.
We’re about a mile offshore today, doing a live question and answer session. No luck catching sharks, so we decided to switch gears before a forecasted storm blows in. Marissa’s got the selfie stick at the moment, and Hope’s standing in the bow on my other side.
Gabe catches me frowning at the gathering clouds, and says quietly, “Atmospheric.”
Ominous, more like. But he’s been bugging me about the importance of going live, engaging viewers, and he convinced me this is an opportune time to try. No animals involved, and we get to pick which questions we answer. We’re in control, or as much as we can be on the boat in the ocean, talking to strangers. Which is to say, not at all.
“Okay, here’s another question,” Marissa says. “Amarie wants to know: ‘What’s an acoustic receiver?’ Hope, want to take this one?” She passes over the selfie stick and I watch Hope closely.
So far, no signs that she’s stressed about this. Gabe checked in with everyone beforehand and she seemed fine, but I remember the pain in her eyes when she spoke about the last time she had to answer questions from a live audience, on camera.
A few weeks ago, I would’ve found a quiet moment to check in with her and make sure she’s feeling okay with the change, but we’ve been avoiding any time alone, and breaking that cycle might amp up her nerves.
She holds the phone at the angle Gabe demonstrated, her body language relaxed. July has been hot, and today she’s wearing a thin white long-sleeve tee-shirt for sun protection, but it does nothing to hide her generous curves, and I look away before the camera catches my longing.
“Acoustic receivers are one way we track sharks,” she says. “Whenever a tagged shark swims near the beacon, its tag pings. We pull the data from the receivers periodically to record it, and it’s a great way to discover which sharks are frequenting the area, when, and for how long. However, since the shark has to be in close proximity with the receiver, we don’t have the ability to track where a shark is once they swim out of range.”
She goes on, explaining the different types of tags used in studies, and I tell myself to relax. We’re almost done and so far, smooth sailing. Hope reads the next question aloud. “Jasper99 wants to know what sharks eat.”
“That depends on the shark,” I say. “Bottom-dwelling sharks like angel sharks eat a variety of things, from fish and skates to crustaceans and mollusks. Whale sharks and basking sharks filter plankton and small fish out of the water.” I name a few others, before Gabe leans into the shot.
“TLDR version,” he says. “Shark diet is super varied.” He’s been great in the role of moderator, chiming in when we get bogged down in technical details and moving the session along.
We answer a few more questions, like whether sharks need to swim to breathe, and whether marine biology was our first choice of careers—yes for all of us besides Gabe, who explains how he made the transition into working with sharks along with a plug for his website and social media.
“All right,” Gabe says, taking the selfie stick. “We’re about done here, but let’s end with a lightning round. Rapid-fire.” He looks toward us. “Ready?”
My mind is already racing through potential questions and formulating answers, but then I remember... Hope. We didn’t prep for this. Her mouth is ajar, and her eyes dart to mine. Her knees are locked, despite the heavy pitch, and it looks like she might keel over.
Before I can say anything, Gabe announces the first question. “Favorite shark? Mine’s no secret. Whale sharks. What about you, Marissa?”
“Easy. Carolina hammerhead. Gotta go with a shark from my home state.”
I’m watching Hope, wondering how to cut this short, when Gabe elbows me. “Your go, man.”
“Uh, tiger sharks.”
He hesitates, like he’s waiting for me to elaborate, then swings the camera toward Hope.
