Page 80 of Head First
‘Yes. She gave me weird vibes and kept giving me weird looks.’
‘All because she wanted to put you in a marketing campaign.’ Millie starts to laugh. ‘You can be so dense.’
I can’t help but laugh too. But after a beat our laughter dies down again. ‘But . . .’ Millie says, trailing off.
We haven’t addressed the elephant in the room.
‘If Hugh was asking . . .’ I say, but I trail off too.Does that mean he’s still thinking about me?‘Do you think . . .’ I say.
‘Do I think he’s going to Boston?’ Millie supplies.
I gulp. ‘Do you?’ I squeak.
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ she says.
Chapter 31
Four months post dive
I’m so jittery when I land in Boston that it takes me twenty minutes to find the spot where I’m supposed to meet my Uber. Boston is beautiful in April. The cherry blossoms are blooming and there are ducklings everywhere, but between worrying about my presentation and obsessing over Derek’s email, I can’t focus on enjoying the city.
I check into my hotel, drop my bags and head to a nearby yoga class I’d booked, hoping it will calm my nerves. Going to yoga has become such a regular occurrence for me now that sometimes I can’t believe it was the result of a silly reminder I set in my phone, a promise I made to myself the first day onCoralSea Dreaming.
The conference doesn’t start until tomorrow morning, and tonight I will give my presentation one final run-through. Everything changed when I received Derek’s pictures.
Millie and I had pored over them that night on the couch.
‘How many does this guy take?’ she complained after we scrolled through the first twenty.
‘And this is just one dive,’ I replied. We kept going. All we were scrolling for was a clearer photo of a school of fish on the reef, one that could accompany a slide on coral regeneration and emphasise the main point: a season of cooler water gave corals the chance to rebound and act once more as a refuge for the surrounding fish populations.
We both saw the butterfly wrasse at the same time. In the lower left of the photo, purple, yellow, the outline of a small fin barely visible on its underbelly. Millie screamed.
‘Oh my God. Oh my God!’ she yelled.
‘No freaking way,’ I whispered, still staring at the picture.
‘All this time he just had this?’ She zoomed in on the photo, beaming.
‘All this time the dive log was useless?’ I asked myself quietly, overcome with a combination of relief and heavy sadness. I tried to push it out of my mind – I knew Hugh’s refusal to sign the dive log signified something deeper about our relationship. He refused to see beyond his black and white moral standard, and I would do anything to help my family, even something that was ethically questionable.
Millie and I had stayed up late that night, reworking the presentation around Derek’s photo. Now that we had crystal-clear proof of the wrasse’s existence, our presentation was shorter and more to the point – if corals have regenerated enough to sustain the regrowth of the butterfly wrasse population, then now is the time to focus on pollution from nearby banana farms. We still couldn’t use the photo as stand-alone proof, but it made the presentation a lot stronger. Millie had even paid a satellite company to use their aerial photos of pollution leaching into the reef.
My presentation is scheduled for 10 a.m. – the earlier slots are given to less well-known presenters and usually less crowded, both of which are fine for me. Even though I could barely touch my breakfast, a dry hotel muffin, I still feel nauseated when I approach the podium. I’m early, and I introduce myself to the tech support guy, who lingers around long enough for me to do a quick dry run and familiarise myself with the slideshow technology, and then disappears off into the shadows, leaving me slightly sweaty, nervously pacing until it’s time to start.
I peek around the side of the stage into the audience. My heart is hammering, and I know it’s more than just nerves. I could never fully let go of the fact that Hugh could be here. That he could see me and recognise the girl that he fell for – now that Iama marine biologist. Now that I feel more likeme.
But instead of seeing shaggy blond hair, I see the mousy brown hair of other marine biologists, trickling into the first of a series of lectures. None of them look at all excited about how their day is scheduled to go. Three minutes until my presentation begins. Millie is all set to watch it on a livestream, she’s already texted me good luck. I check the audience again. The tech support guy is back and nudges me with his elbow, startling me to attention.
‘Is something up?’ he asks in a whisper. ‘You’re supposed to go on now.’
I walk to the podium, my heart hammering in my chest. This is my first chance to make my boss proud, to make a mark in my new field. The bright lights from the ceiling obstruct my view, so I can’t see anything except the row in front of me. I smile and introduce myself. I start clicking through my slides.
I’ve practised so thoroughly that I’ve memorised the content that goes with each slide. I go on autopilot with my speech, blabbering on about the rate of regrowth and the different coral species present in the specific location where the butterfly wrasse were spotted.
I arrive at the slide with Derek’s picture. Here is where I go off script, the only piece of my speech I hadn’t prepared with Millie.
‘Um,’ I say, hesitating for the first time. I’m tempted to shield my eyes from the harsh lights, but I keep my hands at my sides, grasping the clicker a little tighter in my right hand.
