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His hand doesn’t leave me the whole time I’m considering, and I try not to be unnerved by it, or the teensy little part of me that wonders how it would feel to turn my palm up and lace our fingers together. But that would be super weird. Even weirder than this moment, which is stretching on and on and…

“Fine,” I mutter.

He starts to smile. Him and his perfect teeth.

“But if I get eaten by a shark, I swear to you on my dad’s first issue ofThe White Albumthat my bloody, half-devoured corpse will haunt you until the end of time.”

TWENTY

Though I have lived next to the ocean my entire life, I have never understood people’s obsession with the water. Even when we were kids and our parents brought me and Jude and Lucy to the beach, I would get my toes wet, splash a few times, then spend the rest of our trip collecting shells and building sandcastles from the security of myTangled-themed beach towel. I hated how the sand got into my bathing suit, itching all my unmentionable parts. I didn’t like how the water would push and tug at me if I went out too far. I didn’t like how everyone joked about sharks, even though every year there were real-life news stories about real-life shark attacks.

I’m sure people—people like Quint—think I’ve missed out on some of the most wonderful things about living here. Surfing. Bodyboarding. Diving. And, yes, snorkeling. But I figure, the water just isn’t my thing. There’s nothing wrong with that.

So I’m mystified to find myself pulling on my swimsuit, still practically brand-new even though I bought it more than two years ago, in order to go snorkeling with Quint Erickson. It feels a little bit like I’ve been tricked.

Looking in my bedroom mirror, I’m struck by a wave of doubt. I don’t give much thought to my body in general, and when I do it’s with indifference. I know that I don’t look like a cover model, and I’m okay with that. I think of my curves in lukewarm terms. They are squishy and soft and they are mine. Inever thinksexy,I never thinkvoluptuous,but neither do I thinkfatorgross,like I’ve heard other girls talk about themselves in the locker room after gym class.

Suddenly, though, I feel self-conscious. It’s been a long time since I’ve worn a bathing suit in front of any of my peers, and the only time I ever go swimming is when I’m over at Ari’s house, since she has a pool and, again, the ocean and I just haven’t gotten along. Historically speaking.

And now I’m going snorkeling? With Quint? It’s just so weird.

As my hand traces the paneled side of my swimsuit, I find myself wondering whetherhisfeelings toward curves are as lukewarm as mine.

The question leaves me just as quickly, replaced with mortification that I would care, that I would even hesitate to don a swimsuit now when this whole thing was his idea. What does it matter? It’sQuint.

I pull a fluttery blue dress over the suit and slip on my sandals. I grab my lipstick, through habit as much as anything, but hesitate. Is it weird to put on lipstick to go snorkeling?

Grumbling, I toss it back into my bag and leave before I can second-guess myself.

Quint is waiting at the beach, right where we agreed to meet. He’s taken off his T-shirt, but I can see now that he was wearing a gray surfing shirt underneath, and there’s a disturbing flutter of disappointment when it occurs to me that he is not going to be shirtless during this excursion.

What the heck, Prudence?

“I was beginning to think you might ditch me,” he says.

I cast a withering smile. “I did consider making you wait for an hour and a half.”

“Why didn’t you?” he asks, handing me some snorkel gear.

“Oh, you know. I value little things like punctuality. Besides, someone else already rescued all the baby otters, so I didn’t have anything better to do.”

He snorts. “You know, you’re actually kind of funny.”

I pause from inspecting the mask and mouth tube to glare at him.

Realizing he’s tiptoed too close to that nerve again, Quint takes a defensive step back. “Which is completely expected and unsurprising in every way.”

I’m still frowning, but I let it slide. “Have these been sanitized?”

He laughs, as if I were joking. “I’m glad you came. This is going to be fun.”

I can’t tell whether he’s joking or not, but I can tell that he’s completely avoided answering my question. I want to press. After all, I don’t know where these things have been. But his reaction makes me feel like it’s a ridiculous thing to be concerned about and I’m already feeling awkward enough.

“You promised this would be educational,” I say instead. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Funandeducational,” he confirms. “I’ll show you how to use those when we get in the water. You know how to swim, right?”

“Of course I know how to swim.”