Page 26 of Love at Full Tilt
Neptune’s Launch Aquarium
Atalantia, Fableland
Orlando, FL
Name: Britney L.
Clue Number: Finished
Time: 11:20 am
Position 4
Name: Kaitlyn H.
Clue Number: Finished
Time: 11:29 am
Position 5
Name: Mason C.
Clue Number: Finished
Time: 11:43 am
Position 6
Name: Lia B.
Clue Number: 3
Time: 8:25 am
Position 7
Name: Jenna M.
Clue Number: 3
Time: 8:45 am
Position 8
Name: Rachel G.
Clue Number: 3
Time: 8:57 am
I don’t even realize it’s raining until I see Mason push through the aquarium entrance sopping wet.
He skids to a stop when he sees me sitting on a metal bench next to the dolphin tank.
The glowing light from the water-filled tank highlights the blue in his eyes so they shimmer.
The weight of his gaze on me is so familiar that something cracks in my center, and all the tears I’ve been fighting back burst out at once.
I make this horrible noise, somewhere between a sob and a cough, inviting looks from the parents around me.
He falls into a crouch at my knees, the same way he did that day outside of Squirt’s Wicked Whirl. I swipe my knuckles across my eyes to hide the tears he’s already seen.
“You’re soaked,” I mumble.
“It’s raining.” A small grin twitches his lips, but his gaze remains steady on my face. His hands hover, close but without touching, and that widens the hole in my chest. A hiccup escapes my throat as I try to swallow it back.
“Are you okay?”
“Look, there’s dolphins.” I point over my shoulder.
I can’t talk about anything real right now. Not until I can open my mouth without sounding like something possessed. My phone buzzes with another text from Tess—easily her twelfth one—but I don’t respond. I don’t even read it. Right now, the only thing I can handle is sitting on this bench.
Mason seems to understand because he settles beside me without another word.
My gaze chases the water creeping down his arm as it drips from his elbow to the floor. “You’re still soaked.” Apparently, emotional exhaustion is real, because I feel like I’ve just run a marathon, and my brain can’t reach beyond the very obvious fact that he’s wet.
“There don’t seem to be a lot of towels around.”
“Come here.” I gather the end of my flowy tank top into a bunch and, careful to keep my stomach covered with the layer under it, wipe the wetness from his cheeks and brow.
Leaning forward, he presses gently into my touch.
The whole time, his eyes study me intently, like I’m performing surgery or building a bureau or something equally intricate.
When I’m done, I smooth my shirt down over my waist and turn away to watch the dolphins behind us. My fingers linger over the damp spots on my shirt’s hem like they’re a part of Mason I get to keep.
He faces the tank too, his hands fussing with his ring as they hang between his knees. “So, dolphins, huh?”
One swoops by us, as if summoned, rolling so its belly is turned to the glass like an aquatic dog looking for pats.
“That’s Remy,” I say.
“Oh?”
“After my dog. That’s who he reminds me of.” I glance over at Mason. The flickering water plays with the angles of his face, darkening the shadows beneath his sharp cheekbones and defined brow. None of it can dampen the light in his smile, though.
His phone rumbles, and he checks it before turning it off and putting it away. His brow creases, but all he says is “How so?”
“They’re both big and whitish and love to swim. They also both like to come at you belly up.”
Mason laughs.
“Remy’s supposed to be a golden retriever, but I’m pretty sure someone swindled my dad and sold him a polar bear instead.
” I rub my chest with the heel of my hand, a small warmth glowing there.
Remy’s the one good thing about staying home.
“Have you seen videos of polar bears rolling around in the snow? That’s Remy, every winter.
And he’s one of those light goldens, so he’s practically the same color as a polar bear, and he sleeps as much.
If we could walk him without having to wake him up, I think he’d prefer it. ”
“Lia.” I’m babbling, and Mason’s tone tells me he knows it. “Do your friends know where you are?”
I close my eyes and shake my head.
“Tell them. They’re clearly worried.” He nods down at my pocket, where my phone is buzzing again. “You don’t have to say anything else.”
Sighing, I dig my phone out. I know he’s right, but I hate giving in. It’s like somehow we’re playing by Tess’s rules. Again.
There’s so many messages, they cover my screen. Two are from Mom, the rest from Tess and Issy. Both of them saying “I’m sorry” and asking where I am over and over again.
I swipe open our group message.
Lia
I’m okay. Mason met up with me and we’re going to get that third clue. Talk later.
(12:50 PM)
As soon as the message is sent, I switch off my phone.
(Sorry, Mom.) I’m not ready to talk. Or to let go of the anger still sizzling beneath my skin.
I have the right to be mad. For a lot of different reasons.
But the minute I agree to talk, I’ll lose that, and it feels like the only control I have left.
Standing, I press myself to the glass. Dolphin Remy swims straight at me and stops with his snout grazing the other side. I smile at him, but all I see is sadness in my reflection.
“We got in a fight,” I say.
Even though Mason doesn’t respond, I can feel him listening. He never tries to prove that he’s listening, the way most people do, by talking more and louder. He just waits until I’m ready.
It takes another minute, but then the words tumble out.
“We’ve been friends our whole lives, and for most of it, it felt like that would always be true.
But lately…I don’t know…we’re out of sync.
” My mind drifts back to Issy this morning, stopping before she was finished talking.
And Tess, so hell-bent on controlling everything lately.
“It feels like we’re being pulled in different directions or something, and all that exploded today. ”
I hold a hand up, palm facing the tank. Remy spins so he can flap his fin at me.
“Maybe he really is your dog.” Mason’s arm bumps mine.
I press both my hands to the glass, and Remy does a barrel roll, like he’s slapping me a high five. He’s trapped in there and yet he seems freer than I am.
“You’ll work it out,” Mason says softly.
I glance up at him. He’s so tall I have to tip up my chin for our eyes to meet. “What if we don’t?” That’s my biggest fear. That something between Issy, Tess, and me will break too completely to mend. That today I helped loosen another stitch.
“You will. Just give things a minute to breathe.”
We watch Remy take three more laps in silence. Then Mason nudges me gently. “Do you want to explore the rest of this place? Or will Remy break out if you leave?”
I snort. Loudly. Then immediately rush into the next room so I won’t have to look at Mason until the blush recedes from my cheeks.
I don’t know why I’m so uninhibited around him, but even as I pray to disappear, there’s a big chunk of me that likes it.
He’s this reminder that it’s okay to refuse to see myself the way the world wants me to: as too much and not enough, all at once.
Unlike the atrium, which is bright with sunlight from the glass roof and the wide blue tanks, this room is thick with darkness.
The only glow is from the small windows encasing jellyfish that dot the space.
The one that greets me as I enter has a collection of six iridescent purple blobs, their short, feathery tentacles trailing like bike streamers as they lope languidly through the water.
Mason steps closer to the tank, his fingers twisting his ring. The movement seems as unconscious as breathing. He must feel my eyes on him, because his gaze drops to his hand.
“It was my grandfather’s.” He walks over to the next display as he says it.
This one contains a whole horde of yellow jellyfish, their tentacles easily five times the size of their bodies. They drift diagonally across the tank, gooey leaves tossed in a watery wind.
A group of kids bunch around the glass, forcing Mason behind me. His wintry smell is everywhere, and I can feel the heat of his skin dancing across mine. All it would take is half a step back for my spine to be pressed against his chest. The thought makes my heart jump.
I peek at him over my shoulder, to find his eyes on me, not the jellyfish.
“My grandfather died a year and a half ago, but I lived with him from when I was ten until he passed. He was the crankiest old bastard you’d ever meet.
And he talked less than I do. But when he loved you, he loved you fiercely,” Mason says.
He twirls the ring again, more deliberately this time, as if he wants to make sure I see it.
“He feels a little less gone when I wear this.”
I turn to him. Out of habit, I open my mouth, “I’m sorry” poised on my lips. But they’re such useless words in the face of loss, so I bite them back and rest a hand on his arm instead.
His eyes slip to it and then to my face. I let my fingers linger for only a second before pulling my hand back.
“I learned all my swears from him.”
I grin. “When I was in junior high, my grandmother would sneak me books by some lady named Danielle Steel that I was way too young to read. I probably learned more from those books than any ‘talk’ my parents gave me.” The words haven’t fully left my mouth before heat invades my cheeks.
What am I doing? Why am I talking about sex with Mason?
His eyebrows arch. “I’ll have to check out this Danielle Steel person.”
“There’s no science in that fiction. Though she does have one book where the main character has sex with a robot….”