‘You don’t have to take me,’ I stammer, but he’s already jumping off the boat. I rush to catch up to him, scurrying down the ladder as fast as I can, forgetting that I’m barefoot until I wince at the hot dock underneath my feet.
‘Shoes?’ He hands me my flip-flops. I barely have them on before he’s striding towards the edge of the pier.
‘Coming!’ I call, but he doesn’t even turn around.
I follow him the entire way to the store, tracking his shoulders as he dodges past tourists and sailors. A small terrier barks at us as we pass, and I wince as my thoughts turn to Murphy. He loves the beach. He would be right at home here. I’m panting by the time we get inside, and I have to wipe a line of sweat from my forehead. A bell above the door chimes. He’s stooped in front of a shelf of sunscreen.
‘This one is best.’ He hands me a large tube.
‘Thank you.’ I look at him and he looks away.
‘No problem.’ He shrugs. ‘Better for the reef.’
‘Right.’ I swallow.
The sun blazes on my skin as soon as I step back outside. I glance at my shoulders. They look pink.How is it possible I’m already burning?I think. I squirt some sunscreen onto my palm and try to rub it on my shoulders while we walk towards the boat, but my tank top makes it awkward, and I end up looking like I’m trying to give myself a hug. I smear sunscreen across my chest and huff in frustration. I’m forced to stop and drop my bag as I try to rectify the situation.
I have one arm underneath my tank top and my other arm bent sideways over my head. I look up to see angry suntan man glancing over his shoulder with a bemused expression.
‘Do you need . . .’ he trails off, his lips quirking up into a smile.
I watch his gaze linger on my belly button now fully exposed to the sun, my shirt having ridden up as I wormed my sunscreened hands through it.
‘Uh, it’s OK.’ My cheeks flame with embarrassment I wriggle my way back to a normal position as fast as I can. ‘I think I got it.’
My voice seems to snap him out of it, because he flushes red and his lips compress back into his usual grim expression. He turns around and starts marching towards the boat.
‘All right, team,’ Vanessa announces, bouncing into the captain’s room. We’ve made it back and are sitting on opposite sides of the boat. He hasn’t looked at me once since we returned. When I thanked him again for taking me to grab sunscreen, he merely grunted.
‘Let’s start on our paperwork.’ Vanessa hands out clipboards and pens. ‘We’re waiting on two more, there’s only six of you on this trip. Well, plus,’ she starts counting on her fingers, ‘me and Miguel and Aaron. So, we are nine.’ She nods towards the doorway and the stairs. ‘After we’re done, I’ll show you the sleeping arrangements.’
The paperwork is simple. We state our scuba certification dates and credentials. I write out Millie’s information, which terrifies me, because she’s a lot more experienced than I am. Even though I watched a lot of YouTube review tutorials on how to set up gear and calculate decompression time, I still don’t feel prepared. I make a mental note to try and casually ask Vanessa or Miguel if they’ll review the equipment with me.
There’s an additional page that outlines our itinerary:
Day 1: All aboard at 10 a.m. Midday Dive + Late Afternoon Dive (Treasure Cove)
Day 2: Morning Dive + Afternoon Dive + Night Dive (Treasure Cove West, Wonder Reef)
Day 3: Morning Dive + Midday Dive + Late Afternoon Dive (Queen’s Point)
Day 4: Fitzroy Island Day Excursion + Turtle Rehabilitation Centre
Day 5: Morning Dive + Lunch. Disembark at 3 p.m. (Capricorn Reef)
Millie had painstakingly prepped me for all the dives but seeing them on paper while hearing the seagulls caw behind me feels different. She wrote out notes on each dive site, instructing me on what to look for and when and where the last butterfly wrasse sighting occurred. She bundled all her notes up for me in a little book that she tucked into my suitcase when she dropped me off at the airport. I started crying when I read the first page on my flight to Cairns, because she scrawled in her giant, loopy cursive:You’re gonna be great, sis.
I make a mental note to cross-reference Millie’s list with the itinerary they gave us. I can’t do any research on my own if the sites are different, but at least I would know not to put too much stock into the notes she left me.
I had forgotten about Fitzroy Island until I see it on the page. Millie had told me about it briefly, but I hardly did any research because there’s no scuba diving involved. Fitzroy is off the coast of Cairns, only accessible by boat. From what I remember, it’s mostly comprised of rainforest and the Turtle Rehabilitation Centre. Even though I’ve hardly been on the boat for more than ten minutes, I’m relieved we’ll have a chance to stretch our legs on dry land.
I skim the itinerary one more time before folding it into a neat square and tucking it into my back pocket.
Nine chances to find the butterfly wrasse.
I’m about halfway through the rest of the forms when I hear the unmistakable sound of a pen scratching angrily across paper.
Angry suntan man is writing furiously. Something about the way he’s hunched over his clipboard makes me want to finish faster than he does. I pick up my pace, hoping I can hand Vanessa mine first. He finishes before I do and hands his clipboard to Vanessa with a triumphant grin. My skin prickles in annoyance. I finish next, and I wait for her to sign and initial his form before I hand her my sheaf of papers.
