“Yeah.” Gigi bites her nail, looking nervously at her screen. Then I see why. I know the rules of the game, although I’ve never been very good.
Your Moveflashes on her screen in bold white letters. It’s over. Her king was one move away from being exposed to a double attack.
Gigi opted against defending her king. Leaving it exposed, she promoted her pawn. I hold my breath, knowing her winning streak isabout to be over. Then I see it. Her newly anointed queen trapped her rival’s king in checkmate. My mouth falls open as confetti explodes on her screen.
You Win!appears in the same white letters as before. I watch Gigi calmly close out the gaming app.
“How did you see that?”
She shrugs.
“That was . . . impressive.”
“It’s just a game,” she says as my stateroom door opens.
Beth emerges in flannel pajamas with a yawn. On her way to the bathroom, her gaze travels to Gigi. “Getting an early start on your content?”
Gigi flashes me a look before giving Beth a smile. “Sure am.”
As the boat rocks beneath us, I roll into Beth on our double bed and open my eyes to the afternoon sun shining through our small cabin window.
“I don’t know how you can read and not feel seasick,” I say, seeing the tattered paperback ofThe Handmaid’s Talein her hand.
I binge-watched all five seasons of the show last summer, telling Beth she should watch it too. But of course, she starts with the book.
Beth shrugs. “I feel fine.” She turns the page. “Guess I should’ve been a sailor,” she adds without looking up.
I shift back toward my side of the bed, this time smacking into the wall as the boat dips to the side. After lunch, Beth and I retreated to our stateroom for a short respite from Gigi’s animated live stream videos. I reach for theCondé Nastmagazine I found in the galley and read until my eyes grow heavy, which doesn’t take long. I’m drifting when an angry voice in the stateroom next door jolts me fully awake.
“You’ve got to be shitting me. They can’t do that!”
I sit up, recognizing Emma’s husky, angry voice carrying through the thin wall that divides our staterooms.
“I don’t care! They can’t pull my line,” Emma yells. “You can’t let them do this, Ryan. It’s too late for them to back out. You promised me this wouldn’t happen. We have to fight this.”
A thump rattles the wall, likely from Emma beating her fist against it. Beth and I exchange a look.
“I am calm,” Emma shouts. She huffs a sigh. “All right, fine. I’ll call you later.”
Emma goes quiet, and I lean closer to Beth.
“I thought her fist was going to come through the wall,” I whisper.
“What do you think that’s about?” Beth asks in a muted tone.
“I don’t know.”
Beth glances at the wall. “Maybe we should go see if she’s okay.”
I lie back down, recalling the black eye Emma gave Luke Branson for making a snide remark after Gigi’s topless photo was spread around school. “I think we better let her cool off first.”
Emma’s stateroom door slams.
Beth leans back on her elbow. “You’re probably right.” She opens her book.
I wonder what Emma was referring to. It sounded serious, likely an issue with one of her current remodels. Emma’s temper probably makes it sound worse than it really is. I close my eyes again, wanting a nap before Gigi summons us to her group photo shoot on the upper deck. “I hope it’s not rough like this the whole way.”
A knock sounds, and Emma’s voice bleeds through the door. “Hey, Beth?”
