I glance around the canyon to get my bearings. “We just took this left turn,” I say, reaching forward and pointing at the riverbend on the map. So I’d guess we’re around Mile 2, which means…” I look behind me and grin. “We’re coming up on our first rapid.”
Derek’s hand slips from the left oar, which splashes into the river with aplunk. “What?” His eyes slide up the map from where I’m pointing and lock on the name of the rapid: The Slide. “Wait, it’s a Class III? That’s…that’s fairly big, right?”
Oh, the poor man sounds terrified and ready to dive from his spot and beg me to take over. Fighting a grin, I feign thoughtfulness, like I’m trying to remember. He’s not wrong, and normally a Class III would be worth paying attention to. But if he wants to become a true oarsman, he’s going to need to learn to read the river. “I mean, that’s middle ground on the five scale, so…”
“So you should be rowing.” He shoves the other oar forward until the handle is in my face.
I shake my head. “Sorry, big guy. You’re the one who wanted to learn, and there’s no better way to learn than by doing.”
“I’m not…” He grits his teeth. “I haven’t seen whitewater in person, Donovan, and you’re expecting me to take on a Class III without a clue of what to do?”
“I’ll walk you through it.”
“Or you can show me.” He grabs my hand and plants it on the oar he’s holding. “I’m not going to be responsible for flipping the boat and losing everyone’s stuff.”
For all his outward confidence, he really is just like the rest of us. “First of all,” I say, moving my fingers from the oar and patting his hand. “If you think I didn’t rig this boat to withstand anything this river can throw at us, I’m deeply offended. Ialwaysrig to flip, even on the flat water. And second of all…” I gesture to the bank on my right, where a cascade of rocks leads from the base of the canyon wall down into the water. “We’re in the middle of The Slide right now.”
“We’re…” He stares into the water, watching the slightly faster current pulling us downstream. There are a few ripples, but otherwise the river is as calm as ever. “But…”
Grabbing the oar he dropped, I gently bring the handle back to his hand and smile at him as he takes hold of it. “Take a breath, Derek. I wouldn’t make you do anything you weren’t ready for, and you have to learn to trust in yourself and what you have observed. Besides, you’ll know when it’s time to start worrying. The river always makes herself known when she’s ready to take you for a ride.”
He frowns at me, not at all reassured by my words. “You’re not a very good teacher.”
I laugh. “And yet you picked me. We have about a mile and a half until we hit the confluence,” I tell him, settling back in my seat. “And we’ll pullover a mile after that to register for camps in Cataract, so pay attention to the map.”
“And then?” he asks, a wariness in his voice that makes me smile.
“And then the fun begins.”
About fifteen minutes later, we reach the confluence, where the Green River joins the Colorado, and Derek spends a few minutes studying the way the water mixes between them. The Green is muddier than the Colorado this time of year, and silt swirls around the boat as the rivers combine. Derek looks fascinated, and I wonder if he’s always this curious when doing research. Or is he the sort of person who absorbs information without much reaction, calm and collected as always?
Derek is one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met, and I’d bet no one knows how fascinating he really is. The world just sees the actor without seeing the time and effort he puts into everything he does.
“What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever learned for a role?” I ask when my curiosity grows too strong to ignore.
Derek chuckles. “Depends on how you define crazy. I’ve wrangled a crocodile and free-climbed a fifty-foot rock wall—both were insurance nightmares, and I had to fight the studios to be able to do those. I’ve also learned six different languages.”
Something tells me he didn’t just learn his lines in those languages. “Are you fluent?”
He hesitates. “In most of them.”
An incredulous laugh escapes me. If I hadn’t spent the last few days getting to know him, I wouldn’t believe a word he just said. “Which languages?”
Wincing, almost like he’s embarrassed, he doesn’t look at me as he lists them off. “Spanish, French, Russian, German, ASL, and Candoran.”
“You’re secretly a genius, aren’t you?”
He rolls his eyes. “Obviously not.”
“You speak seven languages.”
“My brother speaks more.”
I sit up, my eyes wide. “Elliot? He’s really your brother?”
Grimacing, he gives me the most exasperated look. “For someone who claims to hate fame, you pay a lot of attention to things spread across the internet.”
I shrug. “Social media was still a new thing when I was big, so you can’t fault me for being curious about what it’s like to be in Hollywood in this day and age.”
