Relax.
We walk down the long dock, rickety planks echoing under our footsteps. But something feels off. There is row after row of industrial fishing boats, with large nets and huge rods affixed to the sides. In fact, there are so manythat the stench of fish overpowers the air. There are even small tables set up for cleaning the fish, with bags hanging over the edge for the discarded remnants.
What is this place? What am I missing here? This entire excursion feels spooky—how the moon ominously shines down on the water, tinting everything in deep purple. It hits me that even though we’ve had a few conversations with Nico, we hardly know him at all.
I splay my arms out like a crossing guard. “Wait. Remember what Ijustsaid the other night about Nico potentially being a murderer?”
“Here we go.” Anya rolls her eyes.
“Checks out.” I look toward the dark sky and desolate sea, the lack of witnesses. “Wouldn’t you say? One, easy to dispose of bodies. Two, no DNA evidence—the water washes it all away. It’s literally the perfect crime. Didn’t you guys pay attentionat allwhen they covered stranger danger in school? What do we really know about him? Absolutely nothing.” Sure, in my few interactions with Nico he had been perfectly nice and normal, other than accosting that majestic girl at the beach with his absolutely terrible sunscreen application skills, but isn’t that exactly what neighbors of serial killers say in their TV interviews?He just seemed like the boy next door!“I have literally seen at least tenDatelineepisodes that start exactly like this.”
“Nico is not a murderer, Sora,” Mari says, gently pushing my arms aside and continuing to walk toward the boat.“I think you’ve been bingeing too much true crime.”
“Maybe so, but you’re too nice, Mari. You’d say that about anyone. I hate to crush your dreams, but you’d never get picked for a jury. You only see the good in people.” Mari hands out the benefit of the doubt like it’s a basket of unlimited breadsticks from Olive Garden. Well… except to Wes.
As we walk up to Nico’s boat, I see him lift in a giant bucket of bait and a handful of fishing rods. All at once the horror of my reality sets in. This is no leisurely sunrise cruise.
“Wait—this is a fishing trip?”
Their sheepishness gives it away. “I mean, we’re still going to see the sunrise,” Mari says.
“Nope.” I secure my feet firmly on the dock, crossing my arms in protest. “No way. I did not sign up for this.”
“You’re so dramatic, Sora. What’s the worst that could happen? You have fun?” Anya asks.
I could think of lots of things. Namely, puking up five to six glasses of champagne and then hurling myself overboard into a school of sharks and a very gruesome death. “I’m not really up for this, you guys.” My stomach lurches as I watch Nico’s boat getting manhandled by the gentle waves. Mere hours ago, I was peaking, immersed in Italian luxury, and now I was to get in this tiny rusty boat and expected to survive? No, thank you.
“You’ll be fine.” Anya dismisses my hesitancy. “Plus, what else are you going to do?”
I bite my lip. I could think of a few things.
Nico overhears the tail end of our conversation. “Come on, Soraya. You’re on vacation. Live a little.”
“Exactly. That’s why I would like it tofeellike I’m on vacation.”
“Fishing is vacation. Relaxing, being connected to the sea, practicing patience, and honoring nature. You’ll see.” Nico grabs my bag and throws it in the boat. “Time to go.”
I glance toward shore, toward my escape, then at my doe-eyed best friends. They would be so hurt if I bailed. So I exhale dramatically and begrudgingly board the boat. “So, Nico—do you take lots of young women out on boats, unsupervised, in the dark?” I cast a knowing look to Mari and Anya. They know the angle I’m working here.
Nico’s face scrunches. “Does my cousin count?”
“Hmm. I don’t know. Is she still alive and well?”
“What?” Nico studies me, confused, before his face relaxes into a grin. “Ah, I get it. Irritabile. You are not a morning person.”
“Understatement of the century.” Anya rolls her eyes.
“Here you go.” Nico tosses me a life jacket. “Murderers wouldn’t give you a flotation device.”
I stand there, stunned, holding the life jacket in my hands.
“Voices travel much farther over water.” Nico winks.
Oh,shit. Mari and Anya burst into a fit of giggles. For once in my life, I have no rebuttal.
The motor hums to life, sputtering the air with gasolinethat burns my nostrils. I cough, praying my vomit finds a way to stay south of my esophagus for the next six to eight hours. Soon we’re moving and the coastline shrinks as sprays of water mist against my face. The cliffsides are speckled with tiny flickers of light, entranceway lanterns left on overnight or kitchen pendants being switched on for breakfast. There is no turning back now. I am a literal hostage.
The bottom of the boat slaps against each wave we hit as we journey toward deeper water. Nico and Mari stand up front, talking, pointing off in the distance at what looks to me like nothing at all. The wind is loud, though, and I can’t hear what they’re saying. I press my eyes closed, willing time to speed up, and suddenly I’m on the dance floor with Wes again, his face dipping inches from mine, heat radiating between our bodies. Until I am hit with a wall of ice-cold water. My eyes flick open. “What the—!?”
