Unfortunately for me, I’ve never been mistaken for either of those things in my entire life.
8
I’m so high off the adrenaline from my high-jump turned MMA fight that I forget to dry my legs and end up trailing wet footprints all over the salon floor. I try to clean it myself with my towel, but Gia soon emerges from the kitchen and runs over to me, insisting I let her take care of it. I don’t dare argue after what I just heard upstairs.
When I get back to my room, I notice a glass-framed itinerary has been set up on my desk on Vela Bianca letterhead:
2pm: Excursion to Cloud Nine*
*Swimsuit and sunscreen encouraged
I run through a mental list of what “Cloud Nine” could be. A resort with an infinity pool the size of a small island? An elite underwater spa that gives rich people a close-up view of the reef without actually having to ruin their hair? Whatever our destination du jour is, at least I’m unlikely to end up underdressed again. I throw a big white t-shirt over my wet bikini: asimple turquoise triangle top and matching bottoms that covers enough of my chest to feel family appropriate, but not so much that I look like a grandma.
I take a deep breath and pick up my phone to compose a text to Marianne.
Captain is a total ass. Thinks I don’t belong here.
A green typing bubble appears immediately.
Whatever—screw him! I bet his only friends are sheep.
I stifle a laugh. Marianne is right—screw this guy. I’m not about to let a glorified deckswabber on a power trip ruin my whole vacation. If he thinks he can treat me poorly because I’m not some upper-crusty trust funder, he’s got another thing coming.
I spent four months creeping around campus trying to avoid an awkward run in with my ex, and all it got me was a suspension. I refuse to do it again. I need to show Captain Snobberton I’m not to be messed with.
The rideto the mysterious Cloud Nine is nothing short of exhilarating. After we meet on the back deck, all five of us pile into the tender: the small rubber boat Jim uses to shuttle us to and from the Vela Bianca. Small, of course, being a relative term. The tender, as it turns out, has the same horsepower as a speedboat and, as Harry explains to me, can easily pull a waterskier. We fly across the mirror-like blue, weaving between reefs as Jim steers us away from the small group of islands where we’re anchored. All the while, Matthew pats down his freshly styled hair like a prom-goerin a convertible as Steven tries to snap photos of him looking “rugged.”
I wonder how much of Steven’s vacation time is dedicated to snapping content for Matthew’s Instagram.
After about ten minutes, we approach what looks like a tall barge sticking out in the center of miles of blue water. Several small boats are pulled up alongside. This must be Cloud Nine. The two-story floating bar is full of tourists sprawled on white loungers with tiki drinks in their hands: there’s even a diving board on the top floor that someone backflips off as we pull in. My stomach turns just watching her.
“Here we are, boys and girls,” Jim says as he drops us at the ladder. “Welcome to Cloud Nine!”
“Look at this water!” Jules squeals. “I think I saw this place in a travel magazine. Harry, can you take a picture of Stella and me?”
Jules squeezes me towards her as Harry breaks out his phone.
“The last time we were here, Matthew and I were teenagers,” Harry tells us as Jules poses and I try to look less awkward. “My parents found us locked in the bathroom taking slugs of a Malibu bottle we stole off someone’s table. I swear, I’ve never seen Matthew look so green.”
“Seriously, Harry?” Matthew snaps back.
Harry shrugs.
“C’mon, that’s hardly your worst offense. And besides, we’re all family now!”
The look Matthew gives him tells me he’d sooner chug another bottle of Malibu than admit he’s in any way related to me.
“You’ve been to Fiji before?” I ask Harry as he helps me up the ladder to the dock.
“Oh yes. We circle back to the same locations every few years.”
“How can your parents get away so often?” I ask.
“They try to make it out to the boat at least once a quarter. But the crew is here year-round. The Vela Bianca travels the globe with or without passengers.”
I nod and smile, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to hemorrhage enough money to pay for the college tuition of the greater Chicago area to keep a boat travelingby itself.
Once we’re all present and accounted for, we’re greeted by a friendly host who brings us to a set of cushy ocean-front loungers overlooking the surf break.
