When the boat drifted away, she turned back to the teen. “Next time, rental forms first, then boats.”
He winced. “Got it. Sorry, Krista.”
“It’s okay.” She nodded toward Joe. “Speaking of, this is Joe. He’s going to be managing the dock during the swap, so I want him to know how we do things.”
Joe lifted the clipboard in a little salute. “Hey, nice to meet you.”
The teen nodded in reply, apologized to Krista again, and headed off back down the dock.
Krista turned to Joe. “Alright, let me show you how we do this.” She stepped closer, shoulder brushing his as she pointed at the boxes on the form. “Name, local address or site number, time out, type of boat, number of life jackets, card on file. We keep the top copy, they get the tear-off. No one leaves the dock without signing and wearing a life jacket if they’re under eighteen. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “No fun without paperwork. Understood.”
As if summoned by the wordfun, a teenager farther down the dock launched himself off the side with a yell, cannonballing into the lake. The floating section dipped and bobbed, water splashing up and slapping the boards.
Krista groaned. “And no jumping off the dock!”
“Sorry, Krista!” the kid called, already swimming toward the swim area.
She shook her head and turned back toward Joe, who was stepping onto the floating section again to check the line on a small rowboat that had worked itself loose. He crouched near the edge, rope in hand, completely focused on the knot.
At that exact moment—because teenagers apparently never listened—another boy took his turn, cannonballing off the other end of the dock.
“Don’t you dare—” Kristastarted, too late.
Joe never saw it coming.
The boards lurched hard under his feet, rocked by the wave and the force of the splash.
“Joe!”
He flailed once, arms pinwheeling. She lunged for him, fingers brushing his wrist, but gravity was faster.
He went backward off the edge with a spectacular splash.
FOURTEEN
JOE
Thursday, One Day Before the Summer Swap
Joe sputtered lake water as he came to the surface.
“Wow.” He coughed. “Zero stars. Would not recommend the surprise cannonball experience.”
Krista was already at the edge of the dock, trying very hard to look concerned and not laugh. She was failing miserably; the corners of her mouth kept twitching. She knelt and held out her hand. “Come on, Aquaman.”
He grabbed it, and she leaned back with a little grunt, helping haul him up onto the dock. His shoes squelched, every step leaving a sad, soggy footprint. Water streamed off the hem of his shirt and dripped onto the weathered boards.
“You’re soaked,” she said.
“Really?” he deadpanned. “Hadn’t noticed.”
Her lips finally curved into a full grin. “Come on. We’ve got extra staff shirts and shorts in the back. I’ll show you where it’s at.”
She led him up the dock and through the side entrance of the Hideaway, away from the customers on the main patio. Theback hall was cooler, quieter, all painted cinderblock and stacked supplies—cases of cups, shelves of syrups, a small washer and dryer humming softly.
“In there,” she said, nodding toward a tiny staff room just big enough for a table, a chair, and a metal rack hung with a few spare T-shirts and jersey shorts.
