I nodded.
If I tried to say anything else, I might tell her too much.
Back at the shop, we rinsed the equipment while Captain Pancake supervised from a patch of shade.
Ellie showed me how to soak the mask and hang the wetsuit without turning either into a biological experiment. I followed her instructions badly enough that she took over twice and pretended she had not.
“You’re bossy,” I said.
“I’m an instructor.”
“That’s convenient branding.”
“You signed the form.”
“I didn’t read all the small print.”
“Nobody does. That’s how we get you.”
Hank appeared in the doorway holding two towels.
He tossed one toward me.
I nearly missed it.
He looked at Ellie.
“Natural athlete.”
“I’m still assessing her.”
“I’m right here,” I said.
“I know,” Hank replied.
Then he went back inside.
Ellie grinned.
“He likes you.”
“How can you tell?”
“He gave you the clean towel.”
I looked down at it.
“What happens to the others?”
“We don’t discuss the others.”
Once we had changed, Ellie led me two blocks down the road to a turquoise taco truck parked beneath a leaning palm.
A handwritten sign read:
BREAKFAST TACOS UNTIL WE GET TIRED OF MAKING THEM.
Ellie ordered for both of us with the confidence of a woman who had strong opinions about tortillas.
