Free Sharks & Boys by Kristen Tracy

floor’s gross swill.
    “There’s glass,” I say. I’ve cut my hand. The pain feels hot, and I hope it’s not too serious. Wick pulls me to him and my head bumps into his mouth.
    “Why do you smell like a cappuccino?” he asks.
    “I think it’s a combination of my conditioner and that,” I say, pointing to a large floating tin of Maxwell House. The boat jerks again, knocking us away from each other. As I crawl toward him, one of my shoes floats by.
    “You came in heels?” he asks.
    “I came from a wedding.”
    “Why are you here?” he asks again.
    I don’t know if I’m supposed to answer him. I can feel myself wanting to cry. I think I’m in shock. The situation around me makes no sense and I don’t know how to process it.
    “You shouldn’t be here. This is crazy,” he says.
    “I thought ‘Gretchen’ was a stripper.”
    “You followed us from Vermont?” he asks.
    I close my eyes. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I hear myself say, “I know. I wish I hadn’t come.”

By the time Dale returns, the area below deck is flooded with over a foot of water. Instead of bottled water, Dale is holding a can of Sprite. I’m sitting with Wick on the bed next to Skate. He keeps drifting in and out.
    When Wick sees the can of Sprite, he balls up his fist and punches the bed. Skate groans.
    “He needs water; he’s dehydrated.”
    “I did the best I could. I didn’t see any water. Sprite’s better than Coke, right?”
    Wick refuses to take the can. He gets up and cautiously wades to the counter.
    “There’s nothing in there,” I say. “Everything’s already spilled.”
    Wick opens a cupboard and finds some stuff wedged in the back. He begins emptying it out, pulling random cans and jars onto the floor.
    “Dude, you’re making a mess,” Dale says.
    “Shut up with the ‘dudes,’” Wick yells. “This is serious.”
    I like that Wick is taking charge. Better him calling the shots than Dale.
    Skate groans again and I touch his arm. A thin line of blood winds down a crease in his neck, staining his skin and collar an awful red.
    “It’s fine,” Skate says.
    Things do not feel fine.
    “Have you guys ever been out in a storm this bad?” I ask.
    Skate closes his eyes. “It’ll be fine. Burr will figure this out.”
    The wind and water bang against the ship. It feels like we’re caught in a disaster. And I don’t think of Burr as a natural-born savior.
    I’m holding Skate’s hand. He gives mine a squeeze, but it’s not very tight. Absorbed into the sheets, his blood looks so bright.
    “You’re going to be okay,” I say. “Wick’s getting you some water.”
    The muscles in Skate’s face relax when I tell him this. The boat won’t stay steady; it jostles us in every possible direction.
    “Here,” Wick says, holding up a small bottle of spring water.
    I turn to Skate and tell him that we found some water. He smiles. Wick struggles to stay standing and returns to the bed. He sits down and unscrews the cap.
    “You’ll feel better now,” Wick tells him. “Sobriety will improve everything.”
    Skate barely has a chance to swallow before the boat throws us up in the air. It’s the worst wave yet. We all land in a jumble on the bed, and I hear a crash behind me. I turn in time to see the wide window above the kitchen sink shattering. Water is pouring inside. It doesn’t feel real. It looks like a scene out of a movie, when somebody has accidentally broken a large aquarium’s glass wall. I expect plastic lobsters and fake fish to start flooding onto the floor. I expect the director to scream, “ Cut .” I jump to my feet. But it’s hard to stay standing. There is a force stronger than gravity trying to pull me down.
    “We’re sinking!” Wick yells.
    “Who builds a ship with a window?” I ask.
    Nobody answers me. I find it hard to believe that we’re actually going down. I watch Wick and Dale pull Skate to his feet and drag him off the bed and up the stairs.
    “Enid, come on!”