Free The Starboard Sea: A Novel by Amber Dermont

for an invitation, Nadia leaned into the open window. The girl looked at me. I gave Nadia a boost and helped her swing her legs around. The girl guarded Nadia’s head and brought her through. I hesitated before joining them both inside.
A strong scent of ripe citrus filled the room. The girls spoke quietly to each other, while I stared at a row of lit candles set in green glass holders. Some of the flames had blown out with the draft from the opened window. Debris from a séance. Piles of books balanced and crept up one wall beside rows and rows of bookshelves. The girl seemed to have her own private library. Above the shelves, a half dozen pairs of men’s tap shoes hung from their laces, suspended in midstep. The remaining candlelight cast shadows, leaving a pattern of dance steps, foot tracks behind the heels.
The girl said, “If you could carry her down the hall, we can clean her up and put her to bed.”
I lifted Nadia to my chest while the girl led me down the dark corridor to a shared suite. Together, we woke up Nadia’s roommate. While the two girls changed Nadia’s clothes, I left and returned with a cold washcloth and a large glass of water.
After swabbing Nadia’s forehead and adjusting her pillows, the girl resigned her post as night nurse, instructing the sleepy roommate to stay awake and make sure that Nadia slept on her side. “You need to learn how to take care of each other,” she said, then motioned for us to leave.
We crept back down the hallway and I said, “You were great. This isn’t a big deal, but—”
She put her finger up to her lips and made a sign for quiet. Ms. Alvarez, the Spanish teacher, had an apartment at the end of the hallway. The girl didn’t want to get caught with me. We went back into her room. I nearly tripped over a pair of oranges that had spilled out from a wooden crate. The girl picked up the oranges and placed them on her nightstand. Beside her bed were several scattered paper plates with bread crusts and a jar of peanut butter. Without looking at me she said, “Most guys just drop the girls on the fire escape.” She picked up two of the plates and folded them into a trash can. “You’re the first to actually come in and help.”
“I never had the opportunity to practice much before. My last school was all boys. When we broke curfew, all we had to do was climb up this ancient white oak.” She didn’t seem interested in my past or having me around in her present. The girl continued to straighten up her room, throwing out another plate, tightening the lid on her jar of peanut butter.
“This is some room,” I said. “Those shoes are wild.”
She walked over to the hall and adjusted one of the heels. “They’re Fred Astaire’s,” she said.
“Like a brand name?” I asked.
“No. They’re his actual shoes. He died this past summer.”
“What, did you inherit them or something?”
“Sort of. He gave them to my mother. Years ago. They were friends. I think he might have loved her. Men are always falling in love with her.”
She became quiet again, and I felt it was time for me to leave.
“I’m Jason, by the way.”
“Aidan,” she said.
“Isn’t that a boy’s name?” I asked.
“My father named me.” She gathered her long hair together and tied it into a loose knot. “Aidan means fire.”
“Why did you stop coming to history class?”
“I convinced Mr. Guy to let me study with him one-on-one.” She relit some of the candles that had blown out.
“Wish I’d thought of that,” I said.
“It’s time for you to go.”
“Yeah. Luckily, I have a fire escape, too.”
“I bet your fire escape sees a lot less traffic.”
Halfway out her window, I paused. “I’m not a bad guy,” I said.
“I have my own suspicions about you.” Aidan leaned down to face me and spooled a loose curl of hair around her index finger, “I spend most of my afternoons at the beach. In case you’re interested.”
I felt, for the first time since early spring, a connection