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I’m not terrified of water; it’s not a phobia or anything. But for some reason, no matter how many swimming classes my dad put me in (seven) and all the times I tried (and failed), I’ve learned the water isn’t the place for me. I think she’s pretty, and I like to look at her from the shore of a beach, but to wade in her waters seems treacherous.

I shake my head, clearing my mind of any more weird pirate-like sentences.

“What are we supposed to do on it?” I frown.

“Nothing,” he says, pulling my hand toward him. “Because I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who needed to do nothing more in my life. No thinking allowed. Just looking at the water and dillydallying.”

Despite the fear clawing at the edges of my stomach, a laugh rips out of me. “Dillydallying?” I repeat. “Who says that?”

“My grandma,” Theo says proudly. “She says I’m her favorite dillydallier of all time, in fact.”

“I’m not sure if I can be a dillydallier.”

“I’ll be dilly.” He leads me to the boat. “You can be dally.”

“I hate this,” I say, but follow him anyway.

CHAPTER 10

To-Do List

Finish list of time stamps needed from maintenance—request they print the entire list for evidence submission

Follow up on social media posts (Moon)

Stop thinking about Theo outside the case

Despite my initial fear, floating on the creek isn’t sending me into a panic. Aside from the occasional bump on the current that makes us dip—stuttering my heart in the process—I feel pretty secure in the thick jacket Theo clipped on me, and the fact that he was a lifeguard at summer camp, or so he says whenever my eyes go wide with fear.

He’s doing all the work pedaling, so my feet follow along easily, and the movement has the hypnotizing power of a hammock swaying under a tree during a sunny day in Puerto Rico. If not for the cold air on my cheeks, and the heat in my chest that comes at the awareness of how close Theo’s right arm is to the space behind me, I would have fallen asleep.

Theo’s been pretty quiet for the duration of the ride, only speaking to point at a school of fish darting in the water, a patch of lilies with frogs laying lazily about, and words of comfort when I swear I spot a terrifying fin peeking out of the depths.

Now we’re making our way back toward the dock—just a speck in the distance currently, but hopefully, for my nerves, not for long.

Even though the quiet has been enjoyable, even relaxing, after however long it took me to stop thinking about how it was possible Theo was better at math than me, I break the silence. “So, is your mom here?”

Theo looks over at me. “Why? Thinking of meeting her for real?”

I shake my head. “You said she sets up a tent here; she’s a doctor, right?”

“Yeah, she works for the women’s health center downtown.” He places his hands behind his head. “They come here to help women sign up as members, and my mom does free consultations if anyone comes with any concerns. She’s not supposed to, not until they’re patients, but my mom is always trying to help someone.” He smiles warmly. “What does your dad do?”

I glance down at my hands, picking at the skin around my nails. “He works at a warehouse.”

Theo cocks his head. “Really? Doing what?”

I dig a little too hard and peel off a bit of skin. The sting of pain shoots up my hand and I flinch. Theo reaches over and presses his hand on mine, and the pressure and warmth eases a bit of the pain.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, “if it’s private.”

I chew on my bottom lip. It’s a touchy subject for me because I instantly go into defense mode when it comes to my dad.

“He works as a janitor. I’m not embarrassed by him or anything, it’s just that people are always judgmental, and I hate that.” There were few jobs my dad could get when he and my mom moved here when they were eighteen, and they didn’t even speak the language. My dad taught himself English via books from the library and sitcoms on TV. This job was the only place that would take him and he worked while my mom went to school. They treat him well and give him good benefits, so he stays.

He squeezes my hand. “That’s a tough job. Long hours, lots of bending, lifting. Your dad must be a hard worker.”

For some reason, out of nowhere, my eyes fill with tears. Maybe it’s because I am so used to having to brace myself for a fight, for a mocking laugh, and the immediate acknowledgment of my dad’s hard work is such a stark contrast that my emotions go wild.