The Living

1 Rodney

“Seriously, Shy. Get up.”

Shy rolled over on his cot.

“Don’t make me smack you upside the head.”

Shy cracked open his eyes.

Big Rodney was standing over him, hands on hips.

Shy looked around their small cabin as reality came flooding back: no sleeve in his hands. This, a completely different voyage—bound for Hawaii, not Mexico. The man jumped six days ago, meaning it’d been almost a full week now.

“I know you didn’t forget, right?” Rodney said.

“Forget what?” Shy sat up and rubbed his eyes. He knew this answer would stress Rodney out, though—because everything stressed Rodney out—so he smiled and told the guy: “I’m playing, man. Of course I didn’t forget. You see I’m already dressed, right?”

“I was gonna say.” Rodney ducked into the bathroom, came back out with an electric toothbrush buzzing over his teeth, mumbling something impossible to make out.

Shy got out of bed and went to his dresser, pulled a brown paper bag from behind the safe he never bothered using.

Tonight was Rodney’s nineteenth birthday. A bunch of people were supposed to celebrate on the crew deck outside of Southside Lounge. When Shy’s shift at the pool ended at nine he’d come down to his and Rodney’s cabin to shower and change, but he wound up crashing hard. This was a minor miracle considering he’d hardly slept the night before. Or the night before that. Or the night before…

He peeped the clock: already after eleven.

Rodney ducked back into the bathroom to spit, came out wiping his mouth with a hand towel. Guy was surprisingly nimble for an offensive lineman. “I said, you were thrashing around in your sleep, bro. You dreaming about the jumper again?”

“I was dreaming about your mom,” Shy told him.

“Oh, I see how it is. We got a second comedian on the ship.”

The suicide might have happened six days ago, on a completely different voyage, but every time Shy had closed his eyes since…there was the comb-over man. Sipping from his water bottle or talking about corruption or climbing his ass over the railing—guy’s meaty arm slowly slipping through Shy’s sissy grip.

Even worse, halfway through the dream the man’s face would sometimes morph into Shy’s grandma’s face. Her eyes slowly filling with blood from her freakish disease.

Shy tossed the paper bag to Rodney.

“Bro, you got me a present?” Rodney said. “What is it?”

“What do you want it to be?”

Rodney studied the ceiling and tapped his temple, like he was thinking. Then he pointed at Shy, told him: “How about a beautiful woman in lingerie?”

Shy gave an exaggerated laugh. “What, you think I’m some kind of miracle worker?”

“I’m playing, bro,” Rodney said. “She doesn’t have to be beautiful. You know I’m not picky.”

Shy pointed at the bag. “Just open it.”

Rodney unfolded the top and pulled out the book Shy got him: Daisy Cooks! Latin Flavors That Will Rock Your World.

“They had it in the gift shop,” Shy told him.

Rodney flipped it over to look at the back.

“If you’re gonna be a famous chef,” Shy added, “you need to know how to do tamales and empanadas. Me and Carmen could be like your test audience.”

Rodney looked up at Shy with glassy eyes.

The gift proved Shy remembered their first conversation on their first voyage together. When Rodney mentioned his dream of becoming a New York City chef.

But tears?

Really?

“Come on over here, bro,” Rodney said, holding out his arms.

“Nah, I’m good,” Shy told him, moving toward the door. Rodney was an enthusiastic hugger who didn’t understand his own strength. And Shy wasn’t the touchy-feely type.

“I mean it, Shy. Come give your boy some love.”

Shy went for the door handle instead, saying: “We need to hurry and get you to your party—”

Too late.

Rodney grabbed him by the arm and reeled him in for a bear hug. Shy imagined this was what it might feel like to be squeezed to death by a Burmese python.

“You’re a good friend,” Rodney said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I mean it, Shy. When I become a world-famous chef and they put me on one of those morning TV shows to do a demonstration…Watch, I’m gonna name a dish after my Mexican compadre. How about the Shy Soufflé?”

Shy would’ve come up with some crack about Rodney having more of a face for radio, but he couldn’t think straight. Rodney was cutting off all the oxygen to his brain.

2 Crew Within a Crew

Shy and Rodney sat down at a table on the crowded balcony where Carmen, Kevin and Marcus were guarding a stack of steaming pizza boxes.

“Took you long enough,” Marcus said.

Rodney pointed at Shy. “Talk to him. He was having another nightmare about that guy he saw jump.”

Shy stared at Rodney. Guy was crying over a cookbook not fifteen minutes ago. Now he wanted to call people out for nightmares?

Carmen opened the top box, said: “They just dropped these off for you, Rod. Happy birthday, big boy.”

“Happy birthday,” they all echoed.

Rodney thanked everyone with an over-the-table hug and slid the first slice onto his paper plate. Then he took a second and third.

The smell of pepperoni and cheese hit Shy so hard he barely had time to drool over Carmen. His stomach growled as he reached into the box with everyone else. He dotted off the extra grease with a napkin, folded the thick slice as best he could and took a sideways bite.

There were two crew lounges on board, one on each end of the ship, but this was their favorite. The Southside Lounge.

Paying passengers had every amenity imaginable. Luxury spas and pools. Multiple full-service casinos. Five-star restaurants. Dance clubs. Theaters. Gourmet food stations that stayed open all night. But the real action was down here on the crew level. At around midnight, once most of the work shifts had ended, there were parties up and down the halls, in the bars, spilling out of the lounges. A mix of good-looking young folks from all over the globe.

It was especially crowded tonight because it was the beginning of a brand-new voyage. No one was burned out yet, and there were plenty of fresh female faces to scope out—Shy’s favorite pastime. The tables were all overflowing. Everyone drinking and talking and laughing. Playing poker. A group of Japanese girls were at the bar doing shots. A few Brazilians moved their sweet hips to the reggae beat against the far wall.

An older black man Shy remembered from his first voyage sat by himself near the railing, writing in a leather notebook. Hair gray and wild. Braided chin beard. He looked like some kind of black Einstein, or a terrorist—but all he did on the ship was shine shoes.

It was kind of weird having some old dude on the crew, but Shy doubted kids his own age had the shoe-shining skill set.

Two Thousand Dollars Richer

As everyone else discussed their few days away from the ship, Shy thought about one of his own recent birthdays. Couple years back his mom and sis and grandma had taken him to a college hoop game. At halftime they called out three seat numbers, asked the people sitting in those seats to proceed down to the court level for a chance to win prizes. Shy couldn’t believe it when his sis pointed out he was sitting in one of the lucky spots.

He made his way down to the hardwood with the two other contestants, stood in front of the packed arena as the emcee explained the rules. Each of them would shoot a layup, a free throw, a three-pointer and a half-court shot. If you made one shot you got a gift certificate for Pizza Hut. Two shots got you free tickets to the next home game. Three, a suite for you and five guests. If you made all four shots, including the one from half-court, you got a two-thousand-dollar savings bond from the bank that sponsored the arena.

The first shooter was an old dude with tufts of gray hair popping out of his ears. He missed every shot.

The second shooter was a short-haired mannish-looking chick in Timberlands. She made the layup and the free throw.

Then it was Shy’s turn.

He laid the ball in off the glass and then buried the free throw with quickness. He sank the three, all net, and listened to the crowd begin to stir. As Shy dribbled out to half-court, the emcee announced: “If this young man can make one last shot from half-court, ladies and gentlemen, he’ll go home tonight two thousand dollars richer!”

Shy stood a few steps behind the half-court line, looking up into the crowd. A bunch of folks were on their feet, cheering. A rush like no other. He spotted his mom and sis clapping, his grams leaning over the railing, snapping photos he knew would end up in one of her famous scrapbooks. He pulled in a deep breath, then turned to the distant hoop, took a dribble and a couple quick strides and heaved the ball from down near his waist.

He watched the rock sail through the air in super slo-mo. Watched it smack off the backboard and go straight through.

The crowd erupted.

The bank sponsor came out to half-court and presented Shy with an oversized check. Two Gs. Shy held it up, almost laughing. Because nothing like this was supposed to happen to some anonymous kid like him. He was just a dude from down by the border. Didn’t they know?

Shy reached for a second slice, still buzzing off the memory. He wondered how long before his laughter might make a comeback. He’d never admit it to anyone, but seeing a guy fall from the ship had sort of messed something up in his head. Shit was hard to process.

He took a bite and decided he should scan the balcony again, see if there were any new females as fine as Carmen. It was a little game he sometimes played. He was only half finished when he realized Kevin was staring at him from across the table.

“What’s up?” Shy asked.

“We need to talk,” Kevin said in his subtle Australian accent. “Soon as you’re done eating.”

“I still gotta close down Lido,” Shy told him. The pool area was his final responsibility for the night.

“I’ll close it with you, then.”

Shy shrugged and took another bite of pizza. It was strange to see Kevin so eager to talk. They didn’t work together, though, so Shy didn’t see how he could be in trouble.

He watched Rodney hold up a fresh slice and say: “You know who made this for us, right?” He pointed a thumb back at himself. “Head chef comes to me right as I’m clocking out, says, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Rodney. We just got an order for four pies. It’d really help out if you could get them in the oven before you leave.’ Bro, I had my apron off and everything.”

“And you actually did it?” Marcus said.

Rodney shrugged. “No choice.”

“Damn,” Carmen said, looking to Shy. “They had your boy prepare his own birthday dinner.”

“Wish they had him deliver it, too,” Shy said. “Then we could’ve stiffed his ass on the tip.”

They all cracked up some, even Rodney, who said: “Speaking of tips, tell everyone what the jumper slipped you before he hopped in the soup.”

Shy reached into his uniform pocket, held up a hundred-dollar bill. “Forgot all about it till we boarded today.”

Rodney shook his head and pulled another slice. “I was like, what’d you do, bro? Give the guy a happy ending?”

“Just a bottle of water,” Shy said, staring at the comb-over man’s money. Technically, the crew wasn’t supposed to accept tips. But that never stopped anyone. This tip seemed different, though. Like it’d be messed up to spend it on some dumb shit.

Carmen held out an open palm, told him: “Might as well hand it over, vato. That’s exactly how much you owe me for being your friend.”

Shy made like he was placing the money in her hand, but the second her manicured fingers started curling around the bill, he snatched it back and shoved it in his pocket. “Gotta be quick,” he told her.

Carmen made a face and pinched the back of his arm.

Shy felt better when he noticed Kevin laughing with everyone else. Whatever he wanted to talk about couldn’t be that big a deal.

“Lemme get this straight,” Marcus said, wiping his hands on a paper towel. “If you would’ve just peeped the tip right away, you could’ve saved this cat’s life?”

“How you figure that?” Shy asked.

“I’m saying, someone slips me a Franklin, my ass goes on high alert.”

“Maybe I’m just good at what I do.” Shy shot him a sarcastic grin.

“Not,” Carmen said.

“Yeah, okay.” Marcus laughed and bit into his pizza slice.

“Some passengers just like to tip like that,” Kevin said. “They wanna impress everybody.”

“I got tipped fifty for adjusting a karaoke mike,” Carmen said. “Two voyages ago.”

“Man or woman?” Rodney said.

“Man. Why?”

“You know all these rich white dudes got a warm spot for you, Carm. You’re like their jalapeño chalupa fantasy.”

Carmen reached across Shy and slugged Rodney in the shoulder. It was impossible for Shy not to stare at her shirt riding up her beautiful brown back.

“Shoot,” Marcus said, “fifty seems kind of high for the Mexican platter.”

Carmen grabbed a piece of crust out of the half-empty pizza box and heaved it at his head. Marcus ducked in time, though, and the crust went sailing over the railing, into the Pacific. “I guess chicken and waffles are supposed to be fine dining,” she said.

“Compared to a bowl of wack taco salad?”

Everybody was cracking up now, including, Shy noticed, the group of Swedish crew members at the next table over.

“For the record,” Rodney said, “everyone here is the fine-dining version. Look around you, bro. Paradise only hires attractive people.”

Shy watched them all sort of glance around the table at each other. They didn’t need to, though. Rodney had it right. Pretty much everyone on the crew was attractive, especially the group Shy kicked it with.

Kevin was a rugged, outdoorsy Australian. Messy blond hair and three-day stubble. At twenty-two he was the oldest and most worldly at the table. When he wasn’t mixing martinis on a Paradise cruise ship, he was posing for pictures all over Europe as an underwear model.

Marcus was the ship’s resident hip-hop dancer. A pretty-boy black kid from Crenshaw who was a secret tech head. He was all cut up from popping and locking, contorting his body in ways that didn’t seem possible. Whenever Marcus dropped his uniform top on the pool’s main stage, during a scheduled dance demonstration, Shy would watch everyone stare at his abs without blinking. Even skeletal old white ladies from Confederate states.

Carmen was the only female in their group. She was eighteen and half Mexican like Shy, from a town not far from Otay Mesa called National City. She hosted karaoke every night and sang in some of the shows. First time Shy met her, he could barely speak. She had to wave a hand all in front of his face, laughing, and ask Rodney if he was mute.

Only problem with Carmen was she had a fiancé back home. Some wealthy white kid in law school. She left the diamond in her cabin, she claimed, because wedding rings work like kryptonite on tips.

Eventually their eyes all settled on Rodney.

He lowered a half-eaten sausage slice, said: “What?”

A table full of grins.

“Bro, I don’t count,” he said. “There’s a reason they keep my big ass locked up in a kitchen.”

Everyone laughed.

Rodney was a six-four farm boy with a bad flat top. Crooked teeth. A few months ago he’d moved from Iowa to Irvine to try and play college football for the Anteaters. His strength coach hooked him up with a job on the ship assisting the head chef in the Destiny Dining Room. In his free time, Rodney read romance novels and ate Costco-sized bags of gummy bears and listened to Christina Aguilera on oversized headphones.

As everyone finished eating, Shy thought about how he fit into the equation. He wasn’t an underwear model like Kevin, he knew that. But he was tall for being half Mexican. And he played ball. The girls back home called him “pretty boy” and said he was a catch—though a catch in Otay Mesa was probably different from a catch on a Paradise cruise ship.

Shy was still kicking this around as he weaved through the balcony crowd to toss his greasy paper plate into the trash by the bar. When he turned back around, he found Kevin standing there. “Ready?”

“Sure,” Shy told him. “But what’s going on?”

“Overheard something earlier.” Kevin threw away his plate, too. “Figured you should be properly warned.”

Warned? A wave of nerves passed through Shy’s middle.

“Lido Deck, right?” Kevin said.

Shy nodded. As he followed Kevin through the crowded balcony tables, toward the exit, he looked over his shoulder at Carmen.

You okay? she mouthed.

Shy shrugged and went through the door.

3 Man in a Black Suit

Shy followed Kevin up several flights of stairs, through the ship’s atrium, which was straight out of an art magazine. Oversized paintings hanging from every wall, fresh flowers arranged in large colored vases, cascading chandeliers, classical music playing softly on well-hidden speakers.

They gave smiles and subtle head bows whenever they passed a passenger couple out for a late-night stroll.

“Ma’am.”

“Sir.”

They trekked all the way to the other end of the ship and out onto the Lido Deck, where Shy was to spend the majority of his working hours this voyage. The ship psychiatrist had decided it was best to keep Shy off the Honeymoon Deck—at least until he’d had the proper amount of time to “deal with the suicide.” Then he’d handed Shy a bottle of pills that were supposed to ease his mind. But all the first one did was make him feel hollow and numb. Like a fake person. He tossed the rest of the bottle in the trash.

They crossed to the far end, where the infinity pool sat sparkling in the moonlight. There were some people still hanging out in the Jacuzzi, even though it had been closed for over an hour. A guy and three girls. When they saw Kevin and Shy approaching, the guy stood up and said: “Time to wrap it up, right?”

“Sorry, sir,” Shy told him. “I have to close down for the night.”

The guy hopped out of the Jacuzzi dripping wet and looked down at the girls. “You heard the man. Time to move it indoors.”

Shy watched the three bikini girls climb out of the Jacuzzi. They were younger than most of the passengers, mid-twenties maybe, and they looked good as hell. Only a few fractions of a notch below Carmen when she was in a two-piece—and that was saying something.

The guy had already put on a shirt and cargo pants, and he walked over to Shy and Kevin, saying: “Must be a hassle shooing people out of the tub every night. Sorry ’bout that, guys. I’m Christian, by the way.”

Shy shook the guy’s hand and introduced himself.

Kevin did the same.

Christian was straight out of a GQ ad. Light-blue eyes and chiseled chin. Tiny bit of scruff around his face. Longish sandy-blond hair to his shoulders, still wet and dripping down his shirt.

“Come on, Dr. Christian,” one of the girls called.

The guy winked at Kevin and Shy. “Just made it through med school. We’re doing a bit of celebrating. See you guys around.” He turned and started toward the atrium, the girls falling in line behind him. Shy watched them go, wondering what it would be like to live another kind of life. To be on the path to becoming a doctor. To be the one waited on instead of the waiter. It was something he’d never even considered before stepping foot on a luxury cruise.

Soon as they were gone, he turned to Kevin and said: “So, what’d you wanna warn me about?”

“Had his hands full, didn’t he?” Kevin said, staring at the wet footprints the girls had left behind. “I was certainly willing to help a bloke out. All he had to do was ask.”

“I’m with you,” Shy said, and he began dragging white lounge chairs back where they belonged, pulling off discarded towels, readjusting seat backs. There were over two hundred chairs, and every morning, before the sun came up, they had to be perfectly aligned.

He rounded the second row and veered toward the housekeeping room, saying: “The warning, Kev.”

“Right,” Kevin said, picking up a towel Shy had dropped. “So, after I board the ship this morning, I go directly into the bar to do my prep. But the cellar door’s locked, which is a pain in my ass. I have to hike it all the way up to Paolo’s office to get the key and— You’ve met Paolo, right?”

“Head of security.” Shy pushed open the door to housekeeping and heaved the stack of towels off his shoulder and into the wash bin. Kevin tossed in his towel, too. Claudia, a German woman Shy had met on his first voyage, waved and wheeled the cart toward laundry.

“I forgot,” Kevin said. “You spent a few hours with him after the suicide, no? Anyway, I can’t go in his office right away because someone’s in there. A man in a black suit. And guess who he’s asking Paolo about?”

“Me?”

“You.”

Shy stopped. “Why?”

But he had a feeling he already knew why.

The comb-over man.

“Like a good mate,” Kevin said as Shy resumed straightening lounge chairs, “I wait behind the door, out of sight, and listen. Black suit wants to know about this Shy bloke. Who is he? Where’s he from? What did he and the jumper discuss before things went bad? And he’s using tough talk with Paolo, which I’ve never seen on board a Paradise ship. Paolo outranks almost everyone, you know? So this guy’s probably not crew.”

Shy shook his head in frustration. “How many times do I have to explain shit?” he said, facing Kevin. “I gave the guy a water. When he tried to jump I grabbed his arm, but he was too heavy. I couldn’t hold on. What else do they wanna hear?”

He was leaving out his strange conversation with the comb-over man, of course. Had yet to mention that part to anyone. But it didn’t make any sense. And he figured the less interaction he said they had, the quicker they’d let him get on with his life.

So much for that theory.

“Easy,” Kevin said. “Don’t go shooting the messenger now. Anyway, sounds to me like Paolo relayed the right information. But the man in the black suit wasn’t satisfied. He wanted your file. And your work schedule.”

Shy yanked a damp towel off a chair. “This is crazy, Kev. Did Paolo give it to him?”

“Don’t know,” Kevin said. “Sounded like they were wrapping up at that point, so I stepped away from the door.”

Shy shook his head some more and walked a last handful of towels to housekeeping, dropped them into an empty bin. How was he supposed to put shit behind him when everyone kept bringing it back up?

He turned toward the fancy Jacuzzi, flipped off the jets and the waterfall and the heat, started covering it with the special lid. All Shy wanted was a summer job before his senior year. And when his counselor brought up the connections she had with Paradise Cruise Lines, it sounded different, exotic. If he had it to do over again, though, he’d apply for something more normal instead. Like Subway or Big O Tires. No one tries to kill themselves while buying a set of damn Goodyears.

“Don’t you get it yet?” Kevin said, shadowing Shy. “These aren’t regular cruise ship passengers we’re dealing with. They’re the richest of the rich. We’ve had ex-presidents. Actors. Donald Trump was on my first voyage.”

“What if I went and found this dude first?” Shy said. “Maybe I could talk to him. Get it out of the way.”

“Could try that,” Kevin said, glancing over Shy’s shoulder. “I’m thinking he must be FBI, something important like that. And if the jumper didn’t say anything to you before he went, you have nothing to worry about, right?”

Shy moved over to the infinity pool, pulled the fancy skimmer out of its holster. He didn’t know what to think as he fished out a tiny scrap of paper, a hair band, a couple small bugs. The FBI? Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He wished he could fast-forward through the rest of this voyage, get back to his simple life in Otay Mesa—though even that was messed up now that his grandma had passed.

Shy noticed Kevin glancing over his shoulder again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, that’s a bit odd,” Kevin mumbled.

“What?” Shy said.

Kevin stared at the ground, shaking his head. Then he spoke to Shy in a quiet voice. “Don’t go turning around or anything, but I think someone’s been watching us this whole time.”

“Who?” Shy said. “The guy in the black suit?”

Kevin shrugged.

“The one you saw?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

Shy froze, pool skimmer in hand. He could feel his heart start beating faster inside his chest. Things seemed more serious all of a sudden. Like maybe he was actually in trouble for something.

“Look,” Kevin said. “Handle your business out here and go to your cabin. First thing tomorrow morning I’d have a chat with Paolo.”

Shy put away the skimmer.

He could feel the guy’s eyes burning a hole in his back. Or was his mind making it into a bigger deal than it really was? Either way, he didn’t feel like being out here alone. “Hey, Kev,” he said in a quiet voice. “You think you could hang for a few more minutes?”

Kevin shot him a look that said he had his back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

4 Insomnia

Shy couldn’t sleep.

Again.

He tossed and turned on his cot, listening to the rise and fall of Rodney’s snoring, watching the digital numbers switch places on his clock radio. He stared up at the ceiling, unable to stop his mind from spinning….

He imagined the man in the black suit sneaking into his room, wearing a ski mask. Inching a machete closer and closer to Shy’s exposed neck until it pierced his skin and blood ran all over his sheets and his blankets and his flat-as-shit pillow.

He imagined the comb-over man slipping through his grasp, only this time they were handcuffed together and Shy was pulled overboard, too. Both of them falling falling falling toward a swirling ocean that sucked them in and held them in its clutches like the Bermuda Triangle.

Shy pictured the last few hours of his grandma’s life. How she started clawing at her own skin in the hospital bed. His mom crying from outside the quarantine room. Pounding her fists against the thick glass and screaming at the nurses. Shy unable to move or speak or even breathe.

It was almost three in the morning when Shy finally gave up on sleep. He threw off his blankets and went to Rodney’s computer to check his email.

Only one message in his in-box.

From his mom.

Could they please Skype tomorrow? Between his shifts? She had some possibly worrisome news she’d rather not share over email. “Please, Shy,” the email read. “I know you’re busy on your ship, but find a few minutes for your mom. I’m a bundle of nerves right now and I really want to talk to you.”

Shy read it two more times without blinking.

Last time she wanted to talk was after his grandma was diagnosed with Romero Disease. And when Kevin wanted to talk it was about some guy in a black suit who’d been asking about him. The same guy who was watching them at the pool.

All these “talks” eventually turned to bad news.

He typed a message to his mom saying he’d log on to Skype at some point between two and two-thirty. Tomorrow afternoon. Then he closed the computer and left the cabin to wander the halls and think.

The entire ship was like a ghost town. Tumbleweed rolling past in Shy’s imagination. He kept expecting to find a pack of black-suit-wearing FBI agents lurking around every corner, but every corner was empty.

The ship’s great weight pitched subtly under Shy’s shell tops. Tiny movements in the floorboards that made him feel uncoordinated as he climbed a few flights of stairs. His whole body tired and achy from lack of sleep.

He moved through one of the premier-class levels. Rustic light fixtures made to look like old-style lanterns, spotless framed mirrors, doors made of real wood with brass handles and brass locks and brass knockers.

So much money went into these premier decks.

The hallways alone.

How would it feel, he wondered, if he’d been born someone else? Not a housekeeping crew member who couldn’t sleep, but a first-class passenger coming back from a night of killing it at the casino. He’d key open one of these fancy doors, toss his winnings on the oak table. Strip out of his clothes while watching the ocean through his cabin window. Climb into bed next to his smoking-hot wife and pull the silk covers up under his chin.

People in premier class probably fell asleep within seconds.

Shy climbed back up to the Honeymoon Deck and stood at the railing in the exact spot where he’d dropped the comb-over man. His first time back to the scene of the crime. Even hooked his right leg into the railing to remember what it felt like. But the only thing it made him feel was stupid, so he pulled his leg back out and just stood there, staring down at the dark water.

Listening to its constant whispering.

Still unable to make out any meaning.

Seemed like forever ago that the bus dropped him off for that first voyage—though it had only been eleven days. He remembered looking out the window as his bus squeaked to a stop. There was the massive, sparkling ship at anchor. It towered over everything around it, even what was on land, and he couldn’t wrap his head around the immensity of it. The giant hull perfectly white, lined with orange-bottomed lifeboats and row after row of single square windows. The glass-covered atrium reaching up from the highest deck, into the sky. Thick synthetic cords jetting out of the bow, tied to solid steel hitches built into the pier. The name “Paradise” written across the side in huge calligraphy letters.

It stood there in the water, motionless.

Waiting for him.

Now Shy was aboard that ship for a second time, staring out from the empty Honeymoon Deck. The ocean stretching out endlessly in front of him. Far as the eye could see. Nothing but water and more water.

It made Shy feel incredibly alone.

A tiny, insignificant human.

This sudden awareness crushed down on him and stole his breath, and for a split second he understood how someone could be moved to jump.

5 Carmen

After wandering a while longer, Shy found himself outside Carmen’s cabin, knuckles raised in front of her door, ready to knock.

But he couldn’t knock.

It was three-thirty in the morning.

He lowered his fist and just stood there a few minutes, trying to think.

On his first voyage, he and Carmen had hit it off right away. They realized they were from the same area, went to rival high schools—though Carmen had just graduated. Then they discovered something else they had in common. Romero Disease.

Shy had lost his grandma.

Carmen, her old man.

They talked and talked that night. Carmen crying in front of him. Leaning her head against Shy’s shoulder at one point, and him telling her, “It’s okay, Carm, it’s okay,” even though they both knew it wasn’t okay.

Shy turned and started back to his own cabin.

He only made it a few steps down the hall, though, before he heard a door creak open.

Then a tired voice: “Shy?”

He turned, saw Carmen peeking out from behind her door. Eyes puffy from sleep. Hair reckless. An oversized guy’s T-shirt barely covering her long brown legs.

“What are you doing up?” she said.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Again?”

Shy shrugged.

The girl looked so good it made his heart hurt. A few strands of thick brown hair in her face. Full lips and dark eyes. Chest stretching out the vowels of her vintage-looking Padres shirt. He did his best to keep his eyes on her eyes so she wouldn’t think he was being sketchy.

He cleared his throat. “How’d you know someone was out here, anyway?”

Carmen frowned as she considered this. “I woke up and…I don’t even know, I just went to the door. I had a feeling you’d be here. Is that weird?”

So she wouldn’t see his smile, Shy leaned over to retie his shoelace. He double-knotted and gathered himself and then stood back up, saying: “Anyways, I was out walking and I passed—”

“Hang on,” Carmen interrupted, and she ducked back into her cabin.

Shy stared at her closed door, butterflies now going in his stomach. Back home he’d been with a respectable number of females. He was the starting point guard on his hoop squad. Found occasional notes stashed in his locker. Girls sometimes stepped to him at a house party or on a basketball road trip. And he always played it mellow. But with Carmen—even just as friends—it was a different story. He never really had a handle on his vibe. Felt awkward, even. Maybe because she was a year older. Or because she had a fiancé. Or maybe because he actually cared what she thought.

The door reopened and Carmen came all the way into the hall this time. She was wearing baggy sweatpants now and holding her laptop and a nearly full bottle of wine with a plastic cup over the top.

“Sit,” she said.

Shy sat.

Carmen sat on the floor next to him and opened up her iTunes. “My roommate’s sleeping,” she said, putting on some Brazilian music, lowering the volume. She unscrewed the wine cap, poured some into the lone cup. “We’ll have to share.”

“For real, though,” Shy said, making like he was about to get up. “I wasn’t trying to pull you out of bed.”

“What, you can’t share a cup with me? You think I got cooties?”

He smiled. “You shouldn’t have to suffer ’cause I can’t sleep.”

Carmen rolled her eyes and took a sip of the wine. “That first night we met. You remember the long conversation we had at Southside?”

“Yeah.”

“At the end of it, what’d I tell you?”

Shy remembered her exact words, remembered the tears he saw going down her cheeks. “You said I could stop by whenever I wanted to talk. Didn’t matter what time.”

“So?” Carmen said, swirling the wine in her cup. “What are we gonna talk about, then?”

Shy settled back in and took the cup from her, pulled a sip of his own. Cool red wine running down his tired throat, settling in his tired stomach.

It was nice sitting here with Carmen.

In the hall.

Listening to music.

Everyone else on the ship miles away in their sleep.

“Kev says some suit guy’s been asking about me,” he told her. “Maybe FBI or something.”

“That’s why Kev followed you out to the pool?”

Shy nodded. “The guy might’ve been watching us, too. Kev thinks the whole time we were talking.”

“Ay, creepy.”

Shy shook his head. “I can’t believe people are still asking me questions.”

“They’re being thorough, I guess,” Carmen said. “You know these passengers are all, like, super important, right? Costs a grip to go on a Paradise cruise.”

“That’s what Kev said.”

“Now if it was me or you who went overboard…trust me, there wouldn’t be no FBI involved.”

“Doubt they’d even slow down,” Shy said.

Carmen shook her head. “Probably speed up.”

They both smiled a little and Shy took another sip of wine, passed the empty cup back to Carmen, watched her pour it full again.

“I also got an email from my mom,” he said. “She wants to Skype tomorrow. Says she’s got some bad news.”

Carmen cringed. “Any idea what it is?”

Shy shook his head. “Ever since my grams, though, first thing I always think about is that stupid disease. I swear to God, Carm, if my mom’s sick…I don’t even know.”

“Tell me about it,” Carmen said. “Anytime one of my little brothers even rubs his eyes I freak out.” She reached over to her keyboard and skipped to a different song. Then she looked up at Shy, shaking her head. “We both know how awful it is, that’s why.”

“I heard they might have meds soon.”

“I heard that, too,” Carmen said. “Not that it does jack shit for my papi now. Or your grandma.”

Shy looked at the ground.

As they made their way through another cup of wine, Carmen caught Shy up about her mom’s quilting. Ever since her old man passed, her mom had been on a quilting binge. Quilts hung from every wall in their apartment, she said. They covered every couch and bed and end table. If the woman wasn’t working or sleeping, she was needling her way through another quilt.

Shy told Carmen about the job his older sis had just landed at the elementary school across the street from their building. She was gonna be a teacher’s aide. She’d make a little money and the hours were the same as his nephew Miguel’s preschool, so she wouldn’t have to pay for day care.

“What about your fiancé?” Shy asked, figuring he should ask about that part of her life, too.

“What about him?”

“I don’t know,” Shy said. “What’s his story?”

“He’s good,” she said. “Busy like usual.”

Shy nodded. “He got one of those quilts on his bed?”

Carmen laughed. “You know it. One with a bunch of little musical notes sewn into it. Not that Brett knows shit about music.”

Shy grinned and took the wine handoff. Pulled another long sip. He was already feeling it and he decided it might help him sleep.

“Know what’s weird, though?” Carmen said. “We still haven’t talked about my papi. Me and Brett.”

“Seriously?”

Carmen nodded. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s always been there for me. And he handled all the stuff for the funeral. But I don’t know. He’s never once stopped and asked me how I feel.”

Carmen’s eyes were fixed on the wine inside the cup for a few long seconds, like she was thinking. Then she looked up and said: “He’s buried under them law school books, though. The first year is supposedly the hardest so they can weed out all the fakers.”

Shy nodded. He always felt sort of jealous hearing about Carmen and her man. But if they were gonna be friends, he figured he had to occasionally ask about shit like that.

And that was what he wanted, right?

For him and Carmen to be friends?

Or was it impossible to be friends with a girl you thought was mellow and smart and beautiful?

Shy snatched the wine out of her hand and downed the last of it in one go. Handed back an empty cup.

Carmen went to refill it again, but there was only a tiny bit left. As she held the bottle upside down, letting the last few drops fall into the cup, she changed the subject to their current voyage. Neither of them had ever been to Hawaii, and since they’d both have half a day off, she made him promise he’d take a surfing lesson with her. And go with her to get real shave ice on the north shore. Then she looked at him all concerned-like and said: “Could I ask you a personal question, Shy?”

“Go ’head.” He was feeling so buzzed now he was willing to answer pretty much anything. Even if she asked something crazy like how long it took him to stop wetting the bed as a kid.

“Do you think about it all the time?” she said. “How that guy fell with you right there?”

Shy shrugged. “I guess so.”

“What was it like?”

Shy could picture the comb-over man now. His eyes darting all over the place. His arms and legs going as he fell toward the blackness. “He let go of my arm,” Shy told her. “He wanted his life to be over. It’s what he chose. With that disease, though, you don’t get no choice.”

Carmen looked down at the cup, nodding.

It went quiet between them for a few long seconds. A shared feeling of loss hanging in the air like a gas. Then Carmen cleared her throat and switched the subject back to Hawaii.

6 Space Sancho

They talked a while longer before Shy said: “Anyways, I should probably let you get back to bed.”

“I don’t work till later on,” Carmen said. “So it’s on you, dude.”

“I’m supposed to be at the pool by seven. Guess I should at least try for a couple hours.” He poked the top of her bare foot, said: “Thanks for talking.”

“No worries.” She picked up the empty bottle and spun it so the label was facing her. “Before you go, though. You know the rules. Tell me one new thing about you.”

Shy stared at the wine bottle, thinking.

Carmen ended all their one-on-one conversation this way. It was her thing. He usually told her something basic. Like he didn’t have a middle name. Or he’d lived in LA for a year with his old man. Or his Spanish was the worst of anyone in his family and sometimes he laughed at a joke even when he didn’t understand. But tonight he was feeling confident from the wine, and he wanted to say something important.

“Well?” she said.

Shy looked up at her, trying to think. But he didn’t know what to say. It all seemed too dumb for the moment.

“Come on, Shy,” Carmen said. “We only met each other like two weeks ago. There’s a million things you could probably tell me.”

He shrugged. If he couldn’t think of anything cool, he’d just say what was in his head. “I was on the Honeymoon Deck a while ago, looking at the water, and I thought of something.”

“What?” she said.

“I don’t know. In the grand scheme of things, we’re like little specks of dust.”

Carmen smiled. “Check out Shy getting all deep.”

“For real,” he said, wanting to explain himself. “At one point I was staring up at the sky, and you know what I realized? There’s no way we’re the only living humans in the universe. It’s impossible.”

Carmen put a hand on one of Shy’s shell tops, said: “Don’t tell me you’re one of those UFO people.”

He shrugged. Now that he was talking, he wanted to keep going. Maybe that was the only way he’d understand what he felt. “I’m talking about planets we can’t even see with the highest-powered telescopes. Ones in completely different solar systems.”

Carmen was grinning now. “I’m gonna go ’head and put this on the wine.”

She was right, Shy was seriously buzzing now. He felt like he could say anything that popped into his brain. “And you know what my theory is?”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“I think on one of those faraway planets there’s a space version of me and there’s a space version of you. And I bet our space versions met earlier in life. In junior high. On the swings at the park or something. And they probably hit it off in about two point five. Like love at first sight or whatever. And since that day they’ve been all about each other.”

“Oh, is that right?” Carmen looked like she was about to bust out laughing, but Shy didn’t even care. Now that he was flowing, he didn’t want to stop.

“I bet they’re on a ship right now,” he continued. “Just like us. Only billions of miles away. And they’re drinking wine and talking about life.”

Carmen shook her head and tried to pour more wine into the empty cup. Nothing came out, though, so she set the bottle back down. “So technically,” she said, “you’re like my space Sancho, right? My other man in another world.”

“On that distant planet,” Shy heard himself say, “I’m your only man.”

Carmen leaned back against the hall wall and crossed her arms, looking all skeptical. “How do you even know if the space us gets along? We probably fight all the time.”

“Nah, we never fight,” Shy said.

“You sure?”

He nodded. “’Cause we talk about everything. Even sad stuff. And the space me always asks how you feel.”

Carmen grinned at Shy and shook her head.

He didn’t even know what he was saying anymore. Shit was just popping into his brain. “There’s actually a test people can do,” he told her. “Right here on earth. To find out if their space versions are compatible.”

“I’m sure there is.”

“See, most people get caught up in the kissing and the feeling on each other. But really it’s more simple than that. It’s about how two people fit when they hold hands.”

“You’re like a fifth grader,” Carmen said, rolling her eyes. “You know that, right?”

But Shy also saw her glance down at his hands. And now that he thought about it, he honestly believed you could decide if you were right with a girl by how it felt holding her hand. “Maybe we should check our fit,” he suggested. “Just to see.”

Carmen laughed him off and changed the song playing on her computer. When she looked up again, and saw that Shy was still staring at her, she said: “You’re being serious?”

Shy shrugged.

He couldn’t believe it. She was actually considering his test. Butterflies started flapping all around in his stomach. He never thought she’d really do it.

“Fine,” Carmen said, acting like it was no big deal. She held her right hand out to him, palm up.

Shy took it gently into his, pulled a nervous breath and said: “It’s a three-part test, all right? First we gotta check things out the regular way, like two people watching a movie in the theater.”

They held hands on Shy’s knee.

It felt more alive than anything he’d ever known.

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “That’s pretty soft right there. I’m not gonna lie.” His heart was now trying to leap right out of his body. “What do you think?”

“I don’t see no fireworks, if that’s what you mean.”

Shy smiled a little, but quickly forced his face back to being regular. “Next we gotta check it with our fingers linked.” He slipped his fingers into hers and held her hand softly, looking in her eyes. The warmth of her skin spreading through his hand and into his arm, into his entire body.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s a pretty solid match. You feel it, right?”

Carmen didn’t answer this time.

Her face seemed serious all of a sudden.

Shy swallowed down hard on his nerves. He was sort of in over his head now.

“Okay, one last test,” he told her. “But it’s maybe the most important. You slip your index finger into my pinkie. Like this.”

He hooked Carmen’s index with his pinkie, their fingers now dangling there together. Shy’s breaths short and quick and uncertain. Both of them staring down at their hands.

They looked up at each other at the exact same time.

“Hmmm,” Shy said, rubbing on his chin, wondering if she could tell his whole body was actually shaking. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe our space versions are messing up—”

Carmen cut him off cold when she leaned forward suddenly and kissed him on the lips, kissed his words right back into his mouth.

Gently, though.

And quick.

Her lips slightly parted and her eyes closed and then it was over—Shy sitting there stunned, holding his breath, staring at her perfect brown face. Perfect soft lips. Her big brown eyes reaching deep into his chest, uncovering his lonely heart.

He let go of her finger and placed his hands on the sides of her face. And he looked at her for a few seconds. The way he’d always wanted to look at her.

Carmen.

His blood marching through his veins like a New Year’s parade and his breaths now quick and desperate.

He leaned forward and kissed her again. Longer this time. And more powerfully. Carmen’s fingers going through his hair and then her lips brushing against his ear as she breathed out his name.

“Shy.”

It came out quietly, sending sharp tingles all across his skin.

She pulled back to look at him again.

Shy’s chest going in and out and in and out as he tried to think about what was happening. But it was impossible to think.

He was here. With Carmen.

But at the same time it felt like he was far, far away, out on the ocean somewhere, bobbing on the surface, listening to its ceaseless chatter. Or farther still, all the way on that distant planet he’d just told her about.

She shoved him against the wall and kissed him again. Desperately this time. With an urgency he’d never experienced. Like they were wrestling. Gripping each other’s wrists and pushing and clawing, and Shy was lost in this fight, kissing her back with everything he felt and feeling her body against his body and breathing her into his lungs.

They toppled over, onto the floor.

Carmen above him now.

He accidentally kicked over the wine bottle, heard it slowly rolling down the hall. Her hair covering his face like a secret hiding place. Her hands gripping at his skin.

And then she stopped.

Just like that.

She pushed away and looked at him, out of breath.

Face of confusion.

Shy sat up, too. He started to say her name, to try and bring her back, but she covered her mouth and quickly turned away from him.

And that was when Shy knew.

He’d messed up everything with the only girl who understood.