The Shippers(44)

“Finn!” Mr. Dunn said warmly, spotting him first. “There you are!” Then he gestured toward me. “JoJo’s been pining for you all morning.”

How could Mr. Dunn have intuited that? Just how obvious was I being?

I felt an urge to say, “No, I wasn’t!” But of course that would’ve been worse.

“We’ve been reminiscing about the old neighborhood,” Mr. Dunn continued. “And that time JoJo got diarrhea on the Fourth of July.”

Seriously, Mr. Dunn?

“That’s not—” I started. I was going to say “fair,” but I decided, instead, to finish with “appetizing.” As if the only person Mr. Dunn had just harmed was Finn.

Then I gave Finn an apologetic look.

But Finn just shook his head, and shrugged, and frowned—all at once. Like none of it mattered, and he was completely unbothered by everything. And definitely like he didn’t need me to stand up for him. And, frankly, like he had no idea—again—who this “JoJo” person with digestive issues might even be.





Fifteen


“WHAT IS WRONG with people?” I demanded after breakfast as I dragged Cooper in circles around the promenade deck, not even noticing the lovely and vast ocean view all around us. “What exactly was the point of spending three hours telling humiliating stories about me at the table?”

Breakfast had lasted thirty minutes.

“Of all the available items,” I went on, “on the infinite menu of topics for human breakfast conversation, why me? Why my life? Why weren’t we talking about you? I could watch a whole ten-part documentary about your off-the-charts amazing life! Why does my diarrhea from fifteen years ago outrank your daily use of thunder metal?”

“I thought the stories were cute,” Cooper said.

“Diarrhea?” I challenged. “You think diarrhea is cute?”

Cooper shrugged like he knew better than to answer.

“It’s like they want me to fail,” I said.

“They don’t even know you’re trying,” Cooper said.

“Are you defending them?”

“I’m just saying it’s not malicious.”

“You don’t know that,” I said.

“Mr. Dunn wasn’t sabotaging you. He’s just clueless.”

“That’s the point. Everybody’s clueless. This isn’t working.”

“It’s only day two,” Cooper pointed out.

But I was shaking my head. “Something has to change. These old neighbors need to stop seeing me as a nose-picking little kid with poopy pants.” My brain scanned its options frantically, and then, in a eureka moment of pure brilliance, it landed on something.

I stopped sprint-walking and turned to face Cooper—the wind whipping my loose hair all around.

“What?” Cooper asked warily.

“I’ve got it,” I said.

Why was Cooper so good at predicting my shenanigans? “I don’t like that look on your face,” he said.

“Yes,” I conceded. “It will require a small favor from you. But it’s absolutely no biggie in the grand scheme of things.”

Cooper narrowed his eyes. “What’s the favor?”

I pinched my fingers together to give him a visual of something tinier than tiny. “I just need sixty seconds of your time.”

“Sixty seconds of my time,” Cooper repeated, “doing what?”

But now I wasn’t sure how to frame it.

“Doing … something that’ll help me change my image.”

Cooper was already shaking his head.

I pushed on. “Something that’ll make it clear to the whole ship that I am a grown-ass adult.”

He closed his eyes and kept shaking.

“Something that could turn Operation Conquest around.”

At that, Cooper let out a long sigh, like he knew he was already doomed.

“What is it?” he asked, opening those ocean-blue eyes. “What do I have to do?”

I took both of his hands and clasped them in mine, stepping closer and angling underneath him so I could look pleading and puppyish.

And then I said, “I’m gonna need you … to give me one of Harmony’s love bites.”



* * *



AT THE TERM Harmony’s love bites, Cooper froze—like he could not have heard what he thought he’d just heard.

Then he just said, “No.”

I pressed up on my tiptoes. “Just hear me out.”

But he pulled his hands out of my grip. “I’m not giving you a hickey.”

“Love bite,” I corrected.

“Either one,” Cooper declared.

“I would do it for you,” I said. “I would do it for you in a heartbeat.”

“Bad idea,” Cooper said next.

“Genius idea,” I corrected. “Didn’t you hear Harmony saying how this one little change transformed her life?”

“You want Harmony’s advice on transforming your life?”

But I was liking this idea. “No wonder mini golf was a total fail. Slutty dresses are a dime a dozen! We need the semiotics of social signaling to make me a Person of Interest.”