Now that she’s standing in front of the boat, she can see that Shara doesn’t look exactly like she did on prom night. Her face is scrubbed clean, her lips their natural pink. Her hair is tied up on top of her head with a scrunchie.
To Chloe’s immense displeasure, her first thought is of the silk scrunchie on Shara’s bathroom counter. This is her first time seeing Shara with her hair up. What a stupid thing to realize.
“I have to say,” Chloe says, taking a step forward until the toes of her sneakers are hanging over the edge of the pier, “this is a little anticlimactic.”
Shara raises an eyebrow. “What were you expecting?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not surprised you’re just some boring bitch on a boat,” Chloe clarifies, “but I guess part of me was still holding out for a plot twist. Is there a dead body in an ice chest around here somewhere?”
“You’re the one who came all the way here to see some boring bitch on a boat,” Shara says.
“I did,” Chloe confirms. Her mouth feels unpleasantly dry. Shara’s exposed collarbones seem very confrontational. “So I can tell everyone where you’ve been.”
Shara stands, lifting her dress as she turns away. She’s not wearing any shoes, just socks with bumblebees on them. Sucks that bumblebees are going to be ruined for Chloe forever now.
“That’s not what you’re gonna do right now, though, is it?”
Chloe glares at the back of her head one more time for posterity. “You don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
“Sure,” Shara says, and then she opens a white door in the center of the boat and disappears down a set of steps.
Chloe stands there, watching Shara’s dress trail behind her until it whips out of sight.
“I’m not getting on your stupid boat!” she yells into the empty night.
* * *
She gets on Shara’s stupid boat.
The stairs down into the cabin are a total death trap, which seems fitting. The first compartment is crammed with bins of equipment, bundles of rope, and a minuscule kitchenette. There’s a tiny gas range, the kind her mom takes on camping trips, and a wide piece of wood on top as a makeshift countertop. Clif Bars, boxes of mac and cheese, plastic containers of trail mix, and a bag of clementines are arranged in a neat row like Shara’s highlighters on Chloe’s first day of school.
She wonders if Shara is always like this, or if she laid everything out because she knew Chloe was coming soon.
Ahead, the cabin opens into a small imitation of a room, two benches around a bolted-down table. A rose-gold MacBook rests next to a bag of individually wrapped chocolates and a notebook open to tidy notes. Chloe’s been spending all her time chasing leads, and Shara’s been eating bonbons on a boat in a ball gown.
She’d admire it if it weren’t Shara, which means she has to hate it.
Shara’s kneeling on one of the benches with her skirt gathered in one hand, tucking a book into the built-in shelf behind it. The hem of her dress is gray with dirt, and when she turns to face Chloe again, Chloe sees popped stiches at the juncture of the bodice and the skirt.
“Have you actually been wearing that for four weeks?” Chloe asks her.
“Ew,” Shara says, sitting down. “Don’t be gross. I packed other clothes.”
She waves her hand toward the cabin entrance, and Chloe looks to her right and sees a small, tucked-away sleeping space. At the foot is Shara’s school bag and two folded piles of clothes.
“So you’re wearing that because…？” Chloe asks, pretending not to examine the soft tangle of underthings, the same ones missing from Shara’s dresser.
“Because I like to, sometimes,” Shara says. “It does get boring in here.”
“You know how else you could break the monotony of living on a boat?” Chloe says. She finally looks at Shara. The distance between them is tight, but she still manages to seem far away. “Not running away to live on a boat.”
“That would actually be the most boring thing I could possibly do,” she counters.
“Do you think this is cute?”
“I think it’s fun. And kinda funny.” She pulls the bag of chocolates toward her and takes one out, then looks at Chloe and tilts her head to the side. She sticks her bottom lip out in a pout. “You look mad.”
“Of course I’m mad. You wasted a whole month of my life on your demented scavenger hunt that wasn’t even going anywhere, while you’ve been luxuriating on a yacht like an oil baron—”