Chapter Thirteen

Port of Call: Ketchikan, Alaska

I was torn between laughter and wanting to throw myself behind the bar to hide.

Tanner did laugh, but he also snagged a stack of napkins and trotted over to the lady.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am. It sure is windy out here, isn't it? I didn't know I needed to guard my meal. Please, let me help you." He knelt beside her, extending the napkins.

She took them with a smile.

Seriously? How did he get away with absolutely everything? And why was my annoyance at that fact tempered by the thought that he was being rather sweet?

He chatted with her as she wiped her face, then he retrieved the lettuce and onion. He stared at the pool like he might jump in and go diving for soggy potato chips like sunken treasure, but an employee with a pool net stopped him.

This was severely messing with my brain. I would have expected him to laugh. Throw more chips in the air to see where they landed. Hide behind a pillar to watch anyone slip and fall.

I retreated inside to eat my burger in a wind-free environment. A couple minutes later, Tanner joined me, having replenished his burger toppings.

I no longer knew what to say.

"Now I know to keep a hand over my plate when it's windy out," he said as he plopped into a chair.

"See," I said. "There's an advantage to my simple meal. Lower center of gravity, less available surface area to catch the wind."

"Why are you and science always plotting against me?" His eyes twinkled.

"Don't get on the wrong side of science. It never ends well. Like eating around you."

He laughed and devoured his repaired burger, and I contemplated the urge I'd had to thank him earlier. But the moment, and the privacy of our individual balconies, had passed.

"You held up your deal today, Fun Coach," I said. "Have you thought about your college major homework? Your grades were fine. Why do you need this, anyway?"

"According to my parents, good grades are not the same as having a solid life plan." He spoke lightly, but a shadow crossed his face.

I was hit by a strange urge to march downstairs to the dining room and defend him. And I wanted to ask more, but I wasn't sure if we were that far along in this, what? Partnership? He didn't seem inclined to elaborate.

"This isn't too challenging for you, is it?" he asked.

"Of course not. I don't give up."

"I know you don't." He sounded almost admiring.

His gaze warmed my cheeks. "Are you ready for the next step?"

"Hit me. Wait. What is the next step?"

I pulled up the list I'd made on my phone. "I'm going to regret this question, but other than football and Ping-Pong, what are you good at?"

"I know you're so tempted to mock me."

"I really am. But you've been moderately helpful so far in the Fun Coach department, so I'm upholding my end of our truce."

"Moderately? You wound me." He grinned. "I'm great at helping old ladies. And naturally, I'm great at star club."

I narrowed my eyes. How had I nearly forgotten about that? His supposed charm had distracted me from plotting my coup. I needed to get my brain in check.

"Next question," I said. "Why'd you pick the mentoring program for your volunteer work?"

"Hanging out with kids sounded fun. Since I basically am one." He gave me a pointed look, and okay, fair, I had told him that on multiple occasions.

"What do you guys do?" I asked. "Jordan and her Little Sis paint their nails and listen to music and look at clothes online, on top of whatever the official stuff is."

"Play video games, throw a football, talk about life. And yeah, there's a booklet with topics and stuff. I also teach him how to charm old ladies."

The image of him and a junior high kid helping an old lady across the street appeared in my head far too easily. But what I said with a smile was "That poor kid." I checked my list. "Okay, if you could have a meal with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be?"

He paused with his burger lifted to his mouth. "This is supposed to help me choose a major?"

A family passed us, and the little boy said, "Hey, it's Bird Girl and Bird Boy."

Tanner fist-bumped him, and I shoved three chips in my mouth so I had an excuse not to answer.

When they were gone, I continued, "I read some online quizzes. Like, would you want to eat with a famous person from history who did something cool or a successful businessperson or a celebrity? It supposedly gives insight into the type of person you admire or the type of success you hope to have in life."

"Did you make that up?" he asked. "Benjamin Franklin. No, wait. Don Shula. Yeah, Coach Shula, final answer."

I sighed.

"What about you?" he asked.

"Neil Armstrong, I guess."

"Cool. What about a fictional character?" he asked.

"What?"

"If you could eat with a fictional person? Who would it be?"

"Um…maybe the crew of the Enterprise. Does that count? Captain Picard's."

"Naturally," he said. "Captain Kirk was far too rebellious. Mine would be the Doctor, because we could go anywhere in space or time."

"You like the Doctor?"

"Doctor Who?" he asked with a crooked grin.

I smiled and ducked my head to hide it. But my heart skipped a beat. The more he surprised me, the harder it was to know how to interact with him.

"Don't look so shocked," he said. "A person can like sports and science fiction, S'more."

"I know they can."

He pointed at me with a potato chip. "I refuse to stay in your little box."

I liked my boxes. They were neat and orderly and perfectly stacked in my mind, which made life less stressful. Him refusing to stay in his was complicating things—and making me realize I may have been unfair and was going to have to think about him differently.

I cleared my throat. "Back to the college stuff. How do your teachers describe you?"

"They usually just ask about my latest touchdown catches or sweet blocks."

"That's on every evaluation you've ever gotten? I thought part of teaching was finding nice things to say about everyone, no matter how far you have to stretch the truth." I was smirking.

"Maybe you aren't meant to be a teacher," he said. "Maybe people who are drawn to teaching are the ones who naturally see the good in everyone, the potential. And you aren't one of those."

"I know you're implying something, but I would be a great teacher, thank you. That's what I plan to do."

"Really?" He studied me.

"Really what?"

"What do you want to teach?" His interested gaze appraisedme.

I shifted in my seat. "High school math. Or physics."

Physics. That made me think of Mr. Lin's email. Today's excursions had distracted me from it. Throwing out the plan on vacation was one thing. Upending my home routine for my senior year? I still wasn't convinced it was worth it.

"Huh." He studied me before his smirk returned. "My teachers say I'm charming and funny and creative. I'm a leader among my peers." He sat straighter and puffed out his chest.

"Yeah, but what are you leading them into?" I muttered.

"And I'm sometimes disruptive and loud, but since they love me, it's okay." He sat back with a satisfied expression.

"So far, cruise ship magician sounds like a decent option," I said. "Where do you see yourself in five years?"

"You sound like the guidance counselor."

"What did you tell him?"

"Catching the game-winning touchdown in the NCAA championship game," he said confidently.

"Right. Make that eight years."

"How old would that make me?"

"No wonder you couldn't beat me in math." I definitely should have ordered room service by myself tonight.

"Eight years is a long time. Do people plan that far ahead? Where do you see yourself in eight years? I know, I know, we're not talking about you. But it might help me"—he waved a hand—"visualize."

"Fine," I said. "I'm planning to study math, maybe at UCLA or UC Irvine. Or one of the Claremonts if I can get a scholarship. Get a master's, probably. Then teach."

"Not Caltech or MIT?"

"I'm not smart enough for MIT. And it sounds cold. I don't do winter."

"Wait, did you share something real with me, S'more, and answer a personal question? Wow, I need to mark this date." He pretended to pull out his phone and then said, "Ohhhh."

"Oh, what?"

"LA schools. You don't want to move."

His attention fixed on me, serious, perceptive, the teasing gone. My stomach squirmed the way it did every time I thought about moving away. Starting college, in a new place, with new people, unfamiliar restaurants, and roads. Far less scheduled than high school. Having to create a whole new routine.

I cleared my throat. "I told you, this isn't about me."

"You said you had fun today." His subject change was abrupt.

Apparently we were done working on his college project. "Yeah…"

"You spent most of the day not in control. My driving, the zip lines. That didn't freak you out?"

"It did. At first."

"Only at first?"

"I guess it was sort of fun. And the zip lines are safe. Your driving, not so much."

"We didn't crash. Why this need for control? You realize that's an illusion, anyway, right? Like, even when you were driving. The engine could have stopped, or another cart could have hit us, or an earthquake could have swallowed the hillside, or a rabid moose could have charged out of the forest and impaled us on his antlers."

"I'm glad you waited to mention these possibilities until after we were done."

His face was earnest. "I'm just saying, even when you think you're in control, you aren't. No one is."

"There are lots of things you can control. Ways to create order and stability."

"True, but that doesn't work with everything. At some point, life happens. Chaos. Surprises."

I knew that too well. "All the more reason to manage as much as you can."

"Hmm. Maybe." He pushed away from the table. "Are you done? Come on."

"Where are we going? Is this a test to see if I'll let you be in control of the evening?" I stood and followed him out.

"Let's explore, see what we can find."

What else was I going to do? Might as well join him. See? I could be fun and spontaneous. Although, I was glad for the limits of a cruise ship with only so many options.

We wandered past bars and clubs, agreed to skip the ballet show in the main theater, and came to the art gallery. People sat in chairs facing a row of framed paintings, and a guy with a microphone stood in front of them. Most of the crowd held paddles and glasses of white wine, and I felt underdressed in jeans and a hoodie.

Tanner tugged my arm, and shrugging, I joined him taking seats in the back.

It was an auction. I sat on my hands to make sure I didn't accidentally buy a three-thousand-dollar nude painting in front of my parents' coworkers.

The first painting they brought out and set on the center easel was in vivid tones, showing a man with an umbrella walking down a rain-drenched street with reflections in the pavement. It was pretty in a generic way. I liked the colors.

It was followed by a modern art bulldog in primary colors that looked like a portrait a rich person would commission of their prized pet. Then came a semi-abstract piece of a couple dancing the tango.

The people in the crowd raised paddles with numbers, and the auctioneer called out their bids and the winning bidder's number. He wasn't as fast as the typical auctioneer but still moved quickly. Surely two-thirds of these people were just here for the free champagne.

"They certainly have an interesting variety," Tanner muttered as the next painting was displayed, renaissance in style, but of a court jester and a pig in a fancy hall.

"Next we have Mungo the Magnificent and Her Porkiness, Miss Baconbits," Tanner said under his breath. "Done in the old French style. Do I hear ten dollars?"

"Shhh." I tried to contain a giggle as someone paid significantly more than ten dollars and Tanner whistled softly.

Once Mungo found a home, they brought out an image of the backside of a woman bathing.

"And here we have a watercolor portrait, painted by a perv who shouldn't be looking in other people's windows when they're taking a bath."

I swallowed a laugh. "How does this work, anyway? Do they ship the paintings home? Or carry them on an airplane under their arm?"

"That one would be super awkward," Tanner said as the bathing woman was removed. "Farewell, Francesca. May your next bath be more private."

Francesca was followed by a cartoon Tasmanian devil on a white background.

"Ah yes," Tanner said knowingly. "This is an exclusive, of a rare creature in its native habitat."

"Its native habitat is blank?" I gave in and asked.

"Obviously it's a creature from the North Pole, and the white is snow," he said. "Come on, join me. The next one is yours."

It was uncovered.

Tanner snorted.

This one was completely abstract, with blobby, rounded shapes, some of which appeared to have faces. And tentacles.

He poked me.

"All right, fine." I kept my voice down. "This piece is commonly mistaken for a portrait of amoebas, but is in fact a rendering of the life forms found by the Mars Rover's latest mission. Scientists at NASA were forbidden from speaking of life on other planets, so they expressed their findings the only way they knew how. You, too, can be in awe of the first signs of extraterrestrial life, as it's perfect to hang in your billiard room."

A loud laugh exploded from Tanner.

Everyone turned to stare at us, and my face got hot.

"Excuse me," said the proper British voice of the auctioneer. "You in the back."

Tanner grabbed my hand and tugged. I stumbled to my feet and let him drag me away, down the hall and around a corner until we reached a dark, quiet area. When we sagged against a wall, well out of hearing range, his laugh burst out again.

I couldn't help it. I cracked up, bent over and bracing a hand on the wall.

"I can't believe I got kicked out of an auction," I said.

"Better than accidentally buying something. Though now I want that last one so I can tell everyone it's a portrait of Martians while I'm playing pool." He laughed again. "That was awesome."

In the past, I would have yelled at him for getting us in trouble, for disrupting a serious, formal occasion. But we hadn't hurt anyone. Tears were leaking from my eyes, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed so hard.

He braced a hand on my shoulder. "I didn't know you had it in you, S'more."

I wiped my eyes and looked up. He was close, his eyes crinkled, a smile splitting his face as he gazed down at me. Those champagne bubbles were in my chest now.

Tanner might occasionally mess around too much, but he knew how to have fun. And that was something I was starting to realize I needed more of.