Chapter Nineteen

Cruising Glacier Bay

The ship plowed a line through blue-green water dotted with small icebergs. My mom unironically loved the movie Titanic, and I was hoping not to have any sort of reenactment as we sailed into the depths of Glacier Bay.

After the polar plungers defrosted, the six of us had reconvened on the front deck in warm clothes. Icy mountains topped with snow towered above us on both sides. The ship stopped in front of a wall of jagged blue and white and gray ice.

Our parents fought their way to the railing, but Tanner and I hung back in the middle of the deck, where there was more room.

On the speakers, a park ranger explained how the glacier was formed, how it moved, what it was made of—not just ice, but rock and sediment, too, slowly inching toward the sea thanks to its own weight and gravity.

We got to see what the ranger called calving, when a chunk broke off the wall and fell to the sea, accompanied by booming and a splash. Everyone cheered.

Staff brought around trays of pea soup. I accepted a mug without thinking then stared at the greenish…yellowish…brownish concoction. I stirred it with the spoon. Small chunks of orange dotted it. Carrots? And something pink. Meat?

I wasn't a huge fan of peas, but I was feeling brave after the polar plunge. It was only soup. How bad could it be?

The texture, though…

"One bite," Tanner said.

"Does eating pea soup make me fun?" I scooped some up and let it plop back into the cup. "I'd have thought you ranked that with walking tours and pottery classes."

"It means you're getting into the spirit. Enjoying the experience. Immersing yourself." He waved a hand as if to show off the glacier behind us and almost smacked a stranger in the face.

I stirred again.

"On three." He held up a spoonful, waiting.

I scooped a small amount onto my spoon and edged it out of the mug.

"One." He raised the spoon, and I could tell he was trying not to laugh. "Two."

I lifted mine halfway and grimaced.

"Three." He took a bite.

I forced my spoon into my mouth, imagining the polar plunge, the spoon jumping in with no hesitation.

"You did it," he said. "I thought you were faking me out like you always do."

I wrinkled my nose at him. The soup was warm, and mushy, and a little salty, with soft chunks of vegetables. The meat was ham or maybe sausage.

The flavor wasn't awful, but as I'd feared, the texture was weird.

Tanner leaned his face close to mine. "Are you going to throw up? Do I need to make room for you at the rail?"

"Not unless it poisons me later."

"What do you think?"

"It's…fine."

He took another bite. "Was that really scary?"

"I guess not." I stirred again and took another small bite. I didn't know if I would ever order it for fun, but now I could say I'd tried it and survived.

"Pretend it's your new favorite." He raised his phone.

I held up the mug so he could take a picture with the glacier behind me.

"Hashtag better than milkshakes," he said.

"Hashtag I hope I don't get sick."

"Hashtag yum."

"Hashtag please stop."

He laughed. "I'm proud of you."

"Shut up."

"No, I am. It does look a bit sketchy."

"You say that after I ate it?"

His smile faded. "Is it possible you build things up in your head to be bigger deals than they actually are?"

"Absolutely. But just because something is a big deal in my head doesn't make it less valid as an obstacle."

"Fair enough." He ate more and studied the view. "We have to figure out how to get around that obstacle." He tapped my temple with two fingers as my mind latched onto we . "If you want, I mean. If you're happy, as soon as we get home, you can go back to your usual stuff. But you were the one who called it an obstacle, so I thought…"

"What?"

"Maybe you weren't one hundred percent happy? Or you wanted to find a way to, I don't know, like, overcome all of it? Not that you need to."

His rushed rambling was sort of endearing.

Did I want to overcome anything? The idea of the physics program drifted into my mind, along with my reluctance to agree. Stepping outside the safety of my box was scary. New things did feel like obstacles. But Tanner might have had a point that the real obstacle was my brain. Did I want to let it win and keep me from things I might enjoy?

Strangely, Tanner had helped a lot this week. Everything had been easier to face with him and his enthusiasm, his optimism, his humor. Not pushing me, just encouraging me and providing company so I wasn't alone with my thoughts. I spent enough time with them, and they weren't always the cheeriest of company.

I stood at his side, and even ate two more bites of soup before handing it to him to finish.

He put our empty cups on a passing waiter's tray and tucked his gloved hands into his pockets. "So do you always eat at the same places?"

"Pretty much."

"You eat the same breakfast every day. You don't want to try a custom omelet? Fresh waffles?"

I shrugged.

"Hmm."

I tugged on my beanie. "What?"

"I'm just thinking. Don't worry, I won't hurt myself. Does Jordan like the places you always go?"

"Of course she does."

Wait. Did she? I thought she did. But had I ever asked her?

Tanner hadn't argued with me. Hadn't tried to convince me to change anything. And yet, here I was, evaluating my life as if he had. I narrowed my eyes at him, but he was watching the glacier.

My eating the same foods at the same places didn't hurt anyone. Unless Jordan didn't like them, and I was being a bad friend by never letting her try somewhere new.

Maybe I'd sample breakfast foods in the morning. Tanner would finish anything I didn't like. And I hadn't heard of anyone on the ship getting quarantined to their cabins this week because of food contamination or projectile vomiting, so it was probably safe.

The ship made an impressive 360-degree turn to give everyone a view of the glacier before sailing away. We went inside to warm up, this time with hot chocolate instead of blended peas. Then the ship stopped at a second glacier, bluer than the first, with interesting patterns in the ice, layers of rock and dirt and little caves. Seals rested on small, rocky islands.

Tanner and I chatted about the view, the polar plunge, what we'd do in Denali in a few days during our post-cruise tour, and it was so comfortable. I had the strangest urge to rest my head against his strong shoulder.

The park ranger had talked about how the glaciers moved slowly but over time changed whole landscapes. It sounded like my life lately. I didn't know if I wanted to change, or move, but life and gravity were slowly shifting me.

The question was, would I like where I ended up?

The other question was, should I keep fighting when change might be inevitable, whether I wanted it or not? Would it be better to control that change, to take steps myself instead of letting gravity do it for me?

Because a primary lesson of physics was, gravity always won.

After dinner at the buffet, I let Tanner drag me to one of the smaller theaters, where I realized the show wasn't a performer—it was the audience itself.

Karaoke night.

Nope. Nope nope nope.

I dug my feet in outside the door. Inside, someone was murdering a Beyoncé song.

I crossed my arms. "I jumped into a freezing bay today. Isn't that fun enough? And ate pea soup, which is totally riskier than swimming in icy water."

"We can just listen," he said. "I won't make you sing."

"That's what everyone says at karaoke night, and the next thing you know you're in front of a crowd holding a microphone and the lyrics to Katy Perry's ‘California Girls' are coming up on the screen."

Tanner blinked at me. "I feel like there's a story there. Are you speaking from personal experience? Because I desperately need to know."

He very much did not need to know about Jordan's last birthday. "It doesn't matter. Anyway, how am I supposed to trust you here when you volunteered me for the magic show?"

"I did ask if you had stage fright first." He placed a hand over his heart, his face growing serious, his eyes boring into mine. "I won't volunteer you tonight. I promise. I'm trying to help you have fun, but I would never force you into something you truly didn't want to do."

We stared at each other, and I was vaguely aware of people edging past us into the room, but they were blurs. Tanner's face was the only thing in focus.

He had a point. Everything we'd done so far this week had either been my choice or he had suggested it but left the final decision to me. He hadn't shoved me into the glacial water or tied me into the ATV or carried me onto the magic-show stage kicking and screaming. Even as kids, he'd invited, asked, bribed, dared, but eventually left me alone to do what I wanted.

He searched my face, making my heart flutter.

Then he blinked, and his usual twinkle returned. "I cannot, however, be held responsible for you volunteering yourself once the spirit of karaoke takes hold of you."

"Yeah, right."

He raised his eyebrow in mocking doubt. "Do not underestimate the power of the karaoke."

He grabbed my hand and led me into the room. He started toward empty seats up front in the center, glanced at me, and changed course for a booth on the side. I stumbled for a step, grateful that he knew I'd be more comfortable on the edge. He didn't release my hand until we were seated.

It had been a long time since I'd held hands with a guy. When had Caleb and I stopped doing that? I couldn't even remember. Had his hand felt so solid, so comforting and thrilling and right?

Unlike the dark jazz club, this room was bright, with neon lights above the small stage. Servers circulated with alcoholic beverages, so the karaoke could be entertaining to watch.

In a quiet announcer voice, Tanner gave commentary like he had at the auction. "Interesting choice from our next participant. Dave did not, in fact, realize that ‘Every Breath You Take' is a classic stalker anthem. Mr. Carter failed to recognize that this is a family-friendly affair. Janet is far too good and needs to remember that karaoke is more enjoyable when it's early rounds of American Idol, not finals of The Voice. "

Tanner went onstage three times, dragged up by Dottie, Mrs. Ramirez, and a group of strangers. He never declined an opportunity to put on a show—or possibly, he never declined an opportunity to make others happy. He couldn't say no, didn't want to let them down. I'd always seen that tendency in a negative light as opposed to noticing the positive effect he had on people.

A guy stumbled through "The Devil Went Down to Georgia," until fiddle music took over, and that was the first rule of karaoke, dude—don't pick something with a long instrumental section.

"Dance," his friend called.

"Please don't," shouted someone else.

"Dance, dance," people were soon chanting, and once he did some sort of hoedown, I was inclined to agree with the one who'd told him not to.

I wanted to tell him it was okay to sneak out the back and hide in his room for the rest of the cruise.

When Tanner stood and asked me to join him, I didn't think, and was moving toward the stage before I realized I'd decided to stand. My brain screamed abort, abort while my feet were apparently saying why not.

The crowd chanted, "Bird Girl and Bird Guy," and okay, it was a little fun that they were cheering for us.

Despite Tanner's warning, I had underestimated the power of the karaoke.

I took the second microphone as Green Day lyrics appeared. Our moms' old favorite. I shook my head as my gaze met Tanner's, but a thrill went through me. We belted out words with the confidence of kids subjected to lots of nineties music. Jordan would have been proud.

At the end he dipped me, like he had in our dance lesson, earning us an ovation from the crowd. We collapsed into our seats against each other, breathing hard and laughing. I'd laughed more on this trip than I had in ages.

After two more songs, it sank in that we were still leaning against each other, the sides of our heads resting. I started to stiffen, decided I was comfortable if he was, and stayed.

But now I was aware of every breath, the way my shoulder hitched against his, my hands, which were awkwardly resting on my legs. What was I supposed to do with them? What even were they for? Why had I never realized how weird hands were?

Tanner tilted his head so our faces tipped closer. "I don't think you're boring at all," he murmured.