“Of course you do. We used to go over to Leah’s pool every summer.”

“And I sat on the steps while you splashed around in the deep end!”

“How is that possible?”

“No one ever taught me—that’s how! I can’t ride a bike, either. I haven’t had a normal family life like you. Latchkey Josie, remember? That’s what that stupid Golden called me when we were in sixth grade, and then everyone at school picked it up, even though no one knew what it meant. I didn’t even know! Mom had to come talk to the principal about it.”

“I remember.”

“So go ahead and laugh at me, I don’t care.”

“I’m not laughing, jeez. Who said swimming and riding bikes had anything to do with normal families?”

“Because that’s what normal families do! You see it on TV!”

“You see pigs surfing on TV too. That doesn’t make it real! Jeez, Josie. If you’ve never been on a boat, why did you want to do this today?”

I can’t answer. I’m too busy trying not to inhale the nauseating scents of old fish and new sealant, and everything is haywire and prickly. Cold sweat spreads over my skin.

No, no, no … I can’t vomit. Not in front of Lucky. Not here. That would be humiliating. I shut my eyes and try to stop my stomach from revolting against me, curling up around my camera as I lean over my lap. “Gonna be sick.”

The boat slows and comes to a stop. The engine shuts off. Waves lap against the boat.

“Throw up over the side,” Lucky says in a calm voice, warm hand on my back between my shoulder blades. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall in.”

I don’t say anything for a long time. Minutes. Longer. I just wait for the terrible clammy feeling to subside and the boat to stop bobbing in the water. His hand feels nice on my back, a gentle circular rub. Very soothing. I concentrate on that until my balance rights itself and the dizziness slows.

“I’m okay,” I finally say toward my feet in a voice that sounds strange. “Mostly.”

“You’re seasick. It’s an inner ear thing. Your brain is getting conflicting signals from your ears and eyes and sensory receptors, so everything’s scrambled inside. Some people get really scrambled, and that makes them feel sick.”

“I’m scrambled, all right.”

“It might help if you sit up and look at the horizon.”

“Can’t.”

“Seriously, Josie.”

“I said no.”

“Fine. What do I know? I’ve only been on boats all my life, born into an immigrant seafaring family that goes back for generations. We don’t get scrambled. But go on. You do what you’d like.”

I groan. “Give me a minute, okay?”