I could see the men out in the water. I never stopped being conscious of the fact that they could see us too.

BACK ON THE BOAT, EVERYTHING SEEMED TO HAVE SHIFTED along with the position of the sun. Lonnie held William in her lap, whispering into his ear, pointing at birds and fish and other boats. He was tired and rested his head against her breast, falling asleep as the salt-heavy wind whipped his hair around.

I shakily made my way around the boom and along the rope that circled the deck. Sitting up there next to the flapping sail, waves splashing my legs when we swayed and surged, I was aware of everyone’s eyes on me. It’s funny—being watched—the way it makes you feel outside your body, like looking at a good picture of yourself, wondering—hoping—about what other people see. It was nothing like walking around Crown Heights. It was entirely pleasurable. I imagined what it would be like to be James, discovering my taut young body. I remembered his mouth on mine the day Lonnie was drugged. I found myself wondering if he would ever kiss me again, if he was waiting for his moment, or testing me to make sure I was on his side, that I wouldn’t say anything. My arms were tired after the long swim to shore, and in the sweltering heat of the afternoon sun, my bathing suit drying against bare skin, I felt deluded by my own body’s strength. As if I might be headed somewhere other than eventual death. I thought, Lonnie must feel this way all the time.

27

WHEN I SAW SIENNA ON THE BEACH AGAIN THE NEXT MORNING she shot me a dirty look, then ran to the water like she intended to ignore me. I watched her in the waves, splashing and laughing, flinging water as if invisible companions surrounded her, as if she were trying to make me jealous.

When she finally approached, she didn’t quite look at me. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday,” I told her. “I had to go on a boat ride.”

She still didn’t look me in the eye, but she lay down next to me, her head almost, but not quite, touching my hip, sand immediately coating the wet tendrils. “Anyway,” she said, with the flippant tone of a teenager, “I kind of wanted to talk to you.”

“I kind of wanted to talk to you too,” I said, imitating her.

“Do you know,” she said, looking up at the one tiny white cloud in the sky, “someday, a long time from now, I’m not going to be alive anymore?”

“Well,” I said, “that’s true of us all. You know, that’s something that happens to everybody.”

“But what’s going to happen to us?”

“Well,” I said, “different people have different ideas about that. Have you asked your parents? What do they say?”