Andrew comes over on his way downstairs. ‘Millie,’ he says softly, pausing at the top of the staircase. ‘I just overheard Hugh explaining to Derek what you both did . . . that both of you are marine biologists. I’m sorry I said earlier that your jobs were different. I realised afterwards that telling you what you do for work was probably insulting. I usually don’t mansplain so badly, I promise. Pippa is right . . . I’ve been overexcited for days.’ Andrew gives me a sheepish grin and waves goodnight as he retreats towards the captain’s room, leaving me puzzling over his comment.

Hugh basically admitted to what he told Andrew earlier . . . that we were ‘different’, and now he’s defending me to Derek?

I decide Hugh’s taken up too much of my brain space today, so I stare up at an endless blanket of stars instead of replaying our conversations. I feel an almost primal need for my sister. Seven hours until surgery. I say a little prayer, to the universe, or to the ocean, or to the butterfly wrasse I so fervently hope exists, that everything goes smoothly.

I feel so far away from everything I know. I’m about as far from Ohio as I could get unless I was launched into space. I don’t feel like I have any direction anymore. I hardly have a pull back home except for Murphy and Millie. My heart squeezes at the thought of Murph. I miss him.

Thinking about returning to my life, my dead-end cubicle job, my parents who don’t expect anything from me except stability, fills me with dread. How am I supposed to go back after this? How am I supposed to muster up excitement to get tea with Becca after swimming through the brightest coral reef I’ve ever seen? How do I hold a conversation with Matteo about the American Girl doll he bought his daughter for Christmas after being hunted by a shark? How do I join the Columbus dating scene after watching Hugh’s muscles ripple underneath his worn grey T-shirt . . .

He’s getting in my head, I think, angrily, and he’s so good at it he could be doing it on purpose for all I know.

I glare out at the ocean, listening to the sound of waves slapping against the boat. Maybe the sea will bring me some clarity. I still have four days. I try to map out constellations, but I don’t recognise any. I’ve long since uncrunched my legs from under the sweatshirt, and the cool breeze off the ocean feels good against my sun-kissed skin. My goosebumps are gone. I feel like my body is the end of a live wire. Everything is nuclear with colour, with emotion, the stakes are high. I feel like I’m actually living life correctly, for once. I feel terrified admitting it, but I love this feeling. I love feeling so alive.