“He says the Dismal Swamp Canal is peaceful and more protected,” Taylor says, and Willa likes the sound of peace and protection since right now she’s feeling neither. “But the Virginia Cut comes out near the Currituck National Wildlife Refuge, where—” Taylor stops abruptly. “I think I found the answer to the next clue. ‘Get a little wild.’ Currituck is a refuge for a herd of wild horses.”

Willa wants to be more excited about the next stop, but she can’t muster any enthusiasm at all. Instead she just says, “Then I guess that’s where we’re going.”

Across the gap between their bunks, Taylor snores softly, but an idea grips Willa’s mind in a way that won’t let her sleep. She takes the laptop and climbs out onto the foredeck to do . . . what? She’s not sure yet. She tries to sit and listen to the breeze in the rigging, but the thought prods at her. What if? What if? What if? She opens a blank Word document and writes a letter. Rewrites. Edits. Rewrites it again. Finally, she copies the letter into the body of an e-mail addressed to the director of admissions at Case Western. Next she replies to Olivia.

To: Olivia Szymanski <[email protected]>

From: Willa Ryan <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: Roommates!

Hi Olivia,

I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be your roommate this fall. I’ve decided to withdraw my enrollment and take a gap year so I can finish the Great Loop route that my friend and I started this summer. You seem like a really nice person, so I’m sure your next roommate will be lucky to have you.

Wishing you all the best

—Willa

Taylor

WILLA HAS BEEN QUIET SINCE they started down the Virginia Cut. Scratch that—she’s been quiet since they decorated Mermaid Finley, which now hangs on the bulkhead above the sink. Taylor is sitting on her bunk, uploading new pictures from Norfolk, when she hears the whine of an outboard motor excessively close to Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.

“Hey. How you doing?” a male voice drawls.

“Fine, thanks.” Willa’s response is overly polite as she reaches for her balled-up tank top lying on the cockpit bench and pulls it on over her bikini.

“Name’s Glenn. What’s yours?”

“Nice to meet you, but we’re kind of in a hurry to make the next bridge opening, so if you wouldn’t mind moving along . . .”

“Aw, come on, now,” he says. “It’s a beautiful day to party and I’ve got plenty of beer.”

At the metallic thump of cans against fiberglass, Taylor climbs out into the cockpit to make sure Willa is okay.