“It’s super tempting,” Willa says. “But I have to keep my priorities straight if I’m going to reapply to Kenyon next fall. I’m kind of hoping he’ll do some of the loop with me.”

“See . . . this is why I never wanted to kiss you. You’re way too cool for me.”

Willa laughs. “Shut up.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, too,” Taylor says. “And I’ve decided on a major.”

“Really?”

Taylor has spent most of her life flying by the seat of her pants. She earned a solid B average in school and had no clear idea of what she wanted to do with her life. She applied to colleges along with everyone else, then crossed her fingers. Getting accepted into Kent State was good enough. It still is, but spending the summer behind the lens of her camera has given her a new perspective. “I’m going to study photography.”

Willa nods like a bobblehead. “Yes! If your work is great now, just imagine how amazing you’re going to be. Someday you’ll be famous!”

“Calm down. I haven’t even started college yet.”

“Once this storm is over—”

Whatever Willa was going to say is swallowed when another huge gust slams into the boat. The boat tilts, and Taylor falls against Willa. This time, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot does not right itself.

“What just happened?”

“The storm must be getting close,” Willa says, easing herself carefully out of the berth. The slant of the floor makes it difficult for her to walk as she reaches for her weather jacket. “The water level has dropped. We’re sitting on bottom.”

“Where are you going?”

“I need to make sure all of the lines are still holding.”

Taylor’s eyes go wide. “Now?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Do you need help?”

“Maybe sit in the cockpit . . . just in case.”

Rain pours into the cabin as Willa slides back the companionway hatch. They’re not even in the cockpit before they’re smacked in the face by wind and water, making it difficult to see.

“Wait here!” Taylor shouts. “I have an idea.”

Willa

WILLA FEELS RIDICULOUS WEARING A dive mask, but the rain is coming down so hard that she would be blind otherwise. And Taylor is a genius for coming up with the idea.

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot is leaning 45 degrees toward the dock and the lines on that side of the boat have gone slack. Leaving Taylor in the cockpit, she creeps slowly along the tilted deck, stopping with every gust of wind that threatens to send her over the edge. She holds tight to the lifeline until it’s safe to move again. The rain stings her exposed skin and soaks through her weather jacket. It’s almost six in the morning, but the clouds make it seem like it’s still night.