“Oh. Right. Obviously,” I say, trying to smooth the edge of an emotional breakdown out of my voice.

Our paddles slice through the water, and I wonder where we’re headed. Our own pickup location is about two miles down the river at Jasper’s Beach, just before the river meets Lake Michigan. A beautiful, scenic paddle, perfect for beginners and experts alike.

The silence is making me nervous. “Are you afraid you’ll get fired? You did steal a canoe and an employee while on the clock.”

“I didn’t steal you.” Aiden laughs softly. “And my parents own River Depot.”

He’s the boss’s kid? “Oh … that’s cool.”

“It’s not going to be like that,” he says.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m going to report back on work at the dinner table.”

“Okay,” I say.

We keep paddling, the water quiet and calming around us as it laps up against the metal body of our boat. “Thanks for the rescue. That was … weird.”

“No problem.” His voice betrays his lingering curiosity, but he stops there.

I suck at small talk, even though I’m always diving headfirst into it. Because on the one hand, when I’ve just met someone I don’t know what I want to know about them yet. I don’t even know where to start. And on the other hand—this is the writer in me—I want to know everything. Because everybody has a million things that make them who they are. If Aiden were a stranger I had been sent to interview by Lake Lights, I know exactly what I’d ask him:

What did it feel like to get hit in the face with a line drive?

Why did you quit the team?

What are your plans now?

Tell me about the fight.

Wes Masters, a senior on the team, claims that he saw Aiden and some random guy get into a fistfight behind the Amoco gas station last week. No one else saw it though. But it fits with Aiden’s current aesthetic—bruised up, not talking to his friends. Wes is a good guy, I’m not sure why he’d lie.