As Afton and I tread water, staring at it, it’s looking at us, too. Then, slowly, lifting and dropping its huge front fins like it’s flying instead of swimming, it ascends to the surface. Its head is less than a hand’s stretch away from me. Its eye as it gazes back at me is an inky, fathomless black.

We aren’t supposed to touch them. It’s illegal, in fact. There are signs posted all around the lagoons saying not to touch or ride them, that you could be fined up to fifteen hundred dollars for harassing a Honu—the Hawaiian word for a green sea turtle.

So I don’t touch. I tread water, holding the board with one arm and trying to stay as still as possible in the presence of this creature.

It stays for a minute. Maybe two. Then it lowers its head and drifts downward again, turning in the water toward the mouth of the lagoon, and with a few sweeps of its powerful fins, it disappears into the darkness of the ocean.

Afton and I don’t say anything. She swims over and fetches the paddle, and then we climb carefully back onto the paddleboard and, together this time, we paddle toward the shore.

Chapter 44

44

I meet Nick in the lobby that afternoon, as he and his dad wait for the taxi that will take them back to the airport, and from there to Oahu for a few days, and then to Boston.

“Keep in touch, okay? Deal?”

“Deal,” I say.

“I will hold you to that.”

“I’ll text you. I promise. Prepare yourself for an onslaught of cheesy GIFs.”

“I consider myself warned,” he says. “And maybe we can even play some games together, sometime. It’s fun. I think you’d like it, if you tried it out.”

“Don’t push your luck. Oh,” I say, remembering. I set down my bag at my feet and pull out my sketchbook. And then from the sketchbook, I remove a drawing.

It’s a beach at night, the long stretch of sand, the waves tumbling in. Stars sprinkled liberally all across the sky. And two figures, sitting on the beach, leaning back against their arms, looking up. One of them me, a rare self-portrait, with the bird-of-paradise dress pulled up over my knees.

The other, Nick, who is both lanky and handsome in his suit.

It’s nowhere near as beautiful as that night was. But it is still one of my best sketches ever.

“Oh, wow,” Nick breathes. “This is . . . wow.”

“Thanks.” I feel a tad embarrassed. But also good.

“I’m going to frame this,” he says. “And when I look at it, I’ll think of you.” His dad says his name, and he turns. “I have to go.”

The breath whooshes out of me. “I need to say thank you,” I gasp. “You were a lifesaver. You were my, like, sanity.”