When Whitley winds up on the top of a pirate hit-list thanks to her con-artist father, she must hide her identity and board another pirate ship, trusting in one shape-shifting pirate named Bluff to help her escape. Too bad you can never, ever, trust...
I step inside the longboat and pause, studying her shadowed face.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask.
She bites her lip and grips the rope tightly. "I just think love should be fought for."
That's new. "Well, if I can ever return the favor—be sure to let me know, yeah?"
She ignores the comment. "Besides, I know you'd do something even more stupid if I don't help you." She awkwardly avoids eye contact and begins feeding the rope with tense effort as I'm lowered towards the water and away from her. She'll stay on deck as a lookout and to help be back on board when the time is right.
I purse my lips, wondering if there's something she hasn't told me. Have I been too wrapped up in my self-pity to pay attention to her? She did mention she had quite the adventure—but she'd never told me about it.
Was there a... love interest involved in that adventure? I suddenly long to ask, but I'm already half way down the ship, near the rocking waves.
The boat stops just about a foot or so above the rushing water below, and I brace myself. "Ready?" she calls. The ship is still moving—we slowed it down considerably, but stopping it altogether would require an anchor, and that the slumbering crew would surely notice. This part is rather delicate.
"One," I count. "Two. Three." We both release the ropes enough for it to land in the water. It crashes and wobbles in the rushing waves. The front hits the side of the ship and dips down, almost enough to be pulled under. I yelp and barely manage to keep a hold of my slippery rope—the only thing keeping me from being left behind by the still moving ship.
The longboat stabilizes, and I pull back on the rope, letting my little boat drift back, back, back. Until there is only enough rope to get one good knot at the front loop.
I secure a good tie and catch my breath, shaking out my burning limbs. Swimming was definitely the better idea. Waiting until we docked would have been a much more ideal—at least Azalea's power would be dimmed in shallow water— but it would have taken too long. Time is of the essence now.
I tap my toe nervously and peer out over the black water, barely able to see a thing. Then I take in a deep breath and sing out one long, somber note. It floats through the wind, almost disappearing completely. But I know she'll hear it. It's my note. She'll be listening for it, the way she's been listening for it for years.
She may not want me the way I once wished she would, but she's certainly eager for me to want her again. She'll be disappointed. I'll never desire her again.
Once I'm content with my call, I lie back to wait and stare up at the dark blue sky.
Less than five minutes later there is a stirring in the water.
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