The Adventure of Fel

chapter seventeen

       The next day marks the longest amount of time I've ever spent on a body of water. The longest ferry ride I've ever taken has been to the City, which isn't more than an hour or so, and I don't think swimming in the lake counts. I mostly spend the next 24 hours journaling – it's been a few days, and I haven't been able to write. Part of me wants to catch up on sleep as well, but once I think about putting everything down on paper, it's like a hunger or an itch: I can't ignore it for long.

       I write about how much I miss Alan and Eb and Mom and Dad - I haven't thought about Mom and Dad or Ivy and Pippa in a while, I think with an ache - about running in the water with Gwen and Leo, about Amelia, and, by the end of my third page, I realize that I haven't, not once, written about the future. I can't decide if it's a good or a bad thing. After all, Summer is almost done, and I really would like to go to school, even if it's an infinite amount of stress to think about. Burr's mandatory homeschooling can get you pretty far, but some things you can only learn from other people.

       I flip back through earlier parts of the journal, before I left the village, and almost every single entry mentions something about school and my future life, be it a sentence or a whole paragraph. I never realized how...nice, or distracting, it is to just get away. To think. I can't think of any reason that I'd be closer to finding an answer, but something inside me feels peace anyway. Like the stars, though not visible in the day, are telling me that I'm on the right path. My path.

        Yes, my path includes a somewhat rickety boat named Ophelia and a bright blue sky, a sun as supportive as a good friend, and two lovely cats who I turn to smile at. Their silhouettes are black against the window. The first day at sea is indescribable. 

       The second day, however, is perfectly describable: Shitty.

       First of all, I'm thirsty, and the cats are thirsty, and we kid of forgot about, you know, water, and we can't drink the sea because it's salty, since when Jonathan the Great came in a hundred or so years ago and was able to control salinity, he was told that some places just had to stay salty for, you know, wildlife purposes, which is totally worth it, but I kind of want to scratch out my own throat right now.

       "Isn't there some sort of survival kit in here?" I moan from my spot on the floor. We're all crowded away from the window to avoid the sun, which is rapidly becoming less and less like a good friend and more and more like an annoying neighbor.

      "Hi, neighbor!"

      "Oh, hello Mr. Sun."

       "Hello, yes, could I borrow a cup of sugar please?"

       "Um, I don't have any sugar."

       "Are you sure?"

       "Yes, I'm sure."

        "What about a sugar substitute? Honey? Maple syrup? Juice?"

        "No, I actually don't have any food at the moment."

       "Are you sure?"

         "Goodbye Mr. Sun."

       I finally pull myself off of the floor after a few more minutes of moping and start digging through a few of the drawers by the captain's wheel. There's a thick blue book, a pair of enchanted earrings like Mason's but flamingos that raise their legs, and a pencil. I join the cats in the corner near the door and crack open the book. Dust practically flies at my face, making me cough.