have told you about Maggie,” he says.
“It’s okay,” I say and mean it. “My ex is coming to my sister’s going-away party. No matter how badly I don’t want him to.”
Andrew squeezes my knee again.
“You should wear that dress all the time. Grocery shopping, taking out the garbage . . . ,” he says. “I mean it. We can go clamming. I’ll wear a tux and you wear that dress, it’ll be perfect.”
I laugh and playfully slap his arm. As we pull out of the parking lot, I say, “This is very serious. My family thinks I’m twelve. They want to keep me on the shortest leash they can. If they see you, there will be a lot of . . . questions.”
“Sounds fun,” Andrew says, and we turn down Shore Road. Once we get to Seaside Stomachache, I slide out of the car and Andrew kills the motor.
“You stay on the street,” I whisper. He salutes me.
To the left side of the house is a long driveway canopied by trees. Dad’s car is first in line. His WHOI security pass is in the inner console. Dad’s key is a sensory key—it’s electronic and when I get to a WHOI building, all I have to do is hold it up to the keypad and the door unlocks.
We’ll have access to the shop where the Alvin is being repaired.
My heels crunch over Nancy’s shelled driveway. My heart is thudding away. I tiptoe to Dad’s car and try to keep low until I get to the driver’s-side door.
This is kind of awesome. A shaft of light moves above and a shadow takes over the dashboard of the car.
I jump down and hide below the driver’s-side door. The kitchen window overlooks the driveway. I peek up. Dad is washing something in the kitchen sink. His big head takes up almost the whole window. He could look down at any moment. He wouldn’t see me in the dark, but he would see the inner light on in his car if he catches me with the door open.
I glance back at Andrew, but all I see is his darkened profile.
I need to do this by myself. I’m not at home, sitting on the curb outside the house, waiting for Tucker to show up. I’m not sitting around only thinking about science. I’m living my life. Nancy would be so proud.
I pull on the door handle, lay my belly flat on the seat, barely lift the middle console, and snatch the key. I close the door and I’m off.
I tip tap over the shells as fast as I can, and once I’m on the asphalt, I slide into the seat next to Andrew.
“Let’s go, let’s go!”
We use the side entrance to building 40.
“You realize this is trespassing,” Andrew says. “At Woods Hole.”
“Only kind of,” I reply with a giggle. “I sort of live here in the summer. Well, I usually do, but I haven’t been as much this year.”
We step into the darkened foyer. Only a couple floodlights illuminate the hallway toward the mechanic’s shop.
I take Andrew’s hand.
“I’ve never been here,” he says. “Even in the day.”
He stops and pulls me back.
“Wow,” he says. He looks through an enormous window and a soft blue light illuminates his face.
Through the window are four enormous tanks. Inside them are dozens of starfish: small, silver, black, big—all different kinds. They creep slowly through the water in that periwinkle light.
“Did you know?” I say. “Starfish have eyes on the ends of their arms. They’re microscopic. So if they lose an arm they lose an eye, too. Kind of sad.”
Andrew cups my cheek like he did in the parking lot and exhales.
“What?” I say.
His eyes glitter from the watery light filtering through the glass.
“Where have you been?” he asks with a shake of his head.
“What do you mean? I’ve been—”
“Where have you been?” he says and holds his hand behind my head. Only this time when he asks, it’s not a question.
“East Greenwich, Rhode Island?” I offer.
He laughs but keeps it quiet.
“Come on,” I say, and pull him down the hall toward the Alvin.
When we reach the shop, I listen but don’t hear anything beyond the door but the hum of the HVAC. We step into the room and the Alvin sits beneath one spotlight. There it is. The viewports are gone and the cameras, too. The personnel hatch where scientists enter the Alvin is open. I bet by this time next week, it’ll be completely disassembled.
It’s usually six feet long,