"I don't want to get on that thing," I tell him, shivering. "Can't we talk about it?"
Dad just points at the raft, a scowl on his face.
"I know you can talk," I say, using my sweetest flower-child voice. "I've heard you talking to Pak. It's just me you won't talk to. Will you do sign language, then?" I don't know ASL, but I rub my arms and indicate that I'm cold. I gesture that I want to build a fire, pretending to hold my hands out to the make-believe heat. I point to the shore. "Let's stay here. It's safe, right?"
Dad just gives me another blank look.
I put a hand to my face, frustrated and cold and just…done. Stupid, hot tears slide down my cheeks and I sniff miserably. "I can't keep doing this," I say. "I'm not some survivalist like Nadine. I'm not a nurse like Flor. I'm not even a hippie kid. You know what I am? I'm a stripper, dude. I'm a stripper, and I don't do camping, and I sure don't do this." I let the tears slide down my cheeks, because it feels good to cry. It feels good to not be positive and pretend like everything's going to be all right.
If I want to be miserable, I'm going to be miserable, damn it.
A small hand touches my cold fingers.
I look down, and Pak's holding another one of the wriggling spaghetti-monster things in his free hand. He holds my fingers and offers me the creature, and it's sweet and awful at once. He's just a kid. He doesn't know why I'm sad, just that I am…so he's trying to feed me.
"Thanks, Pak," I say softly. I guess if a kid can keep going on like this, I can, too.
I suck up a deep breath, brace myself, and head toward Dad's raft. He touches my shoulder, and it's almost an apology. Maybe he doesn't like living like this, either. Maybe this is all they've got. If that's the case, I feel a little bad that I had a breakdown…but only a little.
I sit on the far end of the small raft, my legs folded under me. Pak sits in front of me, smiling, as if he's having a great day. He snaps the neck—back?—of the spaghetti monster, killing the thing, and the tentacles go limp. With that, he pulls one off and offers it to me. I take it, grudgingly, trying not to notice the taste or the fact that I've got nothing to wash the taste away with.
"What do you want with me?" I ask Dad for the dozenth time. I chew on the tentacle, waiting for an answer. There's not one, of course. Never is. Dad just looks at me, then picks up his crude oar and pushes us out into the waves. It's not until we're far out from the shore that he climbs on board, dripping icy water, and begins to paddle.
"More water," I say as he sloshes seawater in our direction. I wave my hands in the air like the asshole I am. "Yaaaay."
Pak giggles at the sound of my voice. "Yaaay!"
"Pak," his father hisses at him.
Pak immediately goes silent, and I feel bad for the kid. "Sorry," I say. "That one's on me. My fault."
Both Dad and Pak just stare at me.
I sigh, staring out at the water. Stupid, stupid beach. Stupid, stupid ice planet—
They're still staring. I frown, wondering if I did something wrong or broke some unspoken rule. "What is it?"
Dad touches Pak's small shoulder and then begins to paddle harder. He digs his paddle into the water with an intensity he hasn't shown before, and worry prickles over me. I glance over at the shore, which is still fairly close, but I don't see anything. "Guys?"
"R'VEN," a booming voice calls out from behind us. It's so loud—even from the shore—that it makes me jump.
I turn around on the raft, looking over my shoulder, and I see an alien man racing up the shore. He's too far away for me to tell who it is, but when he tears off his tunic and discards his pack, I recognize the broad shoulders and the contrast of black beard against his chin. "U'dron!" I squeal in delight. "You came after me?"
U'dron jumps into the water and begins to swim out to us.
"Be careful," I call out, cupping my hands to my face. I'm a little worried. There's lots of scary shit in this water that can overtake a swimmer easily.