I was well aware that as I worked, Charlie had been scooting ever closer to me—now his chest against my back. I could feel the taut muscles of his torso touching me just slightly, and the urge to lean back completely and test his strength was almost unbearable.
His breath quickened just a little as his arms reached up and came for the pick and wrench. Instinctively, I went to let him finish the chore, but his hands pulled me back.
“Here.” His voice was considerably strained.
His hands became mine as we worked the lock together. His right thumb and index finger overlapped mine completely, but he was strangely gentle. Come to think of it, he was always gentle with me. Even now, I could feel that as he rested the weight of his own arm against mine. By accident I brushed my thumbnail against the inside of his palm—he jolted and another pin came undone.
“Do you feel that?” His voice was hoarse.
I coughed again. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
It took dozens of tries and strings of cursing that I wasn’t even aware I knew before I was finally capable of getting the lock picked on my own. Really, it was something of a bittersweet moment, because while I was excited at having learned something new, I felt a little wretched that I had lost the excuse for Charlie and I to be so close.
“Okay, now what other kind of lock can I learn?”
He began to chuckle. It was nice to hear him let go of whatever it was that was holding him back.
I rolled my eyes. “And why exactly am I a source of comic relief?”
“You like to learn, huh?”
“Yes. Do you think that’s strange?”
“I guess, yeah.” He shrugged and then put the tension wrench in his back pocket and answered my unasked question. “‘Cause girls tend to be all crying and stuff when bad things happen, not wanting a school lesson—it’s weird.”
“First, not all females panic in stressful situations. Second, lock picking is hardly something my parents would have taught me, let alone something they teach in public schools. And third, if you recall correctly when…we met, I originally did ‘cry and stuff.’” I stuck my chin out and tried to be smug but the out loud mention of the situation seemed to put tension between us again.
He stared at me. His gaze was intense, as if he was considering something. “That’s right.” He took out a pack of cigarettes from the plastic crate and placed one in his mouth. “You were homeschooled. You liked that?”
I shrugged. “I can’t imagine a better education.” While it was somewhat closed minded, it was true. Mom and Dad had given us the opportunity to attend high school like other kids, mostly because Mom was nervous that we weren’t socializing enough. Robbie jumped at the idea, joining every team and sport he could, but I was irritated at the idea. Why would I want to do that when I could learn at home?
“You went to public school?”
“Sometimes.” I watched the flame of his lighter brighten his irises as he smiled. They seemed to be a combination of light green and blue today—a turquoise, I decided.
“That worked out well.”
Charlie shrugged and considered my response. “I picked up things I wanted to.”
“What does that mean?”
He lay down on the bed and blew smoke at the ceiling. “I ain’t smart like you, but I always managed to learn things I wanted to know.”
I fiddled with the lock of the door. “I guess we’re both like that.”
He smiled at me again.
“What did you say the name of this ship was?”
He smiled—it was slow and coy and forced me to sit down low against the wall. If he was unaware of the effect he had on me, I would have been grateful.
“The Diyu.”
“I thought so.”
“Got it secondhand with the name, never bothered changin’ it.”
“Do you know what diyu means in the traditional Chinese?” I questioned. “It’s really kind of funny when you think about it…”
He shook his head.
“It’s the equivalent translation for ‘hell’ or ‘underworld.’ When it comes to the afterlife, some Asian cultures revolve around Buddhist beliefs, and some ancient traditions say that before the spirit can be reincarnated, it must be purified or punished in the different levels of diyu.”
I looked at him and waited for a response, any kind of a response, but he just took another drag of his cigarette and continued to stare aimlessly at the corkboard ceiling. I became slightly afraid