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starving!” I grab a plate. The conch is kind of weird, but the sandwiches are amazing: soft bread, salty butter, and hot, crispy fish. None of the other girls are eating. I always wonder if girls like them don’t eat in front of guys so that they’ll think they don’t have a digestive system and never poop or something. Not me. I’m an eater. And I poop. Deal with it.
    I look up, halfway through my third sandwich, and catch the clean-cut boat boy’s eye again. He’s staring at me intensely, kind of disapprovingly. Unused to seeing girls eat, I bet.
    So I take the rest of the sandwich and jam it into my mouth, all at once, edging it past my molars on either side, and look back at the boat boy, my cheeks stuffed with sandwich, my face bulging like a cartoon. Then I blink a few times like Bambi. His entire face lights up with an ear-to-ear grin. Ha! I snort with laughter, crumbs blowing out of my mouth, and the boat boy ducks his head and turns away to hide the fact that he’s cracking up.
    “Wow, that is attractive,” says Hal, looking at me. Like the others, he’s barely picked at a couple of conch fritters. He’s on coke, I suddenly realize, chewing through the half-sandwich in my mouth. They all are. That’s why they’re not eating. And actually, Beecher and two of the girls have disappeared belowdecks. Oh, well. All the more food for me.
    When my mouth is finally clear of sandwich, I take a slug of water and smile at Hal. “I have an appetite. Is that a problem?”
    He grins. “Absogoddamnlutely not.”
    Another margarita or two and more Euro trance music later, and the sun begins to set. Lars and another one of the girls disappear, and the other girl passes out on one of the daybeds. They’re all kind of strange, and I’m used to Stef’s freak-show friends. I can’t even figure out how everyone knows one another.
    Hal turns to me. “You should come check out my cabin. It’s ridiculous. There’s a bar and everything.”
    “Really,” I deadpan. Wow, is he really going to be that obvious? It’s so transparent, it’s almost adorable. “Are you going to make me a cocktail?”
    “Yes,” he says, grinning at me. “Yes, I am.”
    We get down to his cabin, the blast of the air-conditioning assaulting my sun-warmed skin. As you’d expect on a megayacht, it’s ridiculously big and glossily immaculate, with a gigantic bed, a full sofa area with a bar, and even a diving terrace.
    “Wow,” I say. “What a dump.”
    Immediately, Hal disappears into the en suite. You know, I don’t think I will make out with him after all. He’s clearly more interested in taking drugs than talking to me.
    Maybe I’ll wake Stef and find out when we’re leaving tomorrow. Brooklyn suddenly seems really far away, and not in a good way. This whole yacht scene feels a little … I don’t know, creepy. And I really do want to make up with Julia. And everyone else, too. Now that I’ve relaxed a bit, the situation at Rookhaven doesn’t seem so dire. Everything will be fine. It has to be. Right?
    Hal shuffles out of the bathroom, wiping under his nostrils.
    “How was the powder room, dear?”
    “You want?” he says, pointing his thumb in the direction of the en suite.
    I shake my head. “I’m gonna go find Stef.”
    “Make me a martini first? Stef tells me you do a great dirty martini.”
    “Um, sure. Why not.”
    I walk over to the bar and am reaching up to get the martini glasses from the top shelf when WHAM, I’m slammed up hard against the counter, Hal nuzzling the back of my neck.
    “Whoa, dude, slow down,” I say, trying to push him off me. I hate it when guys mistake force for passion. “Stop it. I mean it.”
    “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he whispers, slowly turning me around so I’m facing him.
    I look down.
    Hal’s penis.
    Is out.
    In his hand.
    Small, pink, and erect.
    Oh. My. God.
    Hal smiles at me, and then at his penis. “Do you want to touch him? He likes you.”
    I laugh out loud.