Page 10 of Natural Selection

DeAndre opens the door. “Hey,” he says. “Did you hear from him?”

“No,” she says. “Did you?”

He winces. “No.”

Sophia shakes her head. “Something must be up. I’ll figure it out—if not now, then in a couple days when I get home.”

“Okay,” DeAndre says. “You coming to breakfast? We’ll save you a seat.”

“I’m moving kind of slow this morning,” Sophia says. “I’ll be up eventually.”

DeAndre blows her a kiss and shuts the door.

Sophia falls back into her pillow. She’s finished making excuses for JP. She doesn’t care what kind of hellish scenario is unfolding in Edmund, Oklahoma; he could easily send her a text. If he wanted to, he would. So, he doesn’t want to. Did he block her?

She decides to do some investigative work.

JP dislikes social media, but all three of JP’s kids have Instagram accounts; Sophia (shamefully) creeped on them shortly after she and JP met, hoping to glean some information about their dad, but they all have private accounts. She logs in now and requests to follow the three Satterwhite children. First Aaron, then Candace, and finally, after a long hesitation, Briar. Sophia realizes her requests will, most likely, be ignored. The kids will see her name and think, Why is Sophia Othonos from New York City trying to follow me? Who even is that?

But a second later her phone buzzes, and Sophia checks her notifications.

Briar Satterwhite has approved her request.

What? Sophia thinks. It must be the wrong Briar Satterwhite . . . but when she clicks on his account, the bio reads “UT/Austin ’27 Hook ’em.” She sweeps her legs to the floor. Because they’re in the harbor, the boat isn’t swaying as much as usual, which is a good thing because Sophia is already off balance. She scrolls through Briar’s posts.

What is this? she thinks. She clicks on the pictures, reads the captions, checks the time stamps. Ten hours ago, one day ago, two days ago. In the picture posted the night before, Briar is standing on the steps in front of the UT Tower with a cute little blonde chick. It’s dark outside, but the tower behind them is lit orange; the caption says something about the hoops team and March Madness. Sophia tries to steady her breath, then reminds herself that this picture could be old. Sophia googles “University of Texas basketball”—and up comes the news, posted the day before, that the University of Texas has been given the #2 seed in the Southwest bracket of the NCAA tournament. Sophia scrolls down. One day ago, Briar and the same girl are at the food trucks on Sixth Street, eating carnitas tacos and elote. Two days ago, Briar is doing a handstand on top of a keg.

Two days ago, Sophia was looking for the vermilion fucking flycatcher, waiting to hear from JP, who was dealing with his son Briar’s “incident” after being in rehab in the fall.

Sophia scrolls back even further in Briar’s account: football games, parties, line dancing, a bunch of dudes cleaning the DTD house. And even further back, Briar’s dorm room, his new roommate. The entire fall semester is documented: Briar living his best life at the University of Texas.

Sophia clicks out of Instagram and dials JP’s number. She is, once again, shuttled straight to voicemail. She knows better than to leave a message when she’s upset, but nothing can stop her. “Briar isn’t in rehab,” Sophia says. “From the looks of things, he’s just fine. He didn’t have an incident. So I would like to know what your little disappearing act was all about, JP.” She pauses. “What the hell is going on?” When she hangs up, her hands are shaking. They’re still in Puerto Ayora; there’s an airport here. Sophia, too, could leave. There are only a couple of days left. Sophia isn’t sure what remains on the itinerary, and does she really care?

The surprising answer is: yes. She dreads leaving the Galápagos now even more than she dreaded coming. The real world, and all the unpleasant realities it holds, will be waiting when she gets back.

She kicks JP’s camera case across the vinyl floor and lets out a frustrated huff. She needs Advil and coffee and ten pieces of toast. She heads upstairs to breakfast, leaving her phone behind.

At the island called Sombrero Chino (“Chinese Hat?” Is this its actual name? Sophia wonders), there’s a spot for snorkeling.

“Good for the hangover!” Miguel says, and Tucker and Kelly groan (they look even greener than Sophia does). Miguel brings out a milk crate filled with masks and snorkels, and one crate filled with flippers. Sophia has reached the age of thirty-five without ever having had an occasion to snorkel, and she’s a little nervous. Miguel told them they would see sharks.

“But they don’t eat people,” he said. “People are too bony.”

Tucker tries on a pair of blue plastic flippers and lifts his feet. “Hey, Sophia,” he says. “Watch my mating dance.” Sophia smiles. At breakfast, everyone was especially kind to her. Grant got up so Sophia could eat with DeAndre, Tucker, and Kelly. At the other table, Wanda and Henry were sitting with Dolores and Hugh.

The water at Sombrero Chino is dark blue and choppy.

“I don’t know about this,” Sophia says. Luis Antonio stops the panga, and the others fall backward, ass first, into the water in a way that is almost comical. Sophia spits in her mask the way Miguel instructed, to keep it from fogging, and she pulls the strap around her head. She places the snorkel in her mouth; it tastes of salt and plastic. She sits on the edge of the boat like she saw the others do.

“Hasta luego, la reina,” Luis Antonio says.

Sophia waves and falls backward with a splash. The water is colder than it was in Gardner Bay. She looks back at the boat. Luis Antonio motions for her to put her head down. It’s like watching him through a windshield in the rain. She kicks her legs; the flippers keep her buoyant. She lowers her face.

The world underwater is eerily blue. There are . . . hundreds of fish: charcoal gray with brilliant yellow tails, pink fish with green stripes, fish with iridescent blue spots. Sophia feels like she’s inside an aquarium. Nature is for losers, Arn said—but he was wrong. Everything is silent except for the sound of Sophia’s breath through the snorkel and the light slap of waves against her skull. She pulls herself through the water, trying to catch up with the others. And yet it feels good to relax and float, to let the fish dart around her.

Sophia spots a manta ray gliding along the ocean floor, the rounded edges of its body fluid, rippling, moving like wings. And then, in her peripheral vision, something darts past her. She turns: it’s a tiny penguin. The Galápagos penguin! Miguel said that they would see penguins only if they were very lucky. Sophia swims after it, delighting in its tiny tuxedo body: sleek black with a white belly. A real live penguin! She raises her head because she wants to point it out to somebody, but she’s separated from the group—and the panga is now quite far away. Sophia puts her head down, but the penguin has disappeared. Then, at the edge of her mask, Sophia sees a shark swimming along the ocean floor. It’s gunmetal gray with a white ring around its tail, exactly as Miguel described it. It has sharp dorsal fins, a wide smile full of teeth.

Sophia stops kicking until the shark swims away. Her hands tingle with the cold. A wave smacks the side of Sophia’s face, and water floods her snorkel. WTF, she thinks. She’s had enough. She removes her mouthpiece and cries out, Hey! But Luis Antonio is too far away to hear her, and all she can see of the others is the orange fluorescent tape on the ends of their snorkels.

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