Page 33 of Count My Lies

“Great. The sailing part is actually pretty simple. There are a few rules to get us started. First, you can’t sail directly into the wind. So if we want to go there”—he points directly in front of us—“we’ll have to sail forty-five or fifty degrees to the left or right of the wind, then back the other way. And that’s called tacking. We do that by moving the sails we just talked about.”

“That doesn’tsoundsimple. It sounds like math class.”

Jay laughs. “I promise you, it’s easy once you get the hang of it. Look how well you handled the tiller.” He winks.

I blush again, knees turning to jelly.

“Seriously,” he says. “You’ll see. Are you ready to give it a shot?” He takes a step back and motions for me to take his place.

“What? No way,” I say, shaking my head and holding my hands up, palms to him. “I’ll capsize us! It’d be likeTitanic, round two!”

Jay smiles, amused. “I’m going to show you what to do,” he says. “The only real way to learn is by doing. And lucky for us all, there are no icebergs in the East River. Come on, grab the rope,” he says, holding it out to me. “Right hand above left.”

Reluctantly, I do what he says. Although, truthfully, if he’d asked me to jump off the boat with a brick tied to my ankle, I’d probably do that, too. Aye, aye, Captain!

The rope is thick and braided, taut, under my hands. “Like this?” I look over my shoulder at him.

“A little higher.” Jay takes a step closer and reaches around me. He puts his hands over mine on the rope and slides them up. My heart rate quickens at his touch, the closeness of our bodies. “Okay, now we pull. Lean back, just a little.”

I ease back, into his chest. It’s warm and sturdy. Is it my imagination or does he move even closer? “Good,” he says. His breath is in my hair, against my ear, my neck. I want to close my eyes, but I don’t. I keep them trained forward, body stiff.

The bow of the boat begins to turn. “Oh!” I say, looking back at Jay, surprised by the movement. He laughs. “Pretty cool, huh?”

I nod. We begin to pick up speed. I tighten my grip on the rope. His arms are still around me.

“Okay, now, let go and pull here.” He guides my hands to another set of ropes. “Watch the boom! And, oh, loosen your hold, now pull again. Yep, just like that.”

The boat begins to shift in the other direction. He takes a step back. “See, you’re doing it!” he says proudly.

I grin at him. “I’m doing it?”

“You’re doing it! That’s it. Well”—he laughs—“not exactly it, but it’s a start. We’ll adjust the mainsail as the wind changes, but until it does, you can relax and enjoy the ride.”

“Where’d you learn all this?” I ask him.

“Summer camp. When I was ten.”

Naturally. The only boats at the summer camp I went to were old, rusty canoes, floating in warm swampy South Carolina lake water. No one minded, though. We splashed through the inky water, feet sinkinginto the muck, trying not to tip the boats as we hoisted ourselves in. It was just a rinky-dink YMCA day camp; my mom couldn’t afford to send me to the sleepaway kind with cabins and bunk beds and bonfires. So sailing? Yeah, right.

Jay sees the look on my face and laughs. “What?”

“I was just thinking about the boats we had at the camp I went to. We were told they were canoes, but they were more like old sardine cans. We used branches we found on the shore as oars.”

“I was on scholarship, if that makes you feel any better,” he says. “We didn’t have a lot of money growing up.”

“Really?” I say. I turn toward him, surprised. “You don’t seem like…” I trail off.

“What, a poor kid?” He smiles wryly. “Thanks, I guess. But I was. Neither of my parents graduated from high school, so they always had pretty shitty jobs. They made ends meet, but we never had much.”

We’re both quiet. He isn’t looking at me anymore, instead staring out ahead. I clear my throat and say, “I grew up without money, too. My mom worked as a housekeeper, but she had health problems. She called out sick all the time, always ended up getting fired for missing too many days. We moved around a lot because we couldn’t pay the rent.”

It’s more honest than I’ve been with anyone in a long time. Even Violet. Maybe because he was like me, a poor kid who just wanted to fit in.

This time when Jay looks at me, it’s like he’s seeing me for the first time. Slowly, he nods. “It’s a hard way to grow up. I hated it.”

“Me too. Which is why I never told anyone. I made excuses about why I could never invite anyone over to our apartment. And since no one visited, I was free to tell them we lived in a mansion. And that mydad was a movie star in Hollywood. I thought that would make people like me.” I shrug.

Jay nods. “It’s hard to explain it to people. What it’s like. I don’t think Violet’s ever really understood. But I shouldn’t be surprised, considering.”

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