Page 15 of Sharkbait
“Nope!” I insist. “No problem. I have no problems whatsoever!”
But my feet remain frozen to the rubber floor.
Because there most definitelyisa problem. Abigproblem. And try as I might, I can no longer ignore it.
I am a marine biologist who is petrified of the water.
Chapter Four
Louise
I’m standing outside a newish apartment complex in Manyunk later that day, staring at a red door flanked by stone flowerpots filled with yellow chrysanthemums.
“Thanks for meeting me here,” Calliope says.
“Sure,” I respond. “Happy to help.”
“Speaking from decades of experience, though,” I continue, “My brother is a pretty tough one to surprise. So I have my doubts that this birthday plan of yours is ultimately going to work.”
“He’ll be surprised,” Calliope responds with her usual abundance of confidence. “The fact that we’re going all out for twenty-nine is surprising in itself. You expect a surprise party for thirty! But twenty-nine? Nah.” She rises up on her tiptoes and peers into the small rectangular window, then lowers her heels and rubs her hands together like a cartoon villain. “I’m uber curious to see her new digs. Aren’t you?”
“Uh. I guess so?”
I’m distracted by the cutesy wooden sign hanging on the door. I take a step back to ensure I read the hand-painted cursive correctly the first time. Yup. It actually does say “Home is Where the Pants Aren’t.”
I look over my shoulder and spot Mabel’s green VW bug in the lot. “You did ring her doorbell, right?”
“What kind of a question is that?” Calliope scoffs.
“A reasonable one?” I shoot back.
Calliope has only been dating my brother for a few months so we’re still getting to know each other, but we already squabble like sisters.
Truth be told, I love it.
“Let me guess,” she continues. “You’re also that punk who walks up and presses the elevator button like she’s doing everyone a favor when five people are already standing there waiting for it to arrive.”
“Of course,” I say. “I’m not counting on other people to get me where I want to go in life. The only person I can count on is me.”
“That’s a depressing life motto if I ever heard one. Bad day?”
I consider how to answer that question and come up with, “Challengingday.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
“Of course you don’t. Anyway”—Calliope sighs—“to answer your question, yes, I rang her bell just as you pulled up. She shouted, ‘Just a minute!’ but that was…” She checks the time on her phone. “Four and a half minutes ago.”
“She’s probably doing that speed-cleaning thing people do when they have last-minute guests,” I offer. “We should have just met at a bar.”
And not for the first time—or even the hundredth time—in the past few months, James the handsome bartender’s face flashes in my mind. And for the hundredth time, I shove that image right back out.
Calliope shrugs. “You saw her texts. She wanted to host.”
“Where the hell is this girl?” I throw my hands up and give the door a hearty pound. Something I should’ve done five minutes ago.
When I turn back to Calliope, she’s staring at me like it’s her job. You’d think as a scientist, I’d be cool with being studied, but I’m not.
