“Good,” Aria answered, hardening.
She turned back to the bacon. Noel stirred his mix. His movements became so forceful and impassioned that all of the excess flour rose up in a cloud and covered his face in a fine white mist. He blinked hard, looking like a mime.
Aria couldn’t help but laugh. After a moment, Noel laughed, too. He shook his head and gently knocked her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m being an ass.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Aria said, grabbing a paper towel and wiping the flour off his face. “I don’t want to fight. I want us to have fun. But you shouldn’t be jealous about Graham, okay? I love you.”
Noel spit flour from between his lips. “You’re both really arty, though. You probably have a lot in common.”
Aria’s mouth fell open. Seriously? There had been plenty of times she’d felt inferior around Noel—he was so wealthy, good-looking, and popular that sometimes she still felt like kooky sixth-grade Aria, Ali’s dorky sidekick. But this was the first time he’d ever told her he didn’t feel good enough for her.
“Noel …” She touched his arm. “You’re being ridiculous. I promise.”
“Okay,” Noel said after a moment. “It’s just that I really wanted to take a walk today so I could give you this.”
He brushed off the flour from his hands and pulled out a gold necklace from his pocket. A pendant spun slowly on a chain. It was tarnished and a little battered, perhaps antique, with an intricate, swirled design on the front.
The locket looked vaguely familiar. “Did you get this at one of those expensive jewelry shops in Old San Juan?” she asked.
Noel shook his head. “I actually found it on the beach at our surf spot in Puerto Rico yesterday. I almost stepped on it. It’s like it was meant to be mine—or yours.”
“It’s like a sunken treasure,” Aria whispered, letting Noel hook it around her neck. She peered down at it. There was an initial on the front—an I? A J? It was impossible to tell, as the letter was almost worn away. The necklace had had a whole life before her, a whole story she’d never know about.
“I’ll wear it always,” she told Noel, and wrapped her arms around him, not caring that she was getting flour all over herself. And then, as easy as that, everything felt perfect again.
An hour later, Aria and Graham stood on the green of the ship’s mini-golf course. Technically, they were supposed to be discussing the next clue for the Eco Scavenger Hunt—it involved figuring out which part of the ship was constructed with the highest percentage of recycled materials—but their gaze was on a girl bent over a tee at Hole 5 instead. It was Tori. She was wearing a long peasant skirt, a ribbed blue top, sandals that had little jewels on each strap, and a silver ankle bracelet, which struck Aria as both bohemian and Shakespearian. Tori swung her club and gently tapped the blue golf ball toward a clown’s open mouth, but it hit the rail and rolled back down the ramp.
“So I’ve asked around, and I found out Tori doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Aria whispered in Graham’s ear. “You’re totally in.”
Graham’s cheeks reddened. “You asked about her?”
“How else were we going to find out anything?” Aria grabbed a club from the rack. “Now c’mon. Let’s go to the hole right behind them. Then I want you to compliment her on her putting skills.”
“Are you serious?” Graham snickered. “She’s missed getting the ball through the clown’s mouth like six times.”
Aria glared at him. “Don’t you know anything? When it comes to flirting, you lie! You say whatever it takes to make girls feel amazing and special!” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “You’re hopeless!”
“I bet you’re wondering how I ever had a girlfriend, huh?” Graham teased.
Aria waved her hand, not wanting to talk about Tabitha. “You did great with her on the beach yesterday.” Graham had spoken to Tori for almost ten whole minutes before freaking out and jogging back to Aria, claiming he was afraid they were going to run out of topics. “She seemed into you, too. Now you just have to seal the deal.”
She walked to the hole next to the one Tori was playing. A small windmill spun creakily. The goal was to hit the ball through a tiny gap at the bottom. As she handed Graham the putter, he smiled at her gratefully. “It’s really sweet that you’re doing this for me.”
“I’m glad to help,” Aria chirped, her confidence renewed. How could her friends think Graham was A? Beyond the fact that it didn’t make any sense, he was just too nice. This morning, she’d picked him up at his room, which was right down the hall from Noel’s, and Graham and his roommate, Carson, were playing video games, laughing. Then, Graham said a polite thank-you to the chambermaid who was coming to clean their room. Psychopath stalkers didn’t get along with their roommates and thank the staff, did they?
Tori finally managed to get the ball through the clown’s mouth. As her friends whooped, Aria shoved Graham toward her. “Uh, nice one, Tori!” he said a little stiffly.
Tori looked over, sized Graham up, and smiled. “Hey, Graham.” Then she looked at her putter. “But you’re lying. I suck.”
“You’re better than I am,” Graham offered bashfully.
Tori smiled, then walked to the next hole. Graham spun back to Aria, looking dejected. “See? I’m hopeless!”
“What are you talking about?” Aria said. “You’re doing great!” She picked up her putter, which she’d leaned against the windmill. “Let’s follow them. Maybe they’ll ask us to play with them.”
“Isn’t it going to look really obvious?” Graham whispered. “We didn’t even play this hole!”
“Who cares?” Aria ran her fingertips along the tip of the clown structure as they walked. “It’s not like anyone is taking this seriously, anyway.” She eyed Tori as she plunked down her ball at the tee and swung her club. “Now you have to figure out what she’s interested in. Then pretend you’re interested in it, too.”
She gave him another nudge, and Graham stepped toward Tori again. He waited until she finished her swing—which, as usual, didn’t go anywhere near the hole—and then cleared his throat. “Do you, um, like Renaissance Fairs?”
Aria winced and considered aborting the operation. She didn’t want Graham to impose his interests on her. But Tori brightened. “I’ve only been to one, but it was pretty cool. Why?”
Graham smiled. “I noticed your ankle bracelet and thought you might have bought it at this Renaissance festival outside Philly. There’s a guy there who makes his own silver jewelry. I worked in the booth next to his one summer.”
Tori stepped over the little divider that separated the putting green from the deck and walked closer to Graham. “What do you do at the festival?”
“I do a bunch of things, but at that particular job I helped this old guy build lutes.”
“What’s a lute?”
“They’re small acoustic guitars, only they sound different,” Graham explained. “I brought one on board, actually. I’m going to play a Death Cab for Cutie song on it for the talent show.”
Tori raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Graham started to reply, but suddenly Tori’s phone rang. She glanced at it and rolled her eyes. “It’s my mom,” she said, lifting it to her ear. “She’s called me, like, every day since we left.”
Tori walked toward the waterfall at Hole 12. Graham looked confused. “Now what do I do?”