“No, it’s that one,” Ema said. “Look at this street. This is where the workers live. I bet ninety percent of the people who live here work at that tennis club. The bigger problem is, look at us. You’re wearing jeans. I’m wearing, well, not tennis whites.”
“I have an idea,” I said.
We started back down the street toward the main road. We turned right. The tennis club was up ahead. I thought that maybe there would be a guard or a gate, but this was the kind of island where you didn’t need that. Guards at clubs were there to keep out the riffraff. This island had no riffraff. Just members and staff.
We started down the entrance road when a young man in tennis whites with a sweater tied around his neck hurried toward us. “May I help you?”
“No,” I said. “We’re fine.”
We kept walking toward the clubhouse. I thought that maybe Mr. Tied Sweater would let us be. He didn’t. He ran alongside us and said, “Uh, excuse me?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you here?”
I had expected this. I had hoped, though, to get lucky and walk around a little more and maybe spot our boy, but that was not to be. Still, we kept walking and looking as we spoke. “My name is Will. This is my sister, Grace.”
Ema nodded. We kept walking and scanning for Jared.
“Yeah, okay. What can I do for you? This club has a strict dress code. Neither one of you is adhering to it.”
“We are here seeking employment,” I said.
Tied Sweater was getting annoyed that we wouldn’t stop walking. “I don’t think we are hiring at the current time.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Ema said.
We were at the door to the clubhouse. I pushed through. “Maybe we could fill out an application. Just to keep it on file. In case someone quits.”
“We require references. Do you have them?”
“Yes, we do.” It was time to take a chance. “Jared Lowell will recommend us.”
“Oh,” Tied Sweater said, suddenly smiling. His whole persona changed. Jared clearly had some clout. “You’re both friends of Jared’s?”
“Close friends,” said Ema.
“Well, that changes things,” he said.
“He’s working today, right?”
“What? No. In fact, I figured that’s why you’re here.”
I said, “Huh?”
“Jared just left for the ferry. He should be taking off in, oh”—he looked at his watch—“fifteen minutes. The applications are in the back. If you’d like to sit in the—”
But Ema and I were already back outside and sprinting toward the ferry. I was surprised at how Ema was able to keep up with me, but then again, determination counts for a lot.
Still, there wasn’t much time. I did a quick calculation and realized that we wouldn’t arrive before Jared boarded the next ferry.
Now what?
Then the answer came to me: I could break more laws.
“This way,” I said.
“What?”
The summer population here was under two thousand people. That meant there wasn’t much crime or need for law enforcement. People didn’t lock up their homes.
Or their bikes.
We found two in a driveway on the right. Ema and I hopped on and started peddling. Three minutes later, we spotted Jared sitting on a bench by the dock. When he saw us coming, Jared Lowell shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand and said, “You again.”
“Yep. And look who I brought.”
I turned and looked at Ema. I couldn’t help it. Part of me thought that this was probably not how Ema wanted to look the first time she saw her “great love” in person—sweaty, out of breath, disheveled—and a really small pathetic part of me took some small pleasure in that.
Ema looked at him. He looked at her. I took a step back.
“Hey,” Ema said to him.
“Hey,” Jared said back.
Ema seemed to be studying him. He started to shift under her gaze.
“I’m sorry,” Jared Lowell said.
Ema did not reply. She tilted her head, looking at him as though he were some kind of odd experiment.
“I should have told you,” he said.
“Told me what?”
“Excuse me?”
“What were you going to tell me, Jared?”
His feet shifted again. The ferry had arrived. The passengers began to disembark. “You know. I mean, I should have told you that I didn’t want to e-mail you anymore.”
I expected her to be hurt or crushed, but it was as though seeing him in person had given her an odd strength. “Why didn’t you?”
“Why didn’t I tell you?”
“Yeah,” Ema said, “start with that.”
“I don’t know.” Jared gave a big shrug. “It was wrong. Your friend here and I talked about it. I was going to get in touch.”
“So you wanted to, what, break up with me?”
He looked so uncomfortable, even I felt bad for him. “Well, yeah.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“What?”
“Just tell me, Jared. What’s your favorite color?”
Jared opened his mouth, but no words came out. Ema looked at me and shook her head.
“What?” I said.
“It’s not him.”
“What do you mean it’s not him?”
“Give me some credit, Mickey. I thought that as soon as I saw him in person, but after talking to him for just these few seconds . . .” Ema turned back to him. “You’re not the guy who talked to me online, are you?”
“What? Sure I am. Jared Lowell. You saw my Facebook page.”
Ema shook her head. “Yes, Jared, it was your Facebook page. And, yes, you clearly knew about it. But it wasn’t you, was it?”
“What are you talking about?” He tried to laugh it off, but it wasn’t happening. “Of course it’s me. Look, we had something. It was great, I guess, but it was just online. It wasn’t real.”
“Quick: What’s your favorite color?”
“Uh, blue.”
“What’s your favorite food?”
“Pizza.”
“What’s your favorite place?”
“The hidden cove on the west side of this island.”
The color drained from Ema’s face. “Oh no . . .”
“What?” I said.