Chapter fifty-four

0606. Well that could be anything. It could be a six year-old's lucky number, or it could be the code for the entrance to Area-51. But my guess? It's time. And specifically twenty-four-hour time. Easier to write, and obviously a safer way to pass secret messages. Cough-cough.

Okay, part one of the secret message figured out: 0606 means six minutes past six in the morning. Now the next and last number.

7. Again, this one-digit number could mean whatever the hell anyone wants. It could be the final number used to open someone's locker in a high school in Melbourne, or it could be the number of pet unicorns someone's baby sister wants to have when she's older.

A channel number, perhaps? At six past six in the morning, flick over to channel seven, there's a hidden message I want you to decipher, says person-that-I-don't-know. Order this many drinks from the bar at six past six in the morning to look like an alcoholic and I will appear to whisk you away, pretending to be family or a friend before sweeping you off of your feet on Deck fourteen, straight into the bottomless deep of the Pacific Ocean.

Oh, who am I kidding?

Those weren't my first guesses, though. It would make more sense if the number represented something simple aboard this ship. There can indeed be seven of almost anything, but I'm certain that it won't be as complicated as finding You Know Who's seven horcruxes.

The most rational ideas I have about this mysterious number include calling this number on the cruise telephones located in every cabin at six past six in the morning, randomly shouting the number seven at six past six in the morning (which, in my opinion, is asking for death), or simply to head to Deck seven at, you guessed it, six past six.

I'm considering setting an alarm to get up and scream SEVEN! at the top of my lungs tomorrow morning, but then I realise that it wouldn't make sense to include the last line.

Sunset photos with friends, replaced by an embrace under the young sun.

What?

First of all: too poetic. Second of all: this could be for anyone.

I know that I've already established this, but this note could seriously be for anyone. But I've always let my curiosity get the best of me, and I'm not ashamed to say that it has gotten me into rather confuzzling situations.

But besides that, if this note were for me, how would the message relate to me?

Sunset photos with friends… Last night, before the party, at sunset, didn't we all take photos at sunset on…? Deck seven! It makes so much sense, I nearly wet myself on this expensive-looking cushion as we eat at the Waterfront restaurant.

But… replaced by an embrace under the young sun, has absolutely nothing to do with me. There was no embrace under the young sun, one: I've only ever "embraced" my parents, sister and friends, and two: I'm not an early-riser. Never was. Unless.

Unless, this is the plan. The plan is to have an embrace under the young sun tomorrow at six past six on Deck seven where my friends and I took our sunset photos!

Reaching into my pocket, silently eating, I brush the note sitting there, still patiently waiting for me to figure its message out. I squeeze it, and that's my secret code for: Hey. I think I know what you mean.

The party tonight flashes by in a series of badly-transitioned slides in a presentation.

Slide One: Curtains slither open to reveal us heading through the glass doors and into a dark room with a multitude of colourful lights flickering to the rhythm of the booming music.

Slide Two: A slow and gradual fade shows us snagging a number of cosy-looking chairs at the back of the room, tucked into the corners.

Slides Three to Eight: Cheap cube transitions from Ben ordering two large (scary) drinks from the bar; me disappearing through the unfamiliar crowd with a euphoric look in my eyes; Harry and I laughing obnoxiously under strobe lights, surrounded by the beat of the night, in tandem with our young hearts; Emily starting a conga line by ferociously dragging people into it; and Lilli scolding Ben for buying such crazy drinks while patting Charlie's shuddering back as he chokes and laughs at the same time.

I laugh, grinning from ear-to-ear. I can't help but reach down and scrunch the crinkly note there, trying to squeeze the words out of it and into oblivion. I don't like this unease. I never asked for it, and I really don't need it. I bop along to ear-popping music, but really, all I can hear is the overwhelming pounding of my heart against my chest.

I'm so distracted, I don't realise that Harry's just been staring at me this whole time, perfectly perfect green eyes undressing me, layer by layer. The heat is unbearable. Harry cranes his head forward, his lips brushing my ear as he murmurs something that sounds too muffled in my ears stuffed with cotton.

"Huh?" I think I say.

I hear him the second time around. "You make me feel something I haven't felt in a long, long time, Tasmin," he says to me earnestly.

I've heeded Lilli's advice, and no longer do I feel the absolute desire to be with Harry. Still. I'm curious. What is it, Harry? What has little me made you feel?

I smile. "And what's that, Harry?" Trailing my fingertips over the small sheet in my pocket.

Slowly, his eyebrows furrow sadly, and the murkiness around the edges of his green eyes grows even darker. His lips form the word, nothing comes out, but somehow I still know what he means to say.

Free.

I make Harry Evans feel free. But the way he said it, like he hasn't felt an ounce of freedom for millenia straight, it yanks at the strings of my heart.

I consider tossing the note, forgetting it ever happened, pressing down upon my curiosity, defeating it. But I'll sit with regret. So, for the sake of this message that may or may not be for me, I will be an early-riser tomorrow.