In Over Her Head by Melody Fitzpatrick Page B

dive.”
    â€œThanks for being so sweet.”
    â€œI am sweet, aren’t I?” Henry smirks. “You totally have a crush on me, don’t you?”
    â€œHardly.” I roll my eyes. “I only said you’re sweet.”
    â€œAnd cute, too!” He grins and pushes up his sleeves, acting like he’s all that.
    â€œHenry!” I cry. “Your wristbands!”
    â€œYeah,” he replies, looking down at his arms, “a show of support for my seasick friend. But they’re not for seasickness; they’re for tennis. Uncle Phil has a court at his house.”
    â€œCan I borrow them?”
    â€œHannah, I told you …”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter!” I run to my closet and pull out my purple silk blouse. “My mother made me bring this in case we had a fancy diner or something.”

    â€œOkay, so?”
    â€œHenry, look at the buttons! They’re pearls.”
    â€œI don’t get it.” Henry shrugs.
    â€œO-mi-gosh, Henry! I can snip a couple off, sew them inside your tennis bands and voilà … instant seasickness bands!”
    â€œOoooo. The girl outfoxes the fox!”
    â€œYes she has, Henry. Yes she has.”
    * * *
    It takes me all of five minutes to make my DIY seasickness bands and another twenty before I’m feeling better, like back-to-normal better.
    â€œI can’t wait to see the look on Piper’s face when she sees you,” Henry says, zipping up his wetsuit.
    â€œWe don’t have any proof she took them, Henry.”
    â€œJust the same, don’t tell her you made new ones. You can’t trust …”
    â€œCan’t trust who?” Piper asks, walking onto the dive deck.

    â€œYou can’t trust the weather forecast,” Henry answers without missing a beat. “You know those weather forecasters make mistakes all the time.”
    â€œHey! My father is a meteorologist!” I say defensively, throwing a pretend glare at Henry, who is doing a great job at steering the conversation away from the subject of Piper and my wristbands.
    â€œHannah, you’re here,” Piper says through an uncomfortable smile. “I thought you were sick.”
    â€œNope, I’m great,” I reply.
    â€œBut …”
    â€œOkay, everyone. Can I have your attention?” Patrice calls out. “Before our dive, I’d like to get a shot with Hannah showing the kids how to put on their scuba gear.”
    â€œWhat!” Piper screeches.
    â€œWhat!” I echo.
    â€œPatrice, Hannah has never done a real dive before in her life,” Piper argues. “Why would you want a novice showing us how to put on our gear? It doesn’t make any sense.”
    Patrice looks at Piper and readjusts his beret. “Piper, who is the director here, you or me?”
    â€œYou are.”
    â€œThen please let me do my job.”
    â€œIt’s okay, Patrice,” I say, trying to assure him. “I mean, Piper has way more experience with this kind of stuff.”
    â€œHannah,” Patrice says, frowning. “I’ll ask you the same question — who is the director?”
    â€œYou are.”
    â€œWell then, please let me do my job.”
    After ten takes I finally get it right.
    â€œPerfection!” Patrice exclaims. “Now we shoot the scene for real.”
    â€œWhat?” Piper barks. “Again?”
    â€œPiper, if it’s too much for you, you can sit out.”
    â€œOf course I don’t want to sit out!” she squawks.
    â€œOkay, let’s continue.”
    After eleven takes, I’m pretty much a pro at assembling and putting on my gear. Now for the dive …
    The plan is for each of us to take a giant step off of the dive deck, sink down into the water, then pop back up, re-check our gear, give a thumbs-up that we’re ready, and wait for the signal to descend all at once.
    Thankfully, Patrice does not make me go first. One by one, we