he moment I wake up, I know a storm is coming. I've lived on this island long enough not to need to rely on the weather channel: I can feel it. Sense it. The air feels thick like there's something behind it, a gentle hum among the stillness.

For a few minutes, I stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster. Jordan's words still play in my head, turning and turning: You're going to regret it. I stay in bed until the last possible minute. For the first time ever, I'm dreading my shift at the Big Fish Cafe. It's not that I'm scared of Jordan, but his words have left me unsettled.

At breakfast, the first few drops of rain fall. They come slowly at first, light patters on the window pane. But there's a saying on the island: when it rains, it pours. And several seconds later, it does.

"You're not riding your bike in this," Dad says. He's sitting across the table, sipping his coffee as usual. "I'll drive you to work today."

Lexie's made omelets again, so I have a mouthful of egg when I say, "Thanks, Dad."

He smiles and gets back to reading the paper while I stare out the window. It's his least favorite weather, but I prefer the rain. There's just something so beautifully chaotic about it.

When I get to the cafe, Jordan is there, but he's not at a table. He's standing near the counter talking to Kali, who doesn't look very happy with him. I ignore them both and get straight to work, serving the next nearest table.

The place is packed thanks to the weather. Those who usually stroll the harbor or prefer to eat outside have been forced to take shelter, so I'm busy all afternoon. Every so often though, I'll sneak glances at Jordan. He doesn't particularly look like he's in the mood to kill me, but it's still early.

He's wearing a pale green t-shirt that's a little too tight, but shows off his thick, brown arms. His jeans are slightly darker today, nearly black, but I'll allow it – it's cooler than usual what with all the rain.

I hate how handsome he is. I hate that awful people are always the ones blessed with good looks. He should look like a turtle with a personality like his, but he doesn't–it's not fair. He's still talking to Kali, but he glances over, his pale eyes darkening. I stare back at him and smile, but he looks away. So, he's still mad, then.

Rain lashes the windows, followed by a rumble of thunder. A few of the tourists huff and puff like it's something we can control.

"I have a boat tour booked this afternoon!" one woman says. "They better give me a refund if it's canceled."

I smile tightly as I write down her order. "They will, the tour companies around here are pretty good, and this rain will clear up in an hour or two. It always does."

The woman nods, seemingly satisfied. "I sure hope so. I've been really looking forward to spotting some dolphins. We don't get any of those down in Texas!"

I nod and tell her I'll be back with some coffee before heading to the kitchen. I pass Jordan on the way, thinking he'll look at me, but he doesn't so much as turn his head. I'm desperate to know what they're talking about. Kali usually has a rule that we can't stand and talk, so whatever Jordan's saying must be important.

I've just finished getting coffee for my table when Kali beckons me over. Reluctantly, I walk toward them, standing next to Jordan. He stiffens but doesn't look at me.

Kali sighs. "Evvy, Jordan will be spending the next few weeks trying to fix some of the problems before he shows another buyer around."

I look at Jordan, who is still ignoring me. "About time."

This is the wrong thing to say. Slowly, he turns. When Kali disappears to take a phone call out back, Jordan leans down and in a rough, quiet voice, says, "I forgot to mention." Quick as a flash, those silver eyes flit to mine. "You're fired."

His words float between us, sending my heart racing. "You can't fire me," I say, but I don't sound too certain.

"I own this place, so yeah, I can."

I am quiet for a moment, trying to process what it is he is telling me, but I can't.

Jordan leans in closer, and to his credit, doesn't look happy. "I can't trust you not to jeopardize things again. I'm giving you two weeks' notice. After that, I want you gone."

A lump forms in the back of my throat, making it hard to swallow. So this is his payback for my stunt the other night; I am losing my job. A part of me wants to throw away my pride and beg for forgiveness. I'm thinking of my memories here, of my mom and Lexi and midnight ice creams, looking out at the harbor. I'm thinking of all the dreams I had to run this place the way I want to. Dreams of restoring the culture of this island, the beauty. But the thing about pride is, it's all I have left.

"Fine," I say, and I hate that my voice shakes. "If you want to fire me for trying to save this place, then fine."

My voice is raised, and Kali pokes his head around the door to scold us for being so loud. He's right, some of the locals have stopped chomping on fritters to shoot us a look. I smile at Mrs. Davidson from down the road, giving her a wave. Then I turn back to Jordan and scowl.

"That's it," Kali says, wiggling his finger at me. "Take it outside. Both of you."

Jordan rolls his eyes and heads out to the patio. I follow after him, hot on his trail. There's no way he's firing me and getting away with it.

Outside, it's raining just as hard before, but at least we're sheltered by the canopy. Raindrops splatter into puddles on the street, ricocheting off my legs. I turn to face Jordan, who is stood right behind me, causing me to turn into his chest. Neither of us moves. Moving is weakness.

"Is this why you came to the island?" I ask. "To ruin our lives?"

Jordan stares down at me, too close for comfort. When I finally meet his gaze, those pale eyes are like ice. "Do you think the world revolves around you, Evvy? Because if so, I have news for you."

"Then why are you doing this? You can see how much this cafe means to people, and yet you're willing to sell it, no questions asked."

He looks away, fixing his gaze on the wall. His jaw is contracted, and for a second, his eyes take on this far-off look. "I don't owe you an explanation."

I can't help it, my anger gets the best of me. "I hate you, do you know that? I have never hated anyone more in my life than I hate you." But it's not true. There's one person I hate more than him: the driver who killed Mom.

"Yeah, well," Jordan says, looking down at me, "I'm not too fond of you, either."

For a second, we just glare at each other. Last week, the only thing I had to worry about was leaving for college. Now my island is in trouble and some pretty city boy is threatening my childhood.

"You can fire me all you want," I say, glaring at him. "That's not going to stop me from saving this place. You can't just get rid of me that easily."

He folds his arms now, making the muscles look twice their size. "You ever considered that maybe the thing this place needs saving from is you? You're insane."

This comment hurts, but I don't let it show. Instead, I straighten out my apron, raise my chin, and say, "Tell Kali I'm overcome with nausea all of a sudden," and then I'm off walking down the street, getting soaked.

Rain hits like pellets, but I don't stop, not even when Jordan calls my name. I'm so angry, I just walk and breathe, walk and breathe. If I stop for a second, even to think, I will cry. It's the beach I end up at – Mom's favorite spot. The sand is already wet with rain, but I sit down anyway, letting it stick to my legs. Then I stare into the murky water and watch the waves crash.

When I was eight, Mom and I found a note in a bottle. It was bobbing in the waves, so we ran into the water to retrieve it before it could get too far. Fact: people have been putting messages in bottles for well over a century. In 310 BC, Greek philosopher Theophrastus put sealed bottles into the sea as part of an experiment to prove the Mediterranean Sea was formed by the inflowing Atlantic Ocean. There have been other instances, too, like the bottle from Germany thrown overboard 101 years ago. It's why, when we saw it, we thought maybe we were about to discover a relic, a little piece of history.

When we sat back on the sand, Mom passed it over. "You do the honors, Evvy," she said. "You saw it."

Excited, I turned the bottle upside down and out slid the note. This is what it read: A smooth sea never made for a skillful sailor.

That's it, nothing profound or life-changing, but it soon became our secret catchphrase. If something went wrong, Mom would tell me that quote, and I'd quickly feel better again. When she died, it's the quote that I clung to, the same way I cling to it now. Pain, misery–it's all part of life. It doesn't mean I have to give up or stop trying.

It means the opposite.

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