Not Andrea. She thought the ocean was one big waste. We should be watching the people, she said, and sizing them up as they went by. So we did. We found that mostly they fit into definite types. There were the Counters, for instance: fast-walking men, red-cheeked women, keeping score of how many times they walked around the deck, reveling in how fit they were. Then there were the Stylish Strollers, the Huffers and Puffers, the Lovebirds, leaning on each other, the Queasy Stomachs who clutched the railing and hoped for the best. “You notice there’s no one our age,” Andrea said. That was true. We had seen young people who were probably in their twenties, children who were Edward’s age, and of course the majority who were our parents’ age or older. But not one who might be in seventh or eighth grade or even high school. Andrea jumped from her chair. “I’m going to explore.” Normally I would have gone with her but I hadn’t had a chance yet to get my fill of the ocean. It was the same ocean as I’d had in Peitaiho and I looked and looked.
