Being landlocked, the kids had never heard of any of the Sea World stars, so they named me after the only famous fish they could think of. It beat Shamu. The local rag gave it all a small write-up. I generally avoided having my picture taken, but one of my colleagues managed to capture from a distance a grainy shot of me refereeing a game of dodgeball. Because the tiny paper was run by a retired newsman, not inclined toward modern technology, the article never made it online. I ran a series of searches on “Debra Maze” just to be sure. I found others, and I think I caught a reference to the real one—a missing person from Ohio. But I figured I was safe for a while. I figured wrong. Clark didn’t warm to me as I had expected after I pulled him from the lake. I used to catch him giving me sidelong glances whenever he was in my vicinity. I could always feel a cactus resting softly on my neck when he looked my way. If I tried to meet his gaze, he’d avert his eyes. If I offered a greeting, warm and friendly, he returned it with a mumble and an almost imperceptible nod.
