Page 90 of Haunting the Deep

My phone buzzes. It’s Alice in our group text.

Alice:No luck. I’m staying the night with Mrs. M. I’ll be at breakfast tomorrow. Text if you need me.

Mrs. Powell leans against her desk, holdingThe Truth About the Titanicin her hand. “When you read first-person accounts like this one, you realize how subjective they are and how much is left to interpretation. Gracie made a strong effort to interview people and cross-check stories. But we can also see how his voice, and his understanding of what happened, play a role in his account. We always think that history is fact and literature is fiction. But the truth is, they are all stories. And the people who tell them influence our understanding in various ways.”

She places the book on her desk and scans the room. “So tell me, what sort of influence do you notice in this story, good or bad? What did you take away from this one?”

The guy next to me raises his hand. “I think men like Gracie did a brave thing, letting the women and children get into the lifeboats first.”

“Yes, certainly,” Mrs. Powell says. “It also says something about how women were viewed.”

The boy looks confused.

A girl raises her hand, like she’s not sure if she wants to.

“Yes, Maya.”

“It showed who he thought mattered and who he thought didn’t.” Her voice is a little shaky, probably just like mine when I speak in class.

“Ah. That’s a very interesting point. Elaborate,” Mrs. Powell says.

“Ships like theTitanicwere made for immigrants. They were funded from the money of good, honest workers. Yet there isn’t much in the book about minorities or people not in the first class, even in the research he did afterward. And the third-class passengers had the highest death count by far. Even third-class women and children,” Maya says.

My chest tightens.Ada.

Mrs. Powell smiles. “There is certainly something to be learned by what is omitted—whois omitted—from stories, especially historical ones. Very nice.”

She scans the room. I direct my eyes to my notebook.I’m not here and you can’t see me.

“Sam?”

I sit there for a second, trying to think past my exhaustion to what I’ve learned during my research. “The way Gracie talks about the before moments made an impression on me. Before the ship sank, I mean.”

Mrs. Powell waits for me to go on.

“Everything was so luxurious and happy, like everything was okay but not quite. And there were a thousand tiny things that decided the fate of the ship. The completely still water that prevented the lookouts from seeing the iceberg. The nearest ship’s Marconi operator going to bed and turning off the radio system. The lack of lifeboats. The arrogance that stopped the ship’s operators from worrying about the iceberg warnings in the first place.”Ada, Nora, Mollie…all those people who didn’t make it off.“Why is it that when you’re headed for a disaster, some part of you almost always knows?”

“It’s a good question,” Mrs. Powell says. “There are accounts of passengers who were said to know with certainty thatsomething was going to happen, even if they didn’t know what and couldn’t stop it. Esther Hart is said to have stayed up all night every night in her clothes waiting for the unknown disaster, the ship’s cat carried all her kittens off board before it left Europe, and people canceled their journeys at the last moment because of a feeling. I suppose it’s important to trust yourself. Even Gracie says that if he hadn’t gone to bed early that night and hadn’t been exercising with some frequency, he would never have had the energy to survive the freezing water.”

The bell rings.

“Have a good lunch,” Mrs. Powell says over the noise of the chairs moving against the floor. “Only three more days left ofTitaniccurriculum before the much-anticipated Spring Fling. Give it your all.”

Her words remind me of Ada’s yesterday.This one last time.I exit into the hallway and almost collide with Mr. Wardwell.

“Sorry,” I say.

Mr. Wardwell straightens his blazer. “Sam. Well, this is a lucky coincidence. I had wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

“I tried to get your attention after class, but you were out the door too fast.”

I try to hold back my yawn, but fail.

He takes a better look at me. “You seem awfully tired and distracted recently. Is everything okay?”

I eye him suspiciously. He’s never asked me if I was okay. In fact, I’m not sure he’s ever really liked me at all. “I’m fine. Thanks.”