Gasp (Visions) by Lisa McMann Page B

across it, as if we can see what she’s pointing at. “There,” she says. “It’s like a seawall sticking out.” She looks up. “It’s almost invisible because the waves are so high.”
    “Good job, Tori,” I say. “That explains a lot.”
    She traces this picture and Sawyer passes it around the room.
    “Are the people on the floor before or after the little jolt?” I ask.
    “Hmm. Before. That’s weird.”
    I write everything down.
    As Tori goes on to find the next frame, Ben studies the sketch. He looks up. “Am I allowed to ask questions or . . .”
    “Please,” I say. “Yes.”
    “Tori,” he says, “I’m just curious. Have you spentmuch time on the water? Sailing, fishing, swimming, anything like that?”
    “No, hardly at all. I mean, my mom and I went to this little cottage once on a lake that was more like a pond, and I’ve spent a few hours at the beach now and then, but I’m not really a beach fan.”
    He smiles warmly. “So you won’t be offended if I correct you?”
    She laughs. “Heck no.”
    Ben nods and holds up her sketch. “Technically, this isn’t what I’d call a ship. It’s a ferry. I wondered that at first when you mentioned all the rows of seating and the glassed-in observation deck.” He points to the vessel drawing. “See how stout and flat it is? Unless the computer stretched the image, I’d say this might even be a car ferry.”
    Sawyer looks at Ben. “Sawyer is impressed,” he says, and glances at me. “Did I do that right?”
    I grin. “Perfect.” I turn to Ben. “Great. So, Ben, have you been on the water much?”
    He scratches his head. “I have.”
    “What’s your experience?”
    “Well,” he says, almost sheepishly, “my family owns a marina. And I’m also a lifeguard.”

Twenty-Eight
    I blink. “Seriously, Ben?”
    “Yep.”
    “I think I’m in love right now.”
    “Me too,” says everybody else in the room.
    Ben laughs it off.
    “No, I’m serious,” I say. “This whole impossible feat just got a little bit easier, thanks to you. I mean, as long as it’s not in an ocean somewhere.” I press my lips together, forgetting that I hadn’t mentioned that little caveat to Tori. If this happens in the ocean and we bail, we don’t save Tori from going insane.
    “My guess is it’s right here in Lake Michigan,” Ben says. “You can’t see across it, so Lake Michigan can very easily look like an ocean, especially in a storm. There weretwenty-foot waves when the remains of Superstorm Sandy pushed through here—remember that one? And that’s not even the record.”
    “What’s the record?” I ask, suddenly curious.
    “Oh, heck, I don’t know. Twenty-three feet, I think.”
    “Ben, I had no idea you were such a geek,” Sawyer says with sincere admiration in his voice.
    “Back off, Sawyer,” Trey mutters as he types frantically on Ben’s computer.
    Tori moves on to the next scene, and the next, and the next, all of which offer no additional clues, though the progression of the drawings of the ferry listing and sinking lower and lower in the water is frightening.
    She goes to the next. “This one I’m really curious about,” she murmurs, adjusting the slide on the screen. “Right around here there are the rocks and a little glimpse of land, I think. If I can only . . . just . . .” She sticks her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she tries to land on the scene just right.
    “There,” she says. She squints at the screen. “In this scene my point of view is from the other side of the ship—I mean, the ferry—as it begins to tip in the water. On the right there’s a splotch of orange and I can see people on it. I think that’s a lifeboat.”
    “Interesting,” I say.
    “And looking over here,” she says, pointing to theother side of the screen, “I see the top of a building.” She looks closer and shakes her head. “I can’t tell for sure, but I think that’s what it is.”
    “Hang on,” Sawyer says,