"Why do you know my middle name?" I ask, very confused and somewhat concerned for my personal security. I mean, who knows a man for about ten days and already remembers his personal information? Strange people, that's who.
    "I knew a guy in named Terrence when I was in elementary school," Nick blurts out awkwardly. "He was my best friend. Well, really, he was my only friend. We would sit together on the playground for what felt like hours during recess, talking and laughing, even making our own six-minute-long handshakes. And there was this other kid, too. His name was Julian, and he was a year older than us. We all used to bring our Beyblades to school and play with them in Julian's epic arenas when we had the time at after-school care. It was nice. So, yeah, the name Terrence brings up really good memories for me. As soon as I saw it on your file, I knew I was going to remember it."
    "Umm, okay, Nick. I think that's about enough of that explanation, now-" I stop abruptly as the boat bounces on an especially sharp wave. I twist to the side, trying to see what on earth is going on. It's probably that stupid first mate - I don't even remember his name - trying to pilot the damn ship, again. He doesn't know the first thing about what he's doing, anyway, so it's a wonder Captain Castel is letting him pilot, at all. I know I wouldn't if I were her.
    The test tube rack on the table threatens to tip, and it's only an inch away from falling before I shoot out a hand to catch it. Luckily, I have always been someone with sharp reflexes and a fast reaction time, so I catch the rack. But, unfortunately, I can't stop the test tubes filled with algae water from crashing thunderously to the deck. Well, crap. That's just great.
    The glass instruments hit the hard wood less than a second after they fall. Corners of the tubes spiderweb with cracks, threatening to break. Then, one does. It shatters, sending glass chips out in a glittering arc of diamond rain. Some of the chips embed themselves into my leg as they bounce from the point of contact to my skin. The dark brown flesh is pierced, and hot, angry, bright red blood begins to drip down the side of my calf, but I don't take any action at the moment to clean it. I don't have the time for that; I need to clean this up.
    Nick, simultaneously, gasps in shock and leaps backward, trying not to come into contact with any of the shards. He motions for me to step away, as well, his expression laughably fearful. His eyes were gaping wide and his mouth stretched very thin against his teeth, his lips almost shrinking into themselves.
    "Manny, step back. That stuff is dangerous, don't you know? I mean, look! You're already cut by the glass. Do you need that checked?" His tone actually sounds worried, and I'm not sure whether to be appreciative of this fact or to disregard it in discontentment.
    "Don't worry about it, Nick," I answer quickly. "I'll clean myself up, later. Right now, we need to be worried about the matters that are more pressing, such as my samples that are now prominently displayed across the floor." I bend down to begin picking up the glass chips. They slide into my palm easily, reminding me of snowflakes from my childhood winters in Maryland. They also remind me of my father. He would always take the time to show me things as simple as the first snowfall of the year, or the internal organs of a carp or bass on his boat. Well, my boat, now. The one I'm standing on. God, I miss him. Sometimes, my father was the only one that kept me from completely losing my mind.