Pulling my scraggly, tangled hair back, I secured it into a low ponytail using the bandana that was formerly my gag. Then I picked up the rest of my things—my purse, my shoe, and the black strip of fabric that was once my blindfold, and stashed it all behind a rock near the tree line. I was pretty sure no one was going to come along and steal it, but at least it would be safe from the elements. I was about to set off on my search when, on second thought, I took the shoe and the blindfold with me. If I found fresh water I could clean up my cut with the bandana. And if I needed to crack open a coconut or something I could use the heel of the shoe.
Did they even have coconuts around here?
Whatever. I was impressed with myself for even thinking of it.
I took a deep breath and started to walk. I stayed on the sand but kept to the tree line, checking every new bit of vegetation I found for
any kind of apple, berry, or similar sustenance. There seemed to be nothing but leaves. Big, fat fronds and tiny curved buds and scaly-looking yellow things. But all leaves. No fruit anywhere. As I walked, the beach grew slimmer and slimmer, the waves crashing closer to my feet. There was a big outcropping of rocks up ahead, stretching right from the water all the way up to the trees. If I was going to get past it, I would have to climb over. I paused and stood on my toes, trying to see over to the other side, but the wall of rock was just a bit taller than I was. I looked back to my camp. The light blue shirt was the only speck of color on the beach and it was just that—a speck. I had already walked pretty far. I might as well see what this island was all about. Who knew? Maybe on the other side of this rock wall there was a happening Club Med with an open bar and all-you-can-eat barbecue.
My stomach grumbled again. I tied the blindfold around my wrist, gripped my shoe between my teeth, and started to climb. The rocks were wet and slippery, but there were plenty of ledges and cracks to help me on my way. I slipped only once, slamming my elbow into a sharp edge, but the resulting throbbing didn’t even slow me down. I was getting used to pain and bruises. At the top, I pressed my knees into the cold surface and shoved myself to my feet.
There was no Club Med. And this wasn’t just a rock wall. It was a huge expanse of rocky terrain that made up the entire shoreline as far as the eye could see. The waves crashed against the uneven ledge, sending angry spray up toward the sky. A very unfriendly omen. There was no point in moving forward. If I was going to find food or shelter, I was going to have to double back and try the other direction.
Feeling defeated, I turned to make the slow climb back down to the beach. That was when I saw a whole mess of driftwood. It was floating in a wide puddle that had formed in an indentation atop the rock. The wood pieces were smooth and perfectly formed, like they were planks from a doomed skiff or rowboat. I walked over and picked one up. The edges were sharp, but the top and bottom were smooth as silk. I had no idea what I might use it for, but it seemed like it could come in handy.
I dragged the plank to the edge of the rocky steppe, threw it to the sand along with my shoe, then climbed down after it.
On the way back to my little stretch of beach, I walked along the water’s edge. The tide tossed hundreds of shells being tossed forward and back. Every now and then I paused to pick one up and inspect it, then flung it out into the water. I thought of Sawyer and wondered if he and the rest of my friends knew what was going on. Had the kidnappers found Upton? If they had, had he alerted everyone else, or was he trying to keep the whole thing quiet?
Noelle might not be up for another few hours. How long would it be before she realized I was missing and not just squirreled away with Upton somewhere on a romantic rendezvous? Suddenly I remembered her toast from the evening before. How she’d wished I’d have a drama-free year. Apparently that wish was not going to come true.
I felt tears start to well up in my eyes and I swallowed them back. Shells skittered into my feet and ankles as the water rolled in, then skittered away again. I saw a big flat white shell start to dance its way,
end over end, out into the water. When it was thrust back again, I bent down and grabbed it.
One of my favorite books in middle school was
Island of the Blue Dolphins
. In it, an Indian girl named Karana marked her time on a deserted island using a shell and a smooth plank of wood. Maybe that was why I had grabbed this piece of driftwood that was now tucked under my arm. Maybe my subconscious had been thinking about Karana.
I clutched the shell and walked a little ways up the beach. Then I sat down in the sand, took a deep breath, and cut a long, white line into the wood. One morning. My first morning on the island. Hopefully it would be my last.
In a good way, of course.
I sat back on my elbows and watched the water, looking for Upton’s sailboat or Noelle’s father’s cruiser or anything, really. Anything that could save me. When I got off this island and found out who had paid those men to kill me, I was going to make sure they rotted in hell. I would tell my story five thousand times, testify in court, do whatever the hell I had to do to ensure they were locked up for a long, long time. Forever wouldn’t be long enough.
And then I was going to make sure I never took anything for granted again. I was going to graduate from Easton with the highest honors and go to Harvard. I was going to kick ass in college and have fun with friends and take risks and say yes to everything. Except vacations to the Caribbean. That ship had definitely sailed.
And I was going to eat. All the time. I was going to get big and fat
and be full, full, full all the time. I imagined what my first meal back on St. Barths would be. The burgers at Shutters were pretty damn good. That was what I wanted. A burger and fries and a chocolate milk shake. Maybe ten of them.
My stomach growled angrily and I put my hand over my abdomen as if I could somehow soothe it.
Please, just let Upton come for me today,
I thought, looking down at the white line in the plank. Please. I just want to go home.
But he didn’t come. No one did.
The rain came out of nowhere. At least I think it did. I was sleeping on the beach, curled up in a ball at the edge of the tree line, when suddenly I was being pelted with ten thousand zinging, stinging drops of ice-cold water. I woke up, gathered my things in my arms, and stumbled into the jungle in a state of semiconscious, panicked confusion.
The sky was gray, meaning it was morning. My third morning. When I found someplace to settle, I was going to have to carve another line in my plank of wood.
If
I found someplace to settle. Cold water slithered down my back, and I looked around the forest for some kind of shelter. The drops were less fierce under the cover of the trees, but I was still getting soaked. I took a few tentative steps forward, my bare feet crunching over sand and leaves and twigs. The underbrush was so thick and scraggly that I couldn’t even see my feet. It would be so easy to step on something sharp—a shell or a rock. Or worse, some kind
of odd, poisonous bug or snake or spider. The thought sent dread slicing through me and suddenly I was afraid to move. I stood there for a moment, listening to the sound of the driving rain hitting the waxy leaves, wondering what kind of animals might be watching me at this very moment. Might be sizing me up for their breakfast.
I heard a rustle and whirled around. A branch behind me swayed as if something had just leapt off of it. My heart catapulted to my throat. Another rustle sounded, this time to my left. I turned, but didn’t see anything. Something skittered across my foot.
I yelped in terror and jumped about three feet in the air.
Thunder rumbled overhead and the rain came down even harder. I stared helplessly at the trees, tears welling in my eyes. I had two choices. Find a tree to hide out under, or go back out to the beach and be pounded by the elements.
I took a deep breath.
“You’re just imagining things,” I told myself, rounding my shoulders and adjusting my meager belongings in my arms. What was it my father had always told me when I was little and terrified by the spiders in our basement?
“They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”
Right. Anything that was living on this little island was going to be afraid of me. After all, it was pretty clear they didn’t get a lot of human visitors around here. To them I’d be a giant, freakish monster. Hopefully.
There was a blinding flash of lightning followed by a crack of thunder so fierce the ground shook. Just like that, I was on the move.
A few minutes of careful hiking and I came to a small, circular patch of land filled with soft, knee-high plants. The area was surrounded by large trees. One of them had thick, heavily vegetated branches, and the ground beneath it looked dry compared to the mud in which my bare feet were now mired. I ducked under the branches and sat down with my back against the trunk, then let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. It was perfectly dry under the canopy of branches. I wrapped my arms around my shivering self and smiled slightly.
See? I could do this. I could survive.
I lay the plank of wood down on the dirt in front of me. Then I removed my shell from my sopping wet silk clutch.
“I can’t believe this,” I said aloud. “Three mornings. Why am I still here?”
Three mornings without food. Without water. Without anyone to talk to. How much longer could I do this?
“Stop it,” I told myself. “Stop it, now.”
I was not going to start a pity party now. I had just found myself a dry place to wait out the storm. That had to count for something. I dug the shell into the plank and made a third line. I should be proud of the fact that I had made it through the last few days. Proud that I was still here to
draw
these lines. Proud that I—
I heard another rustle. My heart stopped beating. I squinted past the branches of my tree into the gray forest. A crunch. A loud
series
of crunches. Holy crap. The leaves on the plants outside my tree were moving. Something was out there. Hidden beneath the camouflaging leaves of the plant life. And it was coming this way.
I dropped the shell and picked up the plank of wood. Glancing around, I wondered if I should run. But if I did, would it chase me? One glance back at the vegetation and I realized it was too late. The thing was coming on fast, cutting a direct path through the underbrush, right for me. I pressed my back into the rough bark of the tree, pulled my knees up as close to my body as they could get, and wielded the plank like a baseball bat.
I was just going to have to defend myself.
It was three feet away.
Please just don’t let it have sharp teeth.
Two feet.
I don’t think I can do this.
One.
I wanted to close my eyes, but knew I couldn’t. I had to defend myself; there was no one else here to do it.
The underbrush stopped moving. There was a prolonged moment of complete stillness, save for the rain pounding overhead. Maybe I had imagined it all. Maybe there was nothing there. My muscles started to relax.
And then, something flung itself at my feet.
I screamed at the top of my lungs, jumping up and slamming the top of my head into a tree limb. I was going to die. This thing was going to attack me.
I looked down at the ground, my head throbbing angrily, and froze. Looking up at me was a yellowish-green lizard, about the size of a kitten. It stared at me inquisitively with one eye, its head turned
to the side. Its little pink tongue flicked out, then back, then out, then back.
It was actually kind of cute.
But that didn’t mean it wasn’t vicious. Or poisonous. Or even meat eating.
“Um, hi,” I said quietly. “Sorry if I disturbed you, but . . . could you go away now?”
The lizard thing turned its head, looked at me with its other eye for a moment, then skittered off into the forest.
Ever so slowly I sank back down to the ground, my nerves still trembling. I placed my head between my knees, curled my shoulders forward, and laughed. I laughed for what felt like ten minutes. Laughed until my sides hurt and tears were streaming down my face. It was a great release. A necessary release. And when I was done, I was exhausted.
I crossed my arms atop my knees, rested my cheek on them, and looked down at the three white lines on my plank.
“Upton, you’d better show up today,” I said under my breath. “You get one more day. After that, we’re going to have to have some serious conversations about where this relationship is headed.”
Five lines. Five pretty white lines on a dark piece of wood. One, two, three, four, five. Five mornings with no food. Five mornings with no shelter. Five mornings with no sign of Upton Giles, the guy who claimed he loved me.
I had really thought Upton was going to save me. I figured he’d pay the guys off, find out where I was, and swoop in to rescue me. Obviously, that hadn’t happened. So what
had
happened, exactly? Would I ever know? Was I going to die on this stupid fruitless, foodless, waterless island never knowing why?
God, I had turned into a whiner. I was such a whiner I was starting to annoy myself. But then, I had no one else to talk to. And really, if you can’t whine in a situation like this, when
can
you whine?
Why hadn’t I gotten on that commercial flight to Atlanta? Why hadn’t I followed my instincts and fled? Because Noelle and Upton had convinced me to stay. I had allowed two people who clearly didn’t
give two shits about me to keep me here. Here, where I was clearly going to die.
Two shits. That was a funny expression.
The bandana that was formerly my gag was covering my head, two corners tied under my chin to secure it. It was morning, so I had removed the T-shirt that had been serving as a meager blanket at night, and sat at the edge of the tree line in my now tattered and muddy red dress. Last night it had rained again and I had ventured back the woods, looking for my tree, but I hadn’t been able to find it. Instead I had spent way too much time wandering hopelessly in circles, tipping fat leaves toward my lips to drink the tiny, tiny puddles of water that had formed there. My stomach had reacted with anger. Obviously, it had assumed something better was coming, not just a few teaspoons of water. I had retched it all up moments later, my knees pressed into the cold, wet earth, my hands braced on a fallen log.