THE SUN’S WARMTH KISSED THE boy good morning. He stretched his arms and legs, then yelped as his toe collided with a tree.
“Horrible tree.” He stood and kicked it with his other foot.
Then the warning scurried up from the pit of his stomach: Shadows. Noises. Eyes. He was beside the Green Wall!
Clouds passed over the sun, dropping the beach into shadow. The boy grabbed the blanket and hurried to the center of the sand, grateful the intruding water had now retreated.
The beach looked the same this morning, beautiful but still dangerous.
But the boy knew he was different. He felt buoyant. His fear still stirred within him, but he had survived the night. No monsters had eaten him. And today he would be rescued. He was sure of it.
He had seen that light. He had hope.
He searched for the light again. Above the trees hung a pale blue sky. Wispy clouds drifted silently. Silhouettes of birds waltzed to unsung music. But there was no beam of light.
“That’s okay,” the boy told himself. He had seen it—twice. And he had woken with an assurance rising from deep in his belly that his parents were searching for him. They must’ve sent the light. They’d be here soon and he wouldn’t have to worry about monsters anymore. He wouldn’t even have to worry about finding food, because they’d take him home and give him whatever he wanted.
He knew it. Almost to the bottom of his toes.
One thing bothered him: The light hadn’t stopped when it passed over. If it had seen him, wouldn’t it have stopped? Wouldn’t it have marked the place where his parents could find him?
The bully tapped on his brain. The boy wanted to ignore it. He knew what it was going to say, and he didn’t want to hear the words.
But the bully was persistent.
“No one is coming.”
“Go away,” the boy whispered.
But it didn’t go away. “No one is coming.”
“Go away!” the boy said louder.
But it wouldn’t go away. “No one is coming.”
“GO AWAY!”
An explosion erupted behind him. The boy ducked his head as hundreds of birds filled the sky above. This time he wasn’t so afraid; his heart was filled with too much sorrow from being lost and alone. He watched them through squinting eyes. Beating wings. Screeching voices. They didn’t grow big. They didn’t come close. They didn’t even look at him. They just flitted back and forth, chattering noisily.
What’s that kid doing here? the boy imagined they were saying. Why doesn’t he go home?
Tears blurred his sight, but he pushed them away. He sniffed back the thickness building in his nose. He would not cry.
The bully couldn’t be right. It just couldn’t.
“You know I’m right. No one is coming.”
A sob escaped. The boy couldn’t stop it. But he squashed the rest of the snivels that were right behind.
It had been a day and a half since he’d been born on the beach. Someone would’ve come by now if they knew he was here. Surrounded by sand, trees, and water. With no one close enough to hear him scream. He was small. If they knew where he was, they would’ve protected him. And if they’d seen him with the light, it wouldn’t have left.
He rubbed the tears from his face and stomped his foot, sending tiny flecks of sand into the air.
“Fine!” he said. “Fine! Fine! Fine! Fine! FINE!”
He didn’t want to say, You’re right, but he figured the bully already knew he was thinking it.
“Fine, no one is coming.”
Saying it aloud, even as a whisper, made it real—not just the words, but the frightful dread that had been bubbling quietly in his gut since he had woken up on this deserted beach. Now, no gulping or holding his breath or pinching his thigh could keep it back. The tidal wave welled up inside him. It crashed in his chest, forcing his body onto the sand. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, hoping for any comfort.
He cried.
When all his tears had left him, the boy lay on his side, staring out at the endless ocean. He felt empty, spent.
He rubbed his lip with the edge of his finger. The bully was right. No one was coming. If his parents knew where he was, they wouldn’t have shined a light to find him.
The boy sat up. That’s right! The light. I should go to the light, he thought. That’s where I’ll find my parents. His heart skipped. Yes, that was what he had to do.
But the boy lay back down on the sand, listening to the lapping surf and chirping birds, watching the clouds peer at him as they sailed far above, feeling his stomach clench inside him.
He knew he wasn’t safe on this beach, but if he left, he could be . . .
stuck by the rocks . . .
caught in the trees . . .
dragged down, down, down by the
water . . .
“Coward.”
“I don’t care what you call me.”
“Oh yes, you do. Coward.”
The boy sat up again in protest. “I’m being smart. You don’t just go out on a quest. You have to plan for it.”
“A quest? You’re not a knight. You can’t even get past those rocks.”
A knight. Yes, he needed to be a knight. “If I were a knight, I’d have a suit of armor and I could walk over those rocks with no problem.”
“But you’re not a knight. You don’t even know where you’re going.”
“I’m going to the light. It’s that way.” He pointed, in case the bully didn’t remember. “I’m going to my parents.”
“Ha. For all you know, they’ve already left.”
“They wouldn’t leave without me!”
“The light didn’t find you last night, did it? They probably gave up.”
The boy lay down again. The bully had a point. What if he got to the light and no one was there? There was still a chance that someone could find him here, if he stayed. He had survived the night, after all. He might be able to do it again.
“Yeah, see? If you leave, you won’t know what’s out there. You won’t have anywhere to sleep. Nah, you were right the first time; you should stay here. You’re not a knight. You can’t do it.”
The boy sighed. What was he thinking? Of course he wasn’t a knight. He was small and needed protection.
So why did his heart want him to go?
He pulled the blanket around him and lifted the torn corner to rub his lip for comfort, but a strange pattern on the fabric caught the boy’s eye: a horizontal line, with three shorter lines extending down. It was too precise to be a stain. And its red color was different from any other area of the blanket. Was it a picture of a table, or a three-legged stool? No, that didn’t seem right.
The boy cocked his head, raised the corner up to the sun for a better look. He turned it slowly and gasped. From this side, the picture was clear: E. A big red E in the corner. And now that he looked closer, there were other red lines too, and swirls. Some were faded. Was it an H ? Maybe an N ? What did the marks mean?
Maybe it was a name, the name of whoever owned the blanket. A person on a ship, maybe. Or . . .
His heart danced and he sprang up. “A hotel! The blanket must’ve come from a hotel. With another beach, filled with umbrellas and loungers and sand castles and people. People!”
That was where his parents were, and even if they had given up, the other people would be able to help him get home.
The beach couldn’t be far. The blanket probably followed the coast here, to him.
Hope filled his chest like a balloon. He felt like he could float above the rocks, above the Green Wall of trees.
He wished he could float to the Umbrella Beach.
“No luck for you. You’ll have to walk there, with the rocks, the beast, the water, all the scary things coming—”
The boy stared up the coast. The sand glinted in the sun like a yellow brick road, beckoning him on.
The Umbrella Beach—where the light was, where his parents were—was close. So close. He knew it in his heart. And he knew, hoped, his parents wouldn’t leave without him. They had told him they loved him. They’d sent the light. And maybe they’d sent the blanket, too. He had to try to get to them.
The boy gazed around to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind. He patted his pockets. The scrap of fabric was in its usual place. Other than that, he had nothing else to take.
“You won’t make it. Everything’s scary. You said so yourself.”
The boy tightened the knot of the blanket around his neck. It had protected him during the night. And he thought of the crab, his friend, if only for a few seconds. He had helped the crab. He had been a knight then.
“Not everything’s scary,” the boy said, scrunching up his fear like used paper. “If you’re scared, then you stay. I’m going to the Umbrella Beach.”
He flung the blanket over his shoulders and glanced around for the last time at the sand, water, and trees, this place where he had first woken up—where he had been born. Then, holding his fear deep inside, he strode across the sand. This time no rocks appeared. The path opened up to him like an invitation.
He walked away from all that he knew, onward toward the sun.