Chapter Six

The twelve of us divide into four groups: shelter, roof, sustenance, and fire.

Mama and I volunteer to construct the roof, since the least strenuous way for her to contribute is to sit under the shade and weave together palm fronds. We’re working alongside Bodin and Preston, who will attempt to build a frame for our shelter out of bamboo trees. Kit, Eduardo, and Sylvie are keen to swim in the waters with rudimentary fishing gear (Bodin discovered a few hooks in the coolers). Rae and Lola press deeper into the woods to search for fruit that’s actually edible. Khun Anita and Elizabeth are in charge of gathering kindling and firewood, while Mateo’s certain that he can start a fire with the flint and one of the machetes also included in the gear. He read a book on fire-making once.

“Little weird for the machetes, flint, and hooks to be in the coolers,” I mutter to no one in particular.

Bodin looks up from the bamboo he’s currently hacking with the other machete. “Captain Xander’s lifeboats are always packed with these supplies. In case of an emergency.”

“Okay.” Still seems a little suspicious to me, but I let it go. I should probably just be grateful that we have this equipment.

Bodin returns to his work, while Preston stands over his shoulder, regaling him with instructions. “Hit the bamboo precisely at a forty-five-degree angle. No, not like that. Swing from your shoulder, outward—”

“Done this before, have you?” Bodin asks blandly, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“Not exactly,” Preston says. “But I’ve watched every season of Survivor. Studied the game, like a true student would. Just plop me in the wilderness with nothing but a blade and the clothes on my back, I said in my application video. I’d not only survive. I would thrive.”

“Impressive.” Bodin bites his cheeks as though holding back a smile. “Did the producers call you back for a second round of auditions?”

“No,” Preston says shortly. “They don’t know what they’re missing.” He grabs the machete from Bodin, swings wildly, and nearly falls over.

“Careful!” Mama calls from her spot under the palm trees. “I could stitch you up, but I’d have to use one of the hooks and the fishing line. It wouldn’t be a pleasant experience without any antiseptic.”

“Don’t worry, Pah Moh. I’ll take care of him.” Bodin shoots her a winning smile, one that kinda makes me melt, even though it wasn’t aimed at me.

Preston tosses the machete on the ground and stalks off. So much for Bodin having help with the shelter frame.

Which means I should probably also get to work. I scan the foliage, searching for the most accessible palm fronds.

“Let me help you gather the fronds,” Mama says.

“No. You rest,” I say quickly. “It will only take me a few minutes to gather the first batch of materials, and then, you can start weaving. Easy-peasy…”

“Lemon-squeezy,” Mama finishes, just like I knew she would.

Suitably cheered, I grasp a green stalk and yank. I’ve got this. I can get my part of the job done in ten minutes, tops…but an hour later, I’m still working. The palm fronds are bulkier than I imagined. The leaves slice open my skin as I haul them onto my back. They sure look pretty waving in the wind…but I can’t appreciate their beauty when I’m transporting dozens of them in one-hundred-degree heat.

When I’ve built a small mountain next to Mama, I drop down next to her, swiping an arm across my forehead. Thank goodness I opted for jean shorts and a cute white T-shirt on the yacht. “You’ve gotten so much done,” I say, surveying the thatched roof that’s beginning to take shape. “Should you take a break?”

“I’m fine.” Mama attempts a smile. It’s so pathetic that I can’t even count it toward my tally. Sweat beads along her forehead, and her cheeks are rosy red. She’s withering, fast. But even though she leans back against the palm tree, supporting her weight, her fingers continue to move.

I pick up a finished section of the roof. It’s a bit of a jumbled mess. Holes here and there. And even though I’ll have to lie under this roof at night, I grin. Typical Mama.

I line up my eye with one of the holes. Sure enough, I can see straight through to the other side. “Just look at this craftsmanship,” I exclaim. “Now, this is what they call watertight. No way any rain is getting through this sucker.”

Mama bursts out laughing. “Give me that.” She takes the roof section from me so that she can patch over the hole. “I don’t want you cursing my name when the rain comes.”

I squint at the sky, which has gotten noticeably darker. Either the night is approaching quickly…or the weather’s about to change. “We won’t be here long enough to need a sturdy shelter. Right? I’m thinking we’ll get rescued by the morning, at the latest.”

“We have to prepare for the worst,” Mama says simply and resumes her weaving. Except it’s Mama, not me, and so her fingers move quickly, nimbly. She’ll always be an 80/20 kind of gal, where she puts in 20 percent of the effort and receives 80 percent of the outcome.

I’m pretty much the opposite. I can never let go of those small details that will make a task whole.

I watch Mama work, fascinated by the flash of her fingers. And now that I’m finally still, the thought I’ve been suppressing since I woke up on the sand bubbles to the surface.

“I hoped Papa would be here,” I blurt out.

Mama doesn’t respond right away, her fingers moving in and out of the fronds. “It’s better that he’s not,” she says finally, lifting her head and meeting my eyes.

Worry lurks under her expression, but she covers it up with the steadiness that’s kept me anchored all my life. “You know Papa. He’s not one to sit around. We have to hope that he made it onto one of the other lifeboats. That they made it to safety and that he’s working with the authorities this very minute, trying to rescue us.”

“Do you really think so?” I beg, wanting reassurance that I know she can’t give.

Mama doesn’t speak for a long time.

“It doesn’t do us any good to believe otherwise,” she finally says.

“Hey, Alaia!” Bodin calls out a while later. “Can you help me tie off this frame?” He’s kneeling at the base of the shelter frame that he and Preston have constructed. Although a sulky Preston eventually returned to do some work, he’s disappeared once more.

I relinquish my spot in the shade and crouch next to him. He motions for me to hold the bamboo steady so that he can tie a knot with a sturdy vine. “How is she?” he whispers.

Ah. So, he didn’t need my help after all. He just wanted to check on Mama. Unnecessary—but sweet.

“I’m not sure,” I say. “She’s in good spirits. At least, that’s what she’s projecting. But she’s not the healthy and fit woman she used to be. If I’m exhausted, then she’s likely hanging on by a thread.”

He glances over his shoulder. Mama’s head is resting against the smooth tree trunk, her eyes closed.

“Does she take any medication?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I surreptitiously wipe my sweaty palms against my shorts. “She keeps a stash with her at all times, so she’s good for three days. But once those pills run out…” I chew on my lip, not wanting to entertain the possibility. “The doctors have given her three months to live. Without the pills, she’ll deteriorate fast. And the end…won’t be comfortable.”

It’s the first time I’ve said these words out loud. The first time I’ve discussed Mama’s illness with anyone other than family. Normally, I’m a private person, even with my closest friends. But with Bodin, the words just slip out.

His eyes soften. “Three days. That’s our deadline, then. I’ll do everything in my power to get us out of here before then.”

Warmth rushes through me. Suddenly I feel the urge to make contact with him, to be connected in some way. So, I carefully wedge the hem of my shirt over my skin, and I press both of my hands against his arm. His biceps are reassuringly solid under my symmetrical touch. If I were to touch him with one hand, it would be uneven, out of balance. But with both hands, the touch feels complete.

“Thank you,” I say gratefully.

The moment lengthens. Our eyes lock together, and he leans closer, as though to confess something intimate or…I don’t know, kiss me.

My mind scrambles. We just met. And yet…I want to explore this unfamiliar feeling. Is this it? Am I about to have my first kiss, right here, right now, on this godforsaken island, with the sun beating down on me and Mama twenty feet away, the other castaways liable to pop up at any minute?

I pull back. Two feelings battle inside me. One wants to explore this newfound desire; the other cowers at his touch.

I’m scared. I’m scared of him, of this, of my feelings. I can’t deny there’s something between us, but my OCD tells me to push him away. HE’S NOT SAFE, it blares in huge, capital letters. STAY AWAY.

Bodin eases back, confusion marring his features. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t apologize,” I blurt out. “You don’t have to be sorry around me. This is just the way I am…” I trail off, not sure how to be more specific but desperate to erase the awkwardness from the air.

“Bodin! Alaia!” Sylvie calls from the crystal-clear waters. “Could you come here, please? You need to see something.”

Saved by a girl who is calf-deep in the waves, her limbs long and tanned and toned. With the endless blue expanse behind her and the white sands in front of her, the image could be an ad for any athletic brand.

“Race you to the water,” I blurt out and then take off in a sprint.

My legs stretch; my muscles burn. I pound my anxiety out on the sand and then dive into the sea, submerging myself. The water is cool and refreshing against my overheated skin. More importantly, it’s stunningly clear. I can see for what feels like miles. The soft white sands extend under the waves. No sharp shells or rocks to slice open my feet. No seaweed or debris to tangle in my hair. Just the cleanest, most vibrant turquoise I’ve ever encountered.

When I finally surface, Bodin is standing with Sylvie, Eduardo, and Kit. All four of them frown at me.

“What is it?” I self-consciously wipe my cheeks, my nose. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” Eduardo says with a sigh, averting his eyes. “That’s the problem. There’s nothing there.”

I look from Eduardo to Kit to Sylvie and then back down at the water. Clear, blue.

No debris. No shells. No sign of life.

I suck in my breath. Holy crap. “There are no fish in the water,” I manage to say.

“That’s right,” Sylvie says grimly. “We’ve been searching for over an hour. And there’s no sign of life anywhere.”