Chapter Eleven

Only when Xander leaves us, the dense mass of trees swallowing him whole, do I notice that the food’s gone. The buffet table, along with its bounty, has disappeared, leaving only an indentation in the sand. Not a grain of rice. Not a crumb of naan. No lingering skewer or fruit pit. Even the tablecloth—which we could have used as a tarp—is no longer here.

I was so distracted by Xander’s revelations that I didn’t even see the employees with the weird, misshapen hoods packing up the buffet.

“I should’ve eaten more,” Lola mutters. “I only had half of a club sandwich.”

Elizabeth shakes her head, as though disgusted with herself. “I should’ve scavenged the buffet for ingredients. I could’ve put together several nice meals for us.”

At least I wasn’t the only oblivious one. But my heart still sinks at the missed opportunity to pack away some food. Who knows when we’ll eat next?

“Looks like I was the only one with the right idea of stuffing myself silly.” Preston grins broadly, showing us his teeth, which have a glistening bit of pork stuck in them.

I shade my eyes, scanning the shadowy forests and the stretch of beach for a glint of silver. “There!” I point down a well-trodden path that disappears into the broad-leafed canopy. “That’s one of Xander’s employees.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Sylvie shouts. “Come on, Kit. Let’s find out where they’re going.”

The two athletes sprint after the employee, their long legs quickly eating up the distance.

I’m not a runner—never have been—but I’m not about to sit at camp, doing nothing, when escape could be within our reach. So, I dash after them, too. Bodin, Lola, Rae, and Mateo apparently have the same idea, and the group of us barrel down the path, forced to run single file.

Quiet, we are not. The lone employee must’ve heard us the moment we started the chase. Certainly, any wildlife that lives in these woods would be on high alert. But no birds squawk in the bushes. No small creature rustles in the trees. No bigger animal lunges out to attack us, thank goodness for that.

Looks like both sea and forest animals are conspicuously absent from Xander’s island.

The trees grow denser as we run, the bushes thicker. Pretty soon, the leaves flirt and even touch over our heads, filtering the sun so that it dapples our skin with blotches and streaks. The ground grows more moist as well. Instead of the dry and cracked dirt that met the sand, the earth here has had plenty to drink. It pulls down on my sneakers so that each of my steps is accompanied by a wet plop.

We’ve only run about a mile, judging from the same amount of huffing and puffing I do as when I’m in gym class, when we catch up with Sylvie and Kit, neither of whom has broken a sweat.

They stand in a flat clearing, devoid of any trees. Stranger still, they’re staring up at a wall. A literal wall in the mountain, rising at a ninety-degree angle. The rock facade is so smooth it has no hand or foot holes whatsoever, and it runs as far as I can see in either direction.

One thing’s clear: we’re not going to be able to scale this wall—not even Sylvie, our rock-climbing champion.

“I don’t get it,” she says, frustration saturating each syllable. “Where did they go?”

“We were only a few yards behind them, bro,” Kit adds. His deep voice is always a shock, in the few times he chooses to speak. “I saw the guard’s back, bro. And then, an instant later, poof! They just disappeared.”

“Bro.” Sylvie can’t quite muster up a smile, even though it’s clear she’s teasing Kit.

Lola screeches to a halt, the last one of us to arrive. “This is the worst.” She bends over, grasping her knees. “I’m so out of shape.”

She coughs up two worms, which she spits to the side. Mateo rubs small, comforting circles on her back.

I can’t resist a peek at Bodin, to see if he notices that I’m also exhausted. I, too, could use some comforting—sans the touch.

But he’s too busy running his hands across the burnished red stone. “It’s like someone sanded down and polished this portion of the mountain,” he muses. “It can’t be natural.”

“What are you suggesting?” Sylvie demands. “That some evil scientist plunked us down on this island, demanded that we play his game, and then spent gazillions of dollars sanding down a mountain in order to trap us on our little beach?”

“It’s possible.” Bodin pushes against the vertical wall. “Rock solid,” he says, shaking his head. “Rae? Any folktales that might explain this?”

Rae, too, is huffing at the air. Her tight black jeans have to be hotter and more constricting than my jean shorts or Lola’s sundress. But she’s no stranger to pain, as evidenced by her tattooed arm sleeves. And so, she gamely scans the ground, searching for something.

“A-ha,” she mutters, approaching a haphazard pile of rocks. Shifting the rocks aside, she picks up a leaf, long, thin, and green. “I found it.”

“That’s the leaf of a palm,” I say, not understanding. “Arranged together, they form a fan around the stalk. I should know.” I hold up my sliced-up hands. “I only gathered a million of them to build our roof yesterday.”

Rae shakes her head impatiently. “This leaf’s different. You see, there’s a folktale about Muang Laplae, which is a legendary hidden city that can be found only by chance. The only way to access the cave on the other side of the solid mountain wall is to use a magic leaf as a key.” She twirls the leaf in her fingers. “Just like this one.”

She strides to the wall and begins to poke the tip of the leaf into various crevices.

We wait, with pent-up breaths and utter silence…

…and nothing happens.

Rae frowns. “It’s not working.”

“Well, of course it’s not working,” Lola bursts out. “Muang Laplae is a freaking fantasy, not a user manual.”

Mateo adjusts his glasses. “Even if Xander is telling the truth, which seems unlikely, the special abilities apply to us, right? Not our physical surroundings?”

“I don’t know,” Rae admits. “The folktales concern both.”

“I’m pretty sure Xander said magical island,” Bodin says.

“Me, too,” Sylvie chimes in.

Kit, the boy of few words other than bro, merely nods.

I, however, am still hung up on Mateo’s phrasing. “What do you mean, unlikely? You think this whole island is what—some sort of simulation?”

“Not exactly.” Mateo rubs his neck. “I mean, the scent of curry, the Buddha’s footprint that Lola told me about. They could be manufactured. Even this ridiculous barrier.” He nods toward the rock wall. “Like Sylvie said, it would cost a ton of money. And yet, it could be made.”

His tone is even and measured, his thought process logical. Finally. Someone I can relate to in the whirlwind of chaos of my other fellow castaways.

“But how would Xander manufacture Lola’s flowers and worms?” Mateo asks. “I’ve, uh, examined her mouth.” His cheeks redden, and Lola, all of a sudden, appears fascinated by the clumps of dirt on the ground.

I blink. Could they have actually kissed? Already? My mind goes straight to hygiene. I have a small tube of toothpaste in my backpack. But do they?

“There’s nothing inside her mouth,” he continues. “That is, until she says something positive or negative. So, yeah, I believe Xander about some of it. Just not all of it.”

Rae gives him the side-eye. “You and I need to have a talk. Later.”

“Oh my god, Rae,” Lola groans. “Could you please stop being yourself for two seconds?”

Rae ignores her sister. “So, you’re saying this wall isn’t actually the entrance to Muang Laplae, and I can’t open it by sticking this leaf into various cracks?”

“It’s unlikely,” Mateo repeats. Gotta give the guy credit. Although his cheeks are still flushed, he’s standing his ground. “My brain just isn’t computing that scenario.”

Rae looks at each of us. “Does everyone agree?”

Slowly, we all raise our hands, even Kit—although that might’ve just been a one-handed shot.

“It’s settled, then,” Rae says grimly. “We are trapped on this island by an eccentric gazillionaire.”