by Sara Saedi
“Who’s Hopper?” Wylie asked.
“No one of consequence. Don’t let all that freak you out,” Phinn said. “The fence is just a safety precaution.”
Right. A safety precaution for an entire section of this strange, unknown, mystery island that was apparently off limits. That doesn’t seem ominous at all, Wylie thought. Before she could demand that Phinn elaborate, her eyes landed on a row of bungalows perched in the distance. From where the Daltons were standing, it looked like there were at least a dozen. Phinn gestured toward them.
“And those would be our crash pads. They’re made from wood and bamboo. The roofs are stucco and they keep the rain out.”
Abigail had once told Wylie that her grandparents met each other on a commune in the sixties. It was a farm in upstate New York where a bunch of hippies lived in a barn together without running water or electricity, and they slept on hay. These bungalows were charming and a step above sleeping in a barn, but Wylie worried they were a preview of what was to come.
As Phinn walked faster down the path and they moved twice as fast to keep up with him, she was sure she heard the faint drumbeat of what sounded like a hip-hop song. Eventually she could hear a girl’s voice rhyming over the beat. It was still too distant for Wylie to make out the lyrics, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of song you’d expect a bunch of hippies to have on rotation. Wylie and her brothers looked at each other.
A huge goofy grin took shape on Phinn’s face, and without giving them any warning, he started running toward the music. They practically had to sprint to catch up to him, and as soon as they followed him around a corner, they found themselves standing at the edge of a vast clearing. Wylie’s eyes went wide as the loud drumbeats shook the ground under her feet.
At one side of the clearing lay a lagoon with water the color of turquoise. The surface sparkled so much, it looked like there were a thousand tiny diamonds floating in it. A waterfall spilled perfectly frothy water from a small cliff that stood at least a hundred feet high.
Wylie felt like her head was spinning and her vision was getting blurry. She tried to slow down the adrenaline with quiet breaths, but every direction she turned, there were pockets of teenagers partying as if it were their last day on Earth. A steady line formed at the top of the waterfall as people dived off the cliff and into the water. A small dance circle gathered in the lagoon. The music they’d heard wasn’t a recording: a live band played on a stage near the lagoon and a young girl fronting the group rapped along flawlessly. When she arrived at the hook of the song, every person at the party sang along at the top of their lungs as though it was their national anthem.
All of Wylie’s senses were working overtime as the smell of salt and grilled vegetables lingered in her nose. She looked to her left and spotted two chickens cooking on a spit above a massive fire pit. Not far from the pit was a charming tiki bar, where people sipped drinks out of coconuts and pineapples. It wasn’t until Joshua tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the sky that she noticed a handful of teenagers flying in the air.
This was definitely not your typical high school party. At the get-togethers Wylie attended, there was always at least one drunk girl crying over a guy, or a dramatic lovers’ quarrel bringing everything to a halt, or a few wasted football players letting their ’roid rage take over. This party was tension-free. Happy was too weak a word to describe the teenagers in its midst. Whatever these kids were smoking, Wylie wanted some immediately. There were no signs of any adults, but at this point it was safe to assume they were either very progressive or out of town for an extended vacation.
It took a while for anyone at the party to notice them, but as soon as one person caught a glimpse of Phinn, the band stopped playing. Everyone stood perfectly still, except for the kids in the air who hovered over the lagoon. It was like they’d been caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing. Wylie waited for Phinn to confront them, but instead he simply took a bow, and they all broke into loud cheers, as though they were in the presence of a rock star.
“Phinn’s home!” Wylie heard a guy’s voice shout. An orderly line instantly formed in front of them as various kids greeted him warmly with hugs and high fives, without so much as glancing in the direction of the Daltons. Wylie watched and listened as Phinn enthusiastically said hello to each person like he or she was the only human being in the world who mattered to him.
“Bailey, how’s that ankle? Still swollen?” he asked the girl who’d been rapping onstage. “It definitely hasn’t messed with your stage presence.
“Bandit, I got you the contraband you asked for.” Phinn unzipped a pocket in his knapsack, took out a bag of bite-sized Kit Kats, and tossed it in the air. A kid floating right above the lagoon caught it and shouted an enthusiastic thank-you.
The longer the greetings continued, the more Wylie felt invisible. No one acknowledged their presence or even glanced in their direction. Before she could say anything, a girl dived down from the sky and gracefully landed inches away from Phinn. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist.
Wylie felt her stomach tie up in knots while the girl clung to Phinn tightly and showered his face with kisses. It shouldn’t matter if he had a girlfriend. Nothing romantic had gone on between them in Brooklyn. He’d just conveniently forgotten to mention he was already dating someone before he kidnapped her.
Phinn peeled the girl off him and slowly lowered her to the ground. She had pale pink skin, enormous blue eyes, and a short blonde pixie cut. Her body was tiny and compact, and Wylie couldn’t help noticing how small and perky her breasts were. It was hard not to look at her chest, since she was clearly not wearing a bra underneath her cotton summer dress. She was barefoot and couldn’t have been taller than five feet, which officially made her Wylie’s physical opposite.
“I missed you,” the girl whispered.
“I was only gone for a day,” Phinn responded casually.
“One day too long.” Then the girl turned her attention to Wylie. “Who’s this?” she asked, her eyes taking full inventory. The island went from ignoring the Daltons to staring at them suspiciously. The girl circled around her and sniffed her like a dog.
“She smells awful.” She announced it loudly so everyone could hear. A few people laughed. Wylie’s face turned crimson. She hadn’t showered or brushed her teeth since the day before. She’d been sweating last night from all the dancing and flying. She’d slept on Phinn’s boat, which smelled of mothballs and mold, and then she’d hiked through a trail onto the island. The pixie girl was right. But Wylie didn’t appreciate being publicly humiliated.
Wylie leaned down so her face was level with the girl’s and held up the machete. She inhaled deeply, then confidently exhaled with her mouth wide open right in the girl’s face: morning breath. It was the perfect revenge. The girl nearly gagged as most of the crowd, including Phinn, erupted into laughter. Wylie stood up straight, smiled, and winked at her brothers, who were visibly mortified.
Phinn raised his voice, addressing everyone.
“This is Wylie. And these are her younger brothers, Joshua and Micah. Wylie, this is my friend Tinka.”
He put special emphasis on the word “friend” and Wylie could see the girl, Tinka, bite her lower lip.
“They are our honored guests for the day. I want everyone to treat them the way you would treat anyone who lives here: with love, respect, and everything in between. We’re gonna show them a good time. They’ve been on a really long journey and I dragged them away from some important obligations back home.”
The faces staring back at them seemed to soften with Phinn’s orders. Phinn turned to Wylie.
“I have a few things I need to deal with right now,” he told her. “But I’m leaving you in good hands. Tinka, please do me a favor and give them a tour of the island.”
Tinka rolled her eyes and mumbled something under her breath.
“I mean it. Be nice,” Phinn scolded. He turned back to Wylie and her brothers. “The three of you will be my guests for dinner this evening, and then we’ll discuss the possibility of extending your visit, if you want to—”
“We’re not going to stay longer,” Joshua said, cutting him off. “You’re taking us home.”
Phinn simply shrugged. “I’ll go along with whatever you decide after twenty-four hours. I promise.” Phinn gestured to two people among the crowd. “Maz, Bandit, let’s catch up.”
The two guys obediently followed him as he ventured off. The taller one looked to Wylie like he might be foreign. He had jet-black hair, tan olive skin, and eyelashes that seemed to go on for miles. He smiled warmly at Wylie, and for the first time since they’d arrived at the clearing, she felt welcome. The other guy, Bandit, was the recipient of the bag of contraband. He ripped open a Kit Kat and took a bite as he passed Wylie and her brothers. He had a shaved head and his skin was a deep sepia hue. He was on the shorter side, but his body was muscular and fit. Wylie gave him a smile and he nodded in return.
“I’ll take that off your hands,” he said, glancing at the knife. Wylie dutifully handed it over, though she wasn’t entirely convinced she wouldn’t need it.
“Okay,” Tinka said, “I guess I’m supposed to give you a tour or something.”
Wylie checked to see if her brothers were as appalled by the pixie as she was, but Joshua seemed lost in his own thoughts, and Micah was shuffling his feet and smiling timidly at Tinka. They’d known this girl for five minutes and she’d spent most of that time humiliating Wylie, and now Micah was into her? Wylie gently punched him in the shoulder to get him to snap out of it, but he just glared at her.
“Let’s start where we’re standing, shall we?” Tinka waved her hand around at the clearing and the waterfall like a jaded Vanna White.
“We call this place the Clearing. We don’t get any points on creativity for that one. It’s where we always hang out, party, swim, barbeque, fly. It’s sort of the community area. It’s where you go when you don’t feel like being alone.”
Wylie dipped her hand into the lagoon. The water was so warm and inviting, Wylie had to resist the urge to jump in with her clothes on. She had done a decent job of pretending Tinka’s comments about the way she smelled didn’t faze her, but she was desperate to rinse off all the dirt and grime from her body. Tinka led them to a nearby palm tree with a wooden cupboard built into its trunk. She opened the small door a crack, took out a small chalkboard and a stub of chalk, and drew an X on the board.
“This is where we are now,” she explained. She drew a staircase that led to the bungalows, then gestured to the Daltons to follow her. “Ugh, this is so bridal,” Tinka complained to herself as she led them up the stairs.
The wooden steps were rickety. There were no handrails, so the Daltons had to be careful to keep their balance. Tinka seemed to still have parvaz in her system, because she floated up the staircase. If Wylie could take a stash of tiny blue flowers home with her, maybe she could use them as her secret weapon on the basketball court. She imagined the whole school watching her as she flew in the air and dunked the winning shot in the playoffs.
They stepped onto the deck and walked toward the huts. All the structures on Minor Island had clearly been built to surround the Clearing. On the north side of the deck, where they were now standing, the row of bungalows was numbered one through thirty. Tinka mumbled that the tropical houses were powered by solar panels. Some of them were shared, while some residents lived alone. One bungalow stood larger than the rest. Wylie pointed to it.
“Who lives there?” Wylie asked.
“Who do you think?” Tinka answered.
Tinka dragged them to her bungalow next and reluctantly invited them inside. The interior was not unlike a summer camp bunk or a dorm room. A bed. A desk. A bay window facing the Clearing. The sheets on the bed were tangled up in a heap. The floor was covered with various articles of clothing, but the walls of the bungalow helped detract attention from all the crap on the floor. They were decked out in large vibrant watercolors that were so well done, they could have easily fit in at the Whitney Museum. Most of the paintings were abstracts, along with a few self-portraits. Micah seemed especially drawn to one of the pictures: a painting of Tinka flying in the nude. Awesome, Wylie thought. My little brother’s falling in love with the she-devil, and now they have art in common.
“None of the bungalows have their own bathrooms,” Tinka informed them. “We all use communal restrooms. They’re all built with showers, toilets, and running water. And we do have shower curtains, so if you’re modest, you can keep them closed. Friendly warning: I’m not the modest type,” she added, winking at Micah.
“I have to admit,” Joshua piped up, “I’m really impressed by the infrastructure here.” Wylie stifled a laugh. If Micah got off on naked paintings, then Joshua was hot for efficiency.
“Thank you,” Tinka said. “We give all the credit to Phinn.”
As they made their way around to the south side of the deck, Tinka directed their attention toward the island’s common areas. She drew a series of larger huts on the chalkboard and marked them as the kitchen, dining area, clinic, and a boutique where she told them residents were fitted for custom-made clothing. Joshua asked if the island had its own currency, and Tinka explained that they didn’t believe in money or bartering. Everything on the island came free of charge. Money, she said, was the downfall of every society. Wylie could tell her brother wanted to argue the benefits of capitalism, but it wasn’t easy to debate those points in a place where things like food and lodging came at zero cost.
The Daltons followed Tinka through the hut that contained the dining room, which was surprisingly roomy. Phinn had told them there were only fifty people on the island, but this space could comfortably seat twice that amount. It was filled with long picnic benches decorated with wildflowers in vases carved out of driftwood. The room smelled of oatmeal and cinnamon and had a log-cabin feel. Wylie noticed a poem, hand-printed on parchment paper, hanging off the wall:
Never forget to live life to the fullest.
Do it for the troubled; do it for the lost.
The days may feel shorter; the nights may feel long.
But when we remember, our memories grow strong.
“Who wrote that?” Wylie asked.
“Phinn,” Tinka answered. “He fancies himself a poet.”
“Who are the troubled and the lost?”
“Everyone who doesn’t live here.”
Wylie read the poem again.
“Come on, let’s keep moving,” Tinka whined. “We don’t have all day.”
Tinka walked them through the kitchen, and now it was Wylie’s turn to be impressed. Their brownstone was spacious by New York City standards, but it had a small galley kitchen that wasn’t always easy to maneuver in. The kitchen here was industrial-sized. The appliances were old and shabby, but there was plenty of counter space, an array of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, and a woodburning stove.
A girl stood at the counter, effortlessly gutting a scaly green fish with violet colored fins. She was so focused on the task at hand, she didn’t even notice they’d entered the room.
“This is Lola,” Tinka said.
The girl, startled, dropped her knife on the floor, nearly cutting herself in the process.
“Tinka! Are you trying to kill me?” Lola blurted. “Give me a little warning next time you’re in here. You know I don’t like any distractions when I’m cooking.”
“Take it up with Phinn. He’s the one who told me to give them a tour. Lola’s the chef here. Lola, these are Phinn’s latest souvenirs from New York.”
Wylie gave Lola a smile, but received a tentative one in return.
“I heard there were strangers among us. News spreads fast here. Welcome to my castle. I’d shake you
r hands, but I’m covered in fish guts.”
Lola had golden skin with small freckles covering her cheekbones. Her hair, a deep umber color, was long and tied into a side braid. The Daltons introduced themselves one by one.
“Tinka may have told you already, but we grow all our own vegetables and catch fish and raise chickens. Please tell me none of you has any dietary restrictions for dinner tonight. It’s fine if you do, it’s just that I’ve already planned the menu and might have to throw myself in the woodburning oven. I’m only half kidding.”
“We eat everything,” Wylie assured her, tracing her fingers along the wooden countertops. “This is my dream kitchen, by the way.”
“Do you cook?” Lola asked.
Wylie nodded. “I dabble.”
“Well, if you think the kitchen is tropic, you should see our garden.”
Lola led them through the back doors, and they stepped out into a vast fruit and vegetable garden. There was almost a wider selection here than in the Daltons’ neighborhood grocery store. Wylie spotted basil, thyme, and oregano plants, along with colorful herbs labeled with names she’d never heard of: chipney, pame, and woodmeg. There were cucumbers, glossy red tomatoes, and bushes with every type of berry. The sound of chickens squawking in a nearby coop disrupted the otherwise peaceful setting.
Wylie was officially in heaven. She’d begged her parents to clear out the furniture on their roof-deck to grow a vegetable garden, but they didn’t think it was worth it if all the plants would just die in the winter anyway.
“These are my babies,” Lola said. “Every plant, every vegetable, every root. I love them all.”
“It’s . . . incredible,” Wylie replied. “I don’t know anything about growing a garden.”
“You don’t grow your own food?” Lola asked, confused.
“No, Lola,” Tinka jumped in. “They have grocery stores where they’re from, remember?”
“Right. Such a strange concept. Anyway, I hate to kick you guys out, but I’ve still got fish to prep.”
