by Sara Saedi
“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” Wylie begged. She gestured to Hopper. “Is he holding us hostage?”
The kids erupted with laughter, but Hopper didn’t seem to find the question funny. He shook his head and clenched his jaw. There was so much hair and scruff on his face that he was unrecognizable from his photograph, but Wylie still found herself struck by his eyes. They had a twinkle to them and didn’t look like they belonged to a maniac at all.
“Wylie and I need a few minutes alone together,” Lola said. “If I untie you, will you promise not to do anything stupid? There’s nothing but ocean out there. If you jump overboard, you’ll drown.”
Wylie nodded. Lola gave a look to Hopper. “You can untie her.”
“Are you sure?” Hopper asked. “She’s got a hell of a left hook. My jaw is still killing me.”
“I’m sure.”
Hopper used a knife to cut through the rope, freeing Wylie’s wrists.
“Put your arm around me,” he said.
Wylie did as she was told and Hopper helped prop her up to her feet. Every joint was sore from the hours of swimming, but she managed to stay upright. The lost kids backed off as Lola and Hopper moved Wylie down a staircase and into the cabin of the boat. The room, much too cramped for more than a dozen people to share, was filled with sleeping bags.
“We usually sleep seven down here and seven up top. We trade off so no one has to freeze their butts off every night,” Lola explained.
Hopper left to give them privacy, as Wylie slowly changed out of her wet clothes and wrapped herself in a blanket. After wearing the same outfit for four days straight, she dreaded getting dressed again once her clothes were dry. After Wylie was covered up, Hopper returned with a mug of hot soup.
“It’s from a can,” he said apologetically.
“It’s okay,” Wylie replied. “Anything will taste good right now.”
The steam from the soup curled its way up to the ceiling. She quietly blew on it, keeping her eyes glued on Lola as they sat on the sleeping bags.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” Wylie said.
“I wish I could have told you I was okay,” Lola replied, looking down at her hands. “Maz . . . how is he?”
“Not good,” Wylie admitted.
Lola nodded but didn’t say a word. Hopper gently scratched the top of her head with his good hand.
“You’re not the one to blame for his pain,” he assured her, but she started to cry anyway. He used a towel to wipe the tears rolling down her cheeks.
Wylie had a long list of questions, but right now Lola seemed too fragile to answer them. So she decided to spill her guts first. As she listened to herself speak, it felt as though she was relaying the details of someone else’s life. Just your typical, run-of-the-mill love story: Boy meets girl. Boy takes girl to a mystery island. Boy turns out to have a lifelong vendetta against girl’s father. Boy holds girl captive. Boy loses girl. Lola’s face didn’t register shock when Wylie revealed her dad’s true identity. Maybe she had learned the truth already.
“I don’t know what happened to my brothers,” Wylie said. “Maybe they got away, or maybe Phinn’s holding them hostage again.”
“Don’t worry about that now. You’re safe here. Phinn can’t get to you,” Lola said.
I don’t care about Phinn, Wylie wanted to snap back. I just want my brothers to be okay. But it wasn’t Lola’s fault they were safe on this boat while Micah and Joshua were somewhere else, possibly in danger. There was no sense in making her feel guilty when she’d endured her own share of traumatic events these past few weeks.
“How did you end up here? Everyone thinks you were kidnapped by Hopper,” Wylie said. “But I was never convinced.”
“Smart girl,” Hopper mumbled, a wry smile on his face.
“I knew Phinn would blame him,” Lola said. “Just like he blamed him for everything else. Prom, for example. Hopper didn’t have anything to do with that. It was just Phinn trying to keep us afraid.” She stood up and moved around the tiny cabin, tidying up the piles of towels and clothing that were crumpled up in every corner.
“Sweet Honey Stew,” Lola continued. “That’s how I discovered Phinn’s secret. You said that day your dad had taught you how to make it. Well, it was a dish my tribe used to cook. It was Gregory’s favorite. I would whip it up for him in secret sometimes, because Phinn was never fond of it.”
“What happened when you left the garden?” Wylie asked, even though she dreaded the answer.
“I went to find Phinn. I tracked him down to the docks fixing one of the boats. ‘They’re Gregory’s kids, aren’t they?’ I asked as soon as I saw him. He denied it the whole time, but I didn’t believe him. I said that I would tell you, I would tell everyone. That the entire island would know that he was nothing but a liar and a manipulator. And he . . .” Lola trailed off, seemingly haunted by what had happened next.
“He gagged her and tied her up,” Hopper said matter-of-factly. “And then he set sail and put her on a dinghy in the middle of the ocean.”
Lola managed a wan smile. “He said it wouldn’t seem right to let me drown, so he left my fate to the ocean. At least I managed to bite him before he got the gag all the way on.”
“She’d been drifting in the water a few hours when we found her,” Hopper went on.
“Hopper saved my life,” Lola explained. “Just like he saved yours.”
Wylie thought back to that day. She had left the kitchen and found Phinn in the clinic getting bandaged—he’d said it was a cut, but it must have been the wound from Lola’s bite. She’d packed them a picnic basket and they’d gone out to the beach together. They waded out into the ocean and she gave him a swimming lesson. The entire time, he knew how he’d spent his afternoon. He’d left her best friend to die and he’d let Wylie grovel and apologize to him for putting a few measly nails in the floorboards.
“You’re not a bad person, are you?” Wylie said to Hopper.
“I guess it depends who you ask,” he replied.
“Tell her,” Lola urged. “Tell her what we all did to you.”
“I don’t much like to relive it,” Hopper said. He took a scroll from his back pocket and handed it to Wylie. “And anyway, I’m better on paper.”
Wylie unrolled it and began to read.
Prison changed me. Prison changes lots of people. I’m not unique in that way. In fact, I was one of the lucky ones. Most people go to jail and mourn the seconds and hours and days that pass them by. Some are locked up in their youth and don’t get their freedom back until they’re old and gray, but I was held prisoner on an island where no one ages. Even if I had been in captivity for decades, I wouldn’t have looked a day over seventeen upon my release. I got off easy. I lost a few fingers, some of my sanity, and a lot of my dignity, but technically, I didn’t lose a day of my life. That’s the silver lining when you’re doing time in a place where “time” doesn’t exist. Now that I’m gone, I know there are theories and stories about what exactly happened to me. I know there are people out there terrified of me. I could go down in history as the bad guy. But even if I’m the only one who ever reads this, at least I’ll feel like I’ve had a chance to tell my story.
I was lonely and vulnerable when Phinn found me. I was unloved. I had no parents or siblings or family. All my childhood, I’d been shuffled from one foster home to another. I don’t blame myself for buying the bill of goods Phinn sold me. Why wouldn’t someone like me want to go to an island where no one grows old and where parents don’t exist? Minor Island was everything I thought it would be and more. I spent my days taking parvaz and flying above the palm trees. I ate better than I’d ever eaten before in my life. I had a roommate named Maz who was more generous than any foster family I’d ever lived with. I’d brought my guitar from the mainland and spent my evenings serenading all the night owls i
n the Clearing. They even threw me a party in my honor to welcome me to the island. The early days were some of the best days of my life.
Maybe if I didn’t have such a problem with authority, it would have lasted longer. Phinn was charming and funny. He was the kind of person who made you feel better about yourself, simply because he chose to associate with you. But pretty soon I realized we weren’t just there to be Phinn’s friends. We were there to be his disciples. He wasn’t just some kid running the island. He was a god and we were supposed to treat him as such. I don’t do well with hero worship. I didn’t like that there were rules and laws we had to follow, but that those same rules didn’t seem to apply to Phinn. Back home, I was always suspicious of the government, but all I wanted now was some sort of democracy. A chance to vote on decisions and maybe even give someone else a shot at running the island. The more I talked to other residents, the more it seemed like they felt the same way. They had me fooled.
Phinn and a few of his cohorts grabbed me in my bungalow in the dead of night. I was guilty of treason, they told me. They dragged me out of my room and I assumed I would be taken to a boat and sent back to the mainland. According to the Minor Island handbook, exile was the punishment for treason. But that’s not where they took me. I was brought to a secluded part of the island, swallowed up by the jungle. I’d been told these parts were prone to quicksand. My heart began to race as I became convinced they were going to let me sink to my death. But that would have been too easy. I spotted a lone cage. They threw me inside, handcuffed me, and locked me in. I’d gotten into a lot of trouble on the mainland, but I’d never once been arrested for anything. Now I was in solitary confinement.
I’m not sure exactly how much time passed or how long I was there. Months, I think. It’s hard to say. I suppose I should have been flattered to be the first recruit to warrant his very own prison cell. I was a trendsetter. Before long, other cages popped up with other prisoners. Some were accused of sympathizing with me. Some were just tossed in for disrespecting Phinn. I feel guilty admitting it, but I was desperate for the company. The worst day in prison was when I lost my fingers. Phinn knew playing guitar was my only form of therapy and he wanted to take it away from me. It could have been worse. It could have been my entire hand. It was Tinka who did the deed. If she hadn’t been so nervous, it would have been swift and relatively painless. Instead, it took a while. The things we do for love. I hope he at least let her stay in his bungalow that night.
And then one day, they let me go. They waited until I was mentally, emotionally, and physically shattered. At the time, I wasn’t sure why Phinn didn’t take me out in the middle of the Clearing and just have me hanged in front of everyone. Now I know. I was much more useful to him alive. If he could keep everyone terrified that I might come back and exact my revenge, then they’d depend on him even more. Or maybe he was just too much of a chicken to actually kill me. Instead, he took me out on his boat and sent me off on a raft in the middle of the ocean with enough water to last me a few days.
It was a miracle I survived. All thanks to William and Margaret Regel, a retired couple who’d always dreamed of living out the rest of their days together on a sailboat. They were a week into their new life when they found me. I was skin and bones, I could barely speak, I was afraid of everything and everyone. They took me back to the mainland, made sure I got the medical attention I needed, and even gave me a little bit of money. I had no place to live, and William offered me one of his old boats that was taking up space in the Connecticut harbor. One day, I’ll bring them to the island as a show of my gratitude. It was Margaret who encouraged me to write down my story, even though the version I had told her was a complete lie.
If you’re reading this, I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I want you to join me. I have a plan. I’m going to exact revenge on my captor. I’m going to take away everything that means anything to him. I’m going to take his land and put him behind bars and do everything to him that he did to me. I will stock up on supplies and weapons. I will take William’s boat and I will go back to the island. I will wait patiently. There’s enough room on this boat for Charlotte and Sebastian and Jersey and everyone Phinn has locked up. I’ll make it look like a kidnapping. Phinn will use it to his advantage, I’m certain of that. He will make everyone think I might come back again and kidnap more people. And while he keeps them all terrified, he’ll give us time to prepare.
We will take back the island. And we will make Phinn suffer.
There were fourteen signatures at the bottom of the paper. Hopper’s and all the lost kids in faded ink, and then Lola’s name, more visible than the others.
“I’m sorry for what you’ve been through,” Wylie said.
“I’m not looking for your pity,” Hopper replied.
Wylie didn’t know what else to say. She did pity him. She couldn’t help it. But she could tell Hopper pitied her, too. The judgment in his gaze made her feel small and foolish, but then again, weren’t they all guilty of falling in love with Phinn?
“We can’t take you home, Wylie,” Lola told her.
“I could never go home without my brothers,” Wylie replied.
“Good, because you’re going to help us take Phinn down.” Wylie had never heard this tone in Lola’s voice before. This was no longer the same girl who loved tending to her garden and daydreaming about life on the mainland. Phinn had left that girl in the ocean.
“I just want to get my brothers and go home.”
“That’s awfully selfish,” Hopper said.
“I don’t think you understand, Wylie,” Lola interjected. “You are Phinn’s biggest weakness. You’re his Achilles heel. We’re outnumbered. Yesterday, we didn’t think we could beat him. Today we have a secret weapon. Today we have you.”
Hopper handed Wylie a pen. “What do you say?” he asked. “Will you help us give that bastard everything he’s got coming to him?”
The boat creaked loudly. Wylie could hear the pounding of feet from the deck. It sounded like the lost kids were jogging in place or doing jumping jacks. She unrolled Hopper’s manifesto and read through all their signatures:
Hopper, Sebastian, Charlotte, Fiona, Jersey, Danny, Elizabeth, Kia, Benjamin, Zoe, Riley, Grace, Thomas, Lola.
The light switch was still on. The one her mom had warned her about that day on the fire escape. Even after all the terrible things Phinn had done, she wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to turn it off completely.
Welcome to adulthood, Wylie thought.
“How soon would we go back?” she asked.
“As soon as we’re ready,” Lola replied. “You’ll have to be patient.”
Wylie pressed the tip of the pen against the paper and signed her name. Lola gave her a satisfied smile. Waiting out their return would be long and excruciating, but Wylie knew it would be worth it in the end. And until they turned the boat around and sailed back in the direction of the island, there were three lines from Hopper’s manifesto Wylie would hold in her memory:
I’m going to exact revenge on my captor. I’m going to take away everything that means anything to him. I’m going to take his land and put him behind bars and do everything to him that he did to me.
Wylie would keep repeating those words in her head until she meant them.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
No disrespect to any of the other pages in this book, but the below is the most important thing I’ve ever had to write. There are so many people to thank who made this novel possible. Friendly warning, it’s about to get super warm and fuzzy.
A huge thank-you to Tom Jacobson for being the first person to suggest I write this idea as a novel. You shepherded this project from day one and helped me with it every step of the way. None of this would have been possible without you. You have been a wonderful mentor to me and I’m eternally grateful.
A very special thank-you to Jessica Regel at Foundry Litera
ry & Media for taking a first-time novelist under her wing when I’d only written a few chapters of this book. You held my hand through this entire process and I could not have finished the book without you. Your ideas, advice, and encouragement were invaluable. You are a real-life fairy godmother and it’s an honor to work with you.
I hit the editor jackpot with Kendra Levin at Viking Children’s Books. Kendra, you were a true partner and collaborator throughout every stage of this novel. Thank you for all of your insightful notes and ideas. Most of all, thank you for your patience and all the phone hours you spent helping me refine and revise this story. You gave me perspective when I had none. You are a gem of a person. Thank you to everyone else at Viking who helped make this dream a reality.
A special thank-you to Blye Faust and Wendy Rhoads for being early supporters of this book and early supporters of my career. You are among the first people to believe in me as a writer. Thank you for everything you’ve taught me.
To Eric Brooks, thank you for all of the career (and legal) advice throughout the years. You’ve been a calm and supportive presence at every crossroad. To Dana Spector for believing in this project and for your patience as it underwent months of rewrites. Thank you as well to Lynn Fimberg, Matt Ochacher, Michael Pelmont, and David Rubin for the endless support and guidance. I am very lucky to be working with all of you.
To Nathan Zolezzi and Michael Grant for the early reads and the very generous and helpful feedback.
To Susan Levine for #1 Listening and #2 Years of advice.
To Georgi Schafer, Edward Schafer, Jennifer and Chris Krisiewicz. I’m so lucky to call you my family. Thank you for all of your love and support.
They say it takes a village and I agree if that village equals a really good group of girlfriends. A special shout-out to my besties Alison Asaro and Kayoko Akabori for celebrating the victories with me along the way and for all the pep talks in between.
