Nim's Island

by Orr, Wendy

  The tide was going out, and when they’d finished the game Nim lay on her stomach and dug for clams with an old shell, while Selkie and Fred galumphed around the wet sand and Chica watched and nodded.

  When she’d scooped out enough for dinner, Nim made a fire, baked her clams and split the coconut for dessert.

  Fred darted his nose under her arm and nearly got bopped on the head with her coconut-breaking rock. ‘Get out of the way, you greedy dragon!’ she teased, and broke him off a piece.

  Shining there, like a perfect surprise, was a round, creamy pearl.

  Nim stared, not wanting to touch or move it. Jack had told her that sometimes, once in a lifetime or so, a coconut could make a pearl just the same way an oyster did, but Nim had never thought she’d see one.

  Fred finished his own coconut—snapped—and the pearl disappeared.

  And Nim felt as if everything good in her life had disappeared, too, and she knew it wasn’t true and she knew it was silly, but she cried till her shirt was soggy and her breath was hiccupy and the tears didn’t know how to stop.

  Fred sat staring with his mouth full of coconut and pearl.

  Selkie whumped him on the back with her flipper—and chunks of coconut and the pearl flew out of his mouth.

  Nim gave one last hiccup and took the pearl back to the hut.

  It was even more beautiful when it was clean; more wonderful than a shell’s gleaming inside whirls, because it was whole and perfect. ‘A Lucky Pearl,’ Nim whispered, because anything so rare must be lucky, and to be beautiful and rare must be the luckiest of all.

  She put it on a piece of stroked-smooth driftwood in front of her mother’s picture and, since it was nearly sunset now anyway, turned on the laptop.

  The light glowed, the computer hummed, but just as she clicked the email box open, the screen went black. She’d forgotten to charge the battery.

  The pearl didn’t seem so lucky when she couldn’t tell Alex Rover about it.

  THE NEXT MORNING the red lines and the yellow ooze, angrier and pussier than the day before, were back on Nim’s knee. Her body was warm and her head was as fat and floaty as a cloud.

  The solar panel was okay, the laptop battery was charging . . . the other charts and chores didn’t seem to matter. She didn’t feel like breakfast but Selkie fussed until she had a glass of water and a banana.

  Galileo swooped past, chasing a booby bird with a fish in its beak.

  Another letter was sticking out of his band.

  ‘Thank you, Troppo Tourists!’ said Nim, grabbing the paper as Galileo snatched the fish cap from her hand.

  Dear Nim

  Great news! Your fix-it father has got a fixed-up rudder—I’m on my way home!

  Plankton celebrated too—put on a great show last night—AND I discovered a new species of Dinoflagellate protozoan zoo-plankton!

  (It doesn’t look EXACTLY like you but I named it after you anyway.)

  The wind’s against me, but if it doesn’t get worse I’ll be home tomorrow night or the day after.

  Love (as much as big plankton love little plankton),

  Jack

  Nim knew she ought to be happy and ought to write a letter back, but her knee hurt too much to care and she needed advice faster than Galileo could bring it.

  She dozed beside Selkie and, when she was too hot, went back to the hut. The battery was charged.

  Just for a moment she wondered if Alex Rover still wanted to write to her now the rafts were finished, but there was no one else to ask.

  From: jack.rusoe@explorer.net

  To: aka@incognito.net

  Date: Friday 9 April, 10:48

  Dear Alex Rover

  I’m sorry I couldn’t write yesterday because I forgot to do the science stuff so the battery wasn’t strong enough to turn on the email.

  What would your Hero do if he cut his knee when he climbed Fire Mountain and now it has red lines and yellow gunk and his head feels hot and cloudy?

  Also, does your Hero get lonely and miserable when he’s on the island and the Lady Hero is with the Bad Guys? And even if he finds a coconut pearl, it doesn’t seem as pretty because there’s no one to share it with, because Selkie and Fred don’t care about things like that (except when Fred tries to eat it, but that doesn’t count).

  From Nim

  ALEX HAD WOKEN long before daylight with the story dancing in her mind like images from a film. She saw swaying palms and hot, gold sand, a shimmering waterfall and grumbling volcano, clear-blue sea and cloudless sky . . .

  As the sun came up, she looked out at the dawn-grey roofs and railways—and put on the CD, Sea Bird Songs and Dolphin Duets—‘just like being by the sea!’ the blurb claimed.

  ‘Not quite,’ said Alex, turning on the computer.

  She read Nim’s email and she turned quite pale.

  ‘It can’t be true!’ said Alex. ‘A kid can’t be all by herself on an island!’ And she read it again.

  Then she printed out all of Nim’s other emails and read them again, and she looked at the map she’d drawn. She read Nim’s email about climbing Fire Mountain and what the island looked like, and realised that Nim never ever mentioned another person.

  ‘If one true thing has happened in my life,’ said Alex, ‘this is it.’

  From: aka@incognito.net

  To: jack.rusoe@explorer.net

  Date: Friday 9 April, 5:55

  Dear Nim

  If my Hero’s knee was very swollen and sore, he would soak it in the sea and then clean it up with fresh coconut juice and bandage it. Then he’d REST in the shade and drink LOTS of water.

  And if he felt lonely and miserable he’d tell someone—maybe on an email.

  That’s what Girl Heroes on real islands should do, too.

  Are you alone? Where are your parents?

  Do you need help?

  Love, Alex

  Nim read the letter fast and turned off the computer. Her knee still hurt but it didn’t seem as bad now she knew what to do. She took her blue water bottle down to the beach and sat in the shade of a rock with her leg in the water. Selkie sat on one side and worried, and Fred sat on the other side and slept, and Nim sipped her water and dreamed in the middle.

  When she woke up she was stiff and sore, and the sun was going down. ‘I’ve been here all day!’ said Nim, and she didn’t know if Alex Rover’s Hero would have sat there that long, but she liked the way her head felt as if it belonged to her again.

  Then she took a clean hanky from the hut, and punched a hole in a coconut and wiped the yellow pus and slimy muck away from her knee, and now the knee was sore but not hot and fat. And she turned on the laptop and read Alex Rover’s letter again.

  ‘Oh!’ said Nim, and felt pink and happy, because if Alex Rover wanted to come and rescue her then he really must be a Hero, just like the newspaper story said.

  Even if she didn’t need to be rescued.

  From: jack.rusoe@explorer.net

  To: aka@incognito.net

  Date: Friday 9 April, 18:26

  Dear Alex Rover

  My mother went to investigate the contents of a blue whale’s stomach when I was a baby, but some bad guys frightened the whale and she hasn’t been seen since.

  Jack is studying plankton. He went away for three days except his rudder got broken in a storm and so did his satellite dish, but he sent me a message with Galileo the frigate-bird to say he’ll be home soon.

  Soon might be tomorrow or the day after that.

  I’m not alone because Fred and Selkie are here, and so is Chica.

  So I don’t really need help because I washed my knee like you said and it feels a lot better. And I’m happy that you’re really your Hero, because I always knew you were.

  From Nim

  But when she turned off the laptop she didn’t feel quite so bright and brave, so instead of going to bed they all went down to Turtle Beach and sat together till the full moon shone silver on the waves.

  Chica woul
d leave soon to wander the world’s oceans for another year. ‘But you’ll come back next spring, won’t you?’ said Nim, because it was hard to think of Chica leaving too, when Jack wasn’t home yet and Alex didn’t need to rescue her.

  Chica nodded sleepily.

  ‘And maybe then,’ Nim said, ‘Alex will come and meet you, too.’

  ‘IT’S A NIGHTMARE,’ Alex groaned, keying in Travel Agents in the internet search engine. ‘She’s alone on the island and nobody knows about it except me. Me!—who’s been afraid of airplanes and oceans since my uncle whirled me through the air and into a swimming pool!

  ‘I like being in my flat,’ she moaned, clicking Pacific Charter Flights, ‘with my books, my computer, and my imaginary friends. People who live in my head and go away when I put their story away. Places that fit into maps and pictures. Animals that don’t smell or eat or leave hair on the carpet.’

  ‘There’s only one thing to do,’ she said, clicking back to her email.

  From: aka@incognito.net

  To: jack.rusoe@explorer.net

  Date: Friday 9 April, 13:52

  Dear Nim

  All my Heroes are just pretend. Real people aren’t usually as brave—or as strong or smart or lucky—as the Heroes in my stories. Maybe that’s why it’s fun to make them up or read about them.

  Because I’m not tall, dark and handsome; I’m certainly not brave—and I’m not a man.

  But even if I’m not a Hero, and you don’t need rescuing, I’d still love to come and see you, and the island—and, of course, Fred, Selkie and Chica. (What kind of dog is Selkie? I’m guessing that she’s a Saint Bernard, if she weighs more than your father. And Fred’s little—a poodle?)

  Love, Alex

  P.S. My phone number is 155 897 346. What’s yours?

  The letter waited, all the next day, till Nim checked her email again.

  She stared at the screen. She read the letter out loud and the words stayed the same.

  She turned the computer off and ripped out the plug, but the words danced in her head.

  Alex Rover was not a Hero. Alex Rover was a woman, and she wasn’t even brave.

  Outside, the evening was peaceful and still, but inside Nim was a rage hotter than Fire Mountain’s lava and wilder than a whirlpool in a storm.

  She felt angry and cheated, tricked and stupid, lost and lonely, sad and confused—and the feelings were stronger than the words could say. They jostled and shoved, spun, crowded and exploded.

  Her shout rang across the water; birds settling for the night flapped into the sky, and the king roared an answer from Sea Lion Point.

  Selkie, barking worriedly, lolloped across the sand. Fred peered from under his rock.

  Nim was afraid that if she used the laptop she’d punch the keys right through the keyboard. She grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil and marched back outside.

  To Alex Rover

  It was horrible to trick me even if you didn’t mean to, because whenever I was really lonely or scared or bored I thought about what you would do and then I could do it too. Which was stupid if you’re not a Hero, and I wish I’d never done it and I especially wish that I’d never ever wished that you were my father instead of Jack.

  I will never forgive you.

  Goodbye for ever from Nim

  Scrabbling in the dark, she found sticks and branches for a fire and when it was blazing, threw her letter on top so that the smoke would carry it far, far away to wherever Alex Rover lived, and she would smell it and know just how angry Nim was.

  Selkie and Fred crept up beside her. ‘Alex Rover lied to me!’ Nim told them, and threw another stick on the fire.

  Selkie barked low in her chest.

  ‘Well, not exactly lied,’ Nim muttered, and rubbed tears on Selkie’s warm fur, ‘but she’s not a Hero. I thought I knew who Alex Rover was . . . he was my friend and now he’s gone!’

  Selkie grunted comfortingly.

  ‘You won’t change into something else, will you?’ Nim asked, not sure whether she was joking or not. ‘I won’t wake up tomorrow and find out you’re a mermaid?’

  Selkie grunted again, a little louder.

  ‘Alex thinks you’re a Saint Bernard . . . and she thinks Fred is a poodle! She must be crazy!’

  Suddenly she began to giggle.

  ‘She thought you were dogs and I thought she was a Hero!’

  The giggle became a laugh, the laugh became a bellow, and she was rolling over and over on the sand, hiccuping and laughing, or crying, she didn’t know which, until Fred sneezed and Selkie barked to make her stop whichever it was.

  And she knew there was another reason that she’d sent the letter in a way that Alex couldn’t read it.

  So when the sun came up next morning, she turned on the laptop again.

  From: jack.rusoe@explorer.net

  To: aka@incognito.net

  Date: Sunday 11 April, 6:45

  Dear Alex Rover

  Maybe you didn’t try to trick me. I wanted to know someone brave because I’m not.

  I think maybe I accidentally tricked you too. Selkie and Fred aren’t dogs, but you will like them.

  When are you coming?

  From Nim

  From: aka@incognito.net

  To: jack.rusoe@explorer.net

  Date: Sunday 11 April, 1:46

  Dear Nim

  Now.

  Love, Alex

  For two nights and two days Alex had been planning, sorting, packing.

  Her time had switched to island time; she slept when it was night there and got up in the dark to turn on her computer at the island’s dawn.

  She’d refused to think about what she’d do if Nim said no. Because she didn’t quite believe that Nim had stopped being lonely, and she didn’t quite know if Jack would really be home soon.

  And because nothing in her life had ever been this important.

  She packed a first-aid kit, her laptop and mobile phone, two notebooks and two pens, The Swiss Family Robinson and Robinson Crusoe, a toothbrush, hairbrush and soap, two T-shirts, two pairs of shorts, one pair of jeans, one jumper, three sets of underwear and socks, and the map with the island marked with a dot.

  Then she picked up her suitcase and locked the door behind her.

  THE FIRST PLANE was a jet, big and solid, with nearly four hundred passengers and more crew than Alex could count.

  ‘Alex Rover!’ exclaimed the flight attendant. ‘The world-famous adventure writer?’

  ‘I guess so,’ said Alex.

  ‘Come and meet the pilot—he’ll be so excited!’

  ‘You,’ Alex told herself, ‘are a weak-kneed, spineless jellyfish.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ said Alex, and followed her into the cockpit.

  ‘Alex Rover!’ said the pilot, blushing red as a stop light. ‘I always wondered—I mean . . . Would you like to fly the plane?’

  ‘No thanks!’

  ‘Not exciting enough for you?’ and he showed her interesting things about the jet’s instrument panel and engines.

  All Alex could think about was what a very long way down the ground was; then the ground turned to ocean, and that didn’t make her feel happier at all.

  They landed after the sun had set, and when Alex found the little plane that would take her to the island nearest to Nim’s, the pilot said they couldn’t leave until morning.

  ‘I can’t land on that island in the dark,’ he said. ‘I’m not a daredevil like you!’

  ‘I’m not a daredevil,’ Alex wanted to say. ‘I just need to get to Nim’s island right away.’

  In the hotel room the feeling was stronger. She felt like a tiger in a cage, trying to burst free.

  Instead, she checked her email.

  From: jack.rusoe@explorer.net

  To: aka@incognito.net

  Date: Sunday 11 April, 18:28

  Dear Alex

  I can’t believe you’re really coming! How will you get here and how long will it
take?

  I forgot to give you my phone number before. It’s 022 446 579.

  I’ve never talked to anyone before except Jack but I guess it works the same way.

  From Nim

  From: aka@incognito.net

  To: jack.rusoe@explorer.net

  Date: Sunday 11 April, 22:00

  Dear Nim

  Curses, curses! I can’t go any farther tonight, and now it’s too late to phone!

  I’m flying to Sunshine Island at dawn, to meet a boat from the adventure-cruise company Troppo Tourists; they’ve been as friendly as a salesman with a sick car to sell—and have offered to take me right to your island, though I haven’t told them yet where it is.

  Nim, it’s been so much fun writing to you—no matter what happens, I’m glad I tried to come and meet you.

  See you tomorrow!

  Love, Alex

  NIM WOKE UP when it was still dark, excited as Christmas. She switched on the lamp and checked the email.

  ALEX HIT THE alarm clock, and it went on ringing. She reached for her phone.

  ‘They’re the Bad Guys!’ a girl’s voice shouted. ‘Who?’ said Alex. ‘What?’

  And then she realised. ‘The Troppo Tourists?’

  ‘They chased the whale when my mother died. Now they want to bring people to stare at us and bother the animals—and Jack hates them. You can’t bring them here!’

  ‘No,’ said Alex. ‘I think we need to fix them once and for all.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’ve got four hours—I’ll think of something.’

  The strangest thing, Nim thought when she hung up, was that it hadn’t felt strange talking to Alex.

  BY THE TIME the sun was properly up, Alex had showered, dressed, eaten a hotel breakfast and was waiting at the airport, but she still hadn’t thought of how to get to Nim’s island and keep it secret from the Troppo Tourists.