Lost: The Novels

by Catherine Hapka

  “A legacy?” Dexter repeated uncertainly. “What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of a legacy? It means your parents or grandparents or whatever went to this school, which means you have a much better chance of getting in. Some people think it means they have to let you in, but that’s not really true.” She rolled her eyes. “Although, since my father’s name is on the new business library, it can be hard to convince some people that I was accepted on my own merits.”

  “Really?” Dexter shot her a quick glance, not sure if she was joking.

  But her face was serious. “Yeah,” she said. “He donated the money to renovate it a few years ago.” She shook her head, making her blond hair fall into her eyes. “But enough about me. What’s your family like, Dexter? Did any of your relatives go to school here or donate any buildings or anything?”

  He hesitated. She had been so open with him so far that he felt bad about hiding the truth about himself. But how could he do anything else? If she found out what he really was, that his SuperDexter exterior hid a penniless nerd, there was no way a beautiful, classy, wealthy girl like her would want to hang out with him. Besides, if word got around, that would be the end of SuperDexter for good. He would be just another charity case, like the kid on his hall who was working three jobs to stretch his financial aid package.

  “Nope, no legacy here,” he said at last, kicking aimlessly at a pebble on the path. “My parents both went to Princeton. They just about wrote me out of the will when they heard I wanted to come here instead.” His laughter sounded amazingly normal even to himself. “Actually, I’m kidding. They’re cool with it.”

  “What do they do?” Daisy asked. “And where do they live?”

  “They’re both lawyers in—in New York City.” Dexter felt a twinge of uneasiness as yet another lie slipped out. How was he going to carry off that particular whopper? He had never been to New York City in his life. “Um—but I went to boarding school, so my home is, um, Connecticut,” he added quickly. Daisy had mentioned earlier that her family was in Virginia, so he figured that was a safe choice.

  “Really? What school?” Daisy asked with interest. Before Dexter could panic, she added, “Choate? Hotchkiss?”

  “Yeah,” he blurted out, relieved. “Um, I mean, the second one—Hotchkiss.”

  “Oh, okay. I know tons of people from Choate, but only one guy who went to Hotchkiss. He worked for my father—he’d be at least four or five years ahead of you,” she said. “You probably don’t know him—Jackson Halloway?”

  Dexter shook his head. “Never heard of him,” he said truthfully.

  She asked him a few more questions about himself after that and he managed to answer all of them without slipping up. In fact, he was a little surprised at how easily the stories slipped off his tongue…not to mention how easily she believed them.

  His Aunt Paula would have said that was because most people were born suckers. But Dexter preferred to think of it in a different way. Maybe his newly invented version of himself was so successful so far because that was who he was truly meant to be. If he could believe in SuperDexter, he could become him.

  He smiled to himself as they reached the coffee shop and he held the door for Daisy to step inside. Yes, he liked that theory. He liked it a lot.

  9

  DEXTER WAS SITTING ON a piece of wreckage chatting with Scott and his buddy, Steve, when there was a shout from the edge of the jungle. “They’re back!” cried an older man Dexter didn’t know, waving his arms. “They’re back!”

  “Who’s back?” Dexter wondered, squinting in that direction.

  “Must be the transceiver patrol,” Steve said.

  Scott stood up for a better look. “Guess that means whatever’s out there didn’t get ’em after all.” He glanced at Dexter. “Steve wanted to take bets on how many of them actually made it back in one piece.”

  All around them, people were murmuring and staring and hurrying closer for a better look. Hurley wandered over, his arms full of water bottles. “Dudes,” he greeted Dexter and the others. “What’s all the commotion about?”

  “Sounds like the transceiver hikers are back,” Scott told him. “You know, Sayid and Kate and the rest. Someone just saw them coming this way.”

  “No way.” Hurley stared wide-eyed toward the jungle’s edge. “Dude, I thought those guys were goners when they didn’t come back last night.”

  “Me, too,” Steve said.

  Dexter stood and stretched, keeping his gaze trained on the edge of the woods. A moment later, six figures appeared there, including the blonde he’d mistaken for Daisy along with the auburn-haired woman, the young guy named Boone, and three other men. They all looked tired and sweaty but otherwise fine.

  Hurley let out a loud gasp. “Yo, it’s true!” he shouted. “They’re back! Hey, someone should tell Jack!”

  Apparently deciding he should be the one to do that, he dropped the bottles he was holding in the sand and took off across the beach. Meanwhile Steve and Scott rushed forward with the rest of the onlookers to greet the six. Dexter trailed along behind them, absentmindedly rubbing his scar. Several people had told him about the group that had gone hiking up the mountain in search of a signal for the transceiver someone had found in the broken plane’s cockpit, and he had already figured out that it must have been that same group he’d interrupted shortly after awakening the day before. As he watched the blond girl—Shannon, one of her companions had called her—he felt a flush of embarrassment at the way he’d grabbed her, thinking she was Daisy. Now that he got a better look at her, he realized it was no wonder he’d made that mistake. She really did look a lot like his girlfriend, though she appeared to be a few years older.

  “Attention, everyone!” The man at the head of the returning group, a handsome, dark-skinned Middle Eastern type, looked around at the gathering crowd. “We’ll tell you all about the trip in just a moment. Let’s gather over there so everyone can hear.”

  He pointed to a central spot and marched toward it. Most of the others followed. As Shannon walked past Dexter, she did a double take.

  “Hey,” she said, pushing back a lock of hair that the breeze was blowing into her face. “It’s that guy who assaulted me yesterday.”

  Dexter smiled weakly. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

  The dark-haired young guy, Boone, stopped too. He glanced from Shannon to Dexter and back again. “Look, don’t start giving some poor innocent guy a hard time just because you’re in a bad mood, Shannon.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Get a sense of humor, Boone,” she snapped. “I was just kidding around. You knew that, right?” She turned to gaze at Dexter with a winning little smile.

  “Yeah, sure.” Dexter shrugged. “No biggie. I’m Dexter, by the way. And I really am sorry for grabbing you like that. I thought you were my girlfriend.”

  “Oh yeah?” Shannon’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Thought I was your girl, hmm? I’ve heard that one before.”

  Dexter blushed. “No!” he said. “My girlfriend Daisy. You—you look a lot like her.”

  “Don’t let her get to you, man,” Boone said with a sigh. “If there’s one thing my sister loves, it’s teasing men.”

  “Your sister?” For some reason Dexter had assumed the two of them were a couple. But now that he thought about it, siblings made much more sense. They certainly bickered like brother and sister.

  “Yeah. Lucky me, huh?” Boone rolled his eyes as Shannon smacked him on the arm. Then he glanced up the beach. “Come on, we’d better go—Sayid’s getting ready to speak.”

  Dexter trailed along after them as they hurried toward the crowd gathering around the dark-haired Middle-Eastern guy, Sayid. Even though the two of them were clearly in the middle of some kind of spat, he liked them both already. Maybe it was because Shannon looked so much like Daisy. Or maybe it was because Boone, despite being a few years older, reminded him of his own college buddies. Either way, he was gla
d they’d turned up.

  Dexter sped up when he realized Sayid was already speaking. People were still running from all directions to join the small group surrounding him.

  “As you and the others know,” Sayid announced, “we hiked up the mountain in an attempt to help the rescue team locate us. The transceiver failed to pick up a signal. We weren’t able to send out a call for help.”

  There was a faint murmur of disappointment from the group. Dexter felt his own heart sink. Ever since hearing about the transceiver project, he’d taken it for granted that they would soon be rescued.

  “But we’re not giving up,” Sayid went on. “If we gather electronic equipment—the cell phones, laptops—I can boost the signal and we can try again. But that may take some time, so for now we should begin rationing our remaining food. If it rains, we should set up tarps to collect water. I need to organize three separate groups. Each group should have a leader. One group for water—I’ll organize that. Who’s going to organize electronics? …”

  He went on to talk about rationing food and constructing shelters, but Dexter had stopped listening. Sayid’s words were bringing home the gravity of their situation. Rationing food? Collecting rainwater? It was as if, up until now, Dexter had been going along thinking this was some sort of vaguely uncomfortable adventure, like summer camp for grown-ups. But now he was forced to face the fact that it was real, and that the rescuers everyone kept waiting for didn’t seem to be showing up, and nobody knew what was going to happen next.

  And that meant he had to accept that something else was all too real, too. Daisy was still nowhere to be found.

  As Sayid continued to talk, Dexter glanced toward the looming bulk of the fuselage. Even in the bright sunlight it looked somehow dark and ominous, as if the spirits of the deceased still trapped inside were oozing out into the sunny day.

  I should go in there, Dexter told himself, biting his lip. I should go look for Daisy. If she’s in there, it’s better to know…

  He shuddered as a series of images popped into his head and starting playing out like a movie reel, completely beyond his control. He saw Daisy’s limp figure still strapped into its plush blue airplane seat. For a moment everything around her was as still as death, only the buzzing flies giving life to the scene. But then, movement. A shadowy figure entered from somewhere—Dexter wasn’t sure where—and leaned over Daisy’s motionless form, peering intently into her face. Then the figure glanced up, as if staring straight toward Dexter. And Dexter saw that the shadowy figure wore his own face…

  He shuddered and rubbed his eyes, chasing away the images. What was wrong with him? First the weird doppelganger sighting in the jungle, and now these disturbing hallucinations about Daisy…

  “Hey, Lester.”

  Dexter started, suddenly noticing that the older man named George was standing in front of him. He also realized that Sayid’s speech was over and the castaways were breaking into work groups.

  “It’s Dexter,” he said.

  “Sorry, Dexter.” George grinned apologetically. “Sayid needs a couple more guys to help with the water set-up. You in?”

  “Sure.” Dexter was relieved to have a reason to stop thinking about Daisy and his own newly erratic mind. “Let’s go.”

  It was a breezy day and the tarps were difficult to control, tending to flap and blow around at the least opportune time. Before long all of them were hot and sweaty, and Dexter had to stop several times to gulp water.

  “Dude,” Hurley commented at one point, watching him drain the last drops out of a bottle. “Save some for the rest of us, okay?”

  Feeling a pang of guilt, Dexter opened his mouth to apologize. But Arzt, who was tying down a tarp nearby, spoke up for him.

  “Let him alone, big guy,” the science teacher told Hurley. “He’s the one who spent the first day here unconscious from being badly dehydrated. So unless you want him passing out on us again, give it a rest.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Hurley grinned sheepishly at Dexter. “Sorry about that, dude, I forgot. Drink away.” But as he turned away, Dexter just barely heard him add in a mutter, “I just hope it rains soon.”

  It didn’t take long for Hurley to get his wish. The castaways had hardly finished tying down the last of the tarps when the sky opened up, releasing a drenching tropical downpour.

  Dexter quickly ducked under the overhang of a large sheet of metal. All over the beach, people were racing around frantically seeking whatever shelter they could find from the deluge.

  Squinting out into the rain, Dexter spied Boone and Shannon peering around for a dry spot. “Guys!” he shouted, waving to them. “In here! There’s plenty of room!”

  Boone spotted him and gestured to his sister. Then the two of them raced across the open sand, heads down against the driving rain. A moment later they burst into Dexter’s hideaway, breathless and dripping.

  “Thanks, man,” Boone panted, clapping Dexter wetly on the shoulder. “That storm came out of nowhere.”

  “Yeah.” Dexter glanced out. The rain was so heavy that it obscured any sight of people or wreckage more than about four feet away. “But at least we got all the tarps set out, so we should have plenty of water after this.”

  “That’s good news, anyway,” Boone agreed.

  Boone and Shannon had been in a different work group from Dexter, so the three of them traded news for the next few minutes as the rain continued. Now that it appeared that a rescue party might not arrive as quickly as first expected, food and water were the main concerns on everyone’s mind.

  “Luckily, it looks like there’s plenty of fruit in the jungle,” Boone commented. “And that Korean guy was passing out some kind of seafood yesterday, so there’s that.”

  Shannon wrinkled her nose. “It may come from the sea and be technically edible,” she said. “But it’s not exactly the sushi bar at Matsuhisa.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers, sweetheart,” Boone told her.

  “Oh, shut up. Don’t tell me you’re not jonesing for your favorite table at that new steakhouse you love so much.” Shannon stared at Boone with an evil glint in her eye. “Just think—a big, juicy porterhouse, medium-rare…”

  “You’re killing me here.” Boone glanced at Dexter. “She’s talking about Carnivour, by the way. If you’ve spent any time in LA in the past year I’m sure you know it, right?”

  “I’ve been to LA a million times.” Dexter paused, trying to dredge up any association with the restaurant he’d mentioned. “Carnivour, did you say? Actually I—I don’t think I’ve heard of that one.”

  “Really?” Shannon looked surprised. “What are you, a vegetarian or something? I can’t believe you haven’t been there. Everyone’s been there.”

  Dexter shrugged. “Yeah,” he said slowly, still searching his brain for any hint of familiarity. “I hear you. I feel like I should know it, you know? But it’s like I just can’t quite remember. Like that part of my brain is closed off or something.”

  “Don’t sweat it, Dex,” Boone said, leaning back and squeezing water out of his shirt hem. “All our brains are fried these days. No wonder, after what we’ve just been through.”

  “True.” Dexter smiled, feeling slightly better immediately. “Anyway, speaking of good food, Daisy and I tried this amazing place while we were in Sydney…”

  As rain continued to pound the beach outside, the three of them chatted easily. Despite their frequent outbursts of squabbling, Dexter found Boone and Shannon to be smart, interesting, and easy to talk to—a lot like his friends back at school. Hanging out with people who spoke his language and got his jokes—people who were like him—made him feel a little more comfortable in this strange, foreign, scary place.

  10

  JUST A FEW WEEKS into the first semester, Dexter was already growing more comfortable and confident. He still had the occasional bout of self-doubt, but he no longer felt like a complete imposter in this strange new world, with its foreign customs and language and attitudes.<
br />
  At least not all the time. “Yo, Stubbs,” a guy from his hall named Hunter called out as Dexter headed back to his dorm room one Saturday morning after a study session at the library. “Been looking for you, man. Want to check out my new ride? Birthday gift from dear old Dad—just dropped it off this morning.”

  “Without a doubt.” Dexter grinned, swallowing back a pang of envy. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t completely avoid occasional reminders that he was very different from most of the people there. But as long as they didn’t know that, what difference did those differences make? “But can I take a rain check? I’m supposed to meet Daisy downstairs in five.”

  “No problem, dude.” Hunter waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “You definitely don’t want to keep a girl like that waiting.”

  Dexter grinned, a flush of pride drowning out the envy over Hunter’s new car. Who needed a Mercedes or a BMW when he had Daisy? “You know it, brother. Catch you later.”

  He ducked into his room to drop off his books, noticing as he did that the little red light on his answering machine was flashing insistently. Probably just Mom or Aunt Paula calling again, he told himself with a grimace. He’d been avoiding most of their calls, which seemed more and more frequent lately. He knew he would have to talk to them sooner or later, but it just seemed too soon to let his old life intrude on his new one.

  Ignoring the message, he let himself out of the room and hurried down the hall. Bypassing the elevator, he headed into the echoing stairwell of the high-rise dorm, taking the steps three at a time. Sometimes it was hard to believe how well almost everything was going so far. It was as if he feared he might wake up, the dream shattered by the insistent whine of the alarm clock in his tiny bedroom back home.

  Back home where you belong, boy. His aunt’s voice, nasty and harsh as ever, burst into his head so clearly that it was as if she were right there in the stairwell with him.

  Dexter shook his head impatiently, like a horse shaking off a pesky fly. The more time passed, the more he was realizing just how badly his aunt had treated him all his life. Not only had she considered him her own personal slave, but she’d all but told him he didn’t deserve any better.