by Alice Reeds
But hadn’t we gotten along well so far? Agreeing to an actual truce instead of following the unspoken rule we’d followed since we arrived on the island, would that make so much of a difference? There had been so many chances for him to betray me, to throw me to the bear in an attempt to appease it, or let me stand too close to the edge of the cliff and possibly fall off of it accidentally, yet he hadn’t done any of it. He pulled me away, had made an effort to distract us with his stupid game, and now he extended this peace offering.
I had to see things for what they were. The island was dangerous, a new threat seemingly waiting around every corner and hiding behind each tree cluster in the jungle. I was strong on my own, had titles and achievements to prove it, but the reality was that together, we were stronger, and we needed to be as strong as possible.
There was also the fact that I was worried about him, or at least about losing him. It was the last thing I wanted. I didn’t know what I’d do if I had to stay behind on my own, whether I’d be strong enough to face the island and the forces behind it alone. Also, if I looked deeper, allowed myself to be honest, I could admit that I was starting to like him in a way I never thought I’d be able to. Two weeks prior I would’ve sooner cut off my own hand—after my competitive career was over—before I’d even consider giving Miles any kind of chance.
Maybe I had no other choice but to take a risk, a leap of faith, and accept. Being friends couldn’t be much harder than hating him, or at least thinking that I did. I didn’t dislike him anymore, which was nice but also worrisome. What if I was wrong? What if I put my faith in him just to get burned later down the line?
But I also couldn’t deny that I was slowly getting to know a completely different side of him, one I never would’ve even suspected he possessed. Under all the layers of douchebag and money was someone who was funny, nice to talk to, who cared and was smart. Maybe he really was more than what I gave him credit for. Maybe there was more to him than met the eye. And maybe he thought the same about me.
There was only one way to find out.
“I’ll accept,” I said, and I swore his eyes lit up, even if only a fraction. “But only if we establish a set of rules we’ll both follow.”
“Rules?”
“Exactly.”
“And what rules do you have in mind?”
“Rule number one,” I said, but then paused for a moment, thought about it. “We need to stick together, no matter what.”
“Okay.”
“Rule number two: no games. We need to be able to trust each other if we want to survive this, because I really don’t want to end the way the other four did.” A cold shudder ran down my spine.
“I’m pretty sure they didn’t, either,” Miles said with a huff. “Pretty basic stuff so far. I guess I’ll be able to follow them if I try hard enough.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “And the third and final rule: no dirty thoughts.” Miles just looked at me blankly, obviously perplexed by my words. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve heard enough stories and gossip about you to have an idea of how you think and act.”
“Have you ever considered that maybe those stories and gossip aren’t true?”
“How would I be able to do that? I don’t really know you, so all I’ve ever had to go by was you telling me I’m pathetic and the millions of stories of all of Miles Echo’s conquests circulating through our school.” For a moment he looked away, his facial expression strangely off. He seemed almost a bit sad, maybe, or disappointed? But that didn’t make much sense. I was probably just interpreting it wrong.
“Then maybe we should go back to the beginning and get to know each other,” he offered. To my surprise, he stretched out his hand toward me. I just looked at it and then at him, confused but also curious. What was this supposed to be? He continued to look at me and patiently waited. Finally, I gave in, took his hand, and we shook hands. It was one of the most bizarre moments since we landed on the island. “Hi, I’m Miles Echo, seventeen—well, eighteen in five weeks—from a small town near Miami, Florida, USA.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I said with a laugh. He couldn’t be serious. But he simply continued, a smile blooming on his face.
“I’m part American, French, and Lebanese. I’m a straight-A student, speak a couple of languages at a conversational level—”
“Which ones?” I asked, well aware that he wasn’t done talking yet, but I was curious.
“French, Italian—”
“German,” I murmured.
“Yes,” he agreed, the single word sounding more surprised than I thought three letters could. “How’d you know?”
That was strange. I didn’t actually know; I’d guessed and had gotten lucky. I shrugged as a way of answering, though I wondered when and how he had the energy and time to learn so many languages. Just looking at French gave me a headache.
“Anyway, I enjoy social media and documentaries about space,” Miles continued once he realized I didn’t plan on saying anything more. “I can’t stand shooter games and could never be a vet because seeing hurt and sick animals makes me too sad. If we survive this island, I’m the sole heir to the Echo fortune.”
“So, you’re basically like Paris Hilton or one of the Kardashians.”
“That is such a mean thing to say. But I’d totally be Kylie if I had to choose.”
I cocked my eyebrows at him and smiled while I tried my best not to laugh.
“Oh, and I also have a ragdoll cat named Felix.”
“You have a cat?” For some reason I hadn’t expect that.
“Yeah, he’s big, fluffy, and a bit fat, but we’re working on it. He kind of reminds me of you.”
“Wow, thank you, you really know how to make a girl feel special.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not in the fat sense. Just like you on first glance, he’s all claws, but if you give him time and are friendly to him, he’s the nicest cat you can imagine.”
“What if I’m actually all claws and no cuddles, though?” I challenged.
“Then I doubt Melany would be your best friend.”
I raised one eyebrow. “What if she’s into it?”
“And you say I’m the one with the dirty mind,” he said, and laughed. “Anyway, your turn.”
“I’m not doing this.” I raised my hand toward him in what I hoped would come across as a talk-to-the-hand gesture and looked out at the ocean. The last bits of sunlight were scattered across the surface.
“Come on, relax. It’s not like I’m asking you to tell me your social security number and deepest, darkest secrets. It’s just some fun. Having fun is necessary for survival, too.” He bumped his shoulder into mine playfully and smiled.
“Fucking fine.” I rolled my eyes. This was so dumb. “I’m Fiona Jane Wolf, seventeen and the current Florida State lightweight kickboxing champion and got second place in Muay Thai. I’m simply American, no fancy combination of anything. Besides English, I’m fluent enough in Mandarin and Japanese to get by, though my father never fails to remind me that my accent is apparently the worst. I love reading and big dogs, though I’ve never been allowed to have one. If we make it back home in time, I have a chance at becoming the national kickboxing champion.”
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“At least one of us thinks so.”
“I’ve learned a lot of new things about you, so I would call this a success. Though, I probably have to confess something.”
Was now the moment I’d regret all of it after all? This fast? I’d be very disappointed, but not really shocked. “That being?”
“I’ve actually watched one of your competitions before.”
“You did what?” This certainly wasn’t something I ever expected to hear from him. Why would he do something like that?
“Don’t act so surprised, I’m pretty sure everyone in our class, even the entire school, did so at one point or another,” he said, and lay down on the sand, propping himself up on his elbows.
“I seriously doubt that.”
“It’s true! I mean, I only saw the one fight, but Jesus. I was scared just watching you. And it’s not because the fight was at—”
“East End,” I murmured.
He cocked his head. “Yeah. How’d you know which one?”
How had I known which one? “It’s the one with the most views on YouTube.”
He shrugged. “Well, it was the biggest fight of your career, at least according to the announcer, so no wonder. I can’t speak for everyone, but at one point I simply got curious. You don’t meet a champion of something like kickboxing every day, and surely don’t share classrooms with one, so I Googled you.”
“That’s really creepy, even by your standards.” He didn’t have to know that I might’ve Googled his family that first week after joining our school because I wanted to know just who he was and why he thought he had the right to feel like the king of the world. I quickly learned that his father was almost something like the king of the world, pretty high up there on the Forbes 100 list.
“You’re impressive,” he said. “I’ll give you that.”
“I know.”
“See, that’s why…”
I waited for him to finish, but he just gave me that annoying smile. He knew he’d hooked me.
“Okay. That’s why what?”
“If someone killed those people in the pit… If someone put us here, and if those same someones are coming back for us… Then we both need to be ready.” He paused, let that hang there. “I want you to teach me how to fight.”
Chapter Seventeen
The Island
“Fiona? What are you doing?” a sleepy voice asked. I turned my head to see Miles watching me curiously from his seat, his eyes half hidden by his hair.
“Good morning,” I said, my voice sweet and innocent. “Now that you’re awake, let’s get to work.”
I handed Miles my improvised boxing bag made out of a seat cover, instructed him to change into something more exercise appropriate, and then go fill the bag with sand and hang it on a tree, ideally in the shade. Amused, he actually did what he was told, and then left. Once he was gone, I dug through my luggage and put on my kickboxing attire.
Before I left the plane, I took one of my shirts—I didn’t really want to ruin any of them, but what had to be done had to be done—and cut it up with a metal part from the plane that had a sharp enough edge until I had four equal strips of fabric. Not as good as the real thing, but it would have to do.
Just like I had ordered him, Miles had hung up the bag on a strong, thick-looking branch hidden in the shadows of the tree.
“Good work.”
He turned and looked me up and down.
“You seriously brought your actual kickboxing stuff with you?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
Said attire consisted of a tight black sport bra with golden embroidery in a couple of places. The embroidery didn’t really do anything; it just looked nice. My shorts were loose around my legs and made of a light and slightly shiny black material with similar embroidery. Both pieces had my last name on them, on the back of the bra and the side of my right leg. I only used this particular set for training. I had a bunch of sets specifically made for tournaments hanging in my closet made of much better materials and looking way more impressive than the relatively simple black and gold training one.
“I always do. In order to win state and national championships it’s not enough to just show up. You need to train almost every day, which is usually what I do, regardless of where I am,” I explained and inspected the bag some more. No sand was leaking out, so there was hope that it would survive being punched repeatedly.
I used to think it was ridiculous, as well, but my father gave me no choice, and over time I got used to it. Kickboxing was such an integral part of my life, most of the time I couldn’t really imagine what it would look like without it, who I’d be or what I’d do if I weren’t a fighter.
“If you say so,” Miles said while I handed him two of the fabric strips. I wrapped each of mine around the knuckles of my hands. Once I was done, I helped him do his, since he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He watched my every move with equal parts intrigue and confusion.
“Welcome to Kickboxing 101,” I said and tried to imitate my father’s tone, stoic and calm with that certain authoritative ring to it. I couldn’t quite get the intimidating part right, so I didn’t even try. “Let’s start with the most basic thing: form a fist.” I watched as he did just that. I stepped closer to him, took his right hand in mine and pulled his thumb out and placed it on the outside of his fist. “If you punch someone or something with your thumb inside your fist, you could break it. Bad idea.”
Next, I explained that he wasn’t supposed to fully stretch out his arm because, depending on how hard the punched object or person was, it might lead to a broken elbow. I showed him how to properly execute an uppercut, jab, and right and left cross.
I was pleasantly surprised that he actually took this seriously, that he didn’t make fun of me whenever I struggled to describe things that to me were so basic I did them without even thinking. Then again, we weren’t doing this just for fun. He tried his best and asked questions or for clarification. Seeing him do these things so familiar to me, the way his body moved, it had a certain intrigue to it that was just a tiny bit distracting.
Kicks were a bit trickier. Many people didn’t understand that you didn’t kick out of your leg but rather out of your hip, that if your kick didn’t meet an obstacle you would simply end up doing a three hundred sixty degree turn around your own axis. Kickboxing was much more than just mindless kicking and punching. It was like a strategic dance, an occasionally violent and bloody one, but still with a certain grace to it.
“You show potential,” I said after he finished the last sequence I made him repeat a few times.
“Well, thank you,” he answered and pretended to bow.
“Don’t let it get to your head, I only said you have potential, doesn’t mean you’re any good or whatever,” I clarified. “I could still take you down with five hits or less.”
A mischievous expression spread across Miles’s face, his lips pulled into a smirk, his eyes just a little squinted as he looked at me. I raised one eyebrow at him questioningly, wondering what kind of dumb idea he’d just come up with, because judging by that expression, it couldn’t be anything good. Before I really knew what was happening, he closed the distance between us and then heaved me over his shoulder like it was nothing. I yelped in surprise.
“You really are lightweight,” he commented and chuckled. I hadn’t expected him to actually be strong enough to do this, but it was surprisingly nice that he could.
“What is this once it’s done?” I asked, realizing that he was walking toward the water. Oh no. “Miles?” He pointedly ignored me and just continued walking. I tried to wiggle off of him, escape his evil plan, but before I could, he’d made it into the water, the waves crashing against his legs. “Don’t you dare!”
And then I was in the water.
The shocking temperature difference took me by surprise, and I needed a moment to get my body to work, get up on my feet and stand up. I gasped for air, my hair sticking to my face, something between a laugh and a cough escaping me.
“You should’ve seen your face!” He laughed, his face bright and smiling, not like he was making fun of me in a mean way, just having fun, a good time. I’d show him a good damn time.
Somehow it ended in a game of who could splash the other with more water quicker, followed by me trying to escape and him chasing after me, grabbing me around the waist from behind and spinning me around in a fit of laughter once he caught me. It felt like such a mundane moment, something that reminded me of summer holidays, the sort of thing you’d do with best friends or a boyfriend, yet we’d barely just become friends. And we certainly weren’t on holiday.
But maybe we could be more than this one day, a desire I
didn’t even know I might have until we stood there in the ocean, soaking wet and laughing, the sun shining in a perfect blue sky, sharing this moment amid tragedy.
Chapter Eighteen
Berlin
The next day we walked up the stairs out of the U-Bahn station at the Brandenburg Gate just after ten a.m. It was time to set our plan into motion, and this was the stage we’d chosen for it. As public as possible, the most touristy place in the entire city, with lots of people moving around, groups of foreigners, and young kids on some excursions. They all walked around with their DSLR cameras and phones ready to take pictures of everything they could see, or to take another selfie with the Brandenburg Gate in the background.
The plan for the day was relatively simple, at least in theory: see if we were truly being followed, and depending on the outcome of that, figure out who those men were and what their deal was.
Unter den Linden was the perfect place for us to try and get lost in the masses, but also to act as though we were just tourists like everyone else, a deception I hoped would lure those guys closer if they really were there, make them believe that we weren’t aware that we were being followed. Once above ground, we looked around, my eyes wandering over the box-like souvenir shop with painted plates and all sorts of other cheap trinkets, and the red-carpet entrance to the five-star Hotel Adlon on the other side. Concrete pillars blocked off a road to our right, with two guards watching everyone who passed by, and a police van standing halfway down the street. I had no idea what could possibly be there, but it certainly looked like it was something important.
The first point on our list was to find a place to eat. Immediately going to the Brandenburg Gate was tempting, but it had to wait. So we followed the street and tried to find something that was open and didn’t cost an arm and a leg, which seemed to be a very popular pricing option along that very street, judging by the fancy, modern aesthetic restaurants. Dunkin’ Donuts and Starbucks had been options, too, but both were so full of people it probably would’ve taken half an hour or more to get to the front of the lines. Also, we had plenty of those back in the States, no need to stick to them while we were in Germany.
