The Castaways

by Jessika Fleck

  “I love you, too.” Charlie’s wearing that same over-worn Castaway Carnival shirt, the green parrot now just a shadow, the red lettering faint whispers of what was. I get one last look at the doubloon around his wrist before Charlie hesitates then launches himself in an extra fast leap through the window. It’s what Lucky would do—the faster the better.

  He disappears before our eyes.

  Will sighs as if relieved the kid didn’t bound back at us or, worse, break into a million pieces.

  “You’re next, Olive Gagmuehler.”

  And there it is. My name. No one will ever say it like he does. Gentle. Confident. Like it’s a beautiful thing and not a stinky food plus gag.

  He stares at me, waiting, anxiety in his expression because I’m not moving.

  My body won’t budge. My hand won’t let go of his.

  He nods like, Go on, it’s all right.

  I glance to the window, then back at him.

  “What if we stay here? Together. Just a few more days,” I spit the words out before they register in my brain and I can’t believe what I’m saying. But I can. That strength in my gut is dwindling, my heart, silly thing, taking over.

  Will is already shaking his head before he speaks. “Olive… It’ll only make things harder. How many days will pass before we realize we have no choice or the window closes? Then what?”

  “Then… Then…” Crap, I don’t know what.

  “You have to go back.” And there’s something in his words. His tone. His urgency. And I have no doubt.

  “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

  He glances away, biting his lip, clenching his jaw, then turns back toward me. “I made a promise to Duke that day I carried him back into the cave. I swore I wouldn’t leave him behind alone.”

  I nod my head because I’m not shocked, though, having it confirmed makes my leaving that much harder. He’ll be here and I’ll be there and I’ll always wonder if I made the right choice.

  “Please. Listen,” Will says, placing his hands on the sides of my face, resting his forehead against mine. “I owe this island. And this way, Duke and I can do something good. Together. We’ll be here waiting in case others come. We can help them get home. Avoid future wars. Accidents. Pain.”

  With the word pain, I’m reminded of my own and how it’s boiling up from my stomach and into my throat. My heart speaks before my brain can catch it.

  “I’m staying.”

  “You can’t.”

  I let go of his hand and cross my arms because that’s where I’m at.

  “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “Damn it, Olive. If I have to pick you up and toss you through that window, I will.”

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  Tears, real tears, not just flashes of a tear or glimpses of moisture, stream down from the corners of his eye.

  I drop my arms to my sides.

  Seeing the pain within him finally surface only pulls it further from me. My chest closes and my throat tightens, but not in the hyperventilation way, in the I-am-breaking-way. Tears flow like rivers from my eyes, streaming down my cheeks, underneath my chin, down my neck.

  I know I can’t stay. And he knows I know I can’t stay.

  “What will you do here once it’s only you and Duke all alone?” I manage, followed by a small sob.

  He sniffs, wiping his face and all signs of sorrow. I don’t know how he does it. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m more at home here than I’ve ever been anywhere else. I’m pretty sure Duke feels the same way. We belong here, but you—”

  “I don’t.”

  He nods, taking my hands in his.

  I look down and shut my eyes. They burn behind my eyelids and overflow before I even open them again. When I do, water spills over like fountains, making the rivers from before seem like small creeks.

  Will pulls me in, wrapping his arms around me. My face in his neck all salty and wet, I set everything I can about him and this moment to memory. His skin smells of the forest, a mixture of sweet flowers and rusty earth. His hair is overgrown since Tilly’s last haircut attempt and curls delicately along the tops of his ears. I pull back and look at his face. There’s dark sporadic scruff along his jawline and chin, over his top lip. The once black eye patch has faded to a crackled gray. I touch the edges of his cheekbones, his nose, memorize the curves and angles. I do the same to his lips. He closes his eye, brow pointed downward.

  He feels the pain, too.

  Will’s arms tighten around me, pull me in. The warmth from his chest radiates into me like his heart wants to memorize me, as well.

  “I’ll be here. At this exact spot”—he glances to the sky—“every island full moon. If you ever need to…” He swipes another tear from his eye. “That weird, amazing window between your world and this island?” Will nudges his head toward the heat waves. “We don’t completely understand it, but it’s linked. And, sure, we may not be in the same physical place and time, but we’re still connected, you and I. Always.”

  It’s the saddest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. A small sob escapes me as I nod.

  Then Will moves closer and we kiss. It’s mixed with both our tears, the ocean air, the silvery moonlight, pain, hope, and a hint of mint.

  It’s over too soon as we mutually pull away.

  I memorize the perfect sage color of his eye. “I love you,” I whisper before my voice hitches.

  Will squeezes my shoulders. He glances away and wipes more tears from his eyes. His jaw tightens and he looks back at me. “Go.” He motions toward the heat waves. It’s still shimmering but is less visible through the tears flooding my eyes.

  “Go,” he says again with increased urgency, taking my hand and nudging me forward like if he doesn’t push me away, he’ll change his mind.

  I breathe in, then out, and step toward the window.

  I turn away, feel a final squeeze of my fingers, and let go.

  But I stop and glance back.

  Will smiles and nods, but there are tears again. He rakes his fingers through his hair then puts one hand up in a motionless wave good-bye.

  I don’t dare look back again.

  The buttery, salty scent of popcorn overwhelms me.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Lattes and Life

  I’m in the corn maze tunnel on hands and knees. I allow myself one look back.

  The window is gone. Vanished. As if it never was.

  Tears plop down onto the dirt and leaves as I crawl.

  I pull out my phone. Despite the fact that it’s worn to the bone, it works as if it hasn’t been exposed to saltwater air for a month. The words Hillings, Texas plus an image of a partly cloudy sky and the temperature, seventy-six degrees, shines brightly on the screen.

  When I reach the end of the tunnel, I stand. The end of the maze is in sight.

  I turn in a circle, dazed.

  It’s like time stood still.

  But it didn’t.

  The bag Tilly made from my jacket is slung over my shoulder, and my mouth still tastes of mint and coconut. A tingling lingers at my lips from Will’s kiss. And if I try hard enough, I can smell the forest still clinging to my shirt.

  But nothing will ever be the same again. I’m hit by an all-consuming anxiety to get back to the island, like I forgot something important there.

  Despite my earlier declaration of “only one look back,” I stop, drop to the ground, and peer into the tunnel. Nothing but bent corn stalks. No heat waves. My mouth runs dry, and my breath quickens. What have I done? It’s gone. He’s gone. Just like that.

  I left too soon. It all happened too soon.

  In an instant and with one decision, I’ve lost so much.

  I take it back.

  I beat the ground with my fist. “I take it back.” Tears squeeze from my eyes, fleeing more violently now that it’s done. Over.

  But, as if he’s sending a message over time and space, Will’s parting words fill my head, “We’re conne
cted, you and I. Always.”

  I rub my thumb over my necklace, checking for the crude etching, proof it wasn’t all a dream.

  Just Be. The indented words scratch my thumb.

  Inhaling a shaky breath, I scrub the saltwater away from my face with the back of my hand.

  “You can do this. You can do this,” I chant, then stand up. Straighter. Taller.

  I stride through what little is left of the maze and out the exit.

  I’m completely unprepared for the scene I encounter.

  Tawny holds Lesley in a headlock, scattered, spilled lattes, and the hair clippers littering the ground around them.

  Hannah and Dillon are nothing but silhouettes, running toward the parking lot.

  “Let me go, you hippo!” Lesley screams at Tawny.

  I walk closer, and when they see me, they both freeze.

  “Olive! Are you all right?” Tawny asks, practically dropping Lesley to the ground.

  I nod, taking in the carnage.

  They stare, jaws lax, wide-eyed. I can’t imagine how I must look.

  Seizing the momentary pause, Lesley untangles herself from Tawny’s arms and bolts.

  When Tawny realizes her arms are empty, she shouts after Lesley’s sprinting form, “That’s right, you better run!”

  Tawny’s eyes flash to mine and she bounds into me, wrapping me up in a glorious, Tawny hug.

  She takes a deep breath in. “What the hell happened in there?” she asks, glancing back toward the maze.

  “I…” I shake my head because, really, where do I even begin?

  Rubbing my back, she wraps her arm around my shoulders and urges me forward. “We’ll chat it out tomorrow, babe. Let’s get you home.” She breathes in. “You smell like shit!”

  We both laugh.

  The scent of my mother’s vanilla candles never smelled better.

  Home.

  I go to my room. Flop onto my bed. Hug warm, fluffy Hazel.

  My mother will never believe the state of my clothes and my boots so I decide to tuck them away along with my Tilly bag in a box at the back of my closet, hoping the island stays on them as long as possible.

  Reveling in the longest shower in the history of showers, once the hot water runs cold, I reluctantly get out and dry off, then kiss my flannel pajama pants and clean T-shirt before putting them on. The fresh material feels like heaven against my clean skin.

  I then pad down the hall and climb right next to Lucky in his bed, curling under the printed spy-gadget quilt. Parrot tucked under his arm, his hair still smells of popcorn and there’s dried cotton candy caking his mouth.

  I wrap my arms around Lucky’s small body and breathe him in until I drift off.

  Monday morning I have a new haircut, a new perspective on pretty much everything, and a plan. Funny how—relatively—quickly things can turn.

  With the side of my head freshly shaved, I head straight to the office and into the sound booth.

  I’d emailed Shane, the “announcements guy,” Sunday night, asking him for a couple minutes of his air time. He stares up at me from a pile of papers with huge, dark eyes, a slouchy cap that’s definitely against dress code, flopping to one side. “You ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  He nods and pulls the hat down over his ears, all business.

  I take the seat across from him.

  He pushes the microphone toward me.

  The bell for first period rings.

  I take a deep breath.

  Shane counts down, “3…2…”

  He switches the mic on.

  It rings in a horrible, screechy way.

  Eyebrows raised, Shane adjusts a knob and mouths, Sorry.

  “Good morning, Sinclair High,” I start, keeping my voice steady, pretending I know what I’m doing. “This is Olive Maxi Gagmuehler.” Inhale. Exhale. “I know”—I laugh under my breath—“it’s a mouthful.”

  Shane smiles. It literally lights up his eyes, the white of his teeth bringing out the warmth of his dark skin. It momentarily distracts me, reminding me of sweet, little Bug, forcing me to swallow the lump in my throat.

  “My name has sort of been an area of…bad luck for me the past few years. Do any of you have something you consider to be the bane of your existence?”

  “I know I do,” Shane cuts in. “It’s my teeth. I have a gap.”

  I’d never have noticed, but when he flashes me an over-exaggerated grin, I see a small gap between his front teeth. It makes me think of Shiloh and makes his smile all the more engaging, but also makes my stomach sink from the loss I can’t deny.

  “Yeah. It could be something obvious or something no one else would ever notice or guess, but it’s hard. And it sucks.”

  Shane’s eyes bulge and he gives me the “they’ll slit your neck” sign referring to my language.

  I clear my throat. “Anyway, I—Olive Maxi Gagmuehler—will be in Courtyard A, under the pecan tree, during lunch conducting an…experiment of sorts. I hope you’ll stop by.”

  I push the microphone across the table to Shane and fall back into my chair. As he finishes his announcements, I pull my hair up into a ponytail.

  He flips the switch to OFF.

  “That was awesome.”

  I smile. “Hey, thanks for letting me crash your gig.”

  Shane laughs an airy laugh that makes me do a double take. He motions toward the shaved side of my head. “Hey, I dig the new look.”

  “Thanks.” My cheeks grow warm.

  “See you at lunch,” he says, holding the door open for me.

  I’d seen it done on the internet. Someone blindfolds themselves in public, exposing what they’re most insecure about.

  Left completely vulnerable.

  Forced to trust.

  I stand in the courtyard, barefoot, scarf tied over my eyes, several metallic Sharpies splayed in one hand. I’m wearing a black T-shirt and matching leggings.

  There’s a sign before me that simple states: Olive Maxi Gagmuehler = _______. Fill in the blank and graffiti my shirt and pants.

  At first, no one comes.

  It’s just me and I feel incredibly small and, honestly, kind of stupid. But I stay tall, concentrating on the spot where the etching Just Be lays against my chest, reaching inward, and holding that place of strength close. It’s Bug and Jude, Lewis and Tilly, Will and Charlie, the island, Duke and the Panthers, all rolled into one bright light no one can ever take away from me.

  Even if I stand here all day and no one writes a word, I did it. Put myself out there. Like I did on the island. Embraced my demons. That name.

  If I give one silent voice hope, it’ll be worth all the humiliation in the world.

  But then something happens.

  I hear the door creak open and snap shut.

  Footsteps.

  Someone gently takes one of the Sharpies from my hand.

  It’s so strange not being able to see. I think of Will, living on that island with only half his sight.

  I take a shuddered breath.

  The person softly squeezes me on the right shoulder then proceeds to write what seems to be one short word.

  “You’re amazing,” the voice whispers, and I’d know that lovely rasp anywhere. Tawny.

  I smile. Because I promised myself I wouldn’t speak.

  Warmth rises from my neck into my cheeks.

  The door opens again.

  And again.

  More and more footsteps descend upon me.

  Several pens disappear from my hand, and my palm is inexplicably empty.

  People write on me and I can sense their respect, their collective intrigue and questions and how they somehow get it. We’re connected.

  I fleetingly wonder if any teachers come by and what they must think. I’d worried this experiment would be shut down, but if anything, they probably think it’s some sort of performance art project for a class.

  Pretty soon, all of my Sharpies are gone and my clothes must be
covered in words. One girl even asks if she can draw something on the shaved part of my head.

  I nod.

  Because why not?

  It’s quiet.

  Solemn.

  Like this space is sacred.

  Tears stream down my face, saturating the scarf covering my eyes.

  Then, as quickly as it all happened, it’s over.

  I’m alone again.

  The bell rings.

  I wait a few minutes before removing the scarf, savoring the quiet. The breeze. The bizarre scent of Texas in autumn: dry leaves, long extinguished fireplaces, and the hinted warmth of summer refusing to concede.

  When I untie the scarf, I glance down.

  I’m covered.

  Head to toe.

  Words like strong, badass, beautiful, amazing, brave, and rebellious stare back at me.

  The tops of my feet are graffitied with the words love and live.

  I pull my mirror from my purse. On the side of my head in purple metallic Sharpie is a small heart over my ear.

  I change into my uniform but leave my leggings on under my skirt.

  Today, I smile at more people than I ever have.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Moon Phases

  Sometimes what happened feels more like a dream than anything, like I need to pinch myself from time to time to remember the island, that those kids were real.

  Eventually, I set out to see which, if any, of my fellow castaways I can pin-point on this side of the glimmering heat waves. I wasn’t sure at first. What if I found nothing? Or, worse, discovered things went horribly wrong for some of my sweet, island family. In the end, I decided knowing was better than always wondering.

  Without last names, it was difficult, but I found Tilly. “Young girl disappears during bomb raid. Feared dead.” Then Charlie. “Nine-year-old Hillsboro boy gets lost in famed corn maze. Found soon after, no worse for the wear.” A photo of him, faded Castaways Carnival shirt, familiar bracelet tied around his wrist, impish grin across his face, stares back at me.

  The others? Lewis, Jude… They didn’t leave enough of a public mark for me to find anything, which I’ve decided to take as a positive. That “no news is good news” saying my mom always uses.

  Then Duke and Will. “Teen boys go missing from small town carnival. Assumed runaways.” I make a copy of the photo of Will. It’s black and white and must have been a school picture because he’s wearing his uniform, which isn’t so far off from the ones we wear today. And, despite the fact that he has both eyes, less scars, is so much softer around the edges, there’s a real sadness there. A blankness I don’t recognize from the Will I came to love. Still, I keep the photo near. Always.