Damselfly

by Chandra Prasad

  The color draining from his face, Rish dropped the knife. In the blink of an eye, he went from enraged to disbelieving. He hovered around Mel helplessly, watching the blood—Pablo’s very life—pour out faster than we could think. Watching everything unfold, I realized with sickening certainty that Pablo was going to die. And I knew that his death was the most barbaric one of all, because we’d all played a part in it, one way or another.

  After Pablo stopped breathing, Rish sat down next to him on the ground, or rather collapsed. No one spoke. No words felt adequate.

  “You were right to do it,” Rittika said at length, breaking the silence.

  “No,” Rish whispered.

  “Yes. He pushed you—he pushed you too far. It wasn’t murder. It was … it was …” She groped in vain for the word. “Justice,” she said at last.

  At that, Rish hunched over and started sobbing.

  Rittika tiptoed around the puddle of blood and put her arm around him. She whispered, “It’s all right,” over and over again, but he shrugged her off. Rebuffed, she wiped away the tears that had gathered in the corners of her own eyes. After a minute or two, she straightened her back and lifted her chin, looking more composed. More like the Rittika we were all used to seeing.

  “Maybe this is what had to happen,” she said, looking at us all. “Now there is no one else against us. We can finally be here without worrying. We can live. Rish and I have traveled everywhere, to the best places in the world, and none of them beats this island. I can promise you that. Isn’t that right, Rish?”

  He looked away, his face still streaked with tears.

  “This is where we should be,” she continued, her voice a little hollow. “We’ll make our own rules, without anyone telling us what’s right or wrong. We’ll live how we want—for as long as we want.”

  She ended breathlessly, her eyes roaming hungrily until they settled on Avery, the one she knew, without a doubt, she could persuade. Avery licked her lips, seeming to consider the enormity of the decision before her. Or perhaps she’d already made the decision and was only basking in the rare glow of Rittika’s absolute, undivided attention.

  “I’ll stay as long as you do,” she replied.

  Of course. It was exactly what we knew she’d say. Avery had always done whatever Rittika wanted her to do—robotically and automatically. Why would now be any different?

  Together, the two girls turned their attention next to Ming, another link in Rittika’s chain.

  Feeling their eyes on her, Ming began to scratch nervously at one of the many mosquito bites dotting her legs.

  “Okay, I guess. Me too,” she said weakly.

  Rittika smiled at her. “You hear that, Rish? No one holds this against you. They know it had to be done. It had to be done for this island to be ours.”

  It was as if they’d already forgotten about Pablo. All of them. Even Chester and Betty were focused on Rittika, absorbing her words, submitting to her point of view. And I guess that made sense. I remembered what I’d learned about ants and damselflies. About all creatures. Some dominate, others submit, and still others die. It was the way of nature. At Drake Rosemont, we’d pretended to be outside those savage rules. We’d pretended to be civilized.

  We’d lied to ourselves.

  Mel and I told the others we were leaving immediately. After this, I couldn’t imagine staying. Most of our classmates just stared at us apathetically. Only Betty expressed concern. She worried about our safety. She talked about how fragile the previous rafts had been. Was ours really any better?

  The truth was, I didn’t know.

  Rittika was concerned, too, but that’s only because she thought we’d rat out her brother.

  “We wouldn’t tell,” I promised her, meaning it.

  “You can’t admit what Rish did. What any of us did …,” she whispered, her face close to mine.

  “I won’t.”

  “Swear to me—as a Gold.”

  “I swear,” I said, putting my hand over my heart.

  “But what about Mel?”

  “She won’t tell either. If we make it back, we’ll just say Pablo and Anne Marie didn’t survive the crash—just like Warren and Jeremiah didn’t. In a way, none of us survived it, did we?” I looked at her meaningfully. “We’re different people now.”

  She let that penetrate, then told me to wait a moment; she had something for me. She disappeared into her tent, returning with the giant conch, the one that had changed everything. “For you,” she said, trying to hand it to me. “For good luck.”

  “I don’t need luck,” I told her, shaking my head, repelled by her offer. “I have Mel.”

  My best friend and I took a little longer to collect the rest of what we needed, including various herbs and medicines from the jungle, and to say our good-byes. During that time, Betty approached me.

  “Can’t you guys take a few more days?” she asked. “To think it through?”

  “I feel as strongly about going as you do about staying.”

  “Do you really?”

  The way she looked at me, I knew what she meant—that Mel and I were ludicrous to think we had any chance of getting to safety. That when you compared our schlumpy, tacked-together little raft to the deep and boundless ocean, things looked pretty bleak. I guess she just wanted me to admit it. But I wouldn’t.

  “Betty, when we get there, we’ll send for help.”

  “Whatever,” she replied stiffly.

  Once again, I wanted to yell at her. To get her to see reason. I wanted to share what Mel had said—about people becoming unhinged, about terrible things happening. Of course they would. Pablo and Anne Marie were already proof of that. “Tell me,” I said, more hotly than I intended to, “are you really ready to celebrate your eighteenth birthday here? What about your thirtieth? Tell me, are you ready to die here?”

  She took a deep breath and looked away, but not before I saw the doubt in her eyes. “I guess someone has to go,” she admitted. “I just wish it wasn’t you.”

  Hesitating, she put her arms around me and we hugged each other tightly. We didn’t mention the obvious, that we might never see each other again. But the truth was, a part of me was already gone, adrift at sea. I felt it was my destiny to be aboard that raft with Mel. If she and I made it to safety, then we’d make it back together. And if we went down, well, we’d do that together, too. We were sisters, after all. United till the end.

  Mel insisted we go over what we were bringing one last time. We discussed each item, one by one. As I put them into a backpack, I finally got the chance to say how I was sorry—for telling Rittika about the hidden syringes, for everything. She just shrugged. “I don’t blame you. Not at all. Rittika can be very persuasive.”

  “But I let you down,” I said.

  “Then we’re even. Because I let you down, too.”

  “What?”

  “After the crash, when we found each other, I told you everything was going to be okay …”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Let’s just agree not to do it again—disappoint each other, I mean,” I said.

  “Deal,” she said, and we shook on it.

  At some point, Ming and Avery approached us tentatively. They looked uncomfortable, glancing all around, worried that someone was watching. Then Avery took my wrist and squeezed it hard, willing me to listen.

  “I know Rittika wouldn’t want us to say this,” she whispered. “But please don’t forget about us, Samantha Mishra. Don’t you dare.”

  Mel boarded the raft first. Then I, too, climbed on, and our classmates pushed us out beyond the shallows. Rish and Chester swam up to their necks before letting go. Rittika stood alone on the beach. When I waved at her, she raised one hand briefly, and I got a bittersweet feeling, as if I’d lost and gained something at the same time.

  I just had one more thing to do. It had to do with what was in my hand: the glass eye. The thing I’d taken from the old man. My talisman. I thumbed it one last time—memorizing it
s cool, smooth shape—before hurling it as far as I could. It made a satisfying little splash somewhere in the sea. Then Mel and I looked at each other, knowing that it was time.

  I took an oar and began to paddle into deeper ocean. The boys stayed behind the barrier of the reef, in the tranquil turquoise water. Mel tried to stabilize a corner of the shade tarp, which had come loose.

  Because there was little wind, the sails couldn’t do their job, not yet. But I rowed steadily, making slow progress against the waves, which instinctively pushed us back toward the shore, toward our classmates and all that had been. It felt strange when the island finally began to shrink, receding little by little, my classmates fading into tiny dots. After a few minutes, I couldn’t see them at all, and the island was just a dark smudge on a blue canvas. I wondered if someday the details would fade: The sounds and shapes, the textures and tastes. The buzz of mosquitoes and the endless green. I didn’t know. The only thing I was sure of was that I’d never forget my classmates, especially the ones I’d lost.

  Mel and I were quiet, nothing to say, nothing to hear but the sloshing waves and the whistling wind. Together, we looked back, watching the island till it grew fainter and hazier, till I couldn’t quite be sure it was still there.

  For her patience, perseverance, and keen insight, I offer deepest gratitude to Marly Rusoff, who always believed in this book and fearlessly shepherded it through numerous iterations. Special thanks to members of her team, especially Julie Mosow and Michael Radulescu, who did crucial work behind the scenes. At every stage Anamika Bhatnagar, editor extraordinaire, provided perceptive feedback and suggestions, improving the story immeasurably. Megan Peace, multitalented associate editor, never failed to go above and beyond the call of duty. I am indebted to Joy Simpkins, one of the best copy editors I’ve ever had the privilege of working with, and Mary Claire Cruz, a designer who magically transforms words and ideas into arresting visuals. I’d like to acknowledge Leo Nickolls, surely among today’s most talented book jacket artists. Finally, I couldn’t have written this novel without the love and support of my family. Thank you for being my bedrock.

  —C.P.

  Chandra Prasad is the author of several critically acclaimed novels for adults, including On Borrowed Wings, a historical drama set in the early twentieth century, and Death of a Circus, which Booklist called “richly textured [and] packed with glamour and grit.” She is also the originator and editor of Mixed, an anthology of short stories on the multiracial experience. Her shorter works have appeared in The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, and The New York Times Magazine, among others. A graduate of Yale University, Chandra lives and works in Connecticut. Visit her online at chandraprasad.com.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Chandra Prasad

  chandraprasad.com

  Illustrations copyright © 2018 by Leo Nickolls

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Prasad, Chandra, author.

  Title: Damselfly : a novel / Chandra Prasad.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Scholastic Press, 2018. | Summary: Indian-American teenager Samantha Mishra, her best friend, Mel Sharpe, and the other members of the Drake Rosemont Academy fencing team are on their way to Tokyo when their plane crashes on a jungle-choked island, so while they hope for rescue, the teens will need to use all their ingenuity to survive the jungle, the old man who is stalking them—and each other.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017026553| ISBN 9780545907927 (hc)

  Subjects: LCSH: Airplane crash survival—Juvenile fiction. | South Asian Americans—Juvenile fiction. | Survival—Psychological aspects—Juvenile fiction. | Interpersonal relations in children—Juvenile fiction. | Best friends—Juvenile fiction. | Islands—Juvenile fiction. | CYAC: Survival—Fiction. | Aircraft accidents—Fiction. | South Asian Americans—Fiction. | Interpersonal relations—Fiction. | Best friends—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Islands—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.P697 Dam 2018 | DDC 813.6 [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017026553

  First edition, April 2018

  The text type was set in 13-point Perpetua MT Std.

  The display type was set in Viva Beautiful.

  Cover design by Mary Claire Cruz

  Cover illustration © 2018 by Leo Nickolls

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-90793-4

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