CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Rum is made from sugarcane and aged in barrels. There are various forms of rum — dark, golden, white, spiced, aged, flavored — but they all share one distinctive quality: They will get you drunk. And if you’ve spent quite a bit of time on a deserted island eating coconut and grubs, rum will get you drunk rather quickly and thoroughly.⁴²

“Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest. Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of freaking awesome!” Adina said in a loud voice. She slurred a bit so that awesome came out more like aweshumme. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to be an inveshtigative journalist anymore. I want to be a professional rum drinker.”

“There are people who do that,” Duff said. He’d barely sipped his rum.

“Really? What do you call them?”

“Alcoholics.”

“Good to know. Three little maids from school are we…” sang Adina. “My dads took me to see The Pirates of Penzance last year in New York. That song goes very fast. It’s a pit … a potter … pas …”

“Patter song?”

“That.” Adina took another swig.

“Speaking of fast, you might want to slow down on that grog a bit, matey.”

Duff went for the bottle, but Adina yanked it away, spilling some in the process. “That is an example of a man being paternalishtic with a woman.”

Duff shrugged. “Or it could be an example of a friend who really doesn’t want to clean puke from your hair later.”

“You would clean puke from my hair?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be my preferred activity, but I would.”

“Awww. That … is so romantic. Still. My body, my bottle.”

“Whatever you say, captain.”

The bottle was passed to Shanti, who shook her head. “I’m total straightedge.”

She passed it on to Nicole, who took a whiff and made a face. “Yikes. I’m pretty sure I could clean a wound with that.” She shoved the bottle at Captain Sinjin, who dabbed some behind his ears like aftershave and then threaded a stale block of marshmallow onto a stick for Petra.

The captain had been watching Petra all night, Nicole noticed. “I need to get something from my hut. Shanti, will you come with me?” She flicked a glance in Petra and Sinjin’s direction.

“Sure,” Shanti said, picking up on the inference. “Party’s moving to our hut, everybody.”

“Captain?” Duff asked.

Sinjin glanced furtively at Petra. “Nah. Catch you blokes later.”

Sinjin and Petra were alone.

“So.”

“So.”

“Nice night.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Just so we’re clear, you’ve got a, um, a … a …”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Just, y’know, making sure.”

Petra looked up to the moon as if appealing to its grace. She liked this one and wanted more, but she was afraid there was no hope of that.

“Sorry, I just … So you used to be a guy. J. T. Woodland. Of Boyz Will B Boyz.”

“Yes.” “Right.”

“It’s okay. I can tell you’re freaked out.”

Petra started to get up. Sinjin took her wrist gently. “Well, yeah. But mostly because you used to be in Boyz Will B Boyz. That’s unbelievable! I mean, you played Top of the Pops!”

Petra allowed a small smile. He had surprised her. That didn’t happen often. She sat down again. “Should I tell you the story?”

“Yeah.”

“How much should I tell you?”

“Everything.”

She did, and when she finished Sinjin nodded, taking it all in. “Blimey. Your manager sounds like a right bastard.”

“Now it’s your turn,” Petra said. “What about you?”

“Me?” Sinjin thought for a moment. He wasn’t good with disclosure. And he had nothing to compare to Petra’s tale. What if she thought he was shallow or boring? Unworthy? He wasn’t used to being taken off guard, but Petra made him feel both comfortable and nervous at the same time, as if he knew he was safe from the elimination round but he wanted to do his best and impress anyway. More than anyone he had ever met, he wanted her to like him. Because he really, really liked her.

“I grew up in an orphanage in London. Horrible place.”

“Really?”

Sinjin nodded. “Mmm. Saffron Hill.”

Petra raised an eyebrow. “Saffron … Hill?”

“Yes, Saffron Hill. And a terrible place it was. Made us work all the day, never got enough food. Mr. Bumble — the headmaster — used to beat us.”

“Sounds like you had a dickens of a time.”

Sinjin glanced at Petra’s impassive expression. “Indeed, indeed. Finally, at fifteen, I couldn’t take it any longer. I ran away. Lived on the streets with m’ pal, Jack D —”

“Dawkins?”

“D’you know him?”

“Our mutual friend? Purely coincidental. Go on.”

Sinjin’s grin spread. “I had great expectations about how my life would go and then …”

“… Nicholas Nickleby! — you fell on hard times and were living in a real bleak house.”

“Absolutely. I was totally scrooged.”

“What a pip.” Petra’s smile wobbled into a laugh. “If you figure out how to work The Mystery of Edwin Drood into it, I’m yours for life.”

Sinjin laughed. It was a good laugh, Petra thought.

“So what’s the real story?”

Sinjin shrugged and leaned back. “The real story is dead boring. I grew up in London with me mum and dad, sister, brother, and a parakeet named Benny Hill.”

“Come on!” Petra laughed.

“Swear!” Sinjin raised three fingers on his right hand like a scout’s pledge. “M’ parents are still very much in love. We have this old piano, and on Friday nights we’d sing and eat beans on toast and watch telly all together and have a laugh. It’s a nice, comfortable life. That’s the tragedy of it. I’ve got no dark secrets. I love my family and mates. I’m just as content playing darts as I am waiting for the bus. I see beauty in everything. I’m a happy person,” Sinjin said with utter sincerity. “God. That’s awful, isn’t it?”

“I think that’s lovely.”

“Thanks,” Sinjin said, almost shyly. Carefully, he tucked a strand of hair behind Petra’s ear and let his hand rest for a moment against the soft, wide plain of her cheekbone. “I think you’re beautiful. And brave. And really fucking cool. And you can make Charles Dickens puns.”

Petra leaned the weight of her face into Sinjin’s palm. “You know who and what I am. So, if this is just the old curiosity shop, you can stop right now.”

Sinjin looked her in the eyes. There was not a trace of smirk in his expression. “‘I hope that real love and truth are stronger in the end than any evil or misfortune in the world.’”

“David Copperfield,” Petra whispered, positioning her lips close to his.

“Why are you bringing magicians into it?” Sinjin said and kissed her tenderly. It was a kiss small in its ministrations but epic in its feeling.

Petra broke the kiss. “Your mates may give you a hard time about this.”

“I don’t care. If I like somebody, I like her, and that’s that.” He thumped his chest and made a scowly face. “Let ’em come for me. I will stare down the mob with their pitchforks! I will make a speech about tolerance and love! I will show them the folly of their ways! And then I will grab your hand and run like hell because, Jesus, a mob with pitchforks?”

“Sinjin, I think we may have just found your talent.”

“What? Chest thumping?”

“Humanity.”

Sinjin wanted to toss off a witty comeback but found he had none. “Thanks, luv,” he said softly, sincerely.

“It’s the truth, Ruth.”

Sinjin put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know it’s Shirley. I could never be a Ruth.”

“You know what I’m going to give you, Shirley?”

“What?”

“A makeover.”

Sinjin crawled over her, going for the kiss. “What if I look Droodful? Edwin Droodful?”

Petra winced. “Oh, good God.”

“Sorry.”

“Just for that, you’re getting the works.” Petra took Sinjin by the hand and dragged him into her tent.

Guitar at the ready, Ahmed sidled over to Nicole and Shanti’s hut with Charlie in tow. “Can I hang with the nondrinking party? Not a big fan of slurring my speech and walking like a toddler with a poopy diaper.”

“Totally,” Shanti said, making room.

Ahmed strummed and crooned softly. Jennifer lay her head in Sosie’s lap and Sosie stroked her hair absently.

“I feel like we’re in one of those old surf movies and we’re gonna have to do the Watusi,” Nicole said.

“No Watusi for me. I made a pledge of purity,” Tiara said.

Shanti shook her head at Nicole. “You’ve done all you can.”

“You know, I’ve watched Miss Teen Dream every year,” Ahmed explained. “I’ve got five sisters. The best was the time they did the Night of the Living Beauty Queen opening number and everybody looked like zombies in sequins? They were pretending to shamble and eat each other’s brains but they still had to smile and shout out their states? That was so wrong, it has its own zip code of wrong.”

“You have no idea how hard all that stuff is,” Shanti said.

“Doesn’t seem so hard,” Charlie scoffed.

“Really?” Shanti said. The girls exchanged glances. “So you think you could be in a pageant?”

Charlie shrugged. “Yeah. I do.”

“You think you could put up with all the things girls put up with?” Nicole pressed.

Ahmed shook his head. “No way, mate. I was there when my oldest sister gave birth to my nephew? That’s hard-core.” Ahmed nodded to the ekwe. “Cool drum.”

“Thanks. Made it myself.” Nicole pounded out a rhythm.

Ahmed bopped his head in time. “Dead brilliant.” He plucked out a tune on his acoustic to accompany her. The others filled in with what they could find — sticks, coconuts, hollowed bamboo. Sosie did a wild Watusi in the sand while Jennifer stood next to her pointing one finger up and down in a deadpan disco.

Summoning up her courage, Shanti sang an Eastern-influenced riff and broke into a rap about living on an island, eating grubs, rescuing pirates, and eating weird berries. Her singing wasn’t special, but her rap was funny and tight, and the others whooped and applauded.

“You should record that,” Ahmed said.

Shanti adopted a ridiculous gangsta pose. “DJ Shanti Shanti. In the hut,” she said and laughed, but she didn’t feel like a fraud.

Sinjin called from the beach.

“Our master’s voice,” Ahmed said and rolled his eyes.

They looped back to the fire. Sinjin was sitting bare-chested with Petra’s blue feather boa wrapped around his neck and draped over his shoulder. His long dark curls had been teased and sprayed into a sexy mane. Heavy black eyeliner rimmed his eyes. “Am I not gorgeous? I want to snog myself. I’m like a postmodern Lord Byron.”

“You put the ironic in Byronic,” Petra quipped.

“Well said, luv.”

“Every time he calls me love, an angel gets its wings.” Petra’s sarcasm was unmistakable, and Sinjin seemed to enjoy it.

“Is this our new look, then, Captain?” George asked.

“It’s my new look. Get your own, mate. Petra was giving me an appreciation for what the other side goes through.” Captain Sinjin adjusted the boa. “Got to let a tasteful hint of man-nipple show.”

Tiara looked confused. “Men have nipples? Is that new?”

“Men. Have. Nipples!” Adina shouted.

“Adina’s been teaching us stuff at Smart School. Like about geography and real estate companies and feminism,” Tiara explained to the pirates.

“Cool,” said George.

“Yeah. It is.” She squinted in thought. “Do you think my new feminism makes me look fat?”

“Darlings, do you know what I think it’s time for? I think it’s time for your captain to have a soliloquy.”

Brittani covered her eyes. “Oh. Um. You can just go behind the tree. That’s what we all do.”

“No, luv. A soliloquy. A speech.” Sinjin toasted another stale marshmallow. “Imagine, if you will, that I’m sitting on the ship’s deck, in a spot of moonlight that is doing absolutely fantastic things for my bone structure. Really, I’m like a god right now. Can you see it? I can see it. It’s exciting me. Eh, mates?”

“Arrrrggggh!”

“Well said. I didn’t set out to become a pirate. I’d hoped to become a barrister. Wear a powdered wig like a sexy beast. Hot!” Sinjin brandished the marshmallow and everyone jumped back. “That was before the tragic fire that took Mom and Dad. I was away at boarding school. Then me and my mates witnessed a murder and had to go on the run.”

“I thought that was the story line for the show,” Shanti whispered to Nicole.

“Hello! Mid-soliloquy, luv. Give us a moment in the moonlight. Where was I?”

“On the run, Mr. Micawber,” Petra prompted.

“Right! On the run.” Sinjin’s smile faded. “Look. We weren’t entirely honest with you before, about being blown off course. The truth is, the ratings for Captains Bodacious IV have been down. Really down.”

“More people watched In Your Grandma’s Attic,” Chu said. “We couldn’t even compete with granny’s old brooches going to auction.”

“Marketing says pirates are over — it’s all about hot trolls now. They’ve got a hot troll show lined up and ready to go in our time slot: Trollin’ on Delaware Beach. Ridiculous! Like, who is going to watch a bunch of trolls getting drunk at clubs and trying to entice college girls to their place under the bridge? I heard goats mentioned, too, and that’s just wrong.”

“It’s always about whatever’s next,” Petra said ruefully. “When I was in Boyz Will B Boyz, they treated us like little gods, then threw us away the minute Hot Vampire Boyz came along. They think they can toss you away like garbage.”

“Rubbish,” Sinjin said.

“Exactly.”

“No, I just like saying rubbish better than saying garbage. Hotter. But you’re right, luv. They’re beasts in programming.” Sinjin tested the marshmallow’s temperature and, finding it satisfactory, fed it to Petra with his fingers. “Anyway, The Corporation was going to cancel us. So we thought, what could we do to really raise the stakes? I know! Let’s go rogue! Be real pirates. We thought we’d take a joyride in the boat, get a bit of press, jolt the ratings up again. Except when we got to the docks, we saw something we shouldn’t have.”

“What was that?” Adina said on a yawn.

“There were these blokes in black shirts. And they were unloading cargo from Corporation boats.” Sinjin’s face darkened. “Human cargo. Trafficking.”

“Whoa,” Shanti said.

“They saw us and started shooting! Do you have any idea what it’s like to be shot at? It’s nothing like in the movies, I can tell you that. It’s terrifying, and you feel like you’re going to soil your pants.”

“I did soil my pants,” George said. “Oh. I got new pants. No worries.”

Sinjin pointed a finger. “They would have killed the lot of us. Didn’t care who we were. So we sailed off and took our chances. It was like reality imitating reality TV, which is one meta more than I like. We disabled the radio so they couldn’t track us, hit a squall our second day out, and got blown off course. We’ve been on the run for two weeks now, trying to figure out what to do and how to survive at sea.”

“We’ve been trying to figure out how to survive, too,” Nicole said.

“It’s kind of a mixed-up, messed-up world we’re inheriting,” Shanti said. “When we get back, we should do something to change that.”

“Add that to Girl Con,” Adina said.

“What’s Girl Con?” Ahmed asked.

“It’s what we’re going to do instead of pageants,” Tiara explained.

“Ugh.” Adina pushed aside the bottle of rum. “No more rum. I’m sorry. We have to break up, rum. But we’ll still be friends.” Adina stifled a burp and made a face. “Or not.”

Duff stood and offered his hand. “Want to go for a walk on the beach? Fresh air would probably sober you up some.”

“I take umbrage at that, sir! I am not drunk.”⁴³ Adina took a step and stumbled over her feet.

Duff helped her up. “I admire a girl who can use umbrage even when she’s not-drunk drunk.”

“Well, a little tipsy, maybe.”

Duff squeezed his thumb and forefinger together. “Maybe a little.”

“Walkies,” Adina said decisively.

Duff lit a torch and they walked along the curve of beach for some time, back and forth, until Adina’s head was not so rum-muddled. The tide sucked at the sand beneath their toes. The sea breeze was bracing. Stars glistened in the velvet dark beside a fat white moon.

“Hey! Did you see that?” She pointed in the direction of the volcano.

“What?” Duff said, following her finger.

“Over there, in the fog. I saw lights.”

For a split second, the fog pulsed with red light. “Yeah. That’s really weird. It’s like some kind of signal. Are you sure you’re the only people on this island?”

“We haven’t seen anybody else. But we haven’t explored all the way over there. It’s a long way.”

“Maybe it’s one of those towers that tries to make contact with deep space or track weather.”

“Except it’s not a tower. It’s a volcano. Volcanoes only do volcanoey things. And that” — she pointed to the distant point — “is not a volcanoey thing.”

“Yeah,” Duff said. “Weird.”

Adina gazed at Duff. His bare chest was an advertisement for living shirtless. Oh God. She was objectifying him. Reducing the sum of him to the hotness of his parts. She couldn’t help it.

He caught her staring and she looked away quickly.

“Can I ask you something? Why don’t you like me?” he asked.

“I-I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Adina stooped to pick up a shell. “I don’t not like you.”

“Thank you,” Duff said with mock seriousness. “I can’t tell you how much that sentence has restored my ego.”

Adina laughed. She palmed the shell. “It’s just, all the girls were losing their shit over you guys, and I just …” She tossed the shell back into the ocean. “I’m immune to the romantic pirate trope. Nothing personal.”

“Right. Romantic hero. Got it. And I’m hiding a deep and tragic wound which I mask with arrogant wit and pained grimaces?”

“Absolutely. Comes standard.”

Duff picked up a shell, too, and rubbed the sand from it. “What if that weren’t a lie?”

“Right,” Adina said, saluting him. “Moon’s high. Stars are out. Your deep and tragic wound, take one.” She clapped her hands together. “Action.”

Duff tossed the shell into the sea. “Never mind. Let’s head back.” “Wait!” Adina grabbed at Duffs arm. “What did I say?”

“You think I’m an asshole.”

“What? No! I — I’m sorry. I’m not great at this.”

Duff rocked back on his heels, his hands in his pockets. “You do make it hard for a guy to open up.”

“I’m sorry,” Adina said. “Deep and tragic wound, take two. For real. How did you end up on this ship of fools?”

Duff walked in the tide and Adina kept pace. “It was my sister’s idea, actually. She thought I should audition for season four. She kept bugging me about it.”

“Wow. Your sister really wanted the PlayStation to herself, huh?”

“No. She died of leukemia.”

Adina closed her eyes briefly in embarrassment. “Oh God. I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. That was such a jerky thing to say and —”

He held her hand and she felt the warmth in her toes. “Adina, it’s okay. Really.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

“Thanks,” Duff said. He picked up a conch and wiped the sand from it. “Anyway, I went a little crazy after that. Ditching school. Breaking and entering. Me and some blokes I knew stole a car and ended up in jail. I was headed for nowhere good when I saw the casting call notice for season four. The producers were looking for a bad boy. I was looking for a way out of Newcastle.” He shrugged. “There you go. Deep and tragic wound explained.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, do you fancy a swim with me?”

“What, now?”

“Why not?”

“Because …” And she couldn’t really think of a reason not to.

“Last one in’s a rotten egg,” he said. He shucked off his pants and shirt, and Adina, who had taken a life drawing class, Adina, who prided herself on her body comfort, that Adina blushed very hard. There was a world of difference between a body in the abstract and a body you desired, and Adina desired Duff’s body very much.

“The water’s bloody lovely,” he called, shaking the water from his hair.

“It’ll be fine,” Adina said to herself. She stripped down and eased into the waves. He was right. It was bloody lovely.

It is said that the moon is very powerful. It influences tides and weather. It has been worshipped and deified. Perhaps it was the moon that loosened the bindings on the night and the secret wounds held so close. For hours, Adina and Duff allowed the waves — also under the sway of the moon — to carry them as they talked easily about life, school, music, family. The rum lost its effect on Adina, and something more intoxicating took over.

“It’s just that my mom had been married five times. Five times!” Adina said. “And every time, she says, ‘This is The One, Deen. This is the guy I’ve been waiting for. My real life starts now.’ Except it doesn’t.” She let a tiny wave ripple her up and back down. “It’s so painful to watch. I just don’t want to be like that, you know?”

“I know. My dad played the field. Once he and my mom split up, I lived with him. He was always ‘the man’ and I idolized him. Always out with these beautiful women. Always a bespoke suit and a twenty for the guy at the door — and believe me, he knew all the guys at the door. Real flash.” Duff swam long, slow circles around Adina. “But after a while, I realized he couldn’t do it.”

“Couldn’t do what?”

“Couldn’t stick with anything — jobs, people, cities. It was a flaw in his design. In the end, he couldn’t even stick with me.” Duff ducked under the water for a moment. He came back up only to chin level. “He took a job overseas, put me in boarding school. We talk now and then. ‘How are things?’ ‘Fine.’ ‘Good to hear, good to hear. Got a girl?’ ‘Got five.’ ‘There’s a good man.’ It’s like spending hours opening up a perfectly wrapped package only to find there’s no present inside. Nothing but empty space.”

The moon was in a mood. She shined her full light on the water, and it seemed to Adina that nothing had ever been so beautiful, so clear: the night-gray sand, the sound of her friends’ laughter coming from down the beach, the warm press of water against her naked body, and Duff, so near, so right. She liked him. She really, really liked him. He was gorgeous and funny with a sexy British accent and a killer smile and she didn’t care if it was like something out of a bad romance novel. How could she stop this undertow from pulling her out to sea? There had to be a flaw. A catch. There always was.

“Hey,” she said suddenly. “Do you like Feast for the Fishermen?”

Duff made a face. “The emo band? Sorry. Listening to them’s like being beaten with an eleven-year-old’s diary. I’d rather take out my own liver with a dull butter knife.”

And Adina knew she was in trouble.

Duff McAvoy’s lips were incredibly soft, and he smelled faintly of the earth and salt air.

“Is this okay?” he asked, nodding to indicate his room. The ship’s cabin was close and the bunk wasn’t the most comfortable, but it beat a pallet of palm fronds in the sand.

“Yeah.”

“Hold on.” He reached over her head and fiddled with something.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. Alarm clock that goes off sometimes. Just turning it off.”

Adina could hear the waves as they gently rocked the boat. She had a brief recollection of a bumper sticker she’d seen once — If this van is a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’— and it made her giggle.

“What?” Duff asked.

“Nothing,” she said and circled his tongue with hers.

His hands were ship-calloused but warm against her breasts beneath her shirt.

“Adina,” he moaned. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you have an absolutely bangin’ bod.”

“No offense taken,” she whispered, and kissed him again. He pressed his body against hers. They’d been dry-humping for a while, and Adina felt nearly bruised by it, but she also didn’t want to stop.

“Shirt?” Duff whispered between kisses. His fingers waited on the threshold of her hem.

“Shirt,” Adina said.

He peeled it off and stopped to admire her bareness. Adina felt suddenly shy and sexy at the same time. Her body and mind were at war. It was almost reaching tilt status. If this was what surrender felt like, she kind of liked it.

Duff’s thumbs played at the waistband of her underpants. “Pants?”

“Pants,” Adina echoed and kissed his neck.

Duff started the process and Adina finished it by kicking them off with her feet. He slipped a hand between her legs, eliciting a gasp.

She’d never been so nervous, so unhinged with excitement. He moved his hand against her again, and she buried her face against his neck. She could feel the hardness of him against her leg. They pushed against each other in small, rhythmic gyrations that were driving her wild.

“God, Adina.” He gripped her shoulders. He rested his forehead on hers. His eyes were closed in some sort of agony-ecstasy. “I really want you. Can I?”

Goose bumps of yes danced down her arms. Adina hesitated. “Condom?”

Duff went still. “Damn.” He flopped onto his back to catch his breath. Then he turned to her again, tracing a pattern down her sternum with his finger. “I promise I’ll pull out in time.”

He’d felt so good pressed against her that she hadn’t wanted to stop. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe just this once? No. She’d volunteered at Planned Parenthood one summer. She knew about birth control. She knew it only took once. God, what was happening to her brain?

“Sorry,” she said, pressing her palms against his chest. “Safety first. No glove, no love.”

He flopped onto his back again and went quiet. Adina felt a pang of worry that she should’ve said yes. She’d always been in control with guys. But Duff was no Matt Jacobs who hung on her every word. That’s the kind of guy you can lose if you’re not careful, her mother had said once about somebody else’s boyfriend, and Adina had growled in disgust and left the table. Yet that thought worked its way into her brain now. She could close a curtain on it, but the thought remained on the other side.

“Duff?” she asked. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. “Could you please talk to me?”

“Sorry,” he said, breathing deeply. He managed a small smile. “I think my balls are a shade of blue they could never put in a Crayola box. It would frighten the children with its hue of pain.”

Adina’s laugh was filled with relief. “Sure, I know that color. It’s in the box right next to Positive Pregnancy Test Pink.”

He stroked her hair and looked into her eyes. She felt her resolve weakening.

“You are killing me. You know that? I promise, extra promise, I’ll be careful,” he whispered.

“Uncool,” Adina said, and she felt tears burning at the corners of her eyes.

“Yeah. It was. I’m sorry,” he said. “Forgive me?”

“It’s just not cool to pressure somebody”.

“I know. You are one hundred percent right. I’m sorry.”

Adina wiped at her eyes. “I mean, it would be different if we had a condom.”

He kissed the top of her head. “What if I could locate a condom?”

She liked the way he said locate, all twee, like a schoolmaster. “We’re in business, mate,” Adina said.

Duff pulled on his pants and gestured at the front of them. “It’s like a compass finding true north.” Adina laughed out loud. Duff grinned. “Right. Off on a mission of grave condom importance.”

He started toward the cabin door, then doubled back for another kiss, then jogged backward, keeping her in his sights. “Do you know how hard it is to move quickly when your balls are approximately the size of cantaloupes?”

“Would you stop it?” Adina chided, giggling, and she wondered when she’d become so … girly. She’d never said ‘Would you stop it?’ like that, ever. It was such an ingenue thing to say, and Adina had never played that role. What was happening to her?

He was back. The condom package dangled from his fingers like a gift bag prize.

“Sinjin’s cabin.”

“Might’ve known,” Adina said.

Duff dropped trou and pulled the condom on, then positioned himself above Adina. “Now. Where were we?”

He looked into her eyes and Adina felt lost in them, and she had to admit that in this moment, she wanted to lose herself. Nothing else seemed to matter. She imagined the two of them living out their days in a tree house on the island or setting sail through the Caribbean. At night, she would sing ballads she’d written about him. He would read to her from books of poetry. And afterward, in the small cabin, they’d do this, this tangle of bodies, this blurring of the edges that kept people distant and lonely. Her love would heal his bruised heart. He’d want her only, would think of no other girl but her. They would make each other special. The idea was like a drug. This was what girls chased, this feeling. This was what was so hard to admit amidst all the theorizing — that the truth was murkier and deeper and had nothing to do with theory. Desire played by its own rules. She wanted him to want her. Madly. Truly. Completely. His wanting her supplied a missing piece she couldn’t supply for herself; no matter what the self-help books said, desirability was something reflected back to you. And right now, she needed that.

Duff’s little moans traveled up her spine, made her head buzz. And another thought grabbed hold: She was doing this. She had the power to do this. That she could be both completely vulnerable and totally in control was mind-blowing.

“Wait,” she gasped, pressing her hands against his chest.

“Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

“No. I mean, yes, I’m okay, and no, you’re not hurting me.”

“What is it?” He kissed her.

She wanted him. She wanted this. It was her choice.

“Nothing,” she said and joined him fully.

Sosie had danced so much, her muscles ached. She welcomed the pain. The pain reminded her that she was a dancer, that she was someone named Sosie. Lately, she wasn’t so clear about who or what she was. It was as if she had become merged — Sosieandjennifer — and she missed being herself. Alone, she stretched out in the sand down the beach under the swishing leaves of a palm and stared at the sky. That moon was something else. It was a moon built for big dreams and romance.

She knew Jen was probably looking for her — who would want to waste a moon like that? But Sosie didn’t want to share this moon and this moment. She wanted it all to herself. And something in that desire made her realize how far she had drifted from that first flush of excitement with Jennifer. Her affections were waning, and she wasn’t sure she could get them back. The thought upset her. She didn’t want to think about that, and so, despite the throb in her legs, she got up to dance again under the bright full moon.

“That’s some moon,” Petra said.

“Stop talking about my ass, you beast.” Sinjin slipped his arms around Petra’s waist, and they laughed and talked while the stars kept watch.

Oblivious to the charms of the moonlight, Agent Jones stood outside the volcano compound, removed his gloves, and lit up his last cigarette of the night. Tane Ngata hadn’t told him anything. Tomorrow he’d have to make some decisions about the eco-warrior and those damned pirates before things got too out of hand. He exhaled, and in the stream of smoke, he thought he saw the thin ghost of his father. He stubbed out the cigarette.

Tomorrow.

His business finished, Harris slipped from the pirate ship. He congratulated himself for a job well done before vanishing into the light-mottled night.

From behind the shelter of a tree, Taylor cupped her hand into a familiar motion, waving to the moon as if it were an admiring crowd.

“Pretty, doncha think?” she said.

But the dead man at her feet didn’t say a word.