n huge boulders. Each slight swell lifted the ship and then let it grind slowly back down.
The yacht belonged to their parents. They hadn’t even known it was coming, hadn’t known their parents were nearby.
“What happened?” Peace asked in a tremulous voice.
Virtue answered, “It ran into the island. It must have been on its way…and then…then it just ran into the island.”
“Why didn’t Captain Rocky stop it?”
“Because he is gone,” Sanjit had said. “Just like all the other grown-ups.”
Somehow at that moment it had hit Sanjit. He’d never had much affection for the two actors who called themselves his mother and father, but seeing their yacht smashed heedlessly against the rocks had brought it home.
They were alone on the island. Maybe alone in the whole world.
“Someone will come for us,” Sanjit had said, not quite sure he believed it.
So they had waited. Days. And then weeks.
And then they had begun to ration food. There was still plenty of that left. The island was stocked for parties that sometimes included a hundred guests, all coming in by helicopter or private jet.
Sanjit had seen some of the parties. Lights strewn everywhere, all kinds of famous people in fancy clothes drinking and eating and laughing too loud while the kids were kept in their rooms, occasionally hauled out to say good evening and listen to people talk about how great it was that their parents had been so generous, rescuing “these kids.”
Sanjit had never considered himself rescued.
There was still a lot of food left. But the diesel fuel that ran the generator was running out despite all their efforts to conserve.
And now there was Bowie. Sanjit could usually manage to sidestep responsibility. But he couldn’t let Bowie die.
There were only two ways on or off the island. By small boat—and they had no boat. Or helicopter. And that they had. Sort of.
The time had come to seriously examine the most impossible option.
Sanjit and Virtue found rope in the groundskeeper’s shed. Sanjit anchored one end of the rope around the not-very-secure trunk of a sapling. He hurled the other end out into the void.
“Probably pull the tree down on our heads, huh?” He laughed.
Sanjit and Virtue went down. The rest were told to stay put, stay away from the cliff, and wait.
Twice Sanjit lost his footing and slid down on his butt till he managed to stop by digging his heel into a shrub or rock outcropping. The rope ended up being no use at all for the descent. It lay off to the right of the path, far out of reach.
The boat, the Fly Boy Two, was still there, battered, rusting, algae sliming around the waterline. It wallowed in the gentle swell, its bow seemingly hanging on for dear life to the rocks it had hit months earlier.
“How do we get onto the boat?” Virtue asked when they had reached the bottom.
“That’s a really good question, Choo.”
“I thought you were invincible, Sanjit.”
“Invincible, not fearless,” Sanjit said.
Virtue made his wry smile. “If we climb up on that rock, we can maybe grab the guardrail on the bow and pull ourselves up.”
From down here the boat was far larger. And the gentle motion that rocked the crumpled bow back and forth looked a lot more dangerous.
“Okay, little brother, I’m going to do this, okay?” Sanjit said.
“I’m a better climber than you are.”