Page 24 of Resisting Mr. Fancy Pants

Day three started out nice. The “HELP” sign was still in place and the fire hadn’t completely burned out. We split a protein bar and a bottle of water before we went in search of more wood.

The silence was deafening as we went. I was reminded of his statement about how the quiet meant bad things for food. When we weren’t screwing each other’s brains out, I was dreaming of the diner. Oh, how spoiled I’d been to have pancakes within reach at the diner. What I wouldn’t do for scrambled eggs, hash browns and bacon right about now.

But there was nothing. Not even water. We only had a few bottles more, so guzzling one bottle to fool my stomach into believing it was full was out of the question.

After gathering wood, we spent the rest of the day walking the perimeter of the island to see if there was a better spot with anything that could help us. Nothing. Though the island was small, according to Agan, the walk was long. My feet were thoroughly hurt by the time we returned, Unlike Agan, I didn’t have shoes. They were at the bottom of the ocean with everything else, like a change of clothes. That left the bottom of my feet with some cuts, but they were mostly sore from walking on the uneven ground. That night, we held each other. I let silent tears fall as my hopes did too.

Day four I felt parched. My lips were cracked by afternoon. After our normal breakfast of a half a bar and a shared water bottle, we’d walked to the other side of the island with no results. I was dead tired upon our return. The sun was unrelenting, and I collapsed with exhaustion upon reaching our base camp, as I’d begun to call it.

“We only have two bottles of water left,” Agan announced.

Even though I hadn’t spoken, my tongue felt thick. I could hear the waves, but that meant nothing. We couldn’t drink it—something about salt water, I vaguely remembered. I wanted to curse the world but saved my strength.

“Here,” he said.

I opened my eyes and spotted the water bottle he held out to me. I shook my head.

“Drink, Haley. We’ll figure out something.”

I could tell he wasn’t going to let me not take it. It took me a bit to get the darn thing open. I took a swig and then held out the bottle to him. He shook his head. “I will not drink unless you do,” I croaked.

He sighed and took the bottle. He took a pull from the bottle and handed it back to me. I closed it up. I’d learned the best way to get over hunger and thirst was to sleep.

Day five the heavens opened for us. The sound of pouring rain drew me from my slumber. I scrambled out of the tent and bent my head back with an open mouth and let the rain pour down my throat until my senses came back to me.

“The bottles,” I cried, waking Agan up.

We both dove for the bag with our empty bottles. We removed the tops and anchored each bottom in the thin sand. Then I went back to standing in the rain, enjoying the cool water on my skin and down my throat. It was a glorious moment.

Only the rain didn’t last. Not forever. And the bottles with their narrow openings didn’t collect enough to ensure our survival. But it was better than nothing.

But the rain wasn’t good for everything. Our fire was out, and the wood was wet.

“I’ll go look for wood,” he said.

“I’ll go too.”

He glanced at my bare feet. “You should probably stay. We’ll need to go farther in, closer to the mountain.”

I disagreed. “I can’t stay and do nothing.”

He closed his eyes in what I guessed was resignation. We forged deeper into the island to find kindling protected by thick vegetation that kept the ground dry, along with fallen branches. But a sight stopped me in my tracks.

“Agan,” I said, pointing off to my right.

There, off in the distance, was a tree with orange fruit hanging off of it.

“Stay here,” he said.

We’d followed a natural path free of obstructions that could hurt my feet. The vegetation toward the tree was hard to determine. “Fine, but let me know if it’s okay.”

He nodded and plodded ahead. Just as I was about to call out to him, he waved me forward. “It’s fine.”

Renewed with a burst of energy, I skipped ahead, hoping what I saw wasn’t a mirage. It wasn’t.

“Tell me those are oranges,” I said.

The ground was covered in mushy fruit. I stepped on one. The rotten pulp squeezed through my toes, and I didn’t care.

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