Page 43 of Reckless Girls
It feels unfair, like hating a kicked puppy or something, but asI watch Robbie shovel Jake and Eliza’s food into his mouth and down an entire bottle of sauvignon blanc, I wish we could go back to just a few hours ago, when it was just the six of us.
“This place has a really fucked-up history, right?” Robbie says. He’s still holding the bottle of wine by its neck, his knuckles red and raw, and the firelight makes strange shadows under his cheekbones, his eyes. “Sailors eating each other and shit?”
“Sailors were wrecked here,” I say, reaching into the cooler for a fresh bottle of wine. It’s a little embarrassing how quickly I’ve gotten used to treating Jake and Eliza’s provisions like they’re ours. Sure, we’ve provided a jar of peanut butter and the occasional beer, but all the good shit is Jake and Eliza’s. I have the fleeting thought that we should offer to pay for what we’ve been eating, before I remember that of the four of us on theSusannah, I’m certainly not the one with that kind of money.
Outside the circle of light provided by the bonfire, the night is dark, save for the stars and the occasional white flash of the surf as it breaks. I keep my eyes on Robbie’s as I stick in the corkscrew. “I don’t know about eating each other.”
Robbie laughs, a phlegmy, thick sound. “Oh, if there was a shipwreck, there were cannibals. People do what they got to do to survive, you know?”
He looks around the fire, grinning. “Wouldn’t you?”
“This is gross,” Amma announces, getting up, but Robbie doesn’t seem offended.
“Yeah, it is,” he agrees, then shrugs. “That shit still happened, though.”
“We can’t know—” Brittany says, but to my surprise, Nico cuts her off.
“We do, actually. Dude’s right. When the HMSMeroewrecked here, there were thirty-two survivors. Only eight walked off this island. There was a trial and everything. The stuff about cannibalism didn’t make it into the papers, but there’s no doubt they wouldn’thave made it without eating the ones that died.” He grins, tearing apart a shrimp with his teeth. “Long pig. Apparently tastes just like barbecue.”
My stomach churns, and I look at the still half-full plate of food in front of me. It was fish, grilled and savory and nothing at all like what Nico’s talking about, but I know I can’t stomach any more food tonight.
“But maybe they were just… I don’t know, stronger or something. Tougher.”
That makes Robbie laugh again, only this time, it sounds more menacing. “Oh, they were tougher,” he agrees. “Place like this, it does things to people. Reveals who you really are, when you strip all the bullshit away.”
He gives me that grin again, his teeth yellowed and slightly crooked.
“That’s why they survived.”
SIXTEEN
I wake up too early the next morning, the light in the cabin a soft lilac as I gently disentangle myself from Nico, slipping on the still-damp swimsuit I have hanging on one of the kitchen cabinet doors.
The whole main cabin is a bit of a mess, I realize as I look around, and I wonder if I should come back later this afternoon and straighten up a bit. We spend so much time on the island lately that theSusannah, which was supposed to be our home base, is starting to feel more like a staging area. The place where we sleep and get dressed and occasionally grab food, but nothing more.
When I step out onto the deck, the sun is just rising, turning both the sky and water the prettiest shades of pink and orange, and I grin as I leap over the side of the boat, the water sliding over me, warm and salty.
The swim to shore takes just a few minutes, and I immediately head for the little lean-to Jake set up the other day. There are some books in there, courtesy of my collection, a few towels, andusually some protein bars—another one of theSusannah’s few contributions to the shared rations.
But as I walk up the slight rise to the edge of the trees, I see someone has already beaten me there.
“Morning!” Robbie calls. He’s claimed one of Eliza’s batik blankets, his arms around his skinny knees, one of the protein bars in his hand, spilling crumbs. There’s also an open bottle of beer next to him, half-full.
“Tell you what, can’t beat a breakfast beer and getting to watch a beautiful woman come out of the water.”
He says it easily, his tone friendly, but I still don’t like it, don’t like the way his eyes skate over me, admiring.
But it’s his first full day here, and maybe he’s just one of those guys, the type that doesn’t even realize they’re being creepy. I make myself smile as I reply, “Can’t say I’ve ever had a breakfast beer.”
“Oh girl, best thing in the fucking world,” he says, offering me a sip from his bottle. “Beer first thing in the morning sets thetone, you know. The motherfuckingtonefor your wholeday.”
I shake my head at the offered bottle.
“No, thanks.”
“Your loss,” he says cheerfully, taking another drink and then a bite of the protein bar. I notice there are two other empty wrappers discarded next to him and once again fight down my irritation.
Still, I hear the sharpness in my tone when I ask, “So how long are you planning on staying?”
