Page 52 of Here for a Good Time
ELEVEN
“Ms. Poe,” Antonio says, watching as I dig around in my backpack. “Why do you have a pair of binoculars in your bag?”
“I was going to go bird-watching,” I reply as I produce the item.
“Since when do you bird-watch?” Zwe asks.
I shoot him a glare. “I was going to start here. Try a new hobby, get the creative juices flowing, remember? Maybe the main character in my new book is a bird-watcher.”
“A time-traveling, bird-watching protagonist?” he asks.
“Whatever,” I sneer, the best retort I can come up with on the spot. “Do you want to use the binoculars or not?”
“Yes, please,” Leila says, and I hand them over to her.
Too tired to produce any meaningful conversation, and still somewhat irked, I mainly stayed silent during our walk down to the beach; in contrast, Leila and Zwe talked. A lot. The whole way. In some ways, it was like they were on a date. An acute, sharp sensation poked at my solar plexus from behind the whole time, something that felt a lot like, frankly, jealousy. But that was ridiculous, becausewhat did I have to be jealous about? Zwe and I had made up. And Leila is really, really great, the kind of girl who, if you met her in a club bathroom, would slide you an extra tampon from under the stall divider while giving you a pep talk about why you absolutely shouldnottext your terrible ex. AllIwas doing was being possessive, like a child who’s been forced to share her favorite toy with the new kid in class.
I tried to make small talk with Antonio, who turns out to be a great person to make small talk with when you don’t really want to talk because all you have to do is throw out a question likeI wonder how many different types of berries are growing in this forest?and he’ll take care of the rest. And while typically I’d be exhausted by a man who took over the majority of the conversation, in this case, that was precisely what I wanted until our trek reached level ground.
Now, we’re huddled against the wall of one of the beachfront villas, trying to get a gauge of the exact manpower we’re up against.
“There are two of them,” Leila says, binoculars pressed against her eyes. “They’re only patrolling up and down the pier.” Her head moves a few degrees to the left. “The resort boats are all still there.”
“They must be keeping them for their getaway,” I say.
“My babies,” Antonio murmurs. “No one will lay a hand on any of you, I promise.”
“Are they armed?” Zwe asks.
“Yes,” Leila says. “But I think we could take them.”
“How?” I ask.
She lowers the binoculars, a small smile on her lips indicating that she’s already got a plan. “With a little help from—” Reaching into her back pocket, she takes out two long pieces of metallic silver. “—my trusty friends,” she says, the sun reflecting off of theknives. “Poe, I’m assuming you have a spare hair tie in that Swiss Army knife of a backpack? Preferably two?”
“Naturally.” I dig into the front zip pocket and retrieve two black ties.
“On an island, do you know what people’s number-one fear is? Because there’s nowhere to hide or run, apart from right in the ocean?” Her smirk tells me it’s a rhetorical question.
“What?” I ask.
“Fire.”
“I don’t know if this is going to work,” I mutter.
Zwe exhales, fingers folded into such tight fists that his knuckles are beginning to turn white. “Positive thinking,” he nonetheless replies.
“We’re about to find out,” Antonio says.
We managed to hop four bungalows over so that we’re as close as possible to the pier without being found.
From beside the next bungalow, the one directly facing the pier, Leila gives us a thumbs-up. I watch her straighten from her crouched position, smoothing out her polo and tightening her ponytail as she gets ready. She takes one step, pauses, and peeks into each of her long sleeves, where she’s tied the knives to her wrists with the hair ties. When she’s satisfied, she slowly pushes her hands down in the air in front of her, as though reminding herself to remain calm. Then—
“Fire! Fire! You have to help me, there’s a fire!” Arms flailing, she rushes out into the open.
The intruders, who had had their masks attached to their elbows(assumedly because of the heat), scramble to put them back on. “Put your hands up!” one of them orders.
Leila obeys, and her run also slows down to a brisk walk. “I’m not armed!”
