My white pants are soaked. They’re tight and uncomfortable, and I really, really wish I was wearing swim trunks like Jason.
Jason is currently hollering and whooping in happiness at the heavens. He flings himself onto the beach, spreading his arms wide. For a moment, I think he’s going to start making sand angels or something.
He doesn’t.
But his smile is super wide, so unlike how I picture him, and I give a strangled laugh.
“We made it, Cal.”
“We sure did.” I tear off my shoes and hold them in my hands. The sand is hot beneath my toes, but I don’t care.
I move toward him, and Jason’s face pales. Too late, I remember we’re not friends anymore. Just because Jason didn’t leave me stranded in the middle of the Pacific doesn’t mean he’s a great guy.
My recollections of him as are marred by my then-crush on him. I liked the way he looked. I liked the way the light settled on his blond hair. He was an athlete even then, and baby gay me liked it. He didn’t scowl as much then.
I hate the way his breath sputters when I come close, and I hate the way he averts his gaze, jerking his head to peer at the well, completely, boring sand.
Though I guess sand isn’t boring when you’re worried you won’t see it again.
I march past him, in case he thought I was going to sit beside him or something. He was angled awkwardly away from me on the jet ski, as if he thought I was contaminated.
It’s fine.
Absolutely fine.
I kissed the wrong guy when I was sixteen. I can survive this awkwardness.
There’s no hotel or house or anything on this beach, so I decide to look around until I find who actually lives here.
But maybe their resort is super fancy. Birds caw. There’s no well-groomed path. No neat boardwalk swept twice a day by trusty staff.
The grove becomes thicker, and more jungle-like, and I frown. I put on my wet shoes and sludge through muddy ground packed with fallen leaves and weeds and what I think are insect corpses as wet palm leaves and vines lash at my soggy attire.
Is this island uninhabited?
No way.
Surely not.
It’s gorgeous. Someone must live here.
But I consider how hard it was to reach this island.
Maybe some islands are uninhabited. Wasn’tCastawayfilmed near here? I saw the advertisements for a ferry to the island where it was filmed.
I won’t panic.
Panicking is something for other people to do. Not me. Not now.
I’m not a high schooler realizing I’m gay. I’m not a high schooler realizing I’m way more into my friend than my other classmates would find socially acceptable.
No, everything is completely fine.
I won’t freak out because I don’t immediately see signs of civilization. I probably should have explored the beach more, and I didn’t, because I’ve had enough with Jason’s sulky expressions and sulkier sighs.
I march on. Finally, light appears through the trees.
This is it. This is a house... hopefully. Instead, I stare at a different, rockier beach. It’s equally desolate, and the gnawing pain in my chest grows.
