Page 28

Phoebe

Then

“The hostel is putting on an ABC party tonight.” Claire chatters as we dig through our suitcases, yanking out swimsuits and towels. “Anything but Clothes.”

It’s the day after the total shitshow on the boat in Cairns.

After Tomas alerted Adrien about my plan to swap her pills with mine, she lost it on me, yelling her head off about how I was trying to drug her.

It turned into a whole thing. Nick got involved, told me if I ever pull shit like that again, he’s putting me on the first flight home.

No one could meet my eyes after it all went down.

Hari shot me disapproving looks from across the boat.

Kyan and Adrien talked nonstop about how crazy I was loudly enough for everyone to hear for the rest of the day.

Even Claire has been acting strange towards me since then.

In fact, this current conversation may be the most she’s said to me in twenty-four hours.

Once that god-awful boat ride was over and we were back on shore in Cairns, we all changed and piled back onto our bus—which had already begun to take on the distinct smell of stale liquor and unwashed bodies—and drove overnight to Airlie Beach, a quirky coastal town, where we caught an early morning ferry out to the Whitsundays.

“They’re a group of islands off the coast, with some of the most vibrant marine life outside the Great Barrier Reef,” Nick had explained as our bus had pulled into Airlie Beach. “We’ll take a speedboat out one day, do some hiking another, snorkel, the works.”

“And after this we go to the Outback, yes?”

A groan rose up through the seats. “Tomas, you and your fascination with the Outback. Good lord, man,” Josh teased.

“Yes,” Nick said gruffly. “The next stop is the Outback. So enjoy the water while you can.”

Excitement seemed to flood through the bus as we pulled into the ferry port, crystal clear waters on all sides. I, on the other hand, was too distracted by how royally I’d managed to fuck everything up. Seriously, what was I thinking going after Adrien like that?

The thought played on repeat in my head as the ferry trundled through the turquoise water, coral-crusted islands popping up around us.

But even so, I couldn’t help but take in the beauty.

White sand morphed seamlessly into lush green forests.

I had thought the Great Barrier Reef was stunning, but this part of the country seemed to outshine even that.

But despite the scenery, I couldn’t swallow away the anxiety that rose in my chest, seemed to block my trachea.

I fucked up bad. And I wasn’t sure how I was going to come back from that.

I couldn’t ignore the glances I would catch Adrien shoot at me across the bus or the ferry, always followed by whispers to Kyan. Something was brewing, I could feel it.

“It’s called Lindholmen Island,” Nick had informed us as we pulled up to our destination, his voice even louder than usual to compete with the wind.

“It’s small, only a few miles in diameter, and the hostel we’ll be staying at owns the entire island.

No other businesses or residents. So it’ll just be us and the other hostel guests. ”

I could feel the freedom the others were reveling in. But all I could think was that I was stuck alone with Adrien and any plans of revenge she may have, far away from everything and everyone else.

As we deboarded the ferry, white sand erupted in front of us from the turquoise waters, dotted here and there by the odd palm tree.

Behind that lay a one-story building flanked by swimming pools, and to the left, a long narrow structure that housed the rooms. Beyond, a singular lush hill dominated the entire island, decorated with so many green trees it looked impenetrable.

It was the closest thing to paradise I’ve ever seen.

“It’s a hostel,” Nick explained, breaking into my thoughts. “So don’t be expecting a five-star resort.” He shot a look at Kyan specifically, who was never shy about giving his feedback on the accommodations.

Now that we’re in our rooms, it’s clear Nick wasn’t lying.

Ours is furnished with rock-hard beds topped with starchy sheets and an air-conditioning unit that doesn’t even attempt to masquerade its futility.

I can practically hear Kyan complaining from here.

At least Claire and I are back to having our own shared room, although I’m guessing I’m happier about that than she is.

Adrien and Ellery are next door, and the guys are split into two rooms back further from the shore, up near where the island morphs from beach to dense rainforest.

“Anything but Clothes, huh?” I respond to Claire. “Should be fun.”

But I can’t shake the feeling I’m wrong.

***

Despite the weird tension, I still laugh as Claire and I drape random objects over ourselves, trying to figure out a way to cover the parts of us that the law requires while still looking somewhat stylish.

The hostel had distributed orange and blue plastic bags for those who haven’t come equipped to fashion an outfit out of everyday items, and Claire has made something that looks like a one-piece bathing suit covered by a hula skirt, while I’ve gone more scandalous in a plastic two-piece, although my bottom half looks more like a blue plastic diaper.

We squeak over to Kyan and Josh’s room a few doors down, and Josh opens the door, clad only in a speedo covered by an inflated pool float.

“Come in, come in.”

I wrinkle my nose at the smell of college boy that strikes me from the doorway, but ignore it upon seeing the stash the guys have acquired.

Three boxes of wine—which Hari informed us the locals call “goon”—a bottle of some pink sparkling thing, the label of which reads Passion Pop , and a fifth of vodka.

I add the small bottle of rum I picked up at a liquor store back in Cairns to the collection.

I’m more relieved by the alcohol than I should be, I know that. But I can’t think of a better way to shake off the weird feelings I’ve had since Cairns. Plus, if there’s any chance of me acting like the carefree, confident Phoebe everyone expects tonight, I’ll need it. And lots of it.

The others pile in as Josh pours us glasses of room temperature white wine.

I take in their outfits, all of which display varying degrees of effort.

Declan’s pale white chest nearly glows beneath an orange life vest, Adrien’s fashioned two pillowcases and a belt into a dress that I must begrudgingly admit looks kind of good, and the rest of us have all made do with the plastic bags distributed by the hostel.

“Seems like as good a time as any to introduce you to the official Aussie pastime,” Hari announces to the rest of us. “Slap the bag.”

One-handed, she pulls the wine bag from its box, lifts it over her head, and with the other hand pours a healthy dose of wine into her mouth before slapping it. “That’s all there is to it. Who’s next?”

Josh raises his hand eagerly and Hari walks over to him, tells him to lie back, and pours the wine into his throat, handing it over to him to slap before instructing him to do the same to Claire.

And so it goes, the volume of our voices and laughter increasing with each round.

But I can’t tear my eyes away from Adrien and Kyan.

She sneers when she catches me staring, and I consider trying to broker a peace deal.

Anything to make the anxiety stop. But the game keeps going and the wine bag keeps circling.

When the bag is finally depleted and we’re all a bit unsteady on our feet, we traipse across the island to the hostel’s bar and restaurant.

The others ate earlier, but the idea of sausages in stale bread for the eighth day in a row wasn’t too appetizing, so I’d skipped dinner, an idea I regret as the wine sloshes in my empty stomach.

Darkness has settled on the island, the enormous full moon illuminating the footpath as we walk.

The night has taken on a gauzy quality, everything shimmering, lines blurring, and colors more vibrant than I know they should be.

When we arrive, the party is already in full swing, tables pushed apart to form a dance floor, house music pumping from massive speakers, and flashing neon lights illuminating a few dozen or so other people already taking advantage of it.

I see a group of Danish backpackers we’d met on the beach earlier, two Indian girls on their gap year, and a bunch of other strangers. Nick Gould is notably absent, as he usually is whenever there’s fun to be had.

We start with shots, all of us together, and as the liquor courses through my veins, it starts to feel like it did at the beginning. When relationships were just beginning to form and anything felt possible.

“To the Mob,” Ellery yells as we hold our plastic neon shot glasses up towards each other. “To family!”

We all mimic her words, some of us more enthusiastically than others, as we throw them back.

“Let’s dance!” Tomas grabs my hand and leads me onto the dance floor. I accept it for what it is—an olive branch. I know he feels bad for ratting me out to Adrien. So I force my resentment aside and follow him.

The beat pulses through my body, my limbs loose.

Someone hands me another drink—vodka and pineapple juice, not my preference, but I still down it in a few sips.

Claire and Declan are dancing together a few feet away, her hips grinding into his in a way that even makes me blush.

Get it, girl. And then I find myself dancing in between Ellery and Tomas, and a wave of affection for them overcomes me.

The two little siblings of the trip, as I’ve come to see them.

Always together, heads close, whispering or laughing to some inside joke.