Adrift

BON VOYAGE

Coral

The lobsters were all dead. We ran around the newspaper-covered table armed with hammers, smashing the cooked crustaceans as if they were trying to escape back into the ocean.

Bang! Squirt!

Gotcha! my cousin Isa shouted, her hammer landing on a giant claw.

I held my hammer above the last intact lobster. "Rest in peace, Homarus americanus," I said with a solemn voice.

Isa snorted. God, you’re such a nerd, Coral.

What? I gazed at her innocently. If we’re going to eat it, the least we can do is give it a dignified send-off.

Send-off, schmend-off… Isa picked up a morsel of claw meat and dipped it in a bowl of melted butter.

For a second, I kind of felt bad about the lobsters, especially since I’d seen them crawling around, alive, in Uncle Henry’s lobster trap a couple of hours ago. But ever since I could remember, our Bon Voyage Lobster-Clam Bake was an annual tradition. And traditions were really important in the Bituin-Rousseau family.

Kain na tayo! Tita Sunshine announced while smacking an empty pot with a wooden spoon.

Uncle Henry sneaked up behind her and took the pot and spoon away. I think everyone heard you, honey, he said with a wink.

All five feet and one inch of Tita Sunshine stood taller, as if she could ever reach over Uncle Henry’s six-foot-three frame. It was the same move that Isa used on me whenever she tried to emphasize her seniority. I mean, she was barely a year older, yet she acted as if she were the Gandalf to my Frodo. Truth be told, she was more of a cross between Samwise and Gollum. But most of the time, I just let her believe what she wanted to believe.

For a moment, I stood there and watched the chaos that was my family. They served themselves heaps of food, joking around and laughing as the setting sun turned the sky into a molten orange.

The sisters, Tita Sunshine and Mom, gabbed with each other in Taglish as they pointed out the heads and tiny feet of lobsters, which supposedly had the sweetest meat. They were almost like twins, petite with shiny black hair, golden skin that got even more golden in the summer, and eyes that crinkled at the corners when they laughed.

Then there were the brothers, Uncle Henry and Dad, their voices booming as they talked about sailboats and the ocean and beer and whatever else they usually rambled on about. It was easy to tell they were brothers, since they shared the same coppery-blond hair, freckles, and blue eyes. But Uncle Henry was taller and beefier than Dad. It was probably the decades he’d spent working on fishing boats, while Dad designed sailboats for a living.

Most people thought it was weird that a pair of sisters would marry a pair of brothers. I mean, I guess it was kind of weird and unusual. But it only made our family closer.

One happy family. All for one. One for all.

And that made Isa and me more like sisters than cousins. Isa always liked to remind me that I was her too-tall sister from another mister. So much so that everyone, and I mean everyone, on Pebble Island called us the Star Sisters, because, when we were little, we went around telling anyone who would listen that Bituin—our mothers’ maiden names—meant star in Tagalog.

Are you going to eat? Or just stand there and stare at us like a psycho? Isa asked me with a smirk.

Pfft. I was trying to make one of those sarcastic sounds, but it was just a ploy to distract Isa from seeing the tears welling up in my eyes. Because Mom and Dad and me were about to set off on a four-month-long journey by sea. Our longest one yet. And I was going to miss Isa. Like really, really miss her.

Though, I wasn’t going to openly admit it. Otherwise, she would tease me about it forever.

We sat down on one of the blankets laid out on the sand, our plates in front of us. For a minute, all we did was slurp on lobster and lick the butter off our fingers. But then Isa leaned over and jabbed me with her elbow. So … you’re not going to forget to write to me, huh?

I glanced at her big, honey-colored eyes, at her round face and pointy chin, at her messy top bun, at her chewed-on fingernails, and at her tiny feet, which were almost always barefoot. This was my last chance to bask in her Isa-ness, to drink in every little detail about her so she wouldn’t fade from my memory too fast.

God, I was going to miss her. My sister-cousin.

I smiled. Of course I’m going to write to you. Have I ever forgotten?

No. She rolled her eyes. But there was that one time a couple of years ago when you forgot to mail me that postcard from Greece.

I rolled my eyes back at her. And, to this day, you’ve never forgiven me.

I have! she yelled.

Not.

Whatever.

And then we burst out into a fit of laughter because that’s what we always did whenever we disagreed.

Seriously, though. There might be some stretches when we’re, like, in the middle of nowhere, you know. I doubt some of those islands even have a post office, I said.

Isa frowned. Well, that sucks.

Yeah…, my voice trailed off because the thought of not seeing her for four whole months made my insides hurt. It was going to be like leaving one of my limbs behind. My right arm.

I reached for the silver pendant hanging from my neck, tracing the star engraved on it with my finger. We each had the same pendant. Inside was a photo of Isa when she was eleven and a photo of me when I was ten.

The Star Sisters. That was us.

After dinner, Dad and Uncle Henry built a small bonfire to roast marshmallows. The night sky was filled with twinkling stars, so we rested our bellies and stargazed with the crashing waves as our soundtrack.

God, your parents are perfect, you know, said Isa with the cringey expression she made whenever people were doing lovey-dovey stuff.

I glanced over to where Mom and Dad were sitting. She was leaning on his lap as he caressed her hair. The light of the bonfire flickered, casting shadows on her face, and I couldn’t help but admire how serene and beautiful she was. Dad stared at the dark waters in front of them, and I knew he was daydreaming about our upcoming sailing adventures.

I smiled but didn’t say anything. Because Isa was right. My parents were perfect. And so was the rest of my family—Uncle Henry, Tita Sunshine, Isa. How in the world did I get so lucky?

I leaned to the side and grabbed Isa into a side-hug. I’m going to miss you, Little Star, I said.

Ha! I knew it! Isa smirked, and punched me on the arm.

I rolled my eyes.

But after a second, she placed her head into the crook of my neck, fitting perfectly like a donut that had found its missing donut hole. I’m going to miss you, too, Big Star.

ONE

Coral

One month later.

The stars were hyperreal. Our boat rocked ever so slightly, shifting the blue-black line where the water met the sky. It was the dead of the night, and we were anchored in the middle of nowhere. Mom and Dad were in the cabin conked out, navigational charts strewn over their bodies. I, on the other hand, was stretched out on my makeshift bed on deck—a cozy heap of cushions and throw blankets. The breeze blew over me. I traced the constellations with my index finger. Every time I found one, I’d mouth its name and recite every single fact I knew about it.

Cassiopeia, the W-shaped constellation, named after a queen forced into the heavenly realms for eternity because of her vanity.

I could picture Isa’s laughing eyes. "Nerd," she’d say to me.

Suddenly, I felt lonely. Too bad Dad wasn’t awake so we could geek out over stories of ancient civilizations—Phoenicians, Austronesians, Norsemen—using celestial navigation to explore the unknown seas. I yawned. Pretty soon the star formations began to blur into one another and the tide lulled me into a deep sleep. That is, until I felt a jolt. I bolted upright, my heart beating fast in my chest. Was it a nightmare? I gazed left and right and then left and right again. Nothing. I looked up at the sky. The stars were as they were before I’d fallen asleep. Strange.

It was quiet. Eerily quiet.

I breathed in and out and then coughed, trying to force my heart to calm down. There. Whew. Better. Oh well. I must have been imagining things. Or maybe it was the enormous pile of spaghetti I’d eaten for dinner. It was in my stomach, a tangle of noodles stuck in my guts. I shouldn’t have overeaten. Lesson learned. Relax. Go back to sleep, Coral. But for whatever reason, my body was tense.

Whoosh. The sailboat rocked. My gaze went left and then right again. At first, I saw nothing. But then … wait. I stood. My eyes widened. There. A big swell. No. Not big. Gigantic. Like, huge, really huge.

Dad! Mom! I cried out. But it came out sounding more like a croak. I cleared my throat and coughed. Dad! Mom! This time my voice was louder, echoing out over the dark sea.

Whoooshhh! Another swell. This one three, four, maybe five times bigger than the last one. It pushed the boat up and then down. My stomach dropped. I was dizzy all of a sudden. Everything was whirling and moving and spinning like an out-of-control carnival ride.

Mom! Dad! I screamed.

That’s when I saw it. A wave. A series of humongous waves coming toward us. Fast. I was scared. Petrified. Panicked.

Mom! Dad! Wake up! I screamed again as loud as I could.

There was movement in the cabin below. Voices. Footsteps.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh …

The waves were getting closer. I gazed at the horizon and gasped. It was a tidal wave, twenty or thirty feet high, only a minute or two away.

Oh my god!

It felt as if my heart had leaped into my throat. My legs went weak. For a split second, time stopped. Every part of me wanted to run, to move, to do something, but my mind was somewhere else.

A flash of Mom and Dad at breakfast. Dad teasing her about the supercrispy edges of the fried eggs. "These are Pinoy-style fried eggs," she said, shoving him playfully.

A flash of Isa and me riding our bikes in the rain, our clothes sopping wet as we laughed our heads off.

A flash of all of us—the Bituin-Rousseau family—Mom, Dad, Uncle Henry, Tita Sunshine, Isa, and me at the lobster-clam bake on the beach.

Was that the last time I would see them all?

No!

The thought of it scared me. I had to do something. Anything. I wasn’t ready to die. I wasn’t ready to lose every single person I loved.

I stepped back toward the cabin. Part of me wanted to run down to be with Mom and Dad. But the other part of me, the one that had listened to Dad’s countless, boring safety lectures, knew that I needed to grab our life vests and survival kit first.

It was dark, but I had the boat’s layout memorized. Five, four, three, two, one. I could see the bright orange life vest and the compartment where Dad stowed the survival kit. I grabbed a vest and slipped my arms through the arm holes, snapping and adjusting it with trembling hands.

Coral? Dad’s head poked through the hatch, searching for me with blinking eyes. After a second, he spotted me. Coral? What are you doing? he asked with a confused frown.

I fumbled with the survival kit, somehow managing to sling it across my chest without dropping it. Dad! The waves! I screamed, grabbing two more life vests.

His expression changed from confusion to shock. His eyebrows arched and his mouth rounded into a perfect circle. I looked over my shoulder.

WHOOSH!

A giant wave pummeled the side of our boat. I hurled the life vests at Dad. Ahhhh!!! I screamed.

Coral! I heard Dad calling me, but I couldn’t see him anymore.

Our sailboat was tipping. My body was flying, hurtling, falling.

I hit the water hard. A woman’s screams echoed into the darkness. Mom. No! No! No! This can’t be happening.

The waves just kept on rolling over me, under me, pushing me underwater even though I had a life vest on. Everything was dark and wet and endless. My body kept on sinking, somersaulting every time another wave hit, again and again and again. Seawater pushed up my nose, into my mouth. I sputtered and choked.

Am I going to die?

Another wave pushed me under. I looked up—or was it down? I couldn’t tell. For a split second, I thought I saw something—a constellation twinkling through the water’s surface.

Canis Major, named after Laelaps, Orion’s hunting dog.

I kicked my legs and swung my arms until my head broke through. Hahhh … I breathed and coughed and breathed again. The waves were gone. But so was our boat. And so were Mom and Dad.

I stared into the black void.

Mom! Dad! I’m here! I yelled. Where are you?

But nobody replied. I stared out into the nothingness. It was just me and the wide-open sea. For a brief moment, I imagined myself an astronaut floating away from their shuttle, only the safety tether preventing them from drifting into oblivion. This was now my oblivion. And the safety tether had snapped.

Every inch of me was numb. I tried not to panic, but the thoughts manipulated me like the current. Death. Drowning. Starving. Sharks. So many sharks could have been darting below my feet.

I shut my eyes.

Fear was my enemy.

TWO

Isa

The garlic-fried rice sizzled as it cooked. Ordinarily, that smell would have made me salivate like a dog with a hunk of bacon dangling in front of its nose. But I was too busy stalking our mailbox through the kitchen window to even notice the heavenly aroma.

It had been more or less a month since Coral sailed off into the sunset, leaving pathetic ole me by my lonesome. I mean, not really by my lonesome, but you could hardly count my mom and dad as real company.

Squeak. It was the sound of the rusty gate hinges opening and closing. The mailman! I grabbed my backpack and my hoodie and rushed out of the kitchen.

Anak! Your breakfast! Mom shouted.

I’m not hungry! I shouted back.

Hay, naku. Mom’s grumbling was the last thing I heard as I slammed the door shut and leaped down the front steps.

Our mailman, Malik, smiled at me as soon as he saw me. That postcard you’ve been waiting for arrived, he said with a wink.

I gasped. Really?

Yup, see for yourself. He waved and then walked off toward his red, white, and blue USPS truck.

I pounced on our mailbox, rifling through a pile of bills before I spotted it—the sharp corner of a postcard.

I shoved the bills back inside and stared at the letter. It had a green jungle that seemed to go on forever, clouds so low they almost looked like fog, and an ancient temple split in the middle by a walkway leading to god knows where. In the corner, it said, Welcome to Bali.

Coral was in Bali, Indonesia, or at least, she had been a couple of weeks ago. Humph. I glanced over my shoulder at our weathered, old house in exotic, far-flung Pebble Island, New York.

Oh, well. Maybe one day …

I flipped the postcard over and grinned at the sight of Coral’s perfect cursive handwriting.

Hey Little Star,

I bet you’ve been stalking the mailman for days now … Well, it’s a good thing I was able to sneak off to one of the shops in town to send this to you before we set sail again. Bali is amazing. I mean, it’s touristy and all, but the place itself is beautiful, like, beyond beautiful. Especially the temples, which kind of make you feel as if you’ve stepped out of a time machine into some ancient civilization. And the food, my goodness. I literally had THE BEST curry made out of jackfruit, and chicken and fish sate skewered on lemongrass sticks. So, so good. Anyway, we’re touring the most remote parts of the Indonesian islands next, so you might not get a postcard from me for a while. Don’t kill me! I promise, I’ll send you another next chance I get. God, I really wish you were here! One day, Little Star. One day, you and me will travel the world. Just the two of us. More soon.

Lots of love,

Coral

When I was done reading the postcard two whole times, I let out a long breath. I placed the tip of my finger on the part that said, I really wish you were here!, rubbing the words back and forth as if I were rubbing a genie’s magical lantern. Maybe if I rubbed hard enough, my wish would come true. Zap! I would materialize on some tropical beach with Coral.

Anak! You’re going to be late for school! Mom yelled out the window.

Crap. I gazed at the postcard longingly.

One day. One day …

THREE

Coral

The weight of my body betrayed me. I heaved. Something solid was behind my legs and back. I moved my feet and felt sand between my toes. The realization that I was still alive forced my eyes wide open. The bright blue sky blinded me. I pushed myself up to sitting and winced. Cramps pinched at my sand-caked limbs, which for whatever reason reminded me of uncooked mozzarella sticks. Maybe I was just hungry. My stomach groaned. Yup. Hungry.

The neon orange life vest was tight against my chest, so I took it off, breathing a sigh of relief when I found the survival kit still clinging to me. Thank god.

For a good, long while, all I kept thinking was, I’m alive, I’m alive. But part of me refused to believe it. Maybe I was dead. The pain, though, the stiffness, the aches, the cuts. They were all there. I couldn’t ignore them. I really was alive. For better or for worse.

As I wobbled and then stood, a new thought nagged me. I’m alone. My stomach sank. I dropped to my knees. Scared.

A chorus of birds echoed in the distant jungle, as if they were mocking me.

Good luck surviving this place, kid …

You’re not even going to last twenty-four hours …

You might as well just dig yourself a grave …

No! I shouted. No! No! No!

I pushed myself off the sand, took a few dazed steps toward a fallen coconut tree, and sat.

Breathe, Coral, breathe…, I said out loud to myself.

I looked around, my eyes still stinging from the salt water. It was all a bit of a blur. But in front of me was the tranquil turquoise-blue sea, hugged by a crescent-shaped beach with powdery white sand. Behind me was a row of coconut trees. And in the distance, cliffs and maybe a jungle?

What is this place?

The inside of my mouth felt as if it were coated with salty seaweed snacks. Desperate for anything to drink, I yanked open the survival kit. The contents spilled out onto the sand. My eyes zeroed in on a box of drinking water. I pounced on it, ripping the seal with my teeth. Sloppy streams trickled down my chin. It was so tempting to rip open another box. But as I knelt on the sand, I did a superquick inventory and realized something. It wasn’t enough.

Only four water boxes were left among the rest of my supplies: a straw water filter, a dozen protein bars and energy gels, a travel-size first aid kit, a mini sewing kit, a rechargeable squeeze flashlight, a box of waterproof matches, a pocket notebook and pen, a bright yellow rain poncho, and a seven-inch Tracker knife.

I stared and stared for what seemed like forever. These items would make the difference between life and death.

My life.

My death.

That’s when a tidal wave of emotions hit me.

A tidal wave. How ironic.

Everything sank in all at once, twisting my stomach until the ache was unbearable. It was only then, as I stared out at the seemingly endless stretch of sea, that tears began falling down my cheeks.

Mom. Dad. There was a gaping hole in my heart.

They’re not here.

Am I ever going to see them again?

What if … what if they’re dead?

A gruesome mixture of fear and sadness gripped me. I couldn’t breathe. My arms, my legs, my shoulders, my chin were trembling. It was hot, but I was cold, almost shivering. What if they’re dead? What if they’re dead? What if they’re dead? That one thought kept hitting me, over and over. I was nauseated; my stomach ached. Cough, cough. Suddenly, my throat burned, and then I vomited all over the sand. The water I’d just drank, along with the acids from my empty stomach, formed slimy pools by my feet.

Why me? How am I supposed to go on without Mom and Dad?

I fell on my hands. I tightened my stomach muscles, trying to get all the hurt out. I pushed the tears out of my eyes, trying to rid myself of all the sadness. I swallowed hard, trying to push all the bitterness down my throat.

But none of it worked.

It wasn’t until the sun beat down on me that the tears finally ran out, leaving my face puffy and raw. I may as well have been comatose. The swishing waves deepened my trance until a barely there whisper snapped me out of it, Use what we taught you,