𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥

"Is she ok?"

"I think she's dead... is she dead?"

"She's not dead, dork!"

"Okay, loser, I was just wondering!"

"Guys, stop. She's waking up."

First came the recollection. Then the blaring red lights. The bang that submerged me into an atmosphere of cold darkness.

A vision of red presses itself to my closed eyelids. Must be the sun egging me awake to contribute to the nagging prepubescent voices in a big annoying soup. My face twitches and creases as granules itch at my face, but feels as though they're glued to my skin. Like salt, almost. Scrunching my nose as awareness slowly regains its dwelling in my conscience, I part my eyes open slowly. A hot flash floods my vision in an instant and bites my retinas. Never mind. Eyes staying closed sounds more than satisfactory.

"What the fuck is wrong with her face?"

"She looked hotter on the plane."

"Well, I can't say she looks so bad being passed out, either, if I'm being honest."

A sticky film of dryness clings to my throat, prompting an elicited groan to crawl out of my voice box, slowly perishing in the heat. I try opening my eyes again, twitching as the white light greets me with its uncalled for rudeness. My muscles stiffen, restricting my initial movements as I find my hand's grip on the loose ground. I pause when it hits me... my hand curls in the powdery grains that comprises the floor beneath my frame. Sand.

Stunned by what I identified, I lift a handful of it to my face for closer inspection. It trickles through the gaps of my fingers with a hushing sound as I push myself up to sitting position. The small pile in my hand disintegrates when a sharp bolt of pain strikes through my head - my hand snapping to rub my temple.

A blurred painting of blue and silver splays across the distance. In my distorted comprehension, I rapidly blink the static away.

"What the shit," I croak, swallowing the ghost of saliva that I didn't realize I'd miss. I pause abruptly to assess my situation. A scene of horror and mental beratement.

A barrier of boys enclose the area around me, some heads blocking the sunlight at the new angle I peer from like a confused owl. Taking in their untidy appearances, though I'm not any less disheveled, I can finally assume that they range in ages 10-18. A hodgepodge of facial expressions overwhelm me further with a tirade of the inability to grasp a mutual feeling from them as a whole. Sneers, frowns, blankness, goggled eyes.

"Take a picture, losers, it'll last longer." I mumbled under my breath. My words ran together like my racing thoughts. What do they think I am? Have they never heard of a girl before? Nontheless, seen one? Nevermind. After the insufferable occurence on the plane, I can confirm that they have their own designated view on women. The norm that resides with this bunch, although they act like I'm some feminine exhibition to gawk at. Nevermind, I doubt they see girls at all during their schooling.

"Well, someone told us you were waking up, soooo...." The voice trails off, and I remain oblivious as to where we are. Tucking my legs under myself to sit on my knees, I scope through the crowd to pick out a familiar face. Discombobulated fuzziness still had its grip on me, to my misfortune.

I notice a soft-faced boy standing in the crowd, he looks concerned. Right, that's Simon. He isn't standing as close to me as the other boys are. Maybe it's his feeble attempt to give me space.

"You've slept since yesterday evening." some kid squeaked. I frown when I hear that information.

"No, she wasn't. She was unconscious, ya idiot!"

The boys haven't budged from their position, staring at me like I'm the last girl on Earth who has suddenly come down from a spaceship. A scowl braces my expression.

"Alright! Do you mind?" I snap at the bunch, brushing the sand off my bodice. Five more seconds boil by, filled to the brim with dumbfounded stares before finally backing off.

"I'm not a God damn check point, you idiots," I mutter under my breath while inspecting the jagged scratches along my arms. They definitely can't hear it, though.

Off to the left, a bird flashes up towards the sky, a vision of yellow and red as it emits a witch-like cry, startling me for a split second.

Sea foam reaches me just then, frothy and soft. It tickles my legs before the sea pulls back into a sigh that claims it once more. I watch as the tide melts into itself, my eyes screwing up against the vast glistening water that reflects the sunlight like a magnifying glass.

I assessed the boys, now it's time to assess my surroundings. It's like a painting; golden sand stretched all along the shore, littered with rotting coconuts and palms. Behind me, the sand continues before it trickles away and dissolves into the greenery of a magnificent jungle. Waxy leaves and low hanging snake-like vines. The shadows of the sweeping trees are as tangible as water when one swims. They flourish through the gaps of my fingers when I imagine myself reaching out.

The cold tendrils of fear remain apparent in the background of my chest and skull, but I can't quite grasp it. Thankfully, the boys slowly disappear to go do their own antics.

"I don't suppose you want to sit there on the ground all day, do you?"

I flinch back as a hand appears in front of my face. Rapidly blinking, my gaze follows past the hand, and up an arm to reveal who the person is at my aid. I'm still greatly disoriented by the bright light.

To my grace, a boy with golden-brown curls is here to help me to my feet. Oh, he's the kid from the plane... only now he's injured. Eyeing him with caution, I take his hand so he can pull me up, soaking in the richness of his coffee stained eyes.

The same bird squawks like it was trying to get our attention, and the call is echoed by another human voice. I see him now; the straight epitome of every stereotypical nerd out of a movie that is wheezing as he clambers over to us, sweat stains apparent in every joint.

"Wait a minute! I got caught up," he grunted like he thought we'd walk away. That's right! He was on the plane too, the asthmatic one. He's evidently in distress. That makes two of us. The brunette boy looks at him sidelong without a word. When the boy fully approaches us, his crooked smile falls in embarrassment. Finally, the brunette turns to address me.

"Hey, are you ok?"

I gaze around with my wavering frame, not fully recovered from the reign of dizziness. Taking notice of this, he steadies me by my elbow and lets out a small chuckle. I nod aimlessly, staring into oblivion. Ocean, sky, jungle. The foreign openness and isolation, one far beyond my familiarity. My chest caved uneasily.

All at once, the severity of the situation strikes me like a pound of bricks. "Oh, my God..." 

I start to pace, muttering to myself, head whipping around in every direction, frantically trying to spot a building, an adult, a girl, or anything.

"...Oh, my God!" 

The boy gives me a worried look. 

"Where the fuck are we?" 

A thousand thoughts dance through my mind. I feel tingly as some sense overwhelms me with the power of all my emotions piling up at once in the already overfilled closet of my brain.

"You missed a lot." The boy says lowly. 

"Hold on," I snap my hand up to pause him. "Let me process this, please." His face stiffens in a flinch by my hand motion, but I don't think to offer an apology.

"I... I just need to think for a moment." My face contorts to a sick-cringe. Uh oh. Insides burning is never a good sign.

"Are you sure that you're okay?" he eggs on. Jesus, he asks a lot of questions. What's this kid's damage? Before I could reply I double over, puking my guts out onto the warm sand.

"Shit." I spit the bitterness of bile out of my mouth, desperately trying to rid the foul taste from my pallet. My head is still throbbing, but a wash of relief eases itself into my gut. I look up, finally acknowledging the two differing boys.

"I- um, that's embarrassing," I sputter, trying to laugh it off so I can replenish the stiff plank of silence. Not so high and mighty now. Huh, Veronica? Shock is stapled to their unpalatable expressions. Too tangible for my liking.

"It... happens," says the shorter boy with unease. He then hands me half of a hollowed out coconut shell filled with water.

"Here, drink this. You're dehydrated. If your body doesn't get the required amounts of water, you could lapse into terminal unconsciousness or you'll fall into a stage of delirium before you start shutting down-"

Cutting the boy off impatiently, my hands shoot forwards in a flash to snatch up the shell from his chubby hands, greedily gulping it down. The cool water runs through my cracked lips, over my dry tongue and down my sore throat. I savor every last drop like it'll be my last. And hell, for all I know, it could be. Finishing the drink, I look up to see them staring at me, and an incessant pining of embarrassment finally registers. 

"I'm Veronica-uhm, Sawyer."

I hold out a sandy hand to the boy with dark hair. I wanna kick myself -- we're stranded on some God forsaken island, and my first thought is to exchange formalities.

"I'm Ralph." He shakes my hand with a boyish smile that makes its appearance on his lips. Hard earned muscles activate in his arms and shoulders as he moves. He looks like he could perhaps even grow up to be a boxer. I pause before speaking. 

"How did.... How did all of this happen?" I gesture to our surroundings frantically. Oh, gosh. I have to go home. I wanna go home.

Ralph takes a deep breath, and laughs through a sigh while shooting a glance to the kid next to him. Not even he seemed to have fully processed anything, but his firm stature is like an open book loaded with pages. And by the way he cringed when I asked him for context, it showed me that explaining this situation in full would leave anyone breathless. But hell, I'm prepared for anything.

"You have any recollection of the crash? The explosion?"

I hesitate to collect the memory before nodding. Red blaring lights, then darkness. He nods too.

"Yeah, well, we pulled you onto a raft that deployed from the plane -- our Cadet First Lieutenant and I."

The shorter kid next to Ralph rolls his eyes when he heard the mention of the other boy in the story. I stare at him as he droned on, the air granulating under the tension with my twitching eye.

"We wound up here after we saw the island in the distance and paddled over." He gestures to the deflated flotation device that lay in the sand so many yards away, strewn carelessly. I don't care about the sad thing.

"And I was basically unconscious the whole time?" I gulped, dreading his confirmation. It was a dumb thing for me to ask, but Ralph confirms my reasonable suspicion anyway. The unfathomable feeling of impossibility crawls into my senses, and my heart rate speeds up again. I stare at the ground, wide-eyed.

"Um," is all I can manage to utter. It was a load to take in. Something that snatches my immediate attention was Ralph's left arm -- bandaged in a white shirt tied as a sling.

"So," I nod to the obvious injury coolly.

"How'd you hurt your arm?" My nose scrunches at the sight of blood. Ralph chuckles awkwardly at my tone of words and his fingers glide through the mess of hair on his head with the unharmed hand.

"Oh- It got hurt in the crash... hit by some of the exterior debris that got ripped off the wall, or something." He lifts his arm up slightly. Or something? Doesn't he know what got him hurt?

"Ouch." I half-force myself to wince at the word. He stands there in the sand, looking somewhat graceless now, yet he was sure of himself. His stance straightens to match the respectable, straight-backed military school uniform which displays his Colonel rank on a tag proudly for all to gawk over.

It was silent now, like he was anticipating me to say something else.

"Yes, I care a lot, but I can't think about that right now."

Ralph smiles and bows his head slightly in acceptance, indicating that he doesn't want a dramatic reaction. Oh, so he's okay with awkward silence. Alright then.

We both turn to the shorter boy who was sweating profusely. His jacket was long discarded, but he has a sweaty white tank top, stained with dirt. His pants are rolled up in an untidy manner, and I notice his naked knees, indented with crooks that were probably caught by thorns. He coughs suddenly, a loud gutteral one without covering his mouth.

Despite the faint repulsion creeping on my face, I still choose to greet him, forcing a kind expression.

"What's your name?"

The kid looks down at his feet shyly. "I don't care what you call me, just don't call me what they do in school."

An inkling of mock interest peaks on my lips, giving an intrigued, yet a simultaneously uncaring look. Ralph too seems faintly interested, as if he wasn't already a classmate of his.

"What did they call you in school?" I quiz, glancing to Ralph for some possible hint.

"Well..." his voice trails off as his face falls. The boy doesn't continue, and he just removes his glasses to clean the lenses. A deep, pink "V" is imprinted on the bridge of his nose from the thick frames sitting there for so long. My impatience got the better of me.

"Well?" I urge him on, flashing wide, curious eyes, prompting him to spill. Breaking under pressure, he blurts out the answer like the dam in his throat crashed through.

"Piggy. They call me Piggy."

"Pfffft." The sound spurts out of my tightly locked lips before I can even process it. It's already hit the boy's ears as my hands deadlock over my face, too late to catch the slip up. My eyes dart to Ralph and his straight demeanor. 

"Jack came up with it, huh?" He assumes. "Sorry about him." 

Piggy clasps his hands in flustered apprehension. I have to turn away as one more snort shoots up out of me, scalding my throat. I can't twist the lever off to halt the unwanted laughter begging to boil over.

"Guys! Please-" Piggy cuts us off. I seal my lips, realizing I may have crossed a line and start to backtrack. Ralph cracks a vague smile, but ignores us and walks off into the water to cool himself off in the intense heat. I approach Piggy in that moment, taking on a more gentle stance.

"I'll make sure no one else knows." I promise him without uncertainty. The confidence doesn't break the barrier of his embarrassment.

Piggy frowns and shakes his head with such surprising vigor. "It doesn't matter, they're the ones who came up with it." This new information breeds a frown to sag against my face, genuinely sorry for the kid.

"It's always this way..." His voice wears sadness like a bedazzled keychain.

"Trust me," I say. "In a few years, whatever people in school said about you -- it won't mean shit." Patting him once on the side of his arm casually, confusion still screws up on his tense forehead, so I continue.

"Being liked or not -- it won't mean anything." 

He shrugs again, and buzzes his lips in boredom. I swipe my hair off my neck, groaning out of frustration with this heat.

"I'm new with the whole military school," the boy explains. Ah, so the kid's a rookie. That makes a lot more sense. The lack of a rank tag proves so. I mind it for a second, but no more than one so he doesn't catch on to my thought process.

"You'll get up there," I nod, chalking up some bullshit reassurance. I don't know what else to offer. "It takes time."

He stays silent and fumbles with the hem of his shirt. By this point, the sun that was beating heat down on us became a bit too ridiculous. It's the kind of intense heat that wearing loose clothes and fanning yourself won't fix. Ralph has the right idea -- a dip into the water sounds refreshing. Light glittered on the dancing ripples under the spectating sun

"Are you coming, Piggy?" Guilt pangs in my chest and I attempt to retract my question -- Painting a picture that I didn't find it amusing.

"Are you coming?" No matter though, he already heard the nickname leave my mouth, and I cringe. Piggy shakes his head, the thick framed glasses falling down his nose in the process. Swiftly, he pushes up them back up with his index finger.

"My Auntie says-"

"What does your auntie say?" I cut him off with a dull blade of skepticism, attempting an airy laugh as it'll help to brush off my last error, but it stand like a brick against the light breeze.  A frown bends on his face before he continues his blabbering speech.

"Auntie says I'm not supposed to swim, on account of my asthma." 

My reaction must've indicated a hint of intrigue because he shows a knowing nod.

"That's right, I can't breathe very well if I swim."

Ralph's head pops up at the word, the brunette curls now a sopping mop that flops over his forehead.

"Asthma, huh?" His light-hearted tune fades away into the crashing mirth of the sea as a background against Piggy's grieving words.

"Yeah, that's what I said!" Piggy shoots back. "Was I not clear? Because when I was a kid, my speech impediment made me say athss-muh."

"I say fuck your ass-mar, then." I pronounce it in renewed humor, not articulating it the same way Piggy had. My eyes flutter back to the flustered boy, and I offer a brief shoulder raise of consideration. Piggy shakes his head in refusal to my swelling dismay.

"But if I move too much, it would inflame my airways and narrow them down- like breathing through a straw. I would wheeze in the water and flood my lungs which wouldn't deliver any oxygen to my heart, making it beat erratically. On top of drowning, I now have water poisoning and-"

The line up of blabbering weighs against my eyelids as I rapidly blink, fighting to keep up. His monotoned dissertation eventually bears a stint of disinterest that slices my focus. Suddenly pinching onto my lack of interest, Piggy falls even deeper below the surface of silence. At that, Ralph and I give up on the grueling task of convincing him to swim.

Walking closer to the shore, the sea's tide pulls back with a sigh before creeping back up the wet sand like a grandly unrolled carpet. It rushes over my feet with a swift woosh as peachy sunlight soaks into my skin, absorbing a tan color. 

I start walking a bit further in. You know that feeling when you're at the beach, and it feels like you're moving while only standing in place? I feel it for the first time in a long time. About a mile or so out, the frothy water introduces itself to a coral reef, jumping excitedly. Looking just beyond it is the vast blue that stretches out to a never ending horizon. The arc of coral is composed of a variety of blue shades, flamboyant greens, and vibrant purples, sheltering all sorts of sea life with branched architecture. 

Seaweed tickles my ankles as the current pulls it by, and I jump at the feeling. Caught up in the moment, I finally notice an opposing color that stands out in the water a few feet away that's resting in an untouched beauty.

"Hey... do you see that? Look!" My voice rises above the roar of the surf as I leg it through the foamy waves. Ralph perks up with a gentle curiosity, watching me from afar as I reach down and draw a cream colored shell out. It's glistening with the sheen of water caught by the observation of the sun. Turning back towards Piggy, I tread carefully over the churning waves that want me to lose my footing, Ralph not far behind.

Once at shore, Ralph turns to me and asks, "May I?" 

I nod in response and hand it to him. He examines it closely as his fingers trail along the intricate patterns; Dark spirals like douses of caramel coffee and light specks kissed by the salt of the sea, finally hugged by a pink gloss. The pinkish shell has been smoothed and weathered down from the ocean's tough love, and now it's resting in our hands.

"It's a conch!" Piggy exclaims excitedly. "It's a species of the gastropod family!"

I can feel the earful approaching me like prey, but I politely wait for the attack.

"My granny had one, right here you could really blow it." He points to a hole at the end of the shell.

"Just like a trumpet! Maybe we can use it to call the others for a meeting, because the shell was used in ancient religious practices like puja as a ceremonial trumpet."

The brunette and I stare at him, blinking in surprise before I finally look at Ralph, and we both shrug with even consideration.

"Okay," he agrees with a curt nod. "But let's have the meeting over there."

I follow past his gesturing hand, and my eyes fall upon a shaded area that's walled by trees with low branches good for climbing and resting on. We trot over, and I let myself fall back against a palm trunk to relax. It cradles my weight with a sturdy endurance. 

Ralph hesitantly holds the shell up to his lips while Piggy stares at him with a broad grin. Only slightly disturbed, Ralph ignores the boy and blew into the conch hard with his diaphragm, emitting a trumpet like sound. We wait a few seconds, to no avail. Scoffing, I begin speaking too soon.

"Well, that was a bust-" I'm cut off by excited shouts of young boys quickly approaching. Boys run out of the jungle towards the source of the noise, like flies to an open barbeque, tripping and stumbling on the way. Eventually, a semi-circle of boys gathers around. Uncrossing my arms as I stand corrected, I try to find a place to blend in with the group. 

A tall figure steps into my path so suddenly, that I almost think it's my fault for not watching where I'm going. 

Roger. 

I remember him from the plane. 

"Oh, I'm sorry." The words falter in my mouth. I look at him, feeling mildly confused as he impassively looms over me. "I guess I was walking too fast," I continue, now talking much slower. I study him with a nonplussed intent as he says nothing.

He's not quite close enough to touch me, but it's enough that I can feel his body heat. His height instinctively makes me tilt my chin up to meet his eyes. 

"Careful," Roger's voice lulls, sounding quite pleasant. "Did you mean to end up here?"

Then, a slight tug pulls at the corner of his mouth. It looks foreign on his face; half amused, and the other half is something unreadable, but his eyes don't change. 

"Um, well-" I pause as I brush my palm against my temple. 

"I suppose I'm here for a reason just the same as you." The tune of biting sass is audible in my words, unable to be suppressed as his intrigued eyes bear into me, entertained. 

"Suppose you are," he clips with a raised brow. I squint and nod faintly, not holding back the stupefied smile now begging to pull at the edge of my lips. 

His scent lingers around us. It's clean and sharp with the fading smell of cologne, but there's also something metallic about it, kind of like rain against hot concrete. Probably acquired from the crash.

"We meet again!" An obnoxious voice breaks into conversation. I let out a rough sigh of self-beratement, and reluctantly look at the person sliding in at Roger's side. Merridew.

"I was hoping that would be a one-time error," I quip with a hint of contempt. Jack flashes a beguiling smile and steps closer, military dog tags clinging like wind chimes.

"Well, fate clearly has a cruel sense of humor." Each word drips condescendingly, sticking to his lips like honey. I fold my arms as the blonde continues to inch forward and take a clean step back, making my discomfort known. 

"What's wrong?" Jack asks, gently now, tilting his head. "Am I suddenly making you nervous?" 

His eyes resemble the piercing blue metal of my brooch. They're deep set and fairly patronizing, but his mouth is expressive. He's wearing this knowing curve like an ornament that effortlessly settles into a smirk. 

"How full of yourself do you have to be to think the only reason I'm nervous is because of your presence?" My words go steadily without a beat. "We've crashed on an island, and yet, your first instinct is to remind everyone that you're an obnoxious moron."

"Hmm?" Jack hums, flicking up a brow. I resist the flinch of irritation in my face that shows they've hit a nerve, and I fail. Jack notices, then he smiles. Not kindly. 

At that, I brush past the two, and pick a spot elsewhere within the crowd. Ralph stands tall, looking at the collected group.

"Cadets." At the word, all the boys straighten up in attention without a second thought like it's muscle memory. My gaze sweeps over them, suddenly self-cautious as I adjust my posture. 

"I'm calling you here to this assembly so we can regroup. We need to make a game plan concerning our next course of action. To make things more collected and concise, I'm making a rule." He holds the conch out in front of himself. 

"If anyone wants to speak during an assembly, you need to raise your hand for the conch. Once you get the conch, you can speak your piece. This way, we won't be talking over each other and making things get lost in translation."

The crowd of boys nod in understanding, melting into more relaxed stances and crossing their arms. Ralph's brown eyes scan across the students with a custom familiarity lingering in them.

"Veronica is going to take names so we can figure out who's present, and where to go from here."

"I am?" 

The attention shifts to me. 

"You don't have the conch!" Piggy's pointed finger shoots in my direction with his frantic screech. 

"Neither do you," I say in a dry response. 

"I figured you could take names," Ralph disregards Piggy, speaking directly to me. "Not just for roll call, but so that you can put names to faces." 

Ralph sets his attention back onto the crowd, projecting his voice once more. 

"We all have to work together, after all. We're the students of Valley Forge. It's what we do. That's brotherhood."

Exhaling roughly, I turn away. "Guess I'm taking names then," I mutter to myself in a hushed voice.

As I start making my rounds, I can already sense Jack Merridew and his friends aiming to set me off. They try to act funny and shout remarks that I- 'forgot to ask for their names,' while they both know good and well that I know who they are.

"Hey, darling, don't be like that!" Jack is jeering despite his mock solemnity. It steers me back to look at him. "I think you forgot all of us!" 

Trust me, I didn't forget. Him and his friend share a look, a nod, then rest their stormy eyes back on me. Roger is silent again, certainly one of the more furtive ones amongst the older guys. He sort of keeps to himself with an inner intensity and secrecy. Not something I'm inundated with.

I arch my brow at the mocking remarks being thrown my way and turn on my heel. Why should I give them the attention that they so desperately crave? They'll get bored and lose interest soon enough.

And thank goodness Simon's here, a boy who can only be described as truly pure. It's safe to say that he is most likely the only one with some basic level of maturity and decency.

I learn the names of Sam and Eric -- twins who blink and even breathe together -- almost in sync sometimes. How perfect, huh? Both are lanky, with a shaggy mess of brown hair that got rumpled up out of its combed-do after landing here. The pair wears matching smiles. Two copies of the same person.

"I'm Sam," says the twin on the right, slightly taller than his brother.

"N' I'm Eric," the other states evenly. I nod in approval, and repeat the names one more time so I can make it stick with me.

"So you're Eric, and you're Sam?"

They nod wordlessly, suppressing giddy sneers. Eyeing them with suspicion, I lean my weight into my hip. "Are you sure?"

"Completely positive."

"Definitely sure!"

"- without a doubt."

They exchange back and forth in turn. I blink again, and swallow. I may not be the world's 2nd Einstein, but I'm surely not stupid either.

"So...." I trail off and hold up a finger, gesturing to each brother as I repeat the names once more for further clarification. I name them from left to right again.

"Eric and Sam, correct?"

The two nod in unison, responding in a dully casual tone.

"Yep, I'm Eric, and he's Sam," one gestures to himself then his twin. The lie was said in such a nonchalant way, that I barley catch it in time. I pause. The one on the right suddenly switched their names. He first said he was Sam... but now he's calling himself Eric?

"But-- you just said that you were Sam..." I stammer out, already becoming flustered. They glance at each other and nod.

"That's right!" Chirps the twin on the left this time.

"I'm Eric, and he's Sam," lefty continues, grinning widely. I roll my eyes and clasp my hands together.

"Oh really?" I begin sarcastically, staring knowing daggers at them both. "So, you guys just take turns having both names. And you trade every two seconds, huh?" I lulled my head to the side.

Quickly defensive, the twins start backtracking. "What're you talking about? I told you that I'm Eric," says the right one. "You're crazy," the one on the left adds. Sucking in a harsh breath, my eye starts twitching out of frustration.

They seem highly pleased with the confusion they effortlessly plagued me with.

Great, first introduction with these two, and they're already blabbering away like rodents -- triggering the rising anger that boils senselessly in my gut. My hands ball into fists in front of me while they continue grinning like idiots.

"Okay... Okay. Yeah, sure!" I throw my hands up, giving into defeat, nodding. Whatever. I purse my lips as they silently rejoice in triumph. Piggy comes up next to me to whisper in my ear.

"They're genetically identical, which means they're twins!" He says matter of factly. I widen my eyes and nod. "Yeah, I think I could figure that out, thanks."

Oblivious, Piggy nods in approval and leaves me alone. Okay then... moving on to the next boy.

Tony is the one who I briefly spoke with on the plane. He seems gentle, but could have a bit of a mouth. The kid barks through sarcasm at every chance he can take. Though, I can't say he uses that talent during times where it's necessary. He's prideful and touchy, yes, but he seems to have thick skin for the most part.

Pablo is another one of the gentler boys. While he laughs along with sexist jokes and crude insults, he doesn't seem to drop in his own two cents. Even if he's the subject of laughter, he takes it and brushes it off. Even watching those circumstances play out, I find myself growing annoyed. How is he so content with being the butt of a joke? When I introduce myself and take his name, I use the moment to take in his tidy appearance. Pablo's black hair is neatly brushed to the side, and I notice a silver cross necklace dangling from his neck. It catches the light often.

Luke is... well, nothing special. A corporal. He's a friend of Jack's, a copy and paste. Good looks can be deceiving, but he's a total ass. Luke's humor consists of cat calls, aids jokes and spontaneous, shrill moaning. Obnoxious. Again, nothing unlike Jack so far. He's notorious for picking on anyone smaller than him. Luke will get one small fact from you, and use it as a toe hold to reign constant insults.

The one who goes by the nickname, Rapper, is who I meet next. Rapper looms over most of the boys with his height. I'm glad to report that he isn't obnoxious like any of the other boys -- he's laid back, a calm attitude noticeable as he leans against a tree, observing the boy's bickering with an amused grin. He gives me a kind nod, and is the only one to offer his hand. Still, he doesn't say much, but that does not bother me.

There's a few others with the names Robert, Henry, Billy and Maurice. From what I take, they sung with in their school's choir along with Jack. Overall, those are all the names that I can actually remember and match with faces besides three younger kids; Mikey, Percival and Peter.

I suppose the names will stick with me later on.

"I know we're all jostled from yesterday. The important thing is -- we're alive. You're all alive, and present. That is a miracle in itself. We will mourn those who didn't make it off the plane, and carry on for them."

The walls of my hollow chest begin to crumble in on each other as I take in the blade of those words. There had to be at least three or four hundred passengers on board; Elderly, children, full families... How could only we have been the ones to survive? My teeth clamp over my lower lip as I look back up at Ralph. He looks suddenly more unsteady, slightly choked as he speaks again. 

"I think it may be appropriate that I lead us all in prayer," he says. His voice is still firm despite its cracks. "If you could all rest your hand on the shoulder of the person next to you and bow your heads."

They all drop to one knee at those words, leaving just Ralph and I standing. My head whips around at all the kneeling boys, making me realize I hadn't caught the memo. I quickly sit on both knees, feeling out of place like a puzzle piece from another set not belonging to this one. A hand plants on my shoulder as I sink to the ground. 

I look back, and it's Robert. He gives me a faint smile of reassurance before bowing his head.

Clearing my throat, I rest my hands on my lap, continuously darting my eyes around to the boys that have closed their eyes, each holding a shoulder of their friend. I dip my chin, still stewing in the awkwardness. Not quite my scene or something I'm acquainted with. I keep my eyes open to the ground as Ralph begins to speak.

"Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for giving us strength in times like these. We ask that you take care of those who passed in the crash and hold them in your loving arms and to make their transition be without suffering. Please guide the families of those who lost their lives through these following months. They will need all your strength and love to hold them up. We also ask for your protection and shield as we wait for rescuers to find us. Please, God, give us strength. In Jesus' name, Amen."

"Amen."

"Amen," I mumble much later than everyone else. I observe them, making sure that I don't stand back up until they do. My knees lock up rigidly as I keep my hands linked together as if it'll do anything to keep me closed off from the rest. Ralph speaks again.

"I think we should take a moment of silence to honor those who lost their lives in the crash. We need to recognize the brave flight attendants and all the staff who tried their hardest to keep everyone calm and safe. They gave their lives trying to protect everyone."

Like a wave sweeping over the sea of boys, they fall into a deeper silence, far lower than the crashing ocean off to our side over a stretch of sand. I sniffle and dip my chin, once more, too late as they all immediately open their eyes again. 

"Alright," Ralph sighs, recollecting the broken pieces of himself. "Anyone who wants to say something may speak now." 

"But not before they get the conch!" Piggy adds. A sense of intrigue picks at me, and I glance over to Jack. He looks less bored than I anticipated. Maybe not fully invested, but he's listening. 

It's not the things he says- nor is it necessarily what he does, either. I think it's the ambience he gives off, like a constant stream of water -- it makes him so much more enticing in the worst way possible. Cunning, prideful, and even arrogant. When you're familiar with this sort of personality, you easily spot the certain mannerisms that come with the said- arrogant persona.

When he's all-too reliant on looks and charms, attraction is out of question. I stare for too long. We obtain eye contact, to which I purse my lips in observation, and peel my gaze away to view Ralph after no one makes a move to comment.

"Okay, Cadets." They all straighten up again. "There doesn't appear to be anyone else except for us," Ralph announces. A laugh huffs up in my throat.

"No shit, Sherlock..." I mutter under my breath, fiddling with my black scrunchie. Someone chuckles at my remark.

Tony's hand shoots up in a flash. He looks antsy. Ralph eyes him for a moment, then sighs as he hands over the shell.

"There's also a pig!" Tony shouts, grinning joyfully.

"You didn't, see a pig," says Rapper calmly as he ignores Piggy's pestering hisses about the conch. "It was a boar." 

"No, it was definitely a pig!" Tony insists. "It was big, but it was definitely regular. Not a boar." He shifts the conch under his arm and continues. 

"And you know what that means...?" He looks at one of the twins excitedly. "If there's pigs there's people, oink!" 

The logic of the last two phrases don't hit me as rational, but I go with it anyway. Ralph takes the conch back then raises the same question. 

"That's great," he says. "But what's that gotta do with people being around?" 

Piggy starts jumping up and down next with his hand up, mouthing his silent pleas for the conch. He explodes into a word vomit the moment it's passed to him. 

"The significance of those words comes from the fact that pigs are domesticated! Boars are not. They're wild. If they really saw pigs, it would mean that there needs to be people around to have domesticated them. However, Rapper is correct. There was no pig. It was a boar. I could tell because of its tusks and fur!" 

Question answered then. I hum in faint surprise as everyone titters over Piggy's rambling.

"That's weird," Luke heckles from the back of the crowd. "Because I actually see a pig standing right in front of me."

I glance over my shoulder in time to see his mock-pensive face peel away into a stinging sneer as a clash of howls and boisterous laughs roll through each of the boys. My lips tilt into a frown as Piggy ducks his head into a bucket of shame.

"Alright, enough," Ralph says as he takes the shell back, silencing the cadets. "Like I was saying, this island's probably uninhabited."

"But we don't know! We gotta explore more!" Jack argues. Strangely enough, he turns to me for support. I'm still not fully sure if he did it out of some smug mockery to please his friends, but still I nod in silent agreement. Who's to say we're alone if we've only seen the beach?

"Right. There's a lot of things that needs to be done, but the main thing is, we aren't by ourselves. We have Captain Benson." Ralph looks beyond the crowd at something behind us. This triggers a domino effect of turning heads. I mimic the act, only to see a sickly man under a mosquito net that was draped over his bony frame.

I hadn't noticed him before. I remember him from the plane, but he hadn't come to mind since I woke up here. So if he's here... what happened to the other grown ups? Who am I kidding? They're probably dead in the ocean. Captain Benson's clearly seen better days, appearing rough as ever. Simon is sat to him on a log, simply just keeping an eye on the guy. The only adult we have is on the brink of kicking the bucket.

"It doesn't matter -- because it's our island now!" Jack jumps up enthusiastically, bumping his friends on the shoulders to gain a rise out of them. Lo and behold, he's successful.

"Treasure island!" Someone adds with a distinct grit in their voice, snapping a stick on their knee.

"Coral island!"

"Castaways!"

"Swallows and Amazons!"

"Yeah!"

A buzz rings out in the air with obnoxious excitement and agreement. As the boys progressively grow rowdier, I turn to Ralph who is maintaining some inner turmoil.

"Cadets!" He barks, and back to attention they go. "You can all talk if you want after you get the conch."

"Can I speak?" Piggy holds out his arms in a pleading manner. Ralph glares at him for a moment, but reluctantly hands the shell over. The shorter boy cradles the conch like it's a child under his arm.

"The most important thing is; who knows we're here? Nobody knows we're here!"

He has a squeaky voice that cracks when he raises his volume. Guilt pangs in my gut when I see him notice Jack and Roger silently making fun of him. However, he manages to ignore and continue his rant.

"They know where we were going, but they don't know where we are because we never got where we were going."

A hushed silence falls over us like an itchy blanket. Damn, that's a sad truth bomb. He has a point though. A correct one.

"...I just- I just wanted to go tour a damn University."

"No one asked," a whisper floats up from one of the boys in the semi-circle. Quiet giggles follow the remark. Ralph takes the conch back and hesitates before speaking once more.

"They must've begun their search for us. I'm sure they started once the plane lost signal. We need to set up a fire to create signal smoke up on the mountain so passing ships and planes will see it."

Jack steps forward, aiming the attention on himself.

"Can I have the conch?"

I observe his confident stance with a hint of doubt.

"Ralph's right," he states civilly. "If we make a fire, we should probably also create other S.O.S signals to up our chances of being seen. The sooner, the better. We don't really know what's out there in those woods."

"Sir, you're the oldest one here!" A squeaky voice pipes up like a whistle. "Are you the leader?" 

"Well, Ralph's our Colonel," Jack replies without thinking, then immediately backtracks at the possibility of leading. "But- what do you all think?" He makes a short glance at Ralph.

"I think it should be Ralph!"

"No, Jack!"

"It should be Ralph."

"Yeah, Ralph!"

"I vote for Ralph!"

"Ralph!"

The obvious choice is undeniable. So that's final.

"Guess I'm chief then," Ralph presumpts with a peekaboo of pride laced in his voice. I didn't vote anyone because I quite frankly don't know any of them like that. Let's hope that they know each other well enough to be trusted with bigger votes. Should I trust their judgement, is the question. But from what I've seen so far, Ralph is more suited than Jack is to be a leader.

"She didn't vote, though!" Jack blurts out, pointing at me. Shit. Way to call me out. Shrugging without holding the stupid intent of saving someone's feelings, I give a simple answer.

"It doesn't matter who I'd vote for. It would still be Ralph." 

Jack's face flushes in embarrassment.

"Then just vote for either me or Ralph!" He presses, showing me a pleading look. I liked it. It gives me a sense of having an upper hand. Pursing my lips, I look Jack up and down before turning to Ralph to dismiss the blonde.

"What if I don't want either of you?" I point out. "What if I want Robert as chief?"

Everyone turns to look at him, and Jack had a harsh glare. "He wasn't even one of the choices!" The blonde exclaims. I shrug tauntingly.

"Who said anything about there being choices?"

His face heats up, but even Ralph is quick to keep me shushed with his own protests. Not done putting up a fight, I think of another person who could be just as well-suited to lead.

"Why not Rapper?"

A few heads turn to him, too. I ignore Ralph hissing his whispers to me to just leave it alone now.

"Do you guys even want to be leaders?" Jack asks them hypercritically. Robert shakes his head and Rapper raises his hands carelessly. Chuckling, Jack turns to me.

"Wanna rethink your choice?" He croons, showing a lazy smile of confidence. I nod evenly.

"I vote Ralph."

Jack's face falls as the rest of the boys burst into snickers and laughs. I watch him gulp hard, but he quickly recovers from the humiliation.

Turning to Ralph with a charming half smile, he says, "I guess you just won the election." Jack nudges the new chief's elbow. I can still hear a crack in his voice. That's what you call a broken ego. Maybe that'll deflate his big head a bit.

"It doesn't matter who's in charge," Ralph insists. "We've just gotta work together. First build camp, then we go from there." 

And that's that. The crowd leaks away from the little formation and I melt off with it. I began my walk till a sudden tap on my shoulder makes my blood freeze up.

"Wha-" An involuntary shout slips out of my mouth. Whipping around sharply, familiar blue eyes meet mine, and the frightened stance turns to an annoyed one.

"Woaaahh, don't strike me, Chickadee!" Jack jokes, his hands defensively raised in the air. My arm flops down by my side and I emit a sigh of relief.

"And you wouldn't strike someone who wasn't armed, would ya?" He wiggled his eyebrows. I want to gag at the attempt of being funny. But instead, I wrap my blazer tighter around my frame, and cross my arms to close myself off from him, in a way.

"Yeah... Hey, Merridew."

The tall, lean boy croons down at me smugly as I blink in contemplation. Jack, still radiating that stench of arrogance, seems pleased with the almost cornered state that I acted as though I were in. His pristine teeth were straight and white like a picket fence, and revealed themselves at every flash of a smile. On a real note, though, he smells like salty ocean water, but that doesn't conceal a distinct scent of expensive cologne.

"Veronica. That's your name?" he raises a brow. That annoying smirk is plastered to his face... I could backhand it off in a heartbeat, but I'm on an island as the only girl. So as much as I hate it, I'll do anything to spare myself from the inevitable injustices.

"I'll end the suspense," I relent with my chin up.

"Yeah, It's Veronica... Sawyer." Still showing disinterest, I pull out my ponytail-do, and start fiddling with my scrunchie to keep my hands occupied. His brows bob in discovery.

"Ah, yes, The Sawyers. I know all about you bunch."

Confused, I squint my eyes. "No you don't." His thoughtful expression breaks into a smug grin.

"You're right. I have no idea who the fuck you are." Jack laughs at his own joke. I stare at him for an extended moment, scrunching my nose at the dumb exchange so his words can really permeate. 

"Hey! I caught your name this time," he mentions with a slight rejoice. I tilt my head to the side, showing the puzzlement. As my view leans, I catch a figure lingering behind him. It's Roger. He's leaning against a tree with his arms folded, just watching calmly. His eyes nudge my mind with subtle intrigue. He has a relaxed gaze, but it's undecipherable and endless in its allure. I forget to even reply to the boy in front of me as my eyes fix themselves on the sight. 

Jack forces a chuckle, unhappy with my reaction.

"Your name-" He speaks again. "You threw it." 

The clarification having to be repeated for the second or third time makes the phrase come across as weak. At my assessment of him, Roger moves the corner of his mouth up. It's not quite a smile, though, but it's something adjacent. He kicks off the tree and walks off before another beat can go by. I feel a faint smile paint my lips as I settle my eyes back onto Jack. 

"Still never threw it." I shrug. "I just dropped it and you picked it up."

"What's with the attitude, beautiful?" He draws nearer. Out of instinct, I stick a hand out and back up a few steps. My scowl must've displayed itself to be nastier than intended.

"God damn, can you females not take a compliment?"

"Maybe I don't want to hear a compliment when I'm stuck on an island, being the only girl!" I retort with a new found form of snarkiness.

"Understandable," he trails off. Without bringing him anymore attention, I turn and walk in a different direction. Loud crunching sounds of feet trotting on the sand close in behind me as he jogs to catch up.

"Yeah?" I loudly ask without looking at him. "Don't be so uptight. I just wanted to talk to you about something."

I let out an exaggerated groan as my pace quickens, trying to make this boy take a hint. The fact that he speeds up his walking to keep up with me is annoying, but even more unsatisfying as he doesn't struggle to do so. At Westerburg, boys at least broke some sort of sweat.

"What can I call you?" He shows up at my side. Jack doesn't seem accustomed to being ignored, and there is a hint of condescension laced in his tone, which I can easily catch.

"You can call me Veronica, and nothing else," I reply bluntly, struggling to keep a neutral face. How can one be capable of so effortlessly triggering that boiling irritation in someone's gut? The boy seems to read my inner degradation like the weekly magazine and simpers with a medal of pride.

He stops and says, "Hold on, let me think."

To quench his request, I cross my arms and tap my foot. He took a painfully long time, acting innocent with each passing second.

"What about... Frony!" He snaps his fingers. My forehead tensed up and I wave him off.

"Yeah, never call me that."

This prompts him to a silent chuckle, and he then ponders to himself. "Ronna? That's kinda pretty." 

"I think I'd rather be called a derogatory term," I drone with a straight face. At this, he starts snickering, and I go on to explain.

"Ronna would be the name of like- that one drunk Aunt who insists that the Russian government is planning on invading us all," I say, stretching my scrunchie with both hands. Jack opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again and repressed some sort of laugh.

"I would know. I had that Aunt," I finish, pressing my lips into an unfortunate line.

"Ok, fair enough. What about..." He trails off. The active wind blows a lock of hair onto his face.

"What about 'Ronnie'?"

"Please don't. My ex called me that." I plead, sounding a bit too vulnerable for my liking. His face lights up at the news, like he got some more machinery to use against me in the future.

"Noted."

An uneasy feeling of regret pervades my better knowledge with nagging reprimands at his one-worded response, letting me know I may have just screwed myself up. I try to disregard it and walk away. 

Abruptly, Jack takes my hand and twirls me around. He has to be forceful, since that dance move is a two-person-collaboration thing. 

"Hey-" The yelp of surprise leaps from my mouth, almost unbeknownst to me. He yanks my black scrunchie off my wrist in the process.

"Cut that out-" I start, biting back a grimace. "Give it back."

"- You know, you should really quit being so uptight." He takes my opposite hand and whirls me the different way, no less graceful than the first. It might actually look smooth if I had the warning to turn myself instead of being yanked around. Rip my arm out of the socket, why don't you, Merridew?

"Yeah, I'm gonna pass-"

"- I'll call you Vera! It doesn't ring 'uptight,' to the ears, even though you pretty much are." Ignoring my reactions, he grins and winks. With that conclusion, he snatches both of my wrists, crosses them over each other, and forces me to turn around myself as he did the same in some collaborative motion.

"Would you stop??"

A boisterous laugh charges through his throat. I scowl at the blonde with refreshed irritation.

"Just trying you make you warm up to me," he finally says in a brief explanation, suddenly nonchalant.

A groan drags out of my throat as I grind my knuckles into my temples to clear the next developing headache. Jack, on the other hand, doesn't look nearly as flustered by all that went on in just the last three minutes.

"I like being called Veronica. Thank you though, Jack."

He starts rubbing his chin, pretending to think hard. I bite the insides of my cheeks and my heart speeds up, becoming more and more frustrated with each passing second.

"Yeah, no. I'm gonna call you Vera."

My brows furrow. Who does he think he is? Why is he so... so like this?

"That's not- you can't just-"

Blondie lifts a cheek at my sputtering. That for some reason, pounces against my nerves even more.

"Whatcha say, Chickadee?"

I grumble something close to, please lord. A cocky grin spreads on his face as I start to walk away.

"What's the matter?" He effortlessly matches my pace.

"That wasn't on the list of bad nicknames, you know."

"Vera it is!" He exclaims happily. I don't get anymore time to reject when he 'booped' my cheek and turned on his heel.

"No- but-"

"Catcha later, Vera!" He waves. I repress a smile, a smile mostly made of apprehension. God, I hate teenage boys. Sighing, I make a move to tie my hair up. Wait a minute-

I snap my gaze up to the blonde who openly makes it known that my scrunchie was still in his possession as he continues to saunter away in a painfully obvious slow manner -- like he's anticipating my next action.

"Jack, wait a sec!" I scramble over to him, gritting my teeth.

"Yeah?" He chimes innocently. I can hear the grin in his tone as he turns around. Halting suddenly, I wordlessly hold out my open hand. To mock me, he sucks in an over exaggerated gasp, placing a hand on his chest as he pretends to act surprise.

"Yes, Vera, of course I'll have his dance with you!" He gushed sarcastically. I snap my hand away and eye him. "Give it back, idiot," I say flatly.

He disingenuously leans his head to the side. 

"Give what back?"

I take in a heavy breath as he stretches the hair tie with both of his thumbs, fiddling with it right in front of my face. He knows what he's doing!

"I'm talking about the damn scrunchie!" I try to grab it from his hands. With catlike reflexes, he clutches it hard in a fist before I can take it back.

"Oh, this is yours?" He chirps in fake surprise, gesturing to his hand.

Plopping down onto my heels, I stare daggers at him while he grins like an idiot.

"Yes, you know it's mine!" Whether or not my words tap him, he doesn't make it known.

"All you have to do is ask nicely." He holds it back out on an open hand. Rolling my eyes, I make my move to retrieve it. To my dismay, he snaps away and holds it above his own head, out of my reach.

"Ah, ah, ah!" He tsk-tsked, shaking a finger in my face. No longer attempting to hold a neutral expression, the feeling to lash out finally takes a hold on my wrist, but he cuts me off again.

"I said ask nicely," he instructs, slowly lowering his hand to taunt me. Pursing my lips, I lean into a hip and cross my arms.

"Can you give it back?" I repeat.

Mimicking my action, he crosses his arms, looking down at me with a patronizing expression, picking at my anger. "How about a please?" He croons, arching a brow.

My face falters, and I divert my gaze to the right and let out a reluctant sigh. 

"Can you give it back, please?" 

"That's all I wanted to hear, Vera." He flings the scrunchie at my face. I clap my hands around it mid-air and tie my hair up, mumbling curses. Satisfied with his doing, Jack simpers at me, completely scornful still. His mental tirade is finally dwindling down.

My eyes narrow at him scathingly, mustering up most of my dignity to show against his small grins. One thing's for sure; teenage boys are the worst.

"Jack, c'mon!"

A voice calls out to him from the distance, grabbing his attention. I too look in the direction before turning back to the blonde. He yells back. 

"Yeah yeah, just a sec!"

I'm taken aback when he eyes me up and down, ready to ask something we both know I'm not really up for. 

"Good ole Ralphie boy wants us to build shelters," he starts, trailing off as a way to bait me. I furrow my eyebrows at him.

He's gonna drag me along. Gosh, I don't wanna get roped in with his sexist group of boys.

"You know, you can help Roger and I build shelters, but that's only if you want to."

Fuck.

♕︎♕︎♕︎

♕︎♕︎♕︎

-But when the clouds disappeared, I saw you