Read Online On the Island by Tracey Garvis Graves - Free Book Online
Authors: Tracey Garvis Graves
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cleaning up, let’s try it out. I left everything down by the water. Help yourself.”
When T.J. came back, he looked clean and smelled as good as I did. I gave him the Ray-Bans.
“Hey, thanks,” he said, putting them on. “These are cool.” He grabbed the fishing pole.
“What are we going to use for bait?” I asked.
“Worms, I guess.”
We dug in the ground under the trees until we found some. They looked more like large maggots than worms, white and wiggly, and I shuddered. T.J. scooped up a handful, and we went down to the water.
“The line isn’t very long,” T.J. said. “I didn’t want to use up all the guitar string in case it snapped or something happened to the pole.”
After wading in waist deep, he threw out his hook. We stayed still.
“Something’s nibbling,” T.J. said.
He jerked the pole back and pulled in the line. I cheered at the fish hanging off the end.
“Hey, it worked!” he said.
T.J. caught seven more fish in less than half an hour. When we got back to the lean-to, he left to collect firewood, and I started cleaning the fish with the knife.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” he asked when he came back. He emptied the backpack full of sticks onto the woodpile in the lean-to.
“My dad. He used to take my sister, Sarah, and me fishing with him all the time, at the lake house we had when we were growing up. He always wore this crazy bucket hat with fishing lures all over it. I helped him clean whatever we caught.”
T.J. watched as I scraped the scales off the last fish with the knife and then cut the head off. I ran the blade horizontally down the length of the fish, separating the fillet from the skin. I poured rainwater on my hands to wash off the blood and guts, then cooked the fish on the flat rock we used for roasting breadfruit. We ate all seven, one after the other. They tasted better than any fish I’d ever eaten.
“What kind of fish do you think this is?” I asked T.J.
“I don’t know. It’s pretty good though.”
We sat on the blanket after dinner, our stomachs full for the first time in weeks. I reached into my suitcase and pulled out my datebook, smoothing the warped pages.
“How many days have we been here?” I asked T.J.
He walked over to the tree and counted the tally marks he’d made with the knife. “Twenty-three.”
I circled the date on the calendar. It was almost July. “I’ll keep track from now on.” I thought of something then. “When are you supposed to go back to the doctor?”
“The end of August. I’m supposed to have a scan.”
“They’ll find us by then.”
I didn’t really think so. From the look on T.J.’s face, he didn’t either.
I was going to the bathroom behind a tree when I heard it. The fluttering, flapping sound startled me, and I almost fell into my puddle of pee. I stood and yanked my underwear and shorts up, then listened, but I didn’t hear the noise again.
“I think I heard an animal,” I said to T.J. when I got back.
“What kind of animal?”
“I don’t know. It made a flapping, fluttering noise. Have you heard anything?”
“Yes, I’ve heard that, too.”
We walked back to where I heard the noise, but didn’t find anything. We gathered all the firewood we could hold on the way back and deposited it on our woodpile.
“Do you want to go swimming?” T.J. asked.
“Sure.”
Now that I had a swimsuit, swimming sounded like a great idea.
The clear water in the lagoon would have been perfect for snorkeling. We swam for about a half hour, and right before we got out of the water, T.J. stepped on something. He dove under the surface. When he came up, he held a tennis shoe in his hand.
“Is that yours?” I asked.
“Yep. I figured it would wash up eventually,” he said.
We sat on the beach, the ocean breeze drying our bodies.
“Why did your parents choose these islands?” I asked. “They’re so far away.”
“The scuba diving. It’s supposed to be some of the best diving in
When T.J. came back, he looked clean and smelled as good as I did. I gave him the Ray-Bans.
“Hey, thanks,” he said, putting them on. “These are cool.” He grabbed the fishing pole.
“What are we going to use for bait?” I asked.
“Worms, I guess.”
We dug in the ground under the trees until we found some. They looked more like large maggots than worms, white and wiggly, and I shuddered. T.J. scooped up a handful, and we went down to the water.
“The line isn’t very long,” T.J. said. “I didn’t want to use up all the guitar string in case it snapped or something happened to the pole.”
After wading in waist deep, he threw out his hook. We stayed still.
“Something’s nibbling,” T.J. said.
He jerked the pole back and pulled in the line. I cheered at the fish hanging off the end.
“Hey, it worked!” he said.
T.J. caught seven more fish in less than half an hour. When we got back to the lean-to, he left to collect firewood, and I started cleaning the fish with the knife.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” he asked when he came back. He emptied the backpack full of sticks onto the woodpile in the lean-to.
“My dad. He used to take my sister, Sarah, and me fishing with him all the time, at the lake house we had when we were growing up. He always wore this crazy bucket hat with fishing lures all over it. I helped him clean whatever we caught.”
T.J. watched as I scraped the scales off the last fish with the knife and then cut the head off. I ran the blade horizontally down the length of the fish, separating the fillet from the skin. I poured rainwater on my hands to wash off the blood and guts, then cooked the fish on the flat rock we used for roasting breadfruit. We ate all seven, one after the other. They tasted better than any fish I’d ever eaten.
“What kind of fish do you think this is?” I asked T.J.
“I don’t know. It’s pretty good though.”
We sat on the blanket after dinner, our stomachs full for the first time in weeks. I reached into my suitcase and pulled out my datebook, smoothing the warped pages.
“How many days have we been here?” I asked T.J.
He walked over to the tree and counted the tally marks he’d made with the knife. “Twenty-three.”
I circled the date on the calendar. It was almost July. “I’ll keep track from now on.” I thought of something then. “When are you supposed to go back to the doctor?”
“The end of August. I’m supposed to have a scan.”
“They’ll find us by then.”
I didn’t really think so. From the look on T.J.’s face, he didn’t either.
I was going to the bathroom behind a tree when I heard it. The fluttering, flapping sound startled me, and I almost fell into my puddle of pee. I stood and yanked my underwear and shorts up, then listened, but I didn’t hear the noise again.
“I think I heard an animal,” I said to T.J. when I got back.
“What kind of animal?”
“I don’t know. It made a flapping, fluttering noise. Have you heard anything?”
“Yes, I’ve heard that, too.”
We walked back to where I heard the noise, but didn’t find anything. We gathered all the firewood we could hold on the way back and deposited it on our woodpile.
“Do you want to go swimming?” T.J. asked.
“Sure.”
Now that I had a swimsuit, swimming sounded like a great idea.
The clear water in the lagoon would have been perfect for snorkeling. We swam for about a half hour, and right before we got out of the water, T.J. stepped on something. He dove under the surface. When he came up, he held a tennis shoe in his hand.
“Is that yours?” I asked.
“Yep. I figured it would wash up eventually,” he said.
We sat on the beach, the ocean breeze drying our bodies.
“Why did your parents choose these islands?” I asked. “They’re so far away.”
“The scuba diving. It’s supposed to be some of the best diving in
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