Mary Lou marched in and slapped the picture down by her mother’s knitting. She folded her arms and waited for a response. Her mother squinted at the girl in the photo as if she were a distant relation whose name she struggled to remember. Without dropping a stitch, she nodded at the day’s paper. “There’s a pageant tryout in Omaha this weekend. Thought we could go see what all the fuss is about.”
Mary Lou had never been to Omaha.
This was the reason, then, that she had entered the pageants. Her mother wasn’t having Mary Lou turn out like Annie. The pageants got Mary Lou out of town, plus they were closely chaperoned and the girls were kept constantly busy. Far from any influence that might whisper unwanted thoughts and feelings to her too-weak soul, she was safe from the change. But here on the island, with the warm breeze tickling its fingers over her bare skin, the ever-present threat to survival keeping her body in a state of fight-or-flight, without the chaperones and routines and control — without the ring! — she was at the mercy of her body.
Closing her eyes tightly, she tried to head it off by thinking of terrible things. This is what her mother and the nuns had said to do when the curse came on. But she was too tired to fight it tonight. Her teeth grew sharper; her senses heightened; her skin tickled and warmed till she was forced to shuck her clothes. The wind caressed her nakedness, and she gasped at the unwelcome, but not unwanted, joy of it. Under the moon’s besotted gaze, she ran deep into the jungle, her body strong, her every sense heightened. That was the shameful part — how good it felt to command her body in this way. How erotic the thrill of it! Like a caged beast finally allowed to hunt. Her mother called it a curse, and she understood that it was, that she had to control her urges. But somewhere deep down, she loved the sheer heady freedom of it. In this state, she was not afraid of the jungle, but part of it.
“I’m weightless, Annie,” she whispered into the syrup-thick air.
At the cliff’s top she saw the small campfire and the man in the sleeping bag. He was sheltered by the ledge. Her breath caught. He was gorgeous. She crept closer. Firelight sent shadow fingers to caress his tattooed face as Mary Lou wished she could. Nobody looked like that in Nebraska. Nearby was a backpack with his name: Tane Ngata. Department of Ornithology.
She wanted to wake him and ask if he knew a way off the island, but she couldn’t let him see her like this. She was no patient princess waiting to be plucked and taken off to a castle. No. She was naked. Exposed. Her body full of want and need. Desire. He was like the sleeping prince in a fairy tale, and she had the urge to kiss him. But the prince would never want a cursed girl like her. Still, in her wild-girl state, she could not resist the smell of him, and so she inched carefully forward, put her face to his neck and inhaled.
The prince startled awake. Frightened, Mary Lou scampered back into the jungle. Her foot came down on a rope. With a sharp jerk, the net trap scooped her up and slammed her against the side of a tree. Her shoulder burned with pain and she cried out.
“Hello?” someone called. The prince with the backpack approached. He carried a kerosene lamp.
Mary Lou tried to remain silent, but her shoulder hurt and a small hiss escaped. The prince looked up to see her still swinging from the tree.
“Got yourself caught up there, eh?”
She said nothing in response.
“No worries. I’ll get you down.”
He put the lamp on the ground, and with a knife in his teeth, he shimmied up the tree till he was just above her. Another acrobat. What was it with her family and flying men? She shivered a bit at the sight of the knife.
“Give me your hand,” he said. She was too afraid to touch him. “All right. That’s cool. Try to relax everything in case I drop the rope.”
Mary Lou felt a surge of panic. She thrust her hand at him. He held on to her, and with his other hand, he cut through the rope. There was a drop and Mary Lou dangled above the ground.
“It’s all right, mate. I’ve got you,” the prince said.
His hand was sure, but Mary Lou was afraid. With a thump, she dropped to the ground, wincing in pain, then scurried to hide her nakedness behind a bush.
The prince climbed down. He looked worried. “You okay?” He waited for a response. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen a big bird, wing-span of a small plane, likes shiny things?”
Mary Lou held her breath and counted her heartbeats.
“Yeah, me neither. That’s a taro plant, that big, elephant-eared thing you’re crouching behind. If you cook it, it’s delicious. If you eat it raw, it’ll kill you. Kind of a dodgy plant when you think about it, yeah?”
He laughed, and it warmed her. “By the way, it’s about three o’clock. If you were wondering.” Pause. “Probably not. I like these hours. Feels like you could live inside your dreams, have a walkabout. You know?” Pause. “Yeah. All right, mate. I’m gonna get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. Taking my boat round the north side —”
“You have a boat? Are you a pirate?” Mary Lou started to step out, remembered her state, and ducked back behind the taro plant.
“Yeah. I mean, no. I mean, yeah, got a boat — well, it’s a dinghy, light craft. And no, I’m not a pirate. I’m an ornithologist. Student, really. At university, second year. I’m looking for a rare bird, the Venusian raptorus. Are you a pirate?”
“I might be,” Mary Lou said. A new confidence surged in her. She liked this funny prince.
“Cool. Say something piratey.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t know. You’re the possible pirate, aren’t you, mate?”
Back at the swimming hole in Nebraska, Mary Lou had pretended that she was a pirate queen. Now, she wished she were one. She wished she were anything but a cursed wild girl, a beast. How she wanted to thank this prince with a kiss. But he would see the way she was, her carnality and need, and he would shrink back in disgust like Billy. It would never work out.
“You sure you’re okay?”
She didn’t answer him, and he looked disappointed. Mary Lou bit her lip. “Be safe. Be good,” her mother had said. But she didn’t want to follow her mother’s advice and sleepwalk through the days. Was it really so terrible to be a wild girl? Could it be any worse than lying about yourself?
She peeked her head above the top of the plant. “I’m not a pirate. I’m a wild girl from a cursed line of women. I paw at the ground and run under the moon. I like the feel of my own body. I’m not a slut or a nympho or someone who’s just asking for it. And if I talk too loud it’s just that I’m trying to be heard.”
She stood panting. Her nose ran. She wiped it on her arm.
“Okay,” the prince said.
Mary Lou pushed aside the leaves and stuck her head out a bit farther. “Did — did you say okay?’
“Yeah.”
He smiled.
“You’re not scared of me? You don’t think I’m some kind of unnatural girl, a beast?”
He gave her the smallest smile. “Nah. Well, I mean, all the best people have a little beast in them. I’m Tane, by the way.”
Mary Lou could taste desire in the back of her mouth like a sugary caramel. “Josephine,” she said, using her old name from the days before she knew of her curse, when she was weightless. “Queen of the Wild Girls.”
“How’d you get here?” he asked.
Mary Lou was jolted back to her predicament — the plane crash, the survivors, the need for rescue. But she felt less in danger at this moment than she ever had. It was like being inside a living dream that she could control. Later, she would tell him. Yes, there would be time for that later. She just wanted to stay with this moment a bit longer.
“I’m not really here. You’re just dreaming,” she answered and stepped out from behind the covering of the plant. He registered her nakedness with a small intake of breath, followed by the lightest of sighs, and this pleased her. She gave his neck another sniff. He smelled of fire smoke, salt breezes, and man. “And since this is a dream, I’m going to
kiss you now.”
“Fair enough,” he said.
She bestowed the blessing of a wild girl’s lips.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
In the morning, Adina offered to help Mary Lou find her ring.
“Oh, that old thing. Don’t need it. Thanks anyway,” Mary Lou said with a smile, and watched Adina shake her head in confusion.
The next night around three, Mary Lou ran through the jungle full-bore, relishing the freedom. It did not feel like a jolt of panic anymore, this change in her body, but like a part of her was being integrated into all the other parts. She was full.
She came to Tane, waking him with a kiss, and they swam in the cool waters of a lagoon. She told him about the plane crash and all they’d done to survive. They talked about what it might be like to sail around the world for a year. How hard it was to be yourself in the world. Tane told Mary Lou about the wing structures of birds and evolution, and the time he had to pee on his little brother’s jellyfish bite to stop the sting. Mary Lou told Tane about the family curse, about Billy and the Dinosaur Pit, the world’s largest pile of shoes, and Annie and Jacques-Paul’s ill-fated romance.
“I knew he wasn’t the one. He didn’t smell right, and his hands were weak. He said he liked the wildness in her, but I don’t think he really did. I think he was sort of threatened by it. And she wanted so much to make him happy that she forgot how to make herself happy,” Mary Lou said, resting her head against Tane’s chest.
“That’s not happiness. That’s a kind of murder, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Mary Lou said.
“There’s something I need to tell you, too. I had to be sure I could trust you first,” Tane said. His voice was no longer playful.
“What is it?”
“I’m not just looking for birds. I’m an eco-warrior. This island used to belong to my people before The Corporation pushed them out and took it over.”
“But this island is deserted. We’ve been here for weeks. I swear, there’s nobody here.”
“They were here. My people talk about it still. How they came to drill and mine. They violated the land and tested products on the animals. Made them very sick, killed a lot of them. They say the Venus bird was so sad, she flew away and was never seen again. The great volcano goddess was silenced, her fire extinguished by her tears.”
“That’s awful.” Mary Lou had rolled onto her stomach so that she could see Tane’s face.
“A few years ago, my people lost all contact with the island. The Corporation closed us out. Whatever they’re doing here is top secret. And the authorities are all paid off. So I decided to come on my own, see what they’re up to. Tomorrow I have to go to the other side, near the volcano. Might be gone a bit. Then I’ll go get help, get you off this island. I’ll be back — I promise.”
Mary Lou pictured Jacques-Paul climbing into his Impala and kicking up dust as he pulled away forever. “Don’t promise.”
He lifted her chin with his finger. “I promise. I’ll even leave my bedroll and lantern here.”
Mary Lou didn’t want to cry. Pirate queens were not weepy. They lived and died by their own code. “Look at that moon. Pretty happening tonight.”
“Yeah. Impressive,” Tane said, but he was not looking at the moon. “Tomorrow it’ll be even bigger.”
“You never know about tomorrow,” Mary Lou said. She pulled Tane to her for a deep kiss.
Under a three o’clock sky, they explored each other with their mouths. He slid down along the curve of her stomach until she could no longer see his face and her hands were in his hair. It was exquisite, this thing he was doing to her, and she closed her eyes tightly and cried out, and it joined with the shrieking of birds who took to the unfettered skies with the powerful push of their wings. When this happened, she was sure that all those things she’d been taught about feeling shame were wrong. It was not a curse to fully inhabit your body. You were only as cursed as you allowed yourself to be.
After, when they were a sweaty tangle of limbs, she told him, “I’m not ready for the other things yet.” He was quiet and she wondered if this would drive a wedge between them. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that I’m starving and I have a candy bar in my bag. You want half?”
It was caramel and nougat, her favorite. She licked the chocolate from his fingers, which led to more kissing and exploring, and when the moon paled against the dawn, Mary Lou tucked her St. Agnes medal into Tane’s pocket. She inhaled the scent of him so that she’d have it with her no matter what.
“You have really good hands, Tane Ngata,” she said and kissed the sleeping prince good-bye.
Mary Lou was not the only girl awake under a three o’clock sky. The sound of rain had woken Jennifer. She rubbed sleep from her eyes and remembered fragments of a dream in which she was Wonder Woman and Sosie was Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. From under her pillow — a wadded-up evening dress — she brought out her pen and notepad and began to draw. Her style was rough; her people had heads too big for their bodies, but Jennifer liked the feel of drawing the same way some people enjoyed singing in their showers.
In the panel, the Flint Avenger and her loyal sidekick, Sosie, had been trapped in the island lair of the archvillain, Madame Travatsky.
“You vill tell me ze location of ze nuclear submarine or I vill use ze ZombieRay on your little girlfriend, Flint Avenger!”
Jennifer mouthed the words while she drew.
“Don’t do it, Flint Avenger! It’s a trap!” Sosie’s speech bubble said. In the panel, she was clearly signing.
“I can’t let her hurt you, Sosie! Because …”
“Because … what?”
“I love you!”
Jennifer concentrated on the next panel, Sosie’s face. The light dusting of freckles across her pert nose. The dark eyebrows that gave her face a brooding quality. Silk-straight bangs. She worked hard on the eyes, and in the panel, they were very open with surprise and a sudden joy.
“What are you doing?”
Sosie’s voice startled Jennifer. She dropped her pen.
“Nothing.” Jennifer patted around on the sandy floor in the dark. Sosie reached over her for the notebook. Jen tried to swipe it back, but Sosie was too quick. Giggling, she sat down to read. She stopped giggling and stared at Jennifer. The last time Jennifer had felt like this, her grandmother was holding her copy of Women’s Basketball Weekly in one hand. But Jennifer hadn’t really cared too much about Grandma Huberman. It was different with Sosie.
“Give it back,” Jennifer signed. “Please.”
Sosie gave her the notebook. Then she took Jennifer’s hand in hers, gently bending Jen’s fingers to form the letters. “R U G-A-Y?”
Jen’s heart beat faster. She nodded. Then she bent Sosie’s fingers to form her own question. “R U?”
Sosie wasn’t sure how to answer. Since she could remember, she’d had crushes on both girls and guys. They were person-specific infatuations — Brian Levithan’s wicked sense of humor was every bit as sexy as Valerie Martinez’s sweet smile and amazing krunk routines. It seemed odd to Sosie that she had to make some hard-and-fast decision about such an arbitrary, individual thing as attraction, like having to declare an orientation major: I am straight with a minor in gay.
With her hand waiting in Jennifer’s, she thought about this now. She liked Jennifer, liked her lack of pettiness, her tough-but-fair stance, her honesty. If Jennifer were a dance, she would be the Agnes de Mille dream sequence from Oklahoma! Strong. Romantic. Forthright. Graceful. No wasted movement. Sosie didn’t know if she was a lesbian; she was, however, a Jenniferian. And so she leaned forward and kissed her.
To Jennifer, the kiss was like a silent communication full of meaning. It wasn’t the best kiss she had ever had. That honor belonged to LaKisha Damian on a Friday night in September behind the bleachers while the South Side Panthers marching band played “Baby, One More Time” and LaKisha wiggled her hand into Jennifer’s jeans without ever
losing her lip-lock. Sosie’s kiss was tentative but warm. A question more than a declaration. Jennifer kissed her back with more assurance. The third time they banged mouths.
“Ow!” Jennifer said, rubbing her lips. She tried again, and this time, they fit. Sosie’s mouth was warm, her tongue skittish. Jennifer made small circles around it with her own, drawing Sosie more into her mouth. She pulled back, cradling Sosie’s face in her hands, kissing her intently, hungrily. Shifting onto her back, she drew Sosie on top of her, letting her hands rest on the muscular curves at the back of her thighs, letting one hand wander to the small of Sosie’s back, pressing gently there.
To Sosie, Jennifer’s body was a surprise — the curves where she had expected straight planes, the pliability of a breast in her hand, the silky skin of her arms. She had made out with only two boys and had shared a quick, truth-or-dare kiss with a girl named Eve at a seventh grade dance party. This was very different, and her mind could scarcely keep up with all the new sensations. Was she a good kisser? Was she lame? With renewed vigor, she suckled Jen’s neck, wanting to brand her with a love bruise, then felt suddenly shy about it and stopped.
“Need some air,” she managed, before staggering out.
Sosie left the hut so abruptly that Jennifer was afraid she had done something wrong. She followed her and found Sosie stretched out on her back in the sand, watching the clouds and stars perform their own choreography. Awkwardly, Jen lay beside her, her left shoulder just grazing Sosie’s right. She didn’t know how far she should take things. Should she kiss her again? If she were her alter ego, the Flint Avenger, she’d sweep Sosie up into the sky and they would fly over the island, defying gravity with their kisses, building an exquisitely intolerable friction with the press of their bodies.