Cassidy watched him walk away and resented him for getting the last word in.So, what if he came from nothing? They were all on the same island now with the same problems.
She waited for him to grab his things from the sand and disappear down the beach before she left the water.
Back on the shore, the sand stuck to Cassidy’s feet and the skirt clung uncomfortably to her legs. On her walk back to the villa, she passed dozens of other people who had no concerns about missing friends, or fake friends, or the challenges of sobriety. Their drunken laughter and excited shouts about some art nuevo project on the south part of the island suggested their lives were blissfully ignorant to all of that, if only for the time being. She used to live that way, and maybe to outsiders like James, it looked like she still did.
Sometimes it felt like fame and money encouraged people who were less fortunate to push her away, kind of like James had, but there were also more moments than she could really remember where someone else with money showed that Cassidy wasn’t as important to them as keeping up appearances and maintaining their prosperity. She constantly felt somewhere in the middle, wanting to live her best life because it’s what her parents worked so hard for, but also wanting to acknowledge that not everyone had it as good as her. That was part of the reason she started doing so many drugs to begin with; it wasn’t just the boredom of a life with few expectations like everyone thought. Mostly, it was that she always felt pressured to do something with her privilege, and she felt the impossibility of always making the right decisions.
It felt like that now. She craved an oxy and a long island iced tea like she hadn’t in a couple of years, but knew indulgence would be a mistake. Whatever was happening was already making her question her sanity.
So, what do I do now?She wondered as she peeled herself out of the wet clothes.
Daisy deserved due diligence in being found, and Apricot deserved grace while they were going through whatever this was together. Maybe James even deserved something similar.
Apricot hadn’t returned to the villa yet. Cassidy checked her profile, which was still active, but Apricot hadn’t posted in at least an hour. Taking a deep breath, Cassidy told herself it meant nothing and to stay calm, then she tapped over to her own profile and put a story together. Maybe a video made of text wouldn’t set anything off with whatever filter was finding posts to change them.
My friend, Daisy Palmer, has gone missing at on Island X. Her social media has all been deleted. Please spread the word and help me find her.
None of us can call off the island. I don’t know what’s happening. Apricot and I want to find Daisy and leave.
Please, please help us.
Next, she opened up her text string with Apricot.
I’m getting us on a flight out with the artists tonight. Pack your stuff. I’ll call you when I figure it out.
And then, remembering James’ warnings about being monitored, she turned off her phone.
Jamescouldn’tstayinthe ocean all day to avoid being spied on by the eyes and ears of the island, but he could do the next best thing and try to disappear into a crowd. Cell shut off in his damp pocket, he wandered until finding a large group of people dancing near the south end of the island.
No live music played, but a sizable crowd listened as a DJ remixed the best hits of the year so far. The dancers jumped and sweated in the sun, and the air smelled of coconut sunblock and cotton candy vape clouds. He spotted a group of guys dancing together and made his way over to them as if drawn by a magnet. In the crowd, James caught the attention of a guy with a slim build and pink board shorts, who gave him a big-toothed smile and shimmied over.
“Hi there,” the guy said. “My name’s Jamir.”
“I’m James.”
“Nice to meet you, James.” Jamir danced a little closer, and they found a rhythm together. “You here alone, James?”
“I am.”
“Not anymore,” Jamir shook his head. James grinned and the music changed. Cheers rose from the dancers as the first notes of the bassline from a throwback song thrummed heavy in their chests. James and Jamir both knew the words and sang loudly together like old friends. Jamir dramatically gesticulated to the words, singing directly to James. He reached out his arm on the final line, curved his finger to draw James close to him, and was suddenly thrown to the left.
“Hey!” James cried out to the body lying on top of Jamir, which thrashed around to get their footing. He stepped around the mess of limbs to try and help Jamir up from beneath the other guy and heard someone shouting something. The guy who fell onto Jamir stood, and James helped Jamir to his feet and saw that the crowd opened around Brad King. He shouted something that came into sharp clarity when the DJ cut the music.
“—touch me ever again!” he said. Behind him, Cherish King stood with her hands over her mouth in shock.
“I didn’t fucking touch you, dickbag!” the other guy yelled. James pulled Jamir away from the scene.
“Are you okay?” he asked, but he could already see the scrapes full of dirt and spilled beer covering Jamir’s forearms.
Brad King, neck veins throbbing beneath the blackwork tattoos on his neck, stepped forward in his flip flops and tried to seem intimidating in a white tank top and low-hanging basketball shorts. Brad pressed his chest against the other guy’s, who stood his ground and stared the pop star down.
“Fuck off, slim shady!” someone yelled out at King.
“Brad, stop!” Cherish cried. Her words curdled with tears and anger.
“Watch your fucking back,” King said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, but he kept his distance, and his fists remained balled at his sides. The crowd gathered around the second guy, faster than any paparazzi swarm but armed with just as many cameras, to show their allegiance now that the threat was somewhat mitigated.
“Go put out another shitty album!” someone else yelled.
