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Summoning up her courage, Shanti sang an Eastern-influenced riff and broke into a rap about living on an island, eating grubs, rescuing pirates, and eating weird berries. Her singing wasn’t special, but her rap was funny and tight, and the others whooped and applauded.
“You should record that,” Ahmed said.
Shanti adopted a ridiculous gangsta pose. “DJ Shanti Shanti. In the hut,” she said and laughed, but she didn’t feel like a fraud.
Sinjin called from the beach.
“Our master’s voice,” Ahmed said and rolled his eyes.
They looped back to the fire. Sinjin was sitting bare-chested with Petra’s blue feather boa wrapped around his neck and draped over his shoulder. His long dark curls had been teased and sprayed into a sexy mane. Heavy black eyeliner rimmed his eyes. “Am I not gorgeous? I want to snog myself. I’m like a postmodern Lord Byron.”
“You put the ironic in Byronic,” Petra quipped.
“Well said, luv.”
“Every time he calls me love, an angel gets its wings.” Petra’s sarcasm was unmistakable, and Sinjin seemed to enjoy it.
“Is this our new look, then, Captain?” George asked.
“It’s my new look. Get your own, mate. Petra was giving me an appreciation for what the other side goes through.” Captain Sinjin adjusted the boa. “Got to let a tasteful hint of man-nipple show.”
broke the kiss. “Your mates may give you a hard time about this.”
“I don’t care. If I like somebody, I like her, and that’s that.” He thumped his chest and made a scowly face. “Let ’em come for me. I will stare down the mob with their pitchforks! I will make a speech about tolerance and love! I will show them the folly of their ways! And then I will grab your hand and run like hell because, Jesus, a mob with pitchforks?”
“Sinjin, I think we may have just found your talent.”
“What? Chest thumping?”
“Humanity.”
Sinjin wanted to toss off a witty comeback but found he had none. “Thanks, luv,” he said softly, sincerely.
“It’s the truth, Ruth.”
Sinjin put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know it’s Shirley. I could never be a Ruth.”
“You know what I’m going to give you, Shirley?”
“What?”
“A makeover.”
Sinjin crawled over her, going for the kiss. “What if I look Droodful? Edwin Droodful?”
Petra winced. “Oh, good God.”
“Sorry.”
“Just for that, you’re getting the works.” Petra took Sinjin by the hand and dragged him into her tent.
Guitar at the ready, Ahmed sidled over to Nicole and Shanti’s hut with Charlie in tow. “Can I hang with the nondrinking party? Not a big fan of slurring my speech and walking like a toddler with a poopy diaper.”
“Totally,” Shanti said, making room.
Ahmed strummed and crooned softly. Jennifer lay her head in Sosie’s lap and Sosie stroked her hair absently.
“I feel like we’re in one of those old surf movies and we’re gonna have to do the Watusi,” Nicole said.
