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“No Watusi for me. I made a pledge of purity,” Tiara said.
Shanti shook her head at Nicole. “You’ve done all you can.”
“You know, I’ve watched Miss Teen Dream every year,” Ahmed explained. “I’ve got five sisters. The best was the time they did the Night of the Living Beauty Queen opening number and everybody looked like zombies in sequins? They were pretending to shamble and eat each other’s brains but they still had to smile and shout out their states? That was so wrong, it has its own zip code of wrong.”
“You have no idea how hard all that stuff is,” Shanti said.
“Doesn’t seem so hard,” Charlie scoffed.
“Really?” Shanti said. The girls exchanged glances. “So you think you could be in a pageant?”
Charlie shrugged. “Yeah. I do.”
“You think you could put up with all the things girls put up with?” Nicole pressed.
Ahmed shook his head. “No way, mate. I was there when my oldest sister gave birth to my nephew? That’s hard-core.” Ahmed nodded to the ekwe. “Cool drum.”
“Thanks. Made it myself.” Nicole pounded out a rhythm.
Ahmed bopped his head in time. “Dead brilliant.” He plucked out a tune on his acoustic to accompany her. The others filled in with what they could find — sticks, coconuts, hollowed bamboo. Sosie did a wild Watusi in the sand while Jennifer stood next to her pointing one finger up and down in a deadpan disco.
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.”
Tiara looked confused. “Men have ni**les? Is that new?”
“Men. Have. Nipples!” Adina shouted.
“Adina’s been teaching us stuff at Smart School. Like about geography and real estate companies and feminism,” Tiara explained to the pirates.
“Cool,” said George.
“Yeah. It is.” She squinted in thought. “Do you think my new feminism makes me look fat?”
“Darlings, do you know what I think it’s time for? I think it’s time for your captain to have a soliloquy.”
Brittani covered her eyes. “Oh. Um. You can just go behind the tree. That’s what we all do.”
“No, luv. A soliloquy. A speech.” Sinjin toasted another stale marshmallow. “Imagine, if you will, that I’m sitting on the ship’s deck, in a spot of moonlight that is doing absolutely fantastic things for my bone structure. Really, I’m like a god right now. Can you see it? I can see it. It’s exciting me. Eh, mates?”
