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me.”
    I never have been. I’ve never been with him. Not until now. As we sit looking out over the ocean, the memory hanging between us like it’s projected on a television screen, something else starts to grow, bloom. The fear, the anxiety, is replaced a small bit with anticipation.
    Hope.

Chapter Six
    A week goes by.
    Noah and I share a house, but he sleeps on the mats in the living room. We have breakfast on the deck, then Noah meets with the chief. He says he’s learning the language, but I know they’re talking about more than that—a lot more. But he doesn’t offer, and I can’t push him. At least one thing is clear: We haven’t found a way off the island yet.
    It doesn’t mean I’ve stopped trying.
    The week that I went with Ed’s family to Mexico was also our one-year anniversary. It was mostly a crazy family vacation—three little brothers does not allow for a lot of alone time. But Ed took me down to the beach after dinner one night. He held a package in one hand and my fingers in the other all the way down to the water’s edge. He was wearing this really cheesy shirt I bought him at the hotel gift shop. I remember thinking that he still looked crazy handsome even in embroidered flowers. He was the only guy I knew who would wear that stupid gag shirt just because I had bought it for him.
    â€œI have something for you,” he told me. Without letting go of my hand, he gave me the package. It was small, wrapped in brown paper. I opened it and felt something catch in my throat. It was a glass bottle. Inside was a single scroll.
    â€œIt’s a love letter,” he said.
    I turned the bottle over in my hands. I stuck my pinkie in the opening—too small to pull the paper back out.
    â€œI can’t read it,” I said.
    Ed put his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him. “You don’t need to,” he said. “I’m always going to be here to tell you.” He kissed me then, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, the glass bottle dangling from my fingers.
    â€œWhat does it say?” I asked, my lips still on his.
    â€œThat you are the most intelligent, kind, sweet, beautiful person I have ever met and that I love you.”
    I smiled. I kissed him. Sometimes, when I was with Ed, I would see myself through his eyes, and it would feel like the most spectacular, magnificent high. Like living at the tippy-top of a roller coaster, the whole world below me.
    â€œThis is a crappy present,” I told him.
    He raised his eyebrows, his arms still around me. “I thought it was romantic,” he said. “But if you hate it, I’ll just—” And then he took it and tossed it out to sea. I watched the splash of water as it landed.
    I hit him. “Ed!” But he was smiling, and so was I.
    â€œIt wasn’t really for you,” he said. “That was just a gesture of my love. But this is.” Then he took a small tissue-paper parcel out of his ginormous shirt pocket.
    I unfolded it in my hands. Inside was a necklace with a bottle cap attached as a charm.
    â€œSo you’ll always remember,” he said, “that somewhere in that giant, wide ocean is the story of how much I love you.”
    I looked up at him. He was beaming.
    â€œIt’s beautiful,” I said, because I didn’t know what to say. I just remember, in that moment, feeling like I didn’t deserve this. Like I didn’t deserve him.
    He motioned for me to turn around, and then he slipped the chain onto my neck. It was cool, and I touched the bottle cap where it landed, in the little pocket between my collarbones.
    I’d worn it every day since he gave it to me, but the cap fell off in the crash. It’s somewhere in the ocean now. I keep touching the empty gold chain. It feels heavier than it used to—even though there is something missing.
    Sa-we and Asku and I make food together—they have taught me how