We ate nothing but coconut and breadfruit for the next eighteen days and our clothes hung on us. Jennie’s stomach growled in her sleep, and I had a constant ache in mine. I doubted the rescuers were still looking for us, and a hollow, empty feeling that had nothing to do with hunger joined the pain in my gut whenever I thought of my family and friends.

I thought it would impress Jennie if I could spear a fish. I managed to stab myself in the foot instead, which hurt like hell, not that I let her know.

“I want to put antibiotic ointment on it,” Jennie said. She dabbed it on the gash and covered it with a band-aid. She said the island humidity was perfect for germs and the thought of one of us getting an infection scared the crap out of her. “You’ll have to stay out of the water until that heals, Jiho. I want to keep it dry.”

Great. No fishing and no swimming.

The days passed slowly. Jennie got quiet. She slept more, and I caught her wiping her eyes when I came back from collecting firewood or exploring the island. I found her sitting on the beach one day, staring up at the sky.

“It’s easier if you quit thinking they’re coming back,” I told her.

She looked up at me. “So I should just wait for a plane to randomly fly overhead someday?”

“I don’t know, Jennie.”

I sat down beside her. “We could leave on the life raft,” I said. “Load it with food and use the plastic containers