We sat under the awning playing poker, watching the storm roll in. Lightning zigzagged across the sky, and the humid air pressed down on me like a blanket. The wind picked up and scattered our cards.

 

“We better go in,” Jiho said.

 

Once inside, I stretched out beside him in the life raft and watched the interior of the house light up with each lightning strike.

 

“We won’t get much sleep tonight,” I said. 

 

“Probably not.”

 

We lay next to each other, listening to the rain beat against the house. Only a few seconds separated the crash of thunder.

 

“There’s never been so much lightning before,” I said. Even more unsettling, the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end from the electrically-charged air. I told myself the storm would end soon, but as the hours passed, it only intensified.

 

When the walls started shaking, Jiho climbed out of the life raft and reached into my suitcase. He turned around and threw my jeans at me. “Put these on.” He grabbed his own jeans and stepped into them. Then he shoved the fishing pole into the guitar case.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I don’t think we can ride this out here.”

 

I got out of bed and pulled my jeans on over my shorts. “Where else would we go?” As soon as I asked, I knew. “No! There’s no way I’m going in there. We’ve made it through other storms okay. We can stay here.”

 

Jiho grabbed his backpack and stuffed the knife, rope, and first-aid kit inside. He tossed me my tennis shoes and jammed his feet into his Nikes without untying the laces first. “There’s never been one this bad,” he said. “And you know it.”

 

I opened my mouth to argue with him, and the roof blew off.

 

Jiho knew he had won. “Let’s go,” he said, barely audible over the howling wind. He slipped his arms through the backpack and handed me the guitar case. “You’ll have to carry this.” He picked up the toolbox in one hand and my suitcase in the other, and we hurried through the woods to the cave. The rain pelted us and the wind blew so violently, I thought it might knock me off my feet.

 

I hesitated at the entrance of the cave. “Get in, Jennie,” he yelled.

 

I bent down, trying to work up the courage to crawl inside. The sudden cracking of a tree branch sounded like a gunshot, and Jiho put his hand on my and shoved. He pushed the guitar case, toolbox, and suitcase in after me, and followed behind right before the tree fell, blocking the entrance to the cave and plunging us into darkness.

 

I collided with Bones like a bowling ball into ten pins. The skeleton scattered across the floor of the cave, and a few seconds later, Jiho landed in a heap beside me.

 

The two of us – and everything we owned – barely fit in the small space. We had to lay flat on our backs, shoulder to shoulder, and if I stretched my arm out, I could have touched the cave wall, inches to my right; JIHO could have done the same on his left. The cave smelled like dirt, decaying plants, and animals I hoped weren’t bats. Grateful to be wearing jeans, I crossed my feet at the ankles to prevent anything from crawling up my pant legs. The ceiling was less than two feet above our heads. It was like being in a coffin with the lid closed, and I panicked, heartbeat thundering, gasping, feeling like I couldn’t get enough air.

 

“Try not to breathe so fast,” Jiho said. “As soon as it stops, we’re out of here.”

 

I closed my eyes and concentrated on inhaling and exhaling. Just block everything out. Leaving the cave now is not an option.

 

Jiho took my hand and laced his fingers through mine, squeezing gently. I squeezed back, holding onto his hand like a lifeline.

 

“Don’t let go,” I whispered. 

 

“I wasn’t going to.”

 

We stayed in the cave for hours, listening as the storm raged outside. When it finally stopped, Jiho shoved the tree branches away from the entrance. The sun was up and we crawled out, gazing in shock at the devastation.

 

The storm toppled so many trees it was like picking our way through a maze to get back to the beach. When we finally made it out of the woods, we both stared.

 

The house was gone.

 

Jiho looked at the ground where it once stood. I hugged him and said, “I’m sorry.” He didn’t respond, but he put his arms around me and we stayed like that for a long time.

 

We scoured the area and found the life raft shoved against a tree. We checked it carefully for holes, and I listened for the hiss of escaping air, but didn’t hear anything. The water collector floated in the ocean several yards offshore, and the tarp and roof canopy lay tangled amid the piles of wood that were once our home.

 

The seat cushions, life jackets, and blanket were scattered across the sand. We left them to dry in the sun. We attached the roof canopy to the life raft, but JIHO had cut away the nylon sides and the roll-down door to use on the house. The canopy would shield us from rain but we no longer had any protection from the mosquitoes.

 

We spent the rest of the day constructing another lean-to and gathering firewood, piling it inside so it could dry. Jiho went fishing, and I collected coconut and breadfruit.

 

Later, we sat by the fire eating fish, barely keeping our eyes open. Thankfully, the life raft continued to hold air and when the sun went down Jiho and I went to bed. I fell asleep instantly, my head resting on my slightly damp seat cushion.

 

 

I swam back and forth in the lagoon. Jiho was working on rebuilding the house, but he promised to join me as soon as he finished nailing a few more boards.

 

His desire to get a roof over our heads again consumed him, and in the six weeks since the storm, he’d made remarkable progress. He’d finished the framing and shifted his focus to putting up the walls. Having already built the house once his pace was faster this time around, and he would have worked around the clock if I didn’t convince him to take a break.

 

I was treading water when he appeared on the beach. Suddenly, he ran toward the shore, yelling and motioning for me to get out. I couldn’t figure out why he was so upset, so I turned around.

 

I spotted the fin seconds before it disappeared below the surface. I knew by the size and shape of it that it wasn’t a dolphin.

 

Jiho ran into the water yelling, “Swim Jennie, swim!”

Afraid to look over my shoulder, I swam faster than I thought possible. I still couldn’t touch the ocean floor, but Jiho reached me, yanked me by the arm, and pulled me to shallower water. I found my footing, and we ran.

 

I shook all over. Jiho grabbed me by my shoulders and said, “You’re okay.”

 

“How long do you think that’s been swimming around in our lagoon?” I asked.

 

Jiho scanned the turquoise water. “I don’t know.” 

 

“What kind do you think it was?”

 

“Reef maybe?”

 

“You can’t go fishing, Jiho” He often stood in waist-deep water, since our fishing line wasn’t very long.

 

“I’d get out if I saw the fin.” 

 

“Unless you didn’t see it.”

 

We spent the next few days by the shore, watching for the shark. The surface of the lagoon remained unbroken, and the water stayed calm and still. The dolphins came, but I wouldn’t go in. We took turns bathing, but we agreed to stay near the shore, only going in a few feet to rinse ourselves.

 

A full week passed without either of us seeing the shark. We thought it had gone away for good, that its appearance in the lagoon had been an anomaly, like the jellyfish.

 

Jiho started fishing again.

 

A few days later, I sat near the shore shaving my legs. Jiho walked up with the fish he’d caught, watching as I dragged the razor slowly up my leg, nicking my knee and drawing blood. He winced.

 

“The blade is dull,” I explained.

 

He sat down next to me. “You can’t go near the water right now, Jennie.” And that’s how I knew the shark was back.

 

He told me he had just pulled the last fish in when he spotted it. “It swam back and forth parallel to the shore, with just the tip of its fin sticking out of the water. It looked like it was hunting.”

 

“Don’t fish anymore, Jiho, Please.”

 

There were days I could hardly choke down the fish that made up the bulk of our diet. We checked the shore daily for crab, hoping for a little variety, but we almost never found them and neither of us could figure out why. The breadfruit and coconut would sustain us, but I realized how hungry we would be as long as the shark lurked in the lagoon.

 

Another two weeks passed without either of us seeing it. I still wouldn’t go near the water, except to bathe and then only up to my knees. Our stomachs growled constantly. Jiho wanted to fish, but I begged him not to.

 

I pictured the shark, waiting patiently for one of us to venture in too far. Jiho believed the shark had moved on, that it had finally decided there was nothing in the lagoon it wanted. Our conflicting theories caused more than one disagreement between us.

 

I had long since abandoned the notion that I held any kind of rank over Jiho I may have been older and had more life experience, but that didn’t matter on the island. We took each day as it came, addressing and solving problems together. But placing yourself in the natural habitat of an animal that could eat you struck me as the epitome of stupid, and I told Jiho so which is probably why, when I saw him fishing near dinnertime two days later, in waist-deep water, I went ballistic.

 

I waved my arms back and forth to get his attention, jumping up and down on the sand. “Get out right now!”

 

He took his time getting out of the water, walked up to me, and said, “What is your deal?”

 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

 

“I’m fishing. I’m hungry, and so are you.”

 

“Hungry is not dead Jiho, and you are not invincible!” I poked him hard in the chest after each word, and he grabbed my hand to stop me from poking him again.

 

“Jesus Christ, calm down!”

 

“You told me not to go in the water the other day and now you’re standing in it up to your waist like it’s no big deal.”

 

“You were bleeding, Jennie! And you wouldn’t go near the water now if I begged you to, so don’t act like you need my permission,” he yelled.

 

“Why are you so determined to put yourself in danger, even after I asked you not to?”

 

“Because whether or not I get in the water is my decision, Jennie, not yours.”

 

“Your decisions have a direct effect on me, Jiho, so I think I have every right to weigh in when those decisions are asinine!” Tears sprang to my eyes, and my lip quivered. I turned my back on him and stomped away. He didn’t follow.

 

Jiho had finished rebuilding the house the week before. I walked in the door and lay down in the life raft. When I was done crying, I took deep, calming breaths, and I must have dozed because when I opened my eyes, Jiho was lying on his back beside me, awake.

 

“I’m sorry,” we both said at the same time.

 

“Jinx. You owe me a Coke,” I said. “I want a big one, with extra ice.”