Duchess of the Flies is an improvised story because outlines killed my father, and revenge is best served unplotted. Updated weekly and/or whenever. SPOILER ALERT: There are no spoilers because I have no idea where this is going. Let’s be surprised together!
Chapter 2: Ain’t No Party Like a Middle School Party because a Middle School Party Don’t Stop
“Stop worrying, I won’t hit you,” Twiggy said with a touch of annoyance in her voice. She raised a single ski over her head, winding up.
Simone, a chubby 7th grader with sausage fingers, nervously held the coconut against a rock. “Have you done this before?”
“Yeah. Well, not like this exactly, but I opened one last year. I needed it ‘cause I was doing a Monty Python thing for Halloween.”
“Nevermind. Basically, in a second, we’ll have drinkable water and the ability to make awesome clippity-clop sounds.”
She thrust the ski downward. Simone winced as the edge of the Salomon Mountain Glide 800 hit the husk with a crack, splitting the coconut in two. The freed liquid flowed down the face of the rock into the bowl placed below.
Twiggy laughed triumphantly and raised her hand for a high five. A white-faced Simone obligated.
“Will you two stop cackling?! We can’t hear the music!” Jackie rolled her eyes and turned back to the rest of the girls. Like the others, she was still dressed in her school uniform, although she had modified hers to be shipwrecked chic. “Let’s go over that last combo.”
She pointed at a 6th grader who cradled an iPhone in her hand. The littlun tapped the screen and One Direction filled every direction. The girls snapped into their choreography.
Rachel made her way over the dune into camp. She passed the kick-ball-changing chorus line, who mostly ignored her, and stopped in front of Twiggy and Simone. She dropped her empty bag to the ground with a defeated shrug to the disappointment of the two girls. Then, with a smile, she pulled Ms. Cumberpatch’s flask from her pocket and waved it like a trophy.
“Score!” Twiggy said, taking the flask and unscrewing the cap.
“Alcohol is dehydrating,” Simone pipped in.
“Then I’ll break open a few more coconuts. We’ll be fine.”
Rachel eyed the ski. “Did you use that to open it?”
“Why didn’t you just poke a hole in it with a pole?”
“Because we wouldn’t have been able to do this…” She picked up the two shell halves and tapped them together to indeed make some awesome clippity-clop sounds.
Simone did not look impressed. She stepped closer to Rachel, and said in almost a whisper, “We’ve already gone through most of the food that washed in with us. We have to do something, or we’re going to starve.”
Rachel glanced at Twiggy, who had poured the contents of the flask into the bowl of coconut water and was slurping it down. Behind the lanky girl, she could see the pile of packaged food they had salvaged. It looked more like… well, like something smaller than the bigger thing it had been. (Author’s note: I don’t have time for specifics. There are pre-teens stuck on an island to deal with!)
Rachel headed through the sand toward the dance party. She cleared her throat, “Hey, guys, we need to talk.”
Jackie huffed as she continued to sashay, “In three eight counts.”
The 6th grader with the iPhone looked up at Rachel. Rachel motioned for her to hand over the phone. The girl sheepishly obeyed. With a flick of her thumb, Rachel turned off the music.
Jackie twirled around to face Rachel. “What’s your deal? Can’t we have a little fun?”
“This isn’t a cruise.”
“Hello, duh, it was.”
“A storm changed that.”
“Your face changed that.”
Rachel groaned under her breath. She held up the phone, “How about whoever holds the iPhone gets to speak and everyone else gets to listen to the constructive thing they have to say?”
Jackie scoffed and looked back at the other girls. They stared wide-eyed, still in their dance lines. Jackie shrugged her shoulders in apathetic agreement (which can be universally translated to “Whatever”).
Rachel addressed the entire group, “It’s been two days. Even if it’s only two more, we don’t have the food to survive. We need to do something. Hunt, or fish, or, I don’t know, gather berries. Something.”
Jackie coolly held out her hand. Rachel passed her the phone. Jackie smiled at the group, “We’re not going to be here for another two days. Probably not even another night. They don’t just lose a bunch of private school girls in the Atlantic. So I say we continue practicing our rescue routine because there are going to be some super cute boys in uniforms here to save us any minute now. Yeah?”
The girls nodded like bobble heads. Or sheep. Or bobble heads that looks like sheep. (Author’s note: Pre-teens on an island, people! Keep it moving.) Frustrated, Rachel shook her head (like a negating bobble head). Jackie hit play and the music started where it left off. She took her position and commanded the group, “We’ll take it from the chorus. And a five-six-seven-eight–”
The screen went black, its battery dead. Jackie flung the machine to the side and called to the 6th grader, “Okay, where’s the next one?”
The girl gulped, “That was the last one with any battery left…”
Jackie’s gaze grew cold.
That night, screams filled the jungle as fire turned the trees to ash.
End of Chapter 2
Next time… Chapter 3: Beastie’s my BFF