9. Jensen

CHAPTER 9

JENSEN

I ’ve been on Mostaza for a week now. At least I think it’s a week. It’s hard to keep track of time when all the days look the same and I don’t have a calendar to help me differentiate.

The last few days, Billie’s been taking me out more and more, explaining her job to me, telling me about everything she has to do. She’s been teaching me all about the natural world, and it’s opening my eyes to things I didn’t even realize people needed to worry about.

It’s been raining on and off too, and I’ve been doing my best not to annoy her, but it’s hard when there’s only two of us, and I’m bored. Soon, I’ll have read every book in the cabin, and we’ve still got days and days left to be trapped here.

We’re in a completely different part of the island today, somewhere that I’ve never been before. It’s less dense with trees here, but thick with undergrowth and bushes. Every time I take a step, I feel like I’m being stabbed by a thorn or a twig or something. Just more scrapes to join the bruises all over my legs.

I’ve never looked so damaged in my life.

One of the best things Billie’s teaching me is foraging — and not to brag, but I am getting pretty good at it. Obviously, I knew that people could eat stuff that grew in the wild, but I thought you had to have special knowledge to be able to decide what was good for you and what was bad. I guess you kind of do. But I didn’t realize how easy it was for people to share this knowledge.

I guess if I’d thought about it, I might have figured that out. After all, before microwaves and freezers and the invention of indoors, people had to know what stuff from the ground would kill them, or feed them. I wonder how many people must have died before they got that one right.

“Look,” says Billie, pointing at a bush. “You must recognize that one by now.”

I follow her finger and wander over to the bush, crouching down to inspect it. I squint at the leaves — pointed and bright green — then notice the fruit is bright yellow, round, juicy-looking. I compare it to other things we’ve seen, like holding up paint swatches in my mind.

She must have given me an easy one on purpose. “That’s got to be granadilla .”

“Very good,” she says. I look back at her over my shoulder, and she nods. The approval sends a warm flush all the way through my chest, making my heart thump a little faster. I could get used to this feeling. “You know, I didn’t realize you were going to be such a quick learner.”

She starts walking, and I hesitate, absorbing her words. I jog a little to catch her up, and, with an air of hurt that’s only slightly pretend, I ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I’m surprised to see a flash of confusion cross her face. She bites her lip like she’s trying to come up with something nice to say, then stammers, “Well, no offense, but guys like you usually don’t care about learning stuff, and don’t want to listen to the explanation when it’s given.”

“What kind of guy do you think I am?” I ask softly.

We come to a halt, and she turns to face me, pursing her lips like she’s trying to summon the right words to get across her meaning. “I think you’re pretending to be something you’re not,” she says eventually, and it’s surprisingly close to the truth.

She hesitates like she’s waiting for me to say something, but when I don’t, she keeps going. “I think you’re smarter than you let on, and I think you really care about other people. You just seem like you’ve never really had a chance to show it.”

My heart leaps into my mouth as she says this. I feel like I’m under a magnifying glass. No, something that zooms in more. A microscope. Every atom of me is being dissected and analyzed; every sinew of my body is being torn apart with a scalpel and recorded in a little naturalist’s notebook.

She’s seen right through to the very core of me, and somehow she’s still hanging out with me despite it.

I can only gawp in response, and she must think she’s upset me because she turns away, her cheeks flushing pink. “Anyway, let’s keep going?”

She keeps walking without waiting for me, and I chase after her again. I want to say something, but I can’t think of the words. Nobody has ever said something like that to me before.

Usually, it’s all Jensen, stop being so annoying, Jensen; you’re an idiot; for God’s sake, why are you making a fool of yourself? I’m so used to being a disappointment that anyone thinking I’m anything else is leaving me dumbfounded.

I wonder what she would think if she knew who I really was.

We head slightly deeper into the forest, and she holds up her hand to stop me. “Okay, here’s a tricky one. What bird is that?” She points up to the sky, indicating that she wants me to listen. I tip my head up like that might help me hear better.

It doesn’t. I’m met with a cacophony of sound: the trees rustling in the wind like whispers, birds singing atonal melodies, frogs and insects screaming into the void. It’s all so loud, like they’re all desperate to be heard over one another.

They say they know which noises birds make for certain things, like watch out — a predator! or I’m hungry! but I’ve always wondered how they know that. I mean, it’s not like you can go up to a bird and ask it how it’s feeling. Unless it’s a parrot, I guess. But even then, aren’t they just repeating what they hear?

How much do any of us really know about anything?

Before I can get totally existential, Billie adds, “And before you start, yes, you should know this one.”

“You’ve been teaching me plants, not birds,” I pout.

“Just listen, okay? If you’ve been paying attention, you should be able to get it.”

I look up to the sky again and strain my ears to take in everything around us. There is one bird calling slightly louder than the others, and it does sound kind of familiar. She’s right — she has been telling me all about the birds, and if I think hard, maybe I can remember…

“A kite?” I ask, not fully certain, and the way her face splits into a smile makes all the confusion of earlier melt away.

“See, you do pay attention.”

“I guess I must.”

We settle down next to a bush so Billie can try and get some shots of the birds, and my mind starts to wander as I wait.

The thing is, I am paying attention and I do care. I’ve never felt like this before, about anything. I’ve never believed that anything was worth my time and effort, but the more I listen to Billie, the more I realize that actually, yes, this does matter.

All this time, I’ve been searching for something to fill in this hole in my heart, the one crying out to be worth more than I am. The one that’s begging me to make a difference somewhere beyond getting into trouble in order to be noticed. Sure, all this sitting around is boring, but it matters.

Everything Billie does matters.

And as I sit here next to her, watching her forehead wrinkle as she concentrates, one eye scrunched up as she peers through the viewfinder, I can hear my heart asking for more. I could listen to her talk about this stuff forever. Her opinion matters to me.

The way she treats me like a person is beyond intoxicating.

The way this makes me feel almost makes me never want to leave.