Our boat is currently unmoored, afloat on the horizon, a good quarter mile away from the island, dragging half the pier behind it.

The dock house wasn’t struck by lightning.

The pier was.

We’re both too dumbfounded to react for several moments. Then thunder rumbles again in the distance, and Lucky shakes himself roughly, scattering rain droplets over both of us.

We’re stranded on an island.

Nobody knows we’re here.

And I just had sex for the first time.

With my best friend.

Oh my dear lord … I think I’m going to pass out. I snap my seasickness wristbands over and over, as if that will magically help the situation somehow.

“Okay,” Lucky says, voice strained. “Let’s just be rational here.”

“Rational,” I agree.

“I could swim out and get it … ?” he says, voice going up an octave, as if he can’t believe he’s suggesting it himself, but he can’t think of anything else to do.

Panic fires through my limbs. “Out there? Out there?”

“Well? It looks like the pier was hit, not the boat.”

I point emphatically. “Who cares? It’s already God-only-knows-how-far out in the ocean. You can’t swim that! You could drown. Die. There are sharks in the bay!”

“Only dogfish and sandbars.”

“At the rate we’re going, your mythical kraken is probably down there!”

“Josie—”

“No, Lucky—absolutely not. You aren’t Saint Boo. You don’t have extra cat lives to risk on stupid feats of machismo—so forget it. We’ll just call your dad, and he’ll come get us. He’s got a tugboat thing-y, right? So even if the Narwhal is dead in the water, he can tow it. That’s what he does.”

“No signal.”

“There must be.”

Lucky pushes wet hair out of his eyes. “Already checked, back in the stone circle when you were taking photos. There’s no signal out here. Usually isn’t, once you clear a certain point in the harbor. That’s why you need Wi-Fi onboard.”

I quickly dig out my phone and shield the screen with one hand. Have I really not checked it the entire time I’ve been out here? That must be some kind of record. But he’s right. No signal. Shit! I swing around wildly, trying to figure out what we can do. Surely there’s an emergency call box out here? A rowboat?

“What about the lighthouse? These lights weren’t on before?”

“Automatic, probably.”

That’s what I thought too, but probably isn’t good enough. What if the lighthouse keeper has returned? We run off toward the lighthouse to double-check, but it’s still locked up as tight as it was before. No side door, either. No call box, no nothing.

“Oh, fuck me,” Lucky moans over my shoulder as we slosh our way back to the dock house. “How is this happening? Why does everything I do turn to shit?”