Charlotte Gallagher
Morning comes slowlyon the island. I’ve been awake for a while, staring up at the ceiling and trying to think about anything other than yesterday.
It’s not working.
My mind keeps drifting back to the waterfall. Not the snake, the very convincing stick that nearly killed me.
The part after.
The moment I panicked and threw myself at Dane without thinking, wrapping around him like that. His arms came around me, and he held me.
And when I looked up at him… something had changed.
I’ve known Dane my entire life. I know every version of his expression—when he’s annoyed, when he’s trying not to laugh, when he’s focused on something. But yesterday, there was something in his eyes I didn’t recognize.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Not that distant look he used to give me, like there was a wall between us no matter what I did.
This was something else.
I turn onto my side, facing the opening of the shelter where the light is starting to creep in.
Because it’s not just yesterday. He’s been different for a while now.
Sometimes he looks at me like he’s about to say something important but then doesn’t. Other times he avoids looking at me entirely, but not in the same way he used to. Before, it felt cold. Like he was shutting me out on purpose.
Now it feels like he’s trying not to look at me at all. Which only makes me notice it more when he does.
And lately, whenever we end up close—by the fire or along the beach or under the waterfall—something shifts. I can’t explain it.
It makes my chest feel tight, and my thoughts scatter. Part of me wants to step closer. Another part suddenly becomes very aware of how little space there already is between us.
And underneath that—something else.
Something that makes even less sense.
Excitement.
I don’t have a name for any of this. I just know something changed yesterday, and I don’t understand what it means.
Which is the most frustrating part.
Because the truth is, I don’t actually know much about how men and women are supposed to act around each other.
Mum tried to explain some things to me before the trip. She said it was important because I was getting older. There was talk about periods, what they meant, and how babies are made—the basic mechanics of it all. It was embarrassing, but she stayed calm about it, so I tried to treat it like any other lesson.
Still, it wasn’t the whole story.
I remember asking questions—probably too many—and at some point she laughed and said we’d talk about the rest when I was older.
We never did.
Now I’m older—old enough to recognize when something strange is happening between two people. Old enough to know that what Mum explained doesn’t come close to covering…this.
It doesn’t explain the way my stomach flips when Dane looks at me too long. Or why he looks away right after, like he’s been caught doing something wrong. Or why he can be completely normal one minute and distant the next, like he’s trying to put space between us.
