Chapter 2

Narrative: Naomi Johnson

I was out on the field at school during gym class, wearing red shorts and a white top with clunky sneakers. The goal of this strange game was to kick a ball into a net thing. If you scored, you got one point. It seemed dumb but somehow fun, and we ran around a ton.

We had a mix of boys and girls playing together. The boys kept taking the ball from the other girls really easy. But when they tried to barge into me, I wouldn’t let them get away with it—I’d shove right back. They’d end up tumbling over the grass, looking at me all surprised like they couldn’t believe what just happened.

I kept the ball close, moving it toward the goal as someone tried to block my path. I swung big at the ball but missed, my feet flying out from under me as I fell backward. That let the goalie grab it safe and pass it to their teammates.

I lay there on the grass, staring up at the sky feeling totally bewildered. How did I even end up like this? Laughter burst out all around me as everyone watched.

One boy said, “Nice kick Naomi, you almost touched the ball,” he laughed as he walked off. I pressed my lips together tight, murmuring to myself, I hate this game.

As I walked to the girls locker room, the other girls clapped and cheered for me. Apparently, even though I messed up that kick, I had stood my ground against those boys and made them look silly. Not everything turned out bad after all, I figured.

Zuri walked over to me, “That was awesome Naomi?” I stared at her confused, “But I tripped and they laughed at me!” I said. “Only the boys laughed though,” she said, “because you made them look bad.” Hmm, I thought, maybe boys see it as competition against girls and don’t like it when a girl does better.

I was sitting in class listening to Mrs. Robinson talk about a man who gave his life on a cross for our wrongdoings. I raised my hand because I wanted to ask something, but apparently I wasn’t supposed to just blurt it out—I had to wait for permission, which kinda annoyed me. “Yes, Naomi?” she called on me. So I asked with real curiosity, “When did this happen, miss?” Some kids glanced over at me like they were surprised. A boy near the front smirked and chuckled to himself before saying, “What year do you think we’re in, Naomi?” Then Mrs. Robinson explained it happened over two thousand years ago. Wait—what?! I thought to myself, how could someone give up their life for mistakes people hadn’t even made yet? It was all so confusing.

I was told that this person named God made the world and the whole universe. Now this really confused me, my dad didn’t even mention this to me when I was on the island, he spoke about the rocks crashing together with a force that formed it into a big sperical ball.

I raised my hand again. “Yes, Naomi?” Mrs. Robinson called out. So I asked, “This person called God, is he the force that squished the world into a round ball?” Mrs. Robinson nodded and said, “Yes, Naomi—he did.” That got me thinking. “He? So God’s a man?” I blurted out. All of a sudden everyone started laughing. I looked around wondering why it was so funny.

One of the girls chimed in, asking where I’d been living. “Under a rock?” she added with a smirk. Under a rock? I wondered to myself—how could anyone live there? “No! On an island,” I shot back. They all burst out laughing again. This was really starting to annoy me.

From that moment I was referred to as the jungle girl, which wasn’t wrong and in fact I liked it.

As Zuri and I walked home together, she turned to me with a smile. “Hey, do you want to come over to my house?” I glanced at her, curious. “Why?” Zuri grinned. “Because it would be fun! We can talk and play games, you know? And you can stay for dinner—my parents would love having you.” That sounded nice, so I nodded. “Okay!” I said, following her home.

Narrative: Aisha Johnson

I was immersed in work when Marcus called. “Hi baby,” I answered, immediately sensing unease in his tone. “Aisha! Naomi hasn’t come home from school,” he blurted out, alarm rising in his voice. My own concern spiked instantly. “Did you try calling her?” I asked, only to learn he couldn’t reach her; her phone was apparently dead. A cold wave of dread washed over me—I feared something terrible had happened. Without hesitation I declared, “Okay, I’ll call the school.”

Narrative: Naomi Johnson

I sat in Zuri’s home enjoying dinner, her parents treating me kindly and serving generous portions of food. They explained it was traditional African cuisine. I remembered learning about Africa in geography class—the lessons always focused on poverty and hardship. But Zuri’s parents, who came from Nigeria, showed me a different side with their abundant meal spread before us. This, they said with pride, was the real proof of their culture’s richness.

Zuri’s mom looked at me and asked, “Is your father black?” Her words had a thick accent. Zuri gasped, “Mom!” I paused, confused. Then I said, “Well, my mom has light brown skin and my dad has beige skin. Sometimes he gets really red after being in the sun.” They all stared at me and started laughing loudly.

There it is again, that laughter, why does every word I say seem to make everyone burst into giggles.

Then Zuri’s father’s phone buzzed softly in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered, “Hello? Yes, speaking.” After listening for a moment, he nodded. “Oh yes, Naomi is here with us—she’s having dinner. Zuri brought her home after school.” He handed the phone to me and said, “It’s your mother.” I took it eagerly. “Hi Mom!” I chirped happily. On the other end came my mother’s sharp voice: “Naomi! Why didn’t you call to let us know you were at a friend’s house? We’ve been so worried!” Her tone was stern and upset—I’d never heard her raise her voice at me quite like that before.

I hadn’t realized I was supposed to ask permission first. I apologized and promised I would remember next time, but Mom had already decided - Marcus was coming to get me. Once we hung up, I handed the phone back and told everyone I will be leaving soon.

As we rode home, I settled into the passenger seat beside Marcus. The car hummed softly as he drove. “You got us all worried there, Naomi,” he said in a calm voice. “Your mother was really worried about you,” he added as I apologized quietly. “We don’t mind you going to your friend’s house, but please just let us know where you’re going next time, okay?” he explained gently. I nodded, taking in his words without saying much more during the ride home.

“I’m sorry I choked you before, Marcus,” I said hesitantly. He glanced over at me with a puzzled expression and replied, “What? What are you talking about?” His brow furrowed as he tried to recall. I clarified quietly, “When my dad was here ... I put you to sleep.” My voice softened with regret; I had never properly apologized for what happened that day. Marcus chuckled softly and shrugged it off. “That was ages ago—I’d honestly forgotten all about it,” he assured me kindly. “But thanks.” I managed a small smile despite myself.

That night I lay in bed, tears welling up as I thought about Mom yelling at me earlier. My real mom used to get mad sometimes, but this felt different. It was like she wasn’t exactly my mom even though she kind of was. I felt like if I didn’t watch myself around her, she might decide she didn’t want me anymore after making her so upset.

The next morning at breakfast, I was extra careful not to upset her. “Why aren’t you eating your breakfast, baby?” she asked me as I ate quietly and did what she wanted.

Narrative: Aisha Johnson

Something was off with Naomi today; she was unusually quiet and compliant. “What’s bothering you?” I asked gently. She looked up hesitantly before replying, “I don’t want to make you angry.” I considered last night’s tense conversation and realized my tone must have unsettled her. “Is this about last night?” I probed, and she gave a slow nod in response.

I opened my arm, inviting her into an embrace. She slid her chair near, wrapping her arms around me and resting her head against my chest. “If I upset you, you won’t want me anymore,” she whispered. Shock washed over me—this was what she truly believed? That I could ever abandon her? “Naomi,” I began gently, holding her close, “you’re my daughter now. We won’t always agree, but never doubt this—you are mine forever. I will never leave you.” My words were firm, meant to reassure us both.

Narrative: Ian McGregor

As I drove to work, an uneasy sensation lingered from last night’s vivid dream. In my mind’s eye, I found myself once again seated beside Aisha on that plane fifteen years prior—but instead of a routine flight, we’d crash-landed. The memory of her tumbling into me within the cramped confines of the restroom cubicle sent a jolt through my chest.

Ian had mentioned this to me during our conversation; perhaps I just experienced his nightmare. The vision showed me exactly how they ended up stranded together on the island.

I hadn’t been seeing much of Naomi lately since she’d begun attending school. I really missed those impromptu lunch breaks when she would drop by my workplace. These days, our time together was mostly limited to weekends. Last weekend, I invited her over to spend time with Emily, her half-sister. They chatted away like old friends, sharing stories and giggling together. Meanwhile, Helen remained rather distant around Naomi; she was still bothered about our outing to the science engineering museum where Aisha had accompanied us.

I understood her hesitation, aware that another version of me had fallen for Aisha and concerned that I might be developing similar emotions. Those thoughts didn’t trouble me much until witnessing that dream.

My phone buzzed suddenly as I sat at my desk. It was Aisha calling. Puzzled, I answered with a hint of worry in my voice, “Aisha? Is everything alright?” She replied calmly, “Yes, everything’s fine. Listen, Marcus and I will be working late today, and Dominic’s covering his evening shift at the store. I was hoping Naomi could come stay with you after school—I don’t want her home alone tonight.”

“Of course,” I said, “I’ll pick her up.” I gave her my word, and she thanked me before ending the call. Having Naomi around tonight would be nice.

Later that evening at the dining table, Naomi talked nonstop about her classes. Emily watched her with older-sister kindness, making me feel all warm inside. Meanwhile, Helen stayed quiet while eating, not even glancing up from her food.