Winding Roads {A Creative Writing Journal}

Stranded: Part 2

     I pushed open the door to our new bedroom for the next three months, Diego leaning around my shoulder to check out the room.

"Nice," he mused in what I hoped was sarcasm, "Very spacious."

It was definitely not spacious. Two twin beds stood on opposite sides of the room with a window and a nightstand between them. There was a sliding door to the closet to the right of me and a bathroom door to my left. The only accessory was a small desk without a chair with a single table lamp. All in all, it felt more like a very cheap motel room.

"Do you think we might have landed on the wrong island?" I asked as Diego claimed his bed on the closet side of the room.

"Probably," he answered, plugging in his phone charger without looking up, "but hopefully tomorrow's activities will make up for it."

I flopped on to the other bed and haphazardly pulled the island brochure out of my backpack's side pocket. Holding it over my head, I browsed over what was labeled the "most popular" things to do on this island.

There were the traditional water-themed activities: swimming, sailing, surfing, and just regular beach-going in general. And they also had a few things for us land lovers to do: hiking, horseback riding, and even zip-lining at the top of the mountain on the south side of the island.

Of course, we could only do all of these things after the seminars and workshops Mr. Hudson had signed us up for to take care of the "educational" part of our trip. Couldn't have too much fun now could we?

"Ugh, I don't even recognize half of the speakers on this list."

When I didn't get a response, I turned my head to see Diego with his AirPods in and his eyes closed. Well, wasn't that polite.

   Thanks, best friend, I thought sarcastically as I tucked the brochure back into my bag.

With the ringing in my ears mostly gone, I could hear our hall neighbors Gunner and Damien settling in through my wall. Though the words were muffled, I could tell they were arguing over something again.

Those two were what some would consider "alpha types," the kind of guys that always like to be in charge and have their own way. Whoever thought putting those two in a room together had some serious screws loose.

     A sharp knock at the door caused me to jerk up, but at the sound of Mr. Hudson's voice, I leaned back down.

    "Dinner is in two hours," he called through the door, "Remember to meet downstairs!"

"Yes, sir!" I called back. The door cracked open, and I saw Mr. Hudson's head of shaggy blond hair peek in. He quickly glanced at Diego before turning his gaze back to me.

    "Archer, I know that what happened today was very nerve-wracking, probably more so for you than for the others. If you need to talk or if you need anything, come find me. Understood?"

    "I know," I replied, resting my head behind my hands, "Thanks, Mr. Hudson."

He nodded with a small smile and left. A few seconds later, I could hear his voice echoing down the hall, reminding everyone about where to meet for supper tonight.

I was fine. Yes, it had been a close call, but it was just that, a close call. The worst I had was singed neck hair and buzzing ears. I would get over it, unlike the pilot that had been inside when the blast happened. A shiver ran up my spine at the idea of being trapped inside the plane.

  If I had to choose a way to go, that one was now at the bottom of the list.

"Dude," I called, but Diego didn't answer, still caught up in his music. I felt an almost evil smirk spread across my face as I got off my bed and inched closer to him. With one swift move, I yanked out his AirPod and yelled, "Dude!" right into his ear.