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keep herself from begging with every last breath she had. She wondered at everyone’s reaction to the words “Skin Island.” It’s not like I’m asking for a plane ride to Mordor, she thought.
“She still works out there, huh?” he asked, his tone guarded.
“Always has. She moved there permanently when I was seven.”
“Which is when you and your dad moved to the States.”
“Yeah.”
“I remember, but I can’t take you to Skin Island. I’m sorry.” He folded his arms and looked mildly embarrassed, but a wall of finality seemed to have risen between them
“Fine,” said Sophie, her ears burning. “Then at least tell me where it is—and where I can rent a boat. I’ll go myself.”
“What’s going on with you?” he asked, unfolding his arms. “Why can’t your mom help you out?”
“I don’t know the details, but I know she needs me. She e-mailed me a few days ago and asked me to come, said it was an emergency.” She took out the paper from her pocket and held it out. She already had the words memorized. It had come through her e-mail, which had been puzzling—her mother hardly ever e-mailed her.
Sophie,
    I need you. Please come at once. I’ll look for you on Friday. Do not reply to this e-mail.
Emergency.
—Mom
    It was the first time in Sophie’s life that her mom had needed her, the first time she’d ever invited Sophie to the one place she’d never been allowed to go, the place that had stolen her mother from her and ended her parents’ marriage. She couldn’t go back to the U.S., not now. Not back to the stepmother who’d never loved her as much as her two natural children, not to the father with whom she’d argued to the point of tears. There was just one person in the world whom Sophie needed and now at last, impossibly and wonderfully, that person needed her back.
    Jim didn’t look at the note. “You’re think you’re just gonna sail yourself out to Skin Island?”
She pursed her lips and stared resolutely over his shoulder.
“You’re crazy!” he said.
“Not crazy,” she muttered. “Desperate.”
He studied her, his eyes narrowed, as the wind ruffled his thick sun-streaked hair. Slowly, he shook his head. “If you were anyone else . . .” he murmured. “Sophie Crue. Who’d have thought? I’d almost forgotten all about you.”
“Gee,” she said. “Thanks.”
He uncrossed his arms and sighed. “I’ll take you,” he said, but before she could squeal with delight he held up a hand. “But I hope to God you know what you’re getting into.”

TWO
JIM
J im pulled the chocks from the wheels of the faded old Cessna Caravan and tossed them into the grass on the side of the runway. The temperature seemed to be increasing by the exponent, and his shirt was stuck to his skin. After shrugging off his faded bomber jacket, he pulled his bandana from his back pocket, dark with grease and smelling of avgas, and wiped sweat from his neck and forehead. The heat in Guam was fairly mild, but the humidity could sap the energy out of him in a matter of hours, even after so many years.
    There wasn’t another soul in sight. The airstrip was almost completely abandoned, used only by a few locals like Jim and his dad. The airlines all went in and out of Won Pat on the northern end of Guam. This little forgotten splash of pavement was much quieter, though he still had to deal with the larger airport’s traffic control.
    Two unpainted, narrow runways streaked toward the southern curve of the island, abruptly stopping just yards from the beach. The grass around them was tall and uncut, and a perpetual ocean breeze shuddered through it and curled beneath a loose flap of tin on the lone hangar, making it rattle and clap. Jim was so used to the sound he barely heard it, the same way he tuned out the steady hush of the surf and the throaty cries of the seagulls.
    He ran his hands over the propeller of the plane, then along the familiar aluminum fuselage, feeling the smooth round rivets against