If I concentrate hard enough, I can partially drown out the sound of my parents fighting. To be honest, my parents aren't really fighting. My mom doesn't fight. She just stands there and absorbs the abuse.

Today he's in an uproar over the fact that my mother discovered he's having an affair. Multiple affairs, actually.

Yes, that's right. My father is angry with her over something that he should be begging her forgiveness for. Men are assholes.

I'm not sexist. I know there are plenty of female assholes to rival the amount of male assholes in the world. People are assholes. It's in our nature, I suppose.

I fling my anatomy textbook off the side of my bed with all my might. I'm so pissed off I can't study anymore tonight. I decide right here, right now, that I would rather slit my throat than get married and trap myself in the life my mother chose. I don't need anyone. I'll become a nurse, make enough money to buy a house, and adopt a child or two.

I don't need anyone.

My mother comes into my room a little while later. For some reason she's smiling. I don't know who she thinks she's fooling. In fact, her smiling is infuriating me. She has nothing to smile about.

"About done for tonight?" she asks. "Sorry if we broke your concentration."

"We? Mom, there was only one voice in there yelling, and it wasn't yours."

She leans down to pick up my textbook and places it back on my bed, looking sheepish. "We've hit a bump in the road. I'll just give him a little time to cool down."

I can't talk to her when she's like this. Why the hell does she defend him? The only reason I've never called child protective services is because I was paranoid that all my siblings would get separated and we'd never see each other again. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't wonder what would have happened if I had called. "I'm going to bed."

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Goodnight."

She pauses at the door, staring sadly at me yet somehow still managing one of those fake smiles. It may fool my brother and sisters, but it doesn't fool me. "Don't stay up too late, okay?"

"I won't."

I wait until I hear her footsteps climb the stairs before reaching under my pillow to pull out all of the Ivy League college responses I've collected up. I've been too sick to my stomach with nerves to open any of them yet. I just received the last response—from Harvard—today.

I open this one first, slowly peeling the envelope back and pulling out the letter with trembling fingers.

"Dear Ms. Collins,

It is with great regret that we must inform you that your application could not be included among our acceptances for the freshman class of 2012. Please know that this decision does not reflect any deficiency or weakness in your application—"

I can't read anymore. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

Once when I was 15, I bragged to my mom that not only was I going to get accepted to an Ivy League, but I would get a full ride as well. My father overheard me and told me I would be lucky to get an acceptance from the local community college.

I was always a good student, but that comment cut me so deep that I became obsessed with my grades, always with the intention of one day being able to rub my acceptance letter in his stupid, smug face.

But every last letter I received is a rejection.

I'm in a state of shock. I don't know what to do.

I can hear my father upstairs in the bedroom. He's still yelling about something.

I gather the rejections, bag them up, and shove them deep down in the garbage out of sight. I guess my father was right about me. I overestimated my intelligence.

I lie down and stare at the clock next to my bed. I watch the numbers blink to 12:00 am.

It's December 19.

Happy Birthday to me.


I wake up the next morning exhausted. My tears have glued sand all over my cheeks. I don't remember falling asleep. It must have been sometime during the night because it felt like I cried forever. I don't think there's a tear left in me to shed.

Jack makes his rounds and checks my wound. He has the good grace not to question my red, puffy eyes.

"Looks like you don't need this bandage anymore," he tells me. "Let it air out and scab. No more nausea?"

"No more nausea," I confirm. "So, how's your day been?" I need to make friends. I need to have some sort of safety net for the future. The people who were first to die in LOST were all nobodies—people who never became good friends with the Golden Group: Jack, Kate, Sawyer, and/or Hurley. I need to make up for lost time.

Haha. Lost time.

Geez, I need to work on my humor.

"It's been pretty hectic," he replies. "We're stranded on an island, after all."

I laugh a little too loudly and the woman kneeling in the sand a few feet away shoots me an annoyed look. Jack is kind enough to humor me with a laugh to help combat the awkward situation.

"Have the antibiotics helped anybody yet?" I ask. If they were legitimate antibiotics, I really hope they can save someone. And if they weren't, I'm curious as to what they've done.

"I never distributed them," Jack tells me in a hushed tone, leaning in closer so only I can hear. "Considering they weren't antibiotics."

Hair prickles up my neck as an icy chill runs through me. "What were they?" I whisper.

"Capsules that contained an incredibly high dose of tranquilizer."

I feel the blood drain from my face.

"Don't spread the word," Jack orders softly. "Ethan has been missing since yesterday, and I don't want to incite a panic. I don't know what's going on, but I plan to find out."

"Keep me updated," I plead as he leaves to make his rounds.

Jack leaves me with that lovey bit of information, and my bladder is suddenly full to bursting from nerves. I take off in search of my hollow tree stump hideaway, jumping at every tiny noise and eventually settling for arming myself with a sharp shard of plane wreckage. Hands shaking as I point my weapon at the smallest of sounds, I will my bladder to empty itself faster. After I'm finished, I notice a metallic shimmer out of the corner of my eye. In a neat little pile by my tree is a stack of chocolate bars.

I pick one up, rip off the foil wrapping, and turn it over in my hand. It's a perfectly normal bar of chocolate. I'm so hungry, and I haven't had chocolate in who knows how long. I'm a woman, after all. I need chocolate. But what is it doing here? Factory sealed chocolate. Harmless.

Right?

Then I remember that I commented yesterday on how much I wanted a chocolate bar. I stare at the tree in confusion. This must be some sort of island wish granting tree, like the magic box the Other's used to bring John Locke's father to the island.

Unless . . .

No.

The alternative would be that someone has been watching me all day, every day. A magical tree that grants wishes sounds much, much better.

"You know what?" I say aloud. "I'm not even going to question it. Stranger things have happened on this show. But while you're at it, magic tree, would you mind giving me some toilet paper? And chips. Potato chips. Please and thank you."

I wait patiently for my goodies to arrive, but nothing happens. "What's wrong, magic tree? Come on, please don't brake!"

A commotion on the beach makes me jump. "You better have produced toilet paper when I come back, or I'll gather up a colony of termites to show you who's boss." I take a big bite of one of the delicious chocolate bars, gather up the rest, and head back to the beach.

Camp is a mess when I return. Everyone seems to be in a panic. I try and rack my memory for traumatic happenings, but I can't remember what tragedy befalls the beach this early in the season. Jack spots me and rushes forward. "Where were you just now?" he asks angrily.

I swallow my mouthful of chocolate and hope it isn't smeared all over my face. "I had to go to the bathroom."

He looks down. "What are you eating?"

"I found chocolate." I hold out the bars. "Want some?"

"No," he pants with enough anger and frustration to last a lifetime, "I want to know exactly where you were just now."

"I told you. I had to use the—"

Jack grabs my shoulder and forces me back the way I just came. "I'd like a word."

"Jack," I stutter with cold, unrelenting fear, "what are you doing?" My eyes search the survivors nearest me, but everyone is so wrapped up in their own problems that they can't be bothered with mine.

Jack huffs heavily as he yanks me back towards the trees. "I find it strange that Ethan has taken a special interest in you. He still hasn't shown up since last night. Someone said he left to go to the bathroom and never came back."

I don't know how to respond, so I fill my mouth with chocolate.

"What seems to be the problem, Doc?" Sawyer emerges from out of the jungle. "What's everyone fussing about?"

"Where were you just now?" Jack questions, fuming, and thankfully loosens his hold on me.

"What's that any of your business?" Sawyer scoffs. "And get your hands off Doublemint. That's no way to treat a lady."

I exchange custody between the men so quickly it feels as if I am a transaction at a grocery store. Realizing that I'm no longer in immediate danger, I relax against Sawyer's comforting embrace.

"Alright!" Jack announces, spinning around to charge into the crowd. "Until we can figure out what's going on, nobody is leaving the beach! Understood? That means no more wandering off. Not for any reason!"

"I don't think that's your call to make, Jack." John Locke steps forward. He's already strapped down with knives that he brought along for his walkabout.

Jack and John get into an argument while I slip away to think.

Ethan has gone missing. The pills he so adamantly wanted me to take were powerful tranquilizers. What does this solve, and what problems does this create? I pull out my notebook and flip to a fresh page.

I guess this solves the problem of Claire being abducted. And since Claire wont be abducted, Charlie won't find himself with a noose around his neck.

"Pardon me?" says soft voice. I look up to find Claire. "Hi," she says. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering if you've seen any peanut butter around?" She cradles her swollen stomach. "I've been having bad cravings lately."

I scoot over and offer her a seat on my blanket. "I wish I could say I have."

She takes a seat, looks around my living space, and asks, "Where's your suitcase?"

"Oh," I say, caught off guard. "I . . . couldn't find it."

Claire looks heart broken at this news. Her sincerity is heartwarming. "Oh, that's horrible. You know what? Feel free to borrow any of my clothes. I'm sure you're getting tired of having the wear the same thing over and over."

"Are you politely trying to tell me that I smell?"

She laughs.

I hold out a hand for her to shake. "I'm Cora, by the way."

"Claire. Nice to meet you."

I spend the next few hours talking to Claire and letting her read my horoscope. "Sagittarius? Very interesting."

I sit up straight in anticipation. "What can you tell me about myself?"

"You're a fire element, your ruling planet is Jupiter . . . oh, and your symbol is an archer."

Archer. Right. I've never picked up a bow in my life. "What exactly does all that mean?"

"Well, you're a very passionate person who knows what they want out of life and out of love. But your friendliness will earn you a reputation of being overly flirtatious, so be careful."

"Me? Flirtatious?" I heave an amused laugh. "Yeah, right."

She's easy to talk to. She even lets me feel her stomach when baby Aaron pushes out a foot. I'm glad she won't have to suffer through the trauma of being abducted and medicated by Ethan. She's too sweet for that.

"What do you think Jack's so worried about?" she asks.

I feel bad lying to her, but stressing her out with the news that a madman is on the loose wouldn't be good for the pregnancy. She's been stressed out enough as it is.

That afternoon, after making sure no one could see me, I return to my tree. I suck in a breath when I notice toilet paper and a bag of potato chips leaning against the trunk. I surge with excitement. "Magic tree! I knew you'd pull through!" I guess its magic only works when I'm not looking. Good to know.

I rip open the bag of chips and stuff my mouth, feeling only slightly guilty that I'm not sharing with the other survivors.

"Magic tree, do you think you could hook me up with something to read? Your choice. But make it good." I eat another handful of chips and add, "And some peanut butter, please. A big jar."


When I wake up in the morning, The Hobbit and a big jar of peanut butter is waiting by my tree. "You have magnificent taste in literature, magic tree. How did you know this was my favorite book?"

I'm more excited about the peanut butter than the book, to be honest. I practically run back to camp and start searching for Claire.

"Look what I found!"

She squeals in delight. "You did not! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Claire wastes no time digging in. She's halfway done with the jar when she asks if I have any water to help wash it down.

I check my bottle, but I must have drunk the last of it this morning. I ask around for Jack, but he seems to have wandered off into the jungle. What a hypocrite.

One lady tells me he left to search for water. Apparently he's been keeping it a secret that we've been out of water for almost 24 hours.

Quick! To the magic tree!

"Magic tree," I ask it, "could you please give me about a dozen water bottles?" That should tie us over until Jack gets back from finding the caves.

A twig snaps behind me. "You've found a magic tree, hm?"

I yell and spin around with my pathetic weapon to find John Locke.

"Sorry," he apologizes. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Sighing deeply at the thought of Jack suspecting me of fraternizing with Ethan, I lower my twisted piece of metal that I so desperately wish was a sword. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention to Jack I was out here."

"It's none of Jack's business where we go or what we do." Locke looks around and scratches the back of his neck. "But, you know, you really shouldn't be out here by yourself. Is that little piece of metal the only weapon you have on you?"

I feel chastised and embarrassed. "Yes."

From out of nowhere he pulls out a switchblade and tosses it in the dirt right in front of me. "Not anymore."

I stare at the hand-length blade stuck straight up in the dirt. "Thanks."

He salutes me and trudges off into the trees.

I tuck the impressively sharp knife into my pocket, feeling a surge of irrational security, as I hurry back to the beach. Everyone seems to be excited about something. I find Jack has returned and is standing atop a piece of the plane wreckage to make an announcement.

Jack grins. "Everyone, I've solved our water problem. There's caves not too far from here with a running spring. Plenty of water for all!"

You were too slow, magic tree. You were too slow.


Jack has his panties in a twist, as usual, but especially so now that Ethan is on the loose. He makes sure nobody leaves for the caves if they aren't in groups larger than 5.

I quickly find myself in a group with Charlie, Claire, Jack, Kate, John Locke, 6 random survivors, and Sawyer.

The jungle is unpleasantly humid. Moisture seeps up through the soil and clings to my clothing so I feel dirty and damp. "How far away is it?" I ask.

"About ten more minutes," Jack answers.

Ugh.

I'm about to croak from this heat when a thunderous roar sounds from nearby as a large polar bear charges at the group. Everyone starts screaming and running in different directions. In my state of delirious panic, I follow Sawyer. He's the one with the gun, I think. Or have Jack and Sayid already taken it away from him?

Either way, I haul ass.

But the stupid thing is following me. Out of all the people it could have followed, it chose me. I'm loath to admit to myself that it's probably because I have the most meat on my bones. It's not a stupid bear. It's trying to get the most bang for its buck.

I push past trees and brush, tropical flowers and boulders, but the bear is still hot on my trail. My foot catches on a vine, and I trip and fall, rolling to an ungraceful stop. I remember reading once that bears will lose interest if you play dead, so I curl up into a ball and hold my hands at the base of my neck.

I can hear the bear. It snorts and gives me a shove with its big wet nose. It tickles me when it sniffs my ear. It tries to roll me over with a massive paw. Just leave me alone! I'm playing dead, what more do you want?

A loud popping sound startles me, and suddenly the polar bear rears up on its hind legs, roaring ferociously. I look up just in time to watch Sawyer deliver the final fatal bullet. The bear falls to the floor in a heap. Aside from the struggled panting, I think it's good as dead.

I scoot backwards until I'm leaning up against a tree. It feels like my heart is going to explode from adrenaline overload. "What the hell?" I scream.

"Are you okay?" Sawyer asks.

"No, I'm not okay! I just almost got eaten by a freaking polar bear!"

"Get up," he mocks. "You're fine."

Sawyer offers me a hand, but I don't take it. "This is absolutely ridiculous. I can't handle this anymore."

I take a few steps in the direction I think the group was heading, and my feet are pulled out from under me. I'm yanked up into the sky, swinging in midair, trapped in some sort of net.

Well, at least I'm not alone.

"Son of a bitch," Sawyer groans.

I couldn't agree more.