Camp Cretaceous: What Do We Do Now?

by Ecaetheerein

We thought it'd be fun… We thought we'd be safe… But we didn't realize the horror waiting for us on the island. Claws, teeth, screaming… so much screaming. But despite the challenges, we survived the night. Well... some of us. And now that we've been left on the island, we're faced with the challenge of surviving until help arrives... If it arrives...

45. Ep45 Take Flight

Author's note:

SO sorry it took this long. Didn't mean to take over a month... A. I got a new puppy who's high maintaneance... B. Technology is restricted due to school work... C... Last chapter was 20k words... this one's 31k words... HOPEFULLY the next chapter is not that long. I'm hoping Take Flight will hold the record of longest chapter for a while.

To the requests in the reviews, 1. uhhhh, depends... sometimes the chapters are happy and fluffy, other times they're intense and sad... we have major plot points coming up, which are intense... this story is labelled suspence/angst for a reason. 2. I don't know a thing about Pokemon, so Idk how to do anything with it...

As for romance, everything's a slow burn... but they MIGHT be burning quicker this chapter.

WARNINGS! WE GOTTA LOTTA WARNINGS! SUICIDAL THEME WARNINGS! DISCUSSIONS OF POSSIBLY TRIGGERING SEXUAL TRAUMA WARNINGS! IF YOU STRUGGLE WITH DEPRESSION, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, OR PTSD FROM SEXUAL TRAUMA, BE CAREFUL MOVING FORWARD!

Anyways, enjoy!

---

"BEEP, BEEP! BEEP, BEEP! BEEP, BEEP! BEEP, BEEP!" a noise harshly breaks the silence.

Yasmina sits up quickly, in a panic. Something was making a sound. What was beeping? Was it a dinosaur? Did she need to run? What was going on?!

The amputee whips her head around, trying to decipher what was happening. She didn't understand why she was in a dark room. Was she back in the condos? In the lab? Where were her friends? Were they eaten? Trying to find her? Was she injured? Under attack?!

"What the h*** is that sound?!" she thinks in panic.

Something moves besides her, startling the amputee. "Turn it off," Darius groans. But wait… It wasn't Darius… It was Jabari… What was her younger brother doing on Isla Nublar?

"Turn off the alarm," Jabari grumbles.

It finally connects that Yasmina was back home and the harsh sound was her alarm clock. Turning to her nightstand, she sees the time glowing red and blinking as the alarm sounds. Hitting the snooze button, she stops the annoying sound. The time read 6:00.

The source of her disruption is gone, but the anxiety is still there. Yasmina slowly lays back down in bed, staring into space with anxiety. She knew she was safe at home with her family, no dinosaurs around. Her younger brother had taken the watch shift and slept in bed with her, but it didn't make her feel better. Waking up that way made her feel like she was still on the island. Still in danger…

Yasmina stretches out like a cat, then curls up into a ball with her knees to her chest in a fetal position. She felt safer that way…

Her left hand brushes her leg stump, and a new feeling arises. Yasmina couldn't place it, but it was uncomfortable… bothersome… hurtful…

"I hate my amputation…" she thinks. "Why did it have to happen? … Why do I have to be so… so… so powerless…"

Powerless. Yes, that was a word for what she was feeling. Hopeless, too… The amputee wasn't sure why. She knew she could get a prosthetic leg and begin to walk again… even run… but why was it so hard to bring herself to do it? Something was holding her back, and she couldn't put her finger on it…

Yasmina sighs and picks up the ball of string on her nightstand. "Sammy wrapped a lot in here," she thinks. "I hope there's more strings in here than in my mind…"

She picks up the lone string sitting next to the ball. "Guilt," she thinks. "Guilt about what happened to my friends…"

"I'm a horrible friend," guilty feelings start to come back. "If I had just swam faster—"

"NO!" Yasmina shouts in her head, smacking the sides of her cheeks to wake herself up. Jabari stirs slightly. "I am NOT guilty of that! It is not my fault what happened! I am not superhuman! I am not all powerful! I tried my best and I do NOT have to make myself feel bad for wanting to live! I wanted to make up with my family and see them again! Darius was safe when I turned around to save myself; it was completely logical what I did! I do not have to blame myself! I am not all powerful!"

Ever since Rio pointed out the irony of her telling her friends not to blame themselves while Yasmina went further and further into self-hate, she had tried to actively fight against those feelings of guilt. It was a difficult battle, and sometimes the thoughts won out, but she always came back swinging. She was a fighter… if only that fighting spirit would emerge to fight against her feelings of powerlessness.

Her depression capitalizes on those feelings. "Why should I consider myself a good friend… even if I'm not at fault for their injuries, I still failed to protect Darius and Brooklynn… Without my leg… I'm powerless… They looked up to me as a protector… Now I can't even walk without help… How am I supposed to recover? How am I supposed to rise again? The whole reason I am strong is because of my body… now I'm missing part of it… I'm broken and hopeless…"

There was an internal war going on inside her head. On one side was the strong warrior who wanted to get up, move on, stop whining and do something about her situation. The other side—the winning side—was afraid. Scared of moving on.

Yasmina wished that side wasn't winning out, but it was. What made it worse was that she wasn't sure why. The amputee was pretty sure it was fear… Fear of what, exactly, she wasn't sure of… Was it the fear of pain? Fear of failure? Fear of change? Fear of opposition? She never used to be afraid of any of those things before…

"Well, that's not exactly true…" she thinks sadly.

The amputee remembers back to when she lived with her biological father. She was powerless then… afraid… compliant… silent… Everything she wished she wasn't. Everything she was now… Living with an abusive father had forced her to submit and cower in fear. No matter what she did, she was never good enough. Yasmina was always a disappointment to her biological father. She was never the perfect daughter… never the perfect child… there was always something wrong with her. There was always something to discipline her for. She never felt loved, never felt cared for. There was always fear of punishment and a need to avoid pain and abuse.

"I wasn't living," Yasmina thinks. "I was surviving… doing what I could to live… I never had a chance to be myself… to have any sort of interests… But on the island, when I went into survival mode, I became a fighter… I fought for my life and faced the danger instead of cowering from it… Why have I gone back to my old way of dealing with pain and problems…?"

Her alarm clock goes off, scaring her half to death again. She quickly turns the alarm off, heart pounding rapidly. Her brother hardly stirs in his sleep.

The door opens and a fluffy bullet speeds through and heads straight to Yasmina. "Ack! Roxie!" she exclaims as her fifteen week old Husky gnaws on her hand, pawing at the amputee's face.

Roxie leans back with her ears practically unseeable in her fluff, then runs around to the other side of the bed and attacks Jabari. "Hey, stop it!" he exclaims, having been woken up by the floof.

Their mother looks in through the door. "Time to get up for school."

"Aww," Jabari groans.

"You missed school yesterday," Mrs. Fadoula points out.

"Cause of the trial and Habeeba's birthday," Jabari argues, getting out of bed and running towards the dog to make her back off and stop biting. "It's not a holiday."
"Well, you're not getting a holiday," she shrugs. "It's time to get ready. You have school at eight thirty. Oh, you'll miss your last class, Yasmina. You have a therapy appointment then."

"She gets to skip a class?" her brother crosses his arms.

"Trust me, I'd rather go to school than therapy," Yasmina sputters, taking off the covers and sitting up fully. "Wait… Algebra is my last class… never mind, I'm not sure which is worse."

"Darius and Brooklynn said they really liked Mrs. Vetrovs," her mother points out.

"Annnd?" Yasmina quirks an eyebrow.

Her mother sighs. "Just give her a chance, please. You need help."

"Fine," the amputee groans as her brother laughs.

Yasmina gets dressed and goes through school. Again, she finds herself wishing she could be homeschooled, between the few bad teachers, annoying and triggering students, and flashbacks in general. "If this is how school goes next year when my grade really counts, I'm screwed," she thinks anxiously as she covers her ears. Refraining from sending the girl next to her who was chewing gum a dirty glare, the amputee completely gives up on trying to focus on the lesson, and focuses her mental energy into not having a panic attack. "This is just shaping up to be a sucky day," she thinks glumly.

When it came time to leave for her therapy session, Yasmina didn't feel too sour about going to therapy when she saw a particularly annoying student walking into their math classroom. "Maybe I dodged a bullet there," she thinks in the car ride to the building. "Well, we'll see when I try out this new therapist…"

Yasmina is led into the room by her mother. The amputee isn't sure what to expect from her therapist. The last one she went to felt impatient and grouchy. She sort of expected an older lady with spectacles on the edge of her nose judgingly scribbling in her notepad and telling her that all her problems were her imagination and that she needed to be less sensitive.

She had a pretty bad opinion of therapists, if one couldn't tell.

Mrs. Vetrovs didn't meet the physical expectations Yasmina placed on her when she got a glimpse of the woman. The woman had long blonde hair pulled into a low, messy bun, a casually formal white blouse and crisp bell bottom jeans. She was in her late thirties, yet still had a relatively young looking face, and she wasn't that bad looking, compared to the wrinkly image Yasmina had constructed.

"Mrs. Vetrovs?" Yasmina's mother says. "We're here for the appointment?"

The therapist looks up. "Oh, yes, come right in. Just fixing the furniture. Had a… interesting patient… before you guys."

"Oh… take your time," Mrs. Fadoula nods, a little concerned.

After placing a more comfortable-looking chair in the back of the room—presumably because it was broken in the last therapy session—the therapist puts a fold up chair in front of a nice, cushioned chair and motions for Yasmina to come in. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

The amputee looks at her mother nervously, who gives her a nod of encouragement. Sighing, Yasmina limps towards the chair, sets her crutches down next to it, and sits down. "I'll be back to pick you up when the session's done," Mrs. Fadoula says. "Thank you for seeing her."

"It's my pleasure," Mrs. Vetrovs nods. She sits down in the fold up and pulls out a new notebook. "I'm Mrs. Vetrovs, but you can call me Miss Anita if you wish."

Yasmina nods.

"Would you prefer me to call you Yasmina or something else?" the therapist asks.

"Yasmina," the amputee answers curtly.

"Well," the woman says, smiling. "Is there anything you'd like to say or talk about?"

"You're not what I expected," Yasmina mutters.

"And you're pretty much what I expected," Miss Anita nods.

The amputee barks out a laugh involuntarily. "Did Darius and Brooklynn talk about me?"

"Darius wished me good luck, and Brooklynn said you're stubborn," the therapist says, putting the end of the pencil to her lip. "She said if you decide you don't want to be friends with someone, there's no changing your mind."

"Pretty much," she nods.

"Well, are you going to give me a chance?" Miss Anita asks.

"Um…" the amputee bites her lip. Part of her wanted to say no… But she did need help, and this therapist had defied her expectations so far…

"If you're not going to be open, we can end the session right now," she shrugs.

This takes Yasmina aback. "Wait… you're not going to… to try to help me?"

"A good therapist/patient relationship is like a friendship," Mrs. Vetrovs explains. "You don't just share your secrets with someone you don't trust, do you? This first session is about seeing if we can work together and get along. If I'm not the therapist for you, then we won't continue. If you've already decided that you're not going to benefit from this relationship, then there's no point in continuing."

The amputee chews on her lip. This wasn't what she was expecting. "Um… do you… want to help me and… be… I guess, friends?"

"If I didn't want to help you or put the time in to see you, we wouldn't be here," the therapist shrugs. "I'd like to help you, but from everything I've heard, you can't be moved once you decide you don't like someone."

"Well… that's not… entirely true…" Yasmina mumbles, reminded of her friendship with Sammy.

"Look, if you're going to refuse to cooperate and do your own thing, I'd be perfectly happy to take a nap here and get paid for it," Miss Anita says. "But I don't think your Mom would be pleased to pay me to do nothing this session. So, either you decide now that you don't want to get along with me and you guys pay half the price of a normal session, or we make an effort to see if we can work together."

Yasmina looks at her hands. "I guess we could try to work together…" Miss Anita wasn't turning out to be too bad… She seemed nice and was pretty straightforward about things, something Yasmina liked. And the therapist seemed to understand how the amputee worked, even though this was her first time meeting her…

Yasmina had to admit, she was tired. Tired of her mental state and her depression and all her issues… She was secretly craving someone to help her through this, though she seldom admitted it to herself. This therapist was different from the other one she went to… Maybe… Just maybe… Miss Anita could help her make sense of her world.

"So we're going to try?" Miss Anita asks.

"Yeah, I'll be open to this," Yasmina nods. "I… I need help…" she murmurs under her breath, barely able to admit it. Being vulnerable wasn't something she liked to do… But she had to do it to get through some of her issues.

"All right," the therapist nods with a smile. "Have you had therapy before?"

"It sucked," the amputee says quickly.

Mrs. Vetrovs laughs. "Welp, that might explain your dislike for me. What happened?"

"I just… I didn't trust her," Yasmina says, fidgeting in her chair out of discomfort. "She was impatient and not helpful. She'd get frustrated when I wouldn't open up or it took a long time to figure out a technique that worked."

"Not the easiest person to deal with, was she?" the therapist says. "That's supposed to be the patient's job."

Yasmina chuckles.

"So, why are you seeking therapy?" Miss Anita asks.

"Mostly because my Mom says I'm troubled," the amputee says deadpan.

The therapist shakes her head with a smirk. "Had a feeling that would be your response. What would you say was the start of your problems? Was it the island or something else?"

"Well, I wouldn't say being born was the problem, but it certainly didn't help," Yasmina says, staring her dead in the eye.

Mrs. Vetrovs snorts. "Okay, how would you describe yourself, wisecrack?"

"Like if Chandler Bing from Friends and Katniss Everdeen from the Hunger Games had a kid," Yasmina smirks.

"Well… that should be an interesting combination," the therapist nods, raising her eyebrows. "Lots of sarcastic, dark humor, I can work with that."

Yasmina grins.

"How was your day?" Miss Anita asks.

"Sucked," the amputee mutters. "What about yours? What happened to the last patient?"

Mrs. Vetrovs grimaces. "Well, he was, um… a bit violent."

"Did he throw a chair?" Yasmina asks in disbelief.

"He did," Mrs. Vetrovs sighs.

"Is that a bruise on your cheek?" Yasmina's eyes widen.

"We may have had to call the police," the therapist nods.

The amputee blinks in horror. "What was wrong with him?"

"I can't say, patient confidentiality," Miss Anita says.

"Is he still your patient?"

"I don't know, I've never had that happen before. Not sure what to do…"

"Have any of your other patients been violent?"

"Some have thrown cups or pencils in anger, but not at me. I've been yelled at, but I don't allow them to abuse me. I'll still work with you, but I'm not going to reinforce abusive behavior by tolerating it."

Yasmina whistles in disbelief. "I… I never thought about people being violent…"

"It doesn't happen often," Mrs. Vetrovs shrugs. She sets the pen down, clasps her hands together and rests them on her knee. "Is there anything in particular you want to accomplish or get from therapy?"

Yasmina shifts in her seat uncomfortably. "Do I have to answer that right now?"

"I have standard questions I ask all my patients in the beginning," the therapist shrugs. "It's usually to have a goal and a plan on how to move forward. We can talk about whatever you want and ask the questions later, or vice versa. I'd just prefer to have them in my notes after the first session."

The amputee nods, understanding the point. Didn't make her like it anymore. "I guess… I guess I wanna get over… things… PTSD, for starters… Depression, I guess, too… I guess I might be having suicidal thoughts… Maybe the main thing is figuring out how to understand my mental state better…"

"That answers two questions," Miss Anita nods, writing in her notebook. "What would you say your mental state is like?"

Yasmina sighs. "I can't decide between a black, suffocating fog or a tangled mess of strings and other sorts of crap you don't find until you get into the middle."

"Seems like you have a pretty good idea of how your mind and emotions work," she nods.

"Only recently," she says, playing with her long, brown hair. "Knowing that it's a mess doesn't really help… It just makes it more stressful. Where do you begin when everything's connected? Is this knot several problems jumbled together or one continuous problem that manifests several ways? Where's the beginning and ends of the strings? How do you untie two strings or problems that are so intertwined, you can't deal with them separately?"

Yasmina sighs, tears threatening to spill. "I'm just tired…" she mumbles. "Tired of… everything. Just… done with it…"

"I understand," Miss Anita says softly. "Do you have a history of self harm?"

"I'd sit out in the cold and go numb," the amputee admits. "It felt good to not feel anything but the cold sometimes… I got frostbite once and that was the last time… Until I went to the island."

"Does your family have any mental health problems?"

Yasmina chuckles. "Not sure… Other than PTSD, I don't think any of us struggle mentally."

"How's your home life?" the therapist asks gently.

"Uhh… chaotic," Yasmina answers. "I have three siblings and now a dog, so… things get loud."

Mrs. Vetrovs chuckles. "A good or bad chaotic?"

"Depends on my mood, mostly," the amputee shrugs. "If I'm in an irritated mood, their general existence makes me want to kill them. If I'm in a good mood, I laugh at the chaos we all create."

"So, a pretty normal sibling and parent relationship," the therapist nods, making her patient laugh.

"Yeah," she laughs. "We're always either 'I'll help you bury a body and commit a crime for you' or 'If you breathe or exist in general, I will hurl a chair at you.'"

"I found that you don't grow out of that as an adult," Mrs. Vetrovs smiles. "I'm thirty-seven and my older sisters can still bring out the brat in me."

"Ha, so can I use that as an excuse to slap my brother?" Yasmina asks mischievously with her signature deadpan look.

"No, no, that's not what I'm saying, don't use it as an excuse," the therapist snorts, sitting up in her fold up chair. "But that does seem to be the normal sibling relationship. So, you have no history of bullying or abuse in your family?"

Yasmina visibly stiffens. "Um… well… no… not right now…"

"What do you mean?" Miss Anita asks gently.

The amputee looks everywhere but in the therapist's eyes. "My biological father… might have been a bit… abusive…"

"Would you like to work through those problems later?" she asks.

"Pfff, would I? I'd love to, it's bothered me for as long as I've been on Earth… But at the same time, I don't ever want to talk about it or open up, you know?"

"You want help, but you don't want to be vulnerable."

"Yeah…"

"It's kind of hard to address a problem when you don't want to admit it to yourself."

"I know," Yasmina sighs. Miss Anita smiles. "Would it help if you had someone to relate to? Or at least, someone who might be able to relate? Since I don't know what happened between you and him."

Yasmina chews on her lip. "Did something happen to you as a kid?"

"Yes…" the therapist nods. "Do you want to hear my story or talk about something else?"

"I mean… I'm curious," the amputee murmurs. "But if you don't want to talk about it, I understand…"

"No, it's fine," she shrugs. "I never had abusive parents or bullying, but my uncle… he's a different story. He was charismatic and charming and everyone in the family loved him. Well… until he raped me."

Yasmina's eyes widen in shock. She wasn't expecting that.

"I was fourteen at the time," Miss Anita says, nonchalantly, as if they were discussing the weather. "I liked to hang out with him. He was the fun uncle and we got pretty close. Sure, he was a bit more physically affectionate than I was comfortable with sometimes, but we were family. I pushed it away and told myself I was paranoid. I was afraid of hurting his feelings if I pushed him away… He hadn't done anything wrong, so I endured his… touchy… hugs and 'affectionate' cuddles, thinking I was the one in the wrong.

"Well… one day, he took it too far," the therapist continues, her voice starting to tremble a bit. The casual tone she had before disappears. "I'll spare you the details, 'cause they left me scarred for life. I didn't know how to deal with it at first. It all felt like a horrible fever dream sometimes. Like I had imagined the whole thing. Then it happened again… By that time, my older sisters noticed that my behavior had changed. I ended up confiding in my oldest sister, and she told my parents. At first, they didn't know what to think. They were in shock, somewhat, and kept asking if there was a chance that I dreamt the whole thing. I kept insisting that it was real, and they slowly wrapped their heads around the news… not before my uncle harmed me for the third time. They took me to the police and my uncle was arrested."

Yasmina looks down at her hands, taking in the information with horror and—to her shame—relief, hearing that her situation wasn't as bad as it could've been.

"It caused a divide in my family," Mrs. Vetrovs sighs. "Some sided with me and felt sympathy, while others sided with my uncle, unable to believe he would do such a thing. It was pretty stressful."

"How did you deal with it?" Yasmina asks quietly.

"Therapy, at first," Miss Anita shrugs slowly. "Didn't really help. I felt the same way you did. Felt like the therapist was judging me for how I was doing. There was a lot of shame and guilt involved with the trauma. Perhaps the therapist I went to wasn't a nice guy. Perhaps he was and I was unable to open up out of shame. Rape is never the victims fault, but it's hard to convince them that… Sometimes I still wonder if it was my fault… or if I will never find someone who will accept that part of my past… It's not my fault that I'm no longer innocent, but will my significant other believe me?"

"Are you married?" Yasmina asks softly.

"Not yet," the therapist shakes her head. "I haven't found a guy I like."

The amputee softly taps her knees, unsure what to do with the information. "Is that why you became a therapist? To help other people who endured trauma like you?"

"That was one reason," Mrs. Vetrovs nods. "I always found therapy an interesting concept. And while my childhood dream was to become an astronaut, I get car sick easily, so I think therapy was the better decision."

Yasmina chuckles softly. "Did you… did you ever fully get over… over the guilt?"

"Mostly, but there's still some every now and then," Miss Anita nods. "It can be hard to talk about it sometimes. It's easier to tell patients, sometimes, than friends."

"You know… don't you…" Yasmina murmurs.

"Know what?"

"What happened…"

"I don't know much about you, only what you've told me or the little bit your friends have told me," the therapist says. "But I think I can safely guess that something happened between you and your biological dad. Whatever that might be, you can say, and I won't guess what it is."

"He molested me as punishment for running away when he tried to whip me," Yasmina mumbles. "I was… maybe five or six… He was very harsh and rough about it… not the grooming type of guy who… eases you into it… It was punishment… punishment for being a bad girl…"

A shudder runs up Yasmina's spine as she describes the hazy event to Miss Anita. "I just wish I could forget it…" she mutters. "Wish it didn't happen… Wish I wasn't used…"

"You're not used, you're abused," Mrs. Vetrovs corrects. "And neither has to be your identity. You don't need to see yourself as a victim. You're a survivor… Not a slut. Not a monster. You're not the one who needs to be blamed or feel guilt or shame. He should be feeling guilt and shame. Trust me… I know."

Yasmina nods, blinking back tears of relief. "Thank you… Thank you…" A thought dawns on her. "You're the second person I've admitted this to… My family doesn't know… according to my knowledge… the only other person I've told is my best friend, Ben…"

Miss Anita smiles. "I'm glad you trust me with it. Think we can work together to help you overcome these problems?"

The amputee nods. "Yeah…" She starts to shift uncomfortably, keenly aware that she had just bared her secrets to an adult she barely knew.

The therapist chuckles, sensing Yasmina's change in behavior. "Want to talk about something more light hearted for now?"

Yasmina sighs, relieved she didn't have to talk more about things bothering her. "Yeah… What's your family like?"

"Chaotic, pretty much like yours," Miss Anita laughs. "How many siblings do you have?"

"Three, an older brother, younger brother, and a younger sister," the amputee answers. "Ghaleb, Jabari, and Habeeba. How many siblings do you have?"

"Two older sisters, Abriana and Adalia," she smiles.

"Any nieces or nephews?"

"Three nieces, three nephews. Abriana has two girls and a boy, Adalia has two boys and a girl."

"So you gotta get married and mess up the routine by having three girls or three boys," Yasmina jokes.

"Or adopt," Mrs. Vetrovs chuckles. "How's your physical therapy going," she nods to Yasmina's leg.

"Uhh…" the amputee trails off. "The stitches are gone, and we have a good physical therapist right now…"

"I've recommended a good prosthetist to your parents," Miss Anita says. "My older sister became a prosthetist. She's been working as one for about… fifteen years, maybe?"

"Oh…" Yasmina mumbles, unsure how to tell her that she didn't want a prosthetic leg. Once again, that anxiety rises up.

"Do you want a prosthetic leg?" Mrs. Vetrovs asks softly.

"Not really…" Yasmina admits quietly. "I… I don't know why… I'm scared to…"

"You don't have to, many amputees don't get one," the therapist shrugs. "It's not required, though it can make things easier."

"It's just…" the amputee tries to blink back tears. "I can't replace it… Nothing can replace it… I don't think I want to… and I don't know why…"

"Sounds like you're grieving the loss of your limb," Miss Anita says.

Yasmina chuckles bitterly, trying to wipe away her tears quickly in shame.

"It's okay," the therapist says.

Yasmina stops wiping away her tears, slowly laying her hand down on her lap and looking up at her.

"People have likened losing a loved one to losing a limb," Mrs. Vetrovs says gently. "And it can be the same vice versa. You don't have to be ashamed about grieving your leg."

"But it's not alive…" Yasmina mumbles. "It feels silly to say I'm grieving my limb."

"It was a part of you," the therapist says. "You lost a part of you. It's natural to feel grief. You wouldn't expect someone who's lost a loved one to be completely fine, would you?"

"No…" the amputee murmurs.

"Don't put yourself down for wishing it was still there," Miss Anita says gently. "Losing a limb doesn't just affect the physical part of you. It affects the emotional and spiritual part of you, too. Healing the physical is easier than healing the emotional."

"How do I heal the emotional pain?" Yasmina asks, tearing up again.

"First, recognize your feelings," the therapist says. "You can't deal with a problem if you don't address it first. It's like trying to live with the elephant in the room. Try to live in a house with a giant elephant in the middle of the room. Pretty hard right? Same with your emotions. Being positive and hopeful is essential to healing, but you can't be positive all the time. Trying to ignore your negative emotions can lead to depression and other problems because you're not coping, you're just storing them away and letting them fester. You don't have to be happy all the time."

Yasmina closes her eyes and tears spill out. She lets out a shaky sigh, relieved to hear those words after feeling unintentionally pressured to hide those feelings.

"There's many different ways that you can express those feelings," Miss Anita says. "You can draw, write letters, create something. Whatever you do to release those emotions. Finding ways to express your feelings is one way to help you grieve and deal with your emotions. My niece used dance to do that."
"Did she lose a limb?" Yasmina asks through her tears.

"She lost her lower legs in a car accident when she was eight," Mrs. Vetrovs nods. "Somewhat ironically, her Mom is a prosthetist. Talking about your feelings with loved ones is another way to express yourself. It can strengthen your relationship with them, too. Talking with other amputees who know how you feel can help as well."

The amputee nods.

"Focus on the progress you've made more than the destination," the therapist suggests. "It's discouraging to see where you are compared to where you want to be. You can't rush yourself through the grieving process, nor the physical healing process. And find a purpose for your life. Sometimes losing a limb can make you feel like you don't belong, or that you can't do anything, even with the help of a prosthetic leg. Finding simple ways to live and be alive are important."

"How do I figure out why I don't belong? Why do I feel that way? Is it my limb or something else?" Yasmina wails in her head.

Instead of saying them, she nods. "Thank you… this… This helps a lot…"

And it did.

Yasmina and Miss Anita spend the rest of the time discussing their favorite movies, shows, and books before the session ends and Mrs. Fadoula is there to pick her up.

"Well, how did it go?" her mother asks.

"It went really well, I think," Mrs. Vetrovs nods.

"Yazzy?" Mrs. Fadoula asks.

The amputee lets a sheepish smile creep onto her face despite herself. "I guess it wasn't that bad…"

"Woah, you're actually open," her mother raises her eyebrows. "Thank you, Mrs. Vetrovs, you're a miracle worker."

"Hey," Yasmina protests, gently swatting her mother. But she was grinning, nonetheless.

Later on that night, while Habeeba was sleeping soundly next to her, Yasmina takes Mrs. Vetrovs advice and tries to release her emotions through art. Taking her sketchbook, she flips to an empty page and starts drawing something random. Rain and someone standing under an umbrella. "Sad and depressing… should be a way to release at least some emotions…" she thinks.

"This is pathetic artwork," a negative voice hisses as her pencil flicks across the paper. "I suck at drawing… just as much as I suck at saving my friends… How can I be such a lousy friend? After all they did for me, I couldn't save them… couldn't help them… I'm such a disappointment…"

"The world doesn't need me…" another voice adds. "My friends don't need me… My family doesn't need me… I'm a waste of oxygen… I'm a waste of everything… My family shouldn't spend the time and money to take care of me… I should just leave this place…"

"I can't make it up for them… I can't pay them back for everything they've done for me… I'm a leech to them… No wonder my Dad was disappointed and angry with me all the time…"

Yasmina wipes her tears on her sleeve and continues drawing.

"My friend's can't count on me… Why should they be friends with me? They've supported and stuck with me all this time… I can't repay the favor without my strength… I'm a horrible friend…"

"A pathetic loser…"

"Weak…"

"Hopeless…"

"Cowardly…"

"A waste of resources…"

"A waste of life!"

"Disabled!"

"A jerk!"

"A monster!"

"A slut!"

"A disappointment!"

"A failure!"

The pencil lead breaks.

Yasmina's depressing thoughts are broken. Brushing the broken lead off of the page and onto the floor, she looks at what she's done so far. Halfway through drawing rain, she had started writing words. Lousy. Disappointment. Waste. Disappointment. Pathetic. Loser. Weak. Hopeless. Cowardly.

When she had no more room to write words and was distracted, she switched to a red coloring pencil and wrote more words in big letters all over the rest of the drawing. Waste, disabled, jerk, monster, slut, disappointment, failure. The farther the progressed in her depressed, suicidal thoughts, the more incoherent the writing became. The last two words looked more like chicken scratch than English.

The amputee looks over her work. The word that popped up the most was "disappointment." She couldn't say she was surprised; she was disappointed in herself for how she had been acting recently. But she couldn't snap out of it, no matter how hard she tried.

"It's the truth…" the voice hisses.

Yasmina rubs her eyes and sighs. "This didn't help… it only makes me feel worse…"

Feeling more depressed than before, Yasmina puts away her sketchbook and lays down to go to sleep. She turns over to her sister and hugs her little arm to her chest. She wanted to be comforted by her younger sister's embrace, but didn't feel worthy of it.

With a whirlwind of depressing thoughts, Yasmina slowly falls off to sleep.

---

The red curtain rises, and the orchestra begins to play. A gorgeous ballerina goes on her toes and begins to dance to Dance of The Sugar Plum Fairy. Her stiff, frilly skirt bounces as she leaps, always going back into place when she lands. Her pink hair is done up tightly in a pristine, perfect bun, complete with a glittery, jeweled crown. Her small sleeves are lacey and loosely wrapped around her upper arms. The bodice is covered with dark pink, lace roses, contrasting the soft pink fabric. Her pink slippers are symmetrically tied around her white tights. Each arm movement is graceful and elegant; each kick is controlled and precise; each leap as graceful as a gazelle. Her torso is upright and proper; her neck elegant; her movements so fluid, they left the audience mesmerized.

She was the picture of a perfect ballerina.

Darius sits in the audience, captivated by his friend's beauty and elegance. He had no idea Brooklynn was so good at ballet. She was the epitome of a prima donna; a nonpareil ballerina. No one could rival her ability on stage.

The orchestra changes its tone slightly, and the song gets a slightly ominous feeling. Darius is transported into the wings of the stage. Watching her from the side, Darius could just see the strings attached to her arms and legs. The strings pulled on her arms and legs to make her perform. She was graceful and elegant, but merely a puppet on strings.

The song becomes more and more ominous as the scenery changes. Suddenly, Darius was standing in the dance studio where Brooklynn learned and practiced. Her costume had changed drastically. Where there had once been pink, elegant perfection, there was now black and torn fabric. A black, jeweled crown sits atop her head, her hair—now disheveled and falling in her face—a fiery red color. She had black wings painted onto her face, but the makeup was beginning to run down her face with sweat and possibly tears. Her black tutu was feathery and stiff. Unlike her other costume, though, it was tattered and destroyed. Her black shoes were chipped and the fabric was peeling off.

"Come on, dance!" the instructor snaps, stalking around the edge of the room, watching. "Stay upright! Lock your knees!"

Brooklynn dances, but her face is contorted in pain. Her legs are shaky as she performs, unstable due to the rigorous performance. The music gets darker and darker as she struggles more and more, unable to keep up with the impossible performance. Her ballet instructor shouts more and more instructions and stresses her out. Brooklynn's shoes turn to knives, scratching the floor and her feet, and she cries out in pain.

The song crescendos and stops. Darius blinks, and they were back to the beginning. Brooklynn's outfit and posture were perfect, and she had a smile on her face as she bows to the audience. The instructor comes out on stage and the two take a bow together.

The dream morphs again, and Darius seems to be floating, following his friend like a ghost as she walks back to the dressing room. Her ballet costume begins to crack like a porcelain dish and pieces fall off. Her entire body cracks and crumbles, clattering to the ground as she walks. Her perfect ballerina facade crumbles away, revealing a skin tight, black suit. Leather straps ran across her legs, arms, and torso, and she had many pockets for various items. Dark silver strips accent her black costume, and a red hourglass shape is embedded in the front of her belt.

She looked strong and fierce as she walked through the halls and past other girls dressed similarly. But as she enters her private dressing room, her determined, dangerous demeanor falls and she cowers.

Her ballet instructor was standing in the room. Leah was there, too, dressed in a similar fashion.

"You did well out there," the instructor says. "Your performance was immaculate. I believe you're ready for the next step."

He pulls back a curtain to reveal a person tied to a chair with a bag over her head. The girl was struggling and whimpering through her gag.

Leah hands Brooklynn a handgun. "Do it," she says. "Take the next step, and you'll succeed."

Brooklynn's hand shakes as she holds the gun. "I can't do it," she whispers.

"You must," the instructor snaps. "To move forward, you must prove your loyalty to us. To succeed, you must go all the way."

"I don't want to do this…" Brooklynn trembles, trying to back away.

"Once you are here, there's no leaving," the instructor growls, advancing. "You are either with us, or dead."

Brooklynn turns around, trying to run away and escape. The man pulls out a gun and aims at the back of her head.

Darius startles and sits up at the sound of the gunshot. He looked around in panic, but there were no ballet dancers, no black widow spies, and no murderous instructors.

Sighing, he lays back down in bed, agonizing over the meaning of his dream. He hardly had dreams, so the ones he remembered so vividly were usually important…

"What does it mean?" Darius wonders worryingly. "Is Brooklynn in trouble? Does this dream mean she's being forced to do something horrible, or she'll die? Is that ballet teacher real? Is this metaphorical or literal?"

"You okay, Darius?" Brandon yawns, having been woken from his sleep by Darius.

"Just… had a dream…"

"A nightmare?"

"You could say that…"

"I heard that you have prophetic dreams sometimes… Was it one of them?"

"Hopefully not…"

Brandon turns over, his eyes closed as he mumbles sleepily. "What was it about?"

Darius thinks for a moment. "Do you think Brooklynn could be Black Widow?"

Brandon blinks sleepily. "What?"

"She was a ballerina in my dream," Darius sighs. "She was amazing… perfect…"

Brandon starts laughing. "Wait, what? I'm sorry, how did you go from having a crush on ballerina Brooklynn in your dream to 'She's Black Widow?'"

Darius shakes his head. "No, I don't have a crush on her, let me finish. She was beautiful, elegant, talented, and perfect. No one could match her in beauty, strength, and ability."

Brandon takes a moment of silence. "So… you have a crush on her?"

Darius sighs frustratedly. "No, Brand, those were just very vivid details I remembered about the dream. They have to be important…"

His older brother snickers. "D, you're not helping yourself out here."

Darius groans angrily.

"You know, usually you're supposed to be the one bugging me about crushes, and I have to wait a few years to get revenge on you," the older boy cackles mischievously.

"Oh, don't worry, I am totally going to tease you about your crush," Darius promises, miffed that his conversation about what was a very serious matter to him had turned into this.

"I don't have a crush on anyone yet," Brandon grins.

"So? That hasn't stopped you from teasing me," Darius retorts.

"Still, you don't have a leg to stand on," Brandon crosses his arms.

"I can ask Milton later," Darius shrugs, making his older brother wheeze. "Okay, okay, back to the original subject. Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy was playing, but it turned super dark and creepy as it went on. She looked like she was attached to strings at one point, like a puppet. Then she was training. Her instructor was yelling at her and stressing her out. Her outfit was all ripped and old, and her shoes turned to knives and cut her feet."

"Yeah, that sounds like a nightmare," Brandon yawns, laying back down and facing his brother.

"And after the performance, her body cracked and crumbled," Darius says.

"Ew, definitely a nightmare," his older brother's face contorts in disgust.

"No, it was actually kinda beautiful," the dino nerd says.

Brandon makes a noise somewhere between a disgusted gag and a very amused snort.

"It was like her skin was pottery and it slowly cracked and fell off," Darius explains. "It was like that perfect ballerina was a costume or a… a… an act. Underneath that costume was Black Widow's suit."

"How did ballerina translate to Black Widow?" Brandon asks sleepily.

"Think Age of Ultron," Darius says vaguely. "Brooklynn walked into a dressing room or something and her instructor and Leah were there. He said that she was ready to take the next step, and told her to shoot this tied up, struggling girl. Brooklynn couldn't do it, and he told her that once you get to that point, you're either with them, or dead. She tried to escape and he shot her."

"... I can see why that would make you a bit spooked," Brandon murmurs.

"Do you think that's what is going on?" Darius asks. "Do you think that Leah is trying to make Brooklynn do something bad to become part of the top? Or maybe they're both part of a secret organization, and killing someone is the initiation process? What if young Youtubers are their prey and they're creating an army of spies influencing kids through social media?"

Brandon blinks incomprehensibly. "D, I just woke up a few minutes ago, what? You got all that from your dream?"

"That's kinda what it says if you take it literally," Darius says, having a slight anxiety attack.

"Then Brooklynn would be a puppet and Black Widow at the same time, if I'm not mistaken," Brandon rubs his eyes. "These other dreams you get, do you usually take them literally?"

Darius thinks for a moment. "No… not really. One time we were the Avengers, another time we were Minecraft characters. The Indos were like the shark from Jaws one time…"

"So, you don't think maybe God uses things from pop culture you would understand to get his point across?"

"I guess…"

"So what do you know that could be metaphorical?"

"Well… I'm not sure… She was the perfect ballerina, but inside she was hurting and unable to keep up with her impossible routine… Then someone was telling her that it was time she do something bad to take the next step…"

"Honestly, the first part sounds like her versus her Youtube self," his older brother mumbles, starting to nod off to sleep.

"Yeah… it does…" Darius chews on his lip. "Maybe this is a warning about her Youtube channel… She tries to be perfect and get likes and views… but inside she's struggling… Her perfect image is a facade to hide her brokenness…"

"What about the initiation thing?" Brandon asks.

Darius thinks for a moment. "I don't know… She said she feels like she had to sell her soul to get her fame… Maybe Leah has been trying to make her do something bad for fame and more likes…"

"Like murdering someone?"

"No, more likely doing whatever she wants Brooklynn to do. If Brooklynn isn't with Leah, then she's against Leah. She's proven already that that's how she feels."

"Turning the Internet against her so that she can't succeed without Leah's help…"

"So, this is a warning," Darius decides. "Brooklynn can't be trying to measure up to Leah's standards. That girl can't be influencing Brooklynn to make bad decisions just so that she can feel loved."

Brandon yawns. "Glad that you figured it out. Don't stress too much about it. Trust that God has her, K? Don't need to be anxious."

"But if God is trying to warn me, then I have to make sure she doesn't fall into that trap," Darius thinks. "I have to protect her."

"Thanks for talking," Darius says.

"You're welcome," Brandon mumbles, already trying to fall asleep again.

Darius attempts to fall asleep, but his anxiety makes it difficult. "God, I have to protect her…" he thinks worriedly. "I have to save her…"

---

"So, what are you going to do now? Go back to your usual routine of videos or something else?"

Brooklynn sighs, staring off into the space above her phone as she thinks. "I don't know, Sarahi… Not sure what I'm going to do…"

"You've been making videos and stuff, but mostly about what happened on the island," Sarahi says over facetime. "Not that it's not interesting, but that's not what your subscribers are there for. You're the Youtuber who travels the world to give information about interesting and scary topics."

"So, I have to go back to normal to get viewers?"

"I mean, they did subscribe to you for your content, right? That's why we do certain videos and have different categories. If you change your content, you'll lose a lot of subscribers, and who knows how long it will take to rebuild your fanbase?"

Brooklynn groans. "You got a point… I just don't know… I'm not sure if I'm up to the task of doing what I used to do. We're still getting settled in the new house, and I still haven't fully gotten used to real life… Still mentally on the island sometimes…"

"Yeah, I get that," Sarahi nods. "And if you need a little break to get back to real life and cope with your PTSD, I understand. That's… that's a lot to cope with."

Brooklynn nods. "We still wake up in a panic sometimes. We all generally have to have someone else sleeping next to us, even if it's just a sibling or parent. The idea of being alone is too scary… I know we're not on the island anymore, but I still feel in danger when I'm alone…"

"That makes sense," the other Youtuber murmurs. "I wish that didn't happen to you guys. It's beyond horrible… I can't believe you guys survived, though… It's impressive. Miraculous. I mean, it's amazing you can function as well as you are right now. If I had been in that situation, I'm sure I'd be cowering in a corner and screaming all day when I get back home."

"Oh, trust me, that's happened," Brooklynn chuckles bitterly. "It was worse when we were separated. That's why I don't know if I should go back to my usual videos… Traveling the world and facing my fears… would just trigger flashbacks. Can't go deal with reptiles. Jungles and forests would be triggering. I'm sure pretty much any carnivore that tears into its food would be triggering. I can't think of a video idea that fits in with my usual style that won't possibly trigger me."

"Going into space?" Sarahi suggests, making Brooklynn laugh. "But yeah, Idk how you could go about filming your usual stuff without being reminded about your… time… I was just thinking about it. Don't want your views and subscribers to drop."

"I could always film the chaos my friend group is, I guess," the camper mumbles.

"Yeah, the boy… Kenji, that was his name, is pretty funny to watch," Sarahi laughs.

"Yeah, he's a fan favorite," Brooklynn laughs. "We couldn't have the group without him. Course, we're all integral to the group. I just know Yaz doesn't really like being on camera… so I don't know how I'll video some stuff…"

"What does Leah suggest?" the brunette asks.

Brooklynn's diaphragm constricts at that name. "We… We're not… on good terms."

"Is this because of the… scuffle between you, her, and Yaz?" Sarahi asks, wincing.

"Yeah…" Brooklynn mumbles.

"I thought you guys would've made up," she explains. Her tone was depressed, as if she had been holding onto a hope and Brooklynn had just shattered it.

"It's a little hard after that betrayal," she winces. "Being slammed like that…"

"Are you guys enemies now?"

"Unfortunately, I think so…"

"Leah's a powerful individual; that's not going to be good… Is there anything on your part you could do to fix things?"

Irritation rises up in Brooklynn. "No, nothing that wouldn't place me in an abusive situation. I don't really want to be friends with her anymore. She broke my trust, and now I can see how she manipulated me…"

Sarahi winces. Brooklynn knows she's placed the girl in between a rock and a hard place; Leah and Brooklynn were both good friends. "This feels a little too similar to Yaz's situation…" Brooklynn thinks. "Except Yaz had no warning…"

"Is there…" Sarahi stutters, trying to think of how to word it. "Is there… maybe a chance that… you could apologize? For your part?"

"I didn't do anything," Brooklynn insists. "I can't think of what I did wrong. Leah was making me choose between her and Yaz. I'm sorry, but, if she's going to make me choose between them, Leah's not winning. I wholeheartedly trust Yaz, and would choose her any day. I'd choose all of them over Leah if I had to."

"Are you sure she was actually making you choose sides or were you reading the situation wrong?"

Brooklynn thinks back to the day in the hospital. Walking back from searching for Sammy, Brooklynn heard shouting from within the room. Opening the door, she asked, "What's with all the yelling?"

A new girl turned around, and Brooklynn immediately placed her as Leah. "Brooklynn!"

A small smile creeped onto Brooklynn's face. "Hey, Leah! What are you doing here?" Behind Leah, the girl noticed Ben struggling to hold Yasmina back. The amputee was practically snarling.

The small smile fell. "Oh, shoot, I've known the Leah that hurt Yaz this whole time, haven't I?" she thinks with a pang of guilt.

"I came here to see you!" Leah said, popping a piece of gum into her mouth and giving Yasmina the side eye.

"Brooklynn, slap this hag for me!" Yasmina growled, squirming in Ben's grasp and making it extremely difficult to hold her back.

"What did you do?" Brooklynn asked, looking between her two friends in concern. Was Yasmina reacting out of past hatred, or did Leah do something else to bring on this feral monster inside the amputee?

"Nothing! She's blaming me for everything that happened years ago!" Leah complained, approaching her. "Look, for your own good, drop her. She's not a good friend, and will only leave you feeling horrible and guilty. She's manipulative and cold. You don't need a friend like that now. You need someone who can be sympathetic and understanding."

"Bah!" Yasmina huffed, seething. "Like she'd find that in you!"

"Seriously, Brooklynn!" Leah insisted, taking Brooklynn's hands in hers. "You don't need a friend like her. She's only going to make you feel guilty and like a terrible friend. You'll only crave attention and friendship more. I won't treat you like that."

Brooklynn looked down at her hands, clasped gently—but firmly—in Leah's. The other Youtubers were healthy, soft, and a gorgeous, warm chocolate tone. Sleek, black nails that appeared impossible to work with due to their sheer length. It was quite the contrast to Brooklynn's pale, scabbed and dry skin. Her nails were brittle, cracked, and scratched from the harsh environment of the island and her eating disorder.

At the time, Brooklynn had looked up to Leah with awe. Those hands held so much power, yet were holding her broken ones. Leah had achieved such a great following; it honored Brooklynn when she contacted her about creating a video together. Leah had been in a God-like position for Brooklynn then.

"You need affirmation and love," Leah continued. "Especially with all the stupid trolls on your channel. She's not going to get you followers. Not even from herself. I'm begging you, ditch her for your sake!"

Something inside her felt uncomfortable. Brooklynn chewed on the inside of her lip in thought. She felt guilty for some reason. Guilty for being friends with Yasmina. Why did she feel guilty? Why did she feel like she was doing something wrong?

Brooklynn thought back to the island. "Do you think that…" Yasmina bit her lip. "Maybe one reason you care so much about what the Internet thinks is that you have nowhere else to go for love?"

"Look, Brooklynn, you know you're not going to get love anywhere else but within our little circle and the Internet," Leah said during a video call. "Sadly, your parents don't do s*** for you. The Internet is your only place to go."

"Brooklynn!" Yasmina shouted, grabbing her from behind and pulling her into a rough hug to prevent her from jumping. "If you fall, I fall, too," the amputee declared faithfully.

"That was a… bit of an insensitive comment towards that particular group of people," Leah said, wincing through the video call after she reviewed Brooklynns edited video. "I just… I don't think you should post that comment in your video. You know… I don't tolerate insensitive people in my friend group."

"Yasmina has been with me through thick and thin, stuck with me through my lowest, darkest moments, and asked for nothing in return," Brooklynn thought as she stared at Leah's hands. "Leah… I don't think she would be… She's there for me, only if I do what she says… She doesn't build me up with confidence… She builds me up with followers… and THAT leaves me craving more attention and affirmation… Yasmina is truly there for me. Leah is friends for the social media aspect."

"Brooklynn?" Sarahi says, breaking the Youtuber's thoughts.

"Yes," Brooklynn sighs sharply. "Look, Leah told me that I should ditch Yaz because she 'wasn't good for me.' Except Leah is the one who critiques my videos and tells me what and where I'm doing wrong, everything I should be doing, and guilting me into thinking that I'm a bad person for not agreeing with her. Yaz, on the other hand, has supported me and stuck with me through my lowest moments, and doesn't ask for anything in return other than a good friend. Leah is the one who was wrong, and I'm not going back to her."

"She's not guilting you into anything," Sarahi argues. "She's just telling you what's wrong… She sees things from a different view than you…"

"From my view, she's been taking advantage of my need for love, and hooking me on the attention of the Internet and convincing me that I need her approval to get love," Brooklynn sighs.

The other girl grimaces. "Did you ever think about… about… maybe that you've just hated her all along… deep down?"

Brooklynn sighs, a feeling of sadness coming over her. "I never hated her… I don't even really hate her now. I just… feel betrayed. I wish she hadn't lied about me… and I wish she wasn't so manipulative, because she was all I had for a while…"

The first time she met Leah comes to memory. She was twelve at the time. It was early in the morning, and she was brushing her teeth while scrolling through her growing comment section. She stumbled upon a particular comment, and the username made her spit out her toothpaste. "Wait, what?!" she exclaimed, carelessly wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and rechecking the comment. "I loved this video, we should do a collab," Leahkangaroo commented.

"Leahkangaroo?!" Brooklynn gapped, toothpaste slobber dripping onto her phone. "Dang it," she grumbled, wiping off her spit and typing a reply. "OH MY GOSH, IS THAT YOU?!"

Leahkangaroo sent back laughing emojis and a winky face. "Copy down my phone number and we can talk."

Brooklynn looked around and found a pen. When Leah commented her phone number, Brooklynn wrote it down on her wrist. "Got it."

Leah deleted her last comment. "Don't want random people getting ahold of my number," she explained.

Completely unaware of the dangers that could come from calling unknown numbers, Brooklynn took a deep breath, and dialed the number she got. "Hello?" Leah answered. "Is this Brooklynnunboxestheworld?"

The only thing that registered was a squeal. "Yes!" Brooklynn squeaked. "Is this Leahkangaroo?"

"The one and only."

Brooklynn had to cover her mouth to keep from embarrassing herself with a really high-pitched, fangirl squeal.

"Hang on, I wanna do a video call, is that fine?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Brooklynn said as Leah hung up. "Oh, shoot!" she hissed, realizing she still had foamy slobber on her face. She quickly rinsed and made sure she was presentable for the celebrity as Leah FaceTimed her.

"Hey!" Leah answered.

"Hi," Brooklynn said shyly, trying to hide her ginormous grin.

"Is someone a little starstruck?" Leah laughed.

"A little bit," Brooklynn giggled. "You really liked my video?"

"Yes, they're so fun to watch, and very educational," Leah complimented her.

Brooklynn ducked her head, refraining from squealing.

"Ahhh, oh my gosh, I can't, you're so cute!" Leah laughed. "Wait, how old are you?"

"Twelve," Brooklynn smiled.

"Aaagh, you're so adorable!" Leah grinned. "You're just, like, a little cute bean! I mean, little only in age and height, but you're just so freaking adorable! And, oh my gosh, like, your braids are so cute!"

Brooklynn self-consciously brushed her hair with her hand. She had learned to Dutch braid it herself, and she had dyed it strawberry blonde a month ago. Her brown roots were starting to grow back. "Thank you," she said shyly.

"Ee, I love the color, it really brings out your freckles," Leah said, showering her with genuine compliments. "And your green eyes. Oh, your eyes are so pretty. They're like… not really Emerald, but I can't think of a flattering green color… Oh, they're like cat's eyes. You're just like a cute, chubby kitten, ushushushushdubadubadubadub!"

Leah resorted to cuteified gibberish as Brooklynn laughed. "I'm sorry, you're just really cute," Leah laughed. "I know I'm only two years older than you, but you've just got the energy of, like, a super curious, tiny kitten. Watching you in your videos is so much fun. You're just the super curious, cute Youtuber. I love your videos!"

Brooklynn pulled in her lips, trying to hold back her tears. "What's wrong?" Leah asked.

"Nothing," Brooklynn sniffed, trying to hide her crying. "I just… thought I was a noob at making videos, and to hear you say that…"

"Aww, no you're really good," Leah insisted. "Don't cry, you're really good. You should keep going."

"My parents think it's a little annoying, the constant videoing," Brooklynn admitted.

"Bah, hey, the more subscribers you get, the more money you make," Leah shrugged. "You could make a living off of it. If you have a huge following. I can help with that."

"You will?" Brooklynn asked, barely able to believe what she was hearing.

"Yeah, I wanna do a collaboration anyway," Leah tsched. "So, like, do you do videos on what you fear the most, or is it just pet related? Cause, like, you mentioned some of the pets you were scared of."

"Yeah, the tarantulas scare me, still," Brooklynn shuddered. "Idk, it's kinda just whatever animal I found next… But I like the idea of facing fears and showing people science and facts in scary situations."

"I could use that with elevators, they scare me," Leah laughed. "I'm always nervous that they'll stop and I'll get stuck in it. Or that they'll fall. Plus, I just don't like that feeling when it starts to go up and your stomach just drops."

"Oh gosh, I hate that feeling," Brooklynn nodded. "And the fear of getting stuck in an elevator. My uncle is a mechanic. Works in New York, doing maintenance on buildings. He could probably give me facts about elevators and how they work…"

"We should go to his buildings and film a video," Leah suggested with a grin. "You know your viewers will enjoy the two of us screaming if we do a simulation or something."

"Like a worst case scenario simulation," Brooklynn laughed and shuddered at the same time. "I don't know, though… my parents aren't on good terms with Uncle John, and I don't think they'd pay for me to go to New York to see him…"

"Do your parents let you do anything fun?" Leah asked.

"They… they don't give me much attention…" Brooklynn admitted. Normally she didn't admit that, but Leah was, well… Leah. She was amazing!

"You know what? You're a part of my group," Leah decided. "You're a part of it. No one should be ignored by their parents, and if your own family won't give you attention, you can make your own family. I'm adopting you as my little sister. Does that sound good?"

Brooklynn blinked back tears as she nodded.

"K, the ride will be on me," Leah said. "You just need to convince your parents to let you do it. Oh, I just remembered what I wanted to ask you. Do you change your hair color every time you start a new video series?"

"Um… Well, not on purpose…" Brooklynn mumbled.

"You totally should," Leah suggested. "Ooh! You could, like, have people try to guess what color your hair is going to be and give away merch if they guess correctly. Everyone loves merch."

"That does sound like it would be fun," Brooklynn nodded, grinning.

"Ooh! Wait, you could do platinum blonde for machines!" Leah suggested. "Like, you could do an entire series on mechanical failures to teach people how to react and how to survive."

"Woah… yeah, I totally want to try that hair color," Brooklynn laughs.

"I wanna try it, too," Leah laughed. "We could go get our hair dyed together. Make a whole day of it, sister. I totes need to get my hairstyle changed. This bouncy afro is great for a lazy day, but I wanna change it up now."

"I like your braids in other videos," Brooklynn said.

"Yeah, I kinda wanna try Fulani braids again," Leah nodded. "They'd look good with platinum blonde hair—NO! Don't pee!"

Brooklynn held back laughter as Leah leapt off screen, dropping her phone in the process. She could hear the other girl scolding something, then Leah came back to her phone. "K, we'll talk details tomorrow. We're fostering a litter of puppies we found on the street and they keep making peepee messes. We foster just about everything in this house; it's starting to feel like an orphanage… or a zoo. Ttyl!"

After Leah ended the video call, Brooklynn leaned against the wall, slid down to the bathroom tiles, and cried. She cried tears of relief. For once, someone recognized her… someone thought she was worth their time and energy… Someone thought she was cute and worth loving… Someone thought she was worthy of being family…

"She wants me to be her younger sister… I have an older sister…" Brooklynn sobbed out in disbelief and relief. "My idol… My role model… wants me to be a part of her group… to be her little sister figure… Oh my gosh…"

"I saw her as my older sister…" Brooklynn tells Sarahi, tears slipping down her face. "Until she revealed her true colors…"

Sarahi wrings her hands, as if she was torn on the inside. On one hand, she had whatever Leah told her. On the other hand, she had Brooklynn's genuine reaction. She finally seemed to come to some form of conclusion and sighs. "Well… you know… You can care for Leah, but you see her differently… subconsciously… since you're white and she's black…"

Brooklynn gets confused. "Wait… Eh? What? What about white and black?"

"You know…" Sarahi says, visibly uncomfortable. "White people have an inherent, sometimes subconscious bias against black people… and I think that might be what the problem is now."

Superstar's face contorts in confusion. "Wait… You think I hate Leah because of her skin color? I'm genuinely confused right now, what does that have anything to do with this?"

"Leahs talked about it before…" Sarah murmurs. "We have to face the fact that white people are subconsciously racist, otherwise we can't fix anything."

"That has nothing to do with this!" Brooklynn protests. "I couldn't care less about her race; that's never been on my mind! This is about Leah villainizing me!"

"She was just defending herself," Sarah comes to Leah's defense.

"How is lying and threatening me defending herself?!" Brooklynn gaps. "Yaz and I didn't attack her, but she comes out and says we physically attacked her. How can you keep defending her; she came out and admitted that she lied!"

"She felt pressured to," Sarah says.

"By who?!" Brooklynn snaps. "Everyone was supporting her!"

"Only the Troopers."

"And most of the Brooklanders because the majority supported Leah over me! The Internet was pretty evenly divided between the two of us; who was pressuring her into admitting that she lied other than her parents?!"

"More people sided with you because of your color…"

"Who?!" Brooklynn exclaims, making Milton's dog lift his head. "Most of the comments I saw were telling me to kill myself!"

"People were still biased towards you," Sarahi insists.

"Who?!" Brooklynn asks again. "I wish I had seen that bias because most of what I saw was death threats and comments telling me to commit suicide!"

"I'm not trying to say that people weren't saying that," Sarahi sighs. "I'm just saying that you have to recognize your flaws… Leah told me… told me what you said… about how you felt uncomfortable with working under Leah because of her race…"

"I, what?! I never said that!" Brooklynn protests. "I don't have a problem with her race, I never had a problem with her race! Sarahi, she was like an older sister to me. The problem I have is that she was making me choose between her and Yaz! A real friend doesn't make you choose between them and someone else! She didn't want to lose her power; she wanted herself to be the only friend I had!"

"She doesn't have much power because of white privilege," Sarahi says.

Brooklynn can't help but sputter. "What privileges?! She's got one of the highest subscriptions on Youtube! I was nobody when she found me. She came to me! Her parents are super nice and good; that's better than mine! She didn't get stuck on Isla Nublar! Where was my privilege there?! The only thing I can think of that I have better than her is loyal, amazing friends, and that was due to Isla Nublar! Some things I have better than her, and some things she has better than me, it all depends on what you're talking about!"

Sarahi sighs, frustrated. "You can't solve a problem you don't acknowledge."

"Oh, I agree, the problem is that you don't recognize the manipulative little b**** Leah can be!" Brooklynn snaps.

"Why don't I put the situation a little differently," the other Youtuber sighs sharply. "Has Darius ever felt discriminated against by you?"

"I… I don't think so…" Brooklynn stutters, taken aback.

Doubt and guilt start to enter. "Of course! That's all I'm good for! Fun dino trivia!" Darius snapped on the island. "I have absolutely no other value than that! I'm just here for your entertainment, aren't I?!"

"It felt like you were criticizing me or one upping me. I felt like I had to prove myself," he murmured.

"I was mad at myself for making you cry," his words feel like a punch to the gut all over again.

"Was I making him feel worthless for his color?" doubt asks. "Did he feel discriminated against? Should I be the one apologizing?"

"I shouldn't have accepted his apology… he shouldn't have felt sorry for making me cry… He was sticking up for himself…" guilt bemoans.

"No… I don't care what color he is… I… I'm not like that… I don't care about that…" Brooklynn stutters, dread and anxiety filling her head.

"I'm not saying you hate him, Brook, but you see him differently than you would someone who is white," Sarahi says. "People believe you over him. If something were to happen, you could easily frame him for it and people would choose you over him, like they did Leah."

"No, I wouldn't… I wouldn't do that to him. I wouldn't do that…"

"Yeah, but it would be really easy for people to view him as a criminal. Imagine if you two were in an argument in public or something. They'd side with you."

"I mean, people usually side with the woman in an argument, anyway…" Brooklynn murmurs, but she was beginning to question herself.

Sarahi looks off screen and talks to someone. "My mom needs me, I have to go. Just… just think about what we said. I truly hope you and the others feel better."

Sarahi ends the video call, leaving Brooklynn with anxiety. She curls up on the couch, burying her head in the cushions.

"What if Darius has felt disrespected this whole time?" guilt asks. "What if that's why I didn't respect him as leader? What if I'm actually racist? What if Leah didn't do anything wrong?!"

Brooklynn clutches her heart, the guilt feeling suffocating. The idea of her hurting Darius, and maybe even Leah was overwhelming. She starts to hyperventilate.

"Hey, Brook," Darius says, limping through the front door.

Brooklynn sits up, still having an anxiety attack. "I… I'm sorry…" she chokes out.

Darius stops in his tracks, his face contorting in confusion. "Wait, eh, huh?"

"I'm sorry," she sobs, covering her face with her hands.

"For what?" the boy asks, looking around. "Where is your brother, you're not supposed to be alone! Milton!"

"I'm doing chores!" her brother calls from down the hall.

Darius sputters, sending the older boy a death glare through the wall. "What is going on now?"

"He deserves so much better… so much more than how I've treated him," guilt harrasses her.

Brooklynn sniffs. "I'm sorry for treating you like you didn't matter…"

Darius's tense stance relaxes. "Brook… what makes you think you… Are you remembering our argument?"

She nods.

He sighs and sits down next to her on the couch. "Don't feel bad, it's in the past. I should've said something if it was bothering me."

"No, I should've known, I should've treated you differently, I'm sorry…" she cries.

"Brooklynn, you didn't really do anything wrong," he sighs again. "Your actions were innocent, I should've said something about the way you worded it. You weren't being a horrible person. The whole issue would've been resolved if I had just told you how I felt."

"You shouldn't have to apologize…" she sniffs.

"Well, we both had a part in the problem," Darius says. "Don't beat yourself up. It's not like you're this horrible person who was trying to harm me."

"You shouldn't have to apologize…" she repeats, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

"First Yaz with the guilt and now you?" Darius mutters under his breath. "What makes you think I shouldn't apologize to you?"

"Because I'm white…" she sniffs.

"What?" he asks in confusion.

"Because I'm racist…" she whispers.

Darius snorts with laughter, then stops. "... You're serious?"

Brooklynn lifts her head and stares at him with teary eyes.

"You're dead serious…" he murmurs. "Where did you get this idea? What have you been listening to?"

"Sarahi was telling me about it… she said white people have a subconscious bias against black people," she cries. "We're inherently racist… She said that's why I hate Leah…"

Darius blinks in disbelief. "Then why do I hate Leah? Why does Yaz hate Leah? She's not white."

Brooklynn knits her eyebrows together in thought.

"Did Leah tell her this?" Darius asks.

"Sarahi said that Leah told her about how I didn't want to take orders from Leah because of her race…" she relays.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Darius says. "Take orders from her. Pffft. You're not working in a business. Your Youtube channel is yours, not hers. You shouldn't have to take orders from her anymore than she should have to from you. Stop talking to this girl, Brook. She's not helping you and she's not building you up. And if she's still working with Leah, Leah still has a way into your heart. I don't want you talking with Sarah… or Sarahi, you hear me?"

"What if she's right, though…" Brooklynn wipes away a tear. "It… Leah was so nice… She was so nice to me… It's hard sometimes to wrap my head around her being manipulative and mean… Maybe it's hard because she was nice and I'm just subconsciously biased… Maybe that explains why I was such a jerk to you… Maybe those comments were right and I should kill myself…"

"Brooklynn!" Darius exclaims, startling her. "What are you—no!" He takes a hold of her hands roughly, forcing her to look at him. "Stop this. Stop this right now! Stop thinking you're a bad person, and for Pete's sake, stop believing it's because of your skin color!"

Brooklynn wipes her nose on the shoulder of her sleeve and shudders. "You… you don't have to defend me…"

"Okay, I'm going to limit my rant to at least three points because I have a lot to say on this matter," Darius sighs sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "First of all, aggression, hatred, and bias are not generally an inherent trait. They're learned traits. When we're little kids, we don't hate people or think about differences. You have to be taught to treat someone differently due to a certain characteristic. Now, that's not to say that we aren't a bit wary of people or other things that are new and different."

He points to Milton's shepherd dog, sleeping in the corner of the room. "Imagine if you had never seen a dog before and you met Scooter. You come up to him and he sniffs you and licks you and wags his tail. You soon learn that he's a nice dog and you enjoy the company of dogs because you've had a positive experience."

Brooklynn nods, following his hypothetical situation, but not his direction.

"Imagine if you met another dog, say… Yaz's dog, Roxie," Darius continues. "Imagine if she was just a super aggressive dog who barked and bit and growled. Soon, you'd learn that she's a very mean dog, and you'd want to stay away from her, right?"

She nods again.

"Imagine seeing another dog of Scooters breed," Darius says. "You'd assume it's nice and friendly, right? Whereas if you saw another Husky, you'd assume it would act like Roxie, right? Sadly, it's not too hard to associate the negative actions of one individual—or one dog—with others like them. My Mom had an aggressive Doberman Pinscher in her neighborhood as a kid and she still dislikes that breed to this day. I had a friend in school who had an aggressive cat, and he hated cats just because of that one pet. It's not that hard to do the same thing with humans, too."

Brooklynn wraps her arms around her knees to try to stop shaking, listening to him talk.

"We tend to think in groups, no matter what group it is," Darius says. "Male or female. Black or white. Republican or Democratic. Atheist or Christian. It's not hard to put people in boxes and expect everyone to act like everyone else in that box. It's not hard to think that everyone who looks like this or everyone who has this belief acts like this. While groups based on religion or political ideology might be a bit more reliable to believe in this situation—because the groups are based on morals and beliefs—they're still not foolproof. You have violent and peaceful people in every group. Every race. Every nation. Jerks don't discriminate with where they come from, K? You can find jerks everywhere and in every group."

Brooklynn nods with a small chuckle.

"The problem is, if you have a bad experience with a certain group, then you can pass on that experience to your kids," Darius says. "This is where you get stereotypes. Over the years, people see something happening and it usually happens with a particular group. Over time, whatever the event or characteristic is, gets associated with that group. It might be true for the majority of the group, or it might be a misunderstanding. Either way, it's been repeated enough over the generations that it's accepted as a fact. That's where racism comes from, truly. More often than not, a child is brought up considering people from another race inferior. They're taught that it's right, and they don't question it because that's what they were taught as a kid."

Brooklynn's eyes meet his.

"You can't say that because you're this color, you act this way," Darius says. "It depends on how you were raised. If you were raised to believe you were superior to me because of the color of our skin, then yes, you'd be racist. But if you're not taught to think that way, then there's no problem. White people are as inherently racist as they are superior to black peeps. Like I've discussed, neither is true. If you're not superior to me because of your skin, then why should I automatically assume you hate me because of my skin? It's all what you're taught."

"Are… are you sure?" Brooklynn asks, her guilt still having a strong hold on her.

"Okay, think about Pitbulls," Darius says, making her snort. "They have a bad reputation of being aggressive, but any Pitbull advocate would tell you that it's all about how you raise them. They're actually good people dogs, and it wasn't until cruel owners started training them to be aggressive that they got their reputation. Same with humans. That's why you usually see the stereotypical bully with a snobbish, permissive parent, or the super sweet, caring character with equally caring parents. It's a little weird to see the bully with nice, caring parents because it's hard to comprehend how such a horrible character could be raised by such nice people."

Brooklynn wipes away her tears and nods. Her anxiety attack had passed, and she was more calm listening to his reasoning.

"If I'm getting a little too heated, just say it," Darius warns. "I have a lot to say, okay?"

"Okay," she murmurs.

"And that brings me to my second point: 'Whites are inherently racist' is an excuse," Darius says. "An excuse on both sides. When you claim that one group acts a certain way—especially something negative—it's a multifaceted excuse."

"How is it an excuse?" Brooklynn asks.

"Well, on one hand, it can be used to explain away toxic behavior," Darius says. "It's like the phrase 'Boys will be boys.' Is that phrase okay?"

"No," she answers quickly.

"Why not?"

"It assumes that all boys are aggressive and rough and excuses inappropriate behavior as normal…"

"Exactly," Darius nods. "It makes a negative assumption about a group based on their physical characteristics, dictates how they should treat others, and excuses toxic behavior as normal for that group. Same with 'Whites are inherently racist.' You're assuming that everyone of European descent is arrogant and prejudiced, that they treat everyone with darker skin as inferior, and that it's a normal, inherent feature. For the true jerks who feel superior, it's an excuse to be racist. 'Oh, but that's just how I'm supposed to act. Whites are inherently racist. I can't help it.' It's not okay, and it shouldn't be accepted."

Brooklynn nods, agreeing with his reasoning.

"Then there's the other excuse," Darius sighs. "This one's more along the lines of my Pitbulls example. Not everyone is taught to believe their race is superior. Ben and his family are white; is he prejudiced?"

"No," Brooklynn says quickly.

"You answered really fast," Darius says. "But no, he's not. There are many people I can think of right now who would never discriminate against me. Overwhelming more than the bigots I know. Assuming that everyone with white skin is a bad person is like assuming all Pitbulls are aggressive. Pitbulls can be the sweetest doggos with the right upbringing. If you introduce them to a lot of people and teach them to be gentle, they'll be friendly and awesome dogs. If you raise a kid to be nice and respectful to everyone regardless of their skin color, they won't care what you look like."

"How are those two statements related?" Brooklynn asks softly. "Er, how is it an excuse?"

"'Pitbulls are naturally aggressive' is used to ban the ownership of that breed in certain states," Darius says. "Similarly, 'Whites are inherently racist' is an excuse to hate your race. It's an excuse to guilt white people into feeling bad, even if they're not raised to think that way. It's an excuse to blame them for issues. Saying that because you look like this, you act like this, takes away personal responsibility."

Brooklynn chews on her lip out of discomfort.

"'Whites are inherently racist' means you can't control your actions. So why should you try to act differently if it's how you naturally act?" Darius points out. "'Boys will be boys,' right? 'Whites are inherently racist' means that you're always going to be the bad guy and I'm always going to be the victim. I can't change you, so I might as well hate you because that's how you naturally are, right? 'Pitbulls are naturally aggressive.'"

"Yeah…" Brooklynn murmurs, starting to calm down.

"It's a big, fat excuse to hate people," Darius sighs. "All it's doing is spreading hate. For the white jerks, it's an excuse to act like a bigot. For people like Leah, it's an excuse to make you the bad guy and let her off the hook. As long as you can blame the group and not the individual, you don't have to change."

"Isn't that feeding into a pushed stereotype?" Brooklynn asks, tears sliding down her face. "Saying that Leah is crying out racism just to villainize me?"

"Well, it's not like you're saying that everyone with her skin tone acts that way," he shrugs. "There's a difference between blaming a race and blaming an individual. Saying that she does that doesn't mean that we all do that. I wouldn't say you're racist just because I have a problem with you. Unless you openly bash my race, I won't assume you were raised like that. Right?"

"Yeah, you wouldn't act like that…" Brooklynn nods. "You don't have a victim mentality."

"My family doesn't either," Darius says. "Yaz's step-dad wouldn't react like that, would he?"

Brooklynn laughs. "He's the size of Mike Tyson, it'd be hard for him to play the victim card."

"Fair enough," he shrugs. "But still, how many people with dark skin can you name that you think would act like that?"

Brooklynn is silent.

"Leah is really the only person I can think of," Darius says. "Let's flip the scenario. How many white people can you think of that would discriminate against black people? Would Ben do it?"

"No," she answers just as quickly.

"Are you sure? Because he's white, and you guys are inherently racist, according to this theory."

"I guess it doesn't apply to everyone…"

"Exactly!" Darius exclaims. "It depends on the person! Look, I'm willing to believe that the racist whites pushed in the news are the extremes. Same with the victim blacks like Leah. What you hear in the news is the extremes of groups. You don't hear about the super nice, super kind Republicans in the liberal news, do you? No, you hear about the bad ones. It's the same vice versa. The nice, chill people who won't hurt anyone aren't talked about in the news as often because it's boring and it doesn't spread hate. I think there's more people out there who are nice and open minded than the news pushes. On both sides."

"You sure I'm not just treating Leah like the stereotypical bully?" Brooklynn murmurs.

"Brooklynn, that's how she acts," Darius says. "Oh, that was my third point! Why you are not racist. Brook, don't you think if you actually were prejudiced, we would've noticed on the island? Pretty much all our flaws and issues were revealed on the island because of the stress and bonding we did. Don't you think if you were racist, we would've said something? We're pretty honest with each other, and when we see a problem, we'll let you know. We're not going to allow you to continue in toxic behavior. I mean, why would we tolerate racist behavior but constantly rebuke Yaz for her murderous fantasies?"

Brooklynn laughs. "Well, Yaz hasn't actually committed murder yet."

"And you haven't done anything racist yet," Darius says. "We're preventing Yaz from committing a crime because while I'm ninety percent sure it's her dark humor, there's still the ten percent of me that's worried. If you had shown any signs of being a bigot, we would've said something."

Brooklynn squeezes her knees with her arms, a battle going on in her mind over his words.

Darius sighs. "Brook," he says gently, moving her chin to look her in the eyes. He carefully takes off her eye patch, removing the one thing preventing him from seeing her entire face. "I didn't mean to make this a political, social justice debate. It's just… You have a guilt mentality, rather than a victim mentality. Your mind villainizes you… and I think Leah knows that. She's placing ideas in your head through her friends to make you feel like the bad guy. It has nothing to do with the colors of your skin or hers. None of this has to do with racism."

He wipes away a tear rolling down her cheek. "This is about destroying you. She's like a politician. She'll use anything she can to destroy your reputation and your inner self. For whatever reason, she's threatened by you. This has nothing to do with her race; she'd use anything she could to destroy you. I'm willing to bet if she was white, she'd still use racism because it's a big deal right now. All she has to do is mention the idea of you being racist and people are automatically suspicious of you."

Brooklynn sniffs.

"If you were a boy, she'd accuse you of inappropriate conduct," Darius says. "Anything that would immediately destroy your reputation, she'd use. It has nothing to do with your skin color or hers. It's just business for her."

"It's so hard to believe… she was so nice…" Brooklynn cries.

"Brook, she's manipulating you," Darius says. "Do you think she hurt Yaz?"
"Yes," she nods.

"Why?"

"Yaz isn't a liar, and she doesn't fake things or dramatize situations…"

"So… maybe if she's made up things about Yaz and blamed it all on her, she's doing the same to you?"

"But she's not trying to guilt Yaz…"

"She has, and it's working," Darius says. "Somewhat."

"What?" Brooklynn frowns.

"Back at the hospital, Leah tried to put all the blame on Yaz, act like she was the one in the wrong and 'forgive her,'" Darius explains. "Ben and I talked about it a few days ago. Yaz feels guilty about what happened, even though she didn't do anything wrong. Sometimes she questions herself."

Brooklynn stares at her feet, taking in everything.

"Hey…" he says, lifting her chin to meet her eyes. "You're not a bad person. You're not racist. If it tears you up so much… you're not a bad person. If you were truly racist and thought I was beneath you, why does it give you an anxiety attack thinking about it?"

A small smile forms on her face as she looks him in the eyes. It felt like an eternity as they stared deeply into each other's gaze. "He's so amazing," she thinks. "So caring, so kind, so selfless. When I'm upset, it tears him up."

"What did I do to deserve this man?" guilt asks. "He deserves so much better than me…"

"Wait… did he just look at my lips? Does he want to kiss me?" doubt pipes up. "Is he falling in love with me? Is he going to kiss me?"

"He can't fall in love with me, he deserves better!" guilt wails.

"You have nothing to fear," Darius says, breaking her thoughts. "You're amazing… You're perfect just the way you are. You're an angel, okay?"

"He deserves better… He wouldn't think I'm an angel if he knew my secret…" guilt hisses. "He can't know… He can't know… He deserves better…"

Giving into the guilt, Brooklynn pulls away and puts back on her eyepatch.

"What?" Darius asks, sensing the change in behavior.

"You're too nice for your own good," she hisses sadly, getting up from the couch.

Darius sputters. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm saying… you might be a bit gullible," she mutters.

"Brook, you're acting like Yaz," he says. "Remember when she was blaming herself for our injuries?"

"Yaz wasn't at fault, she couldn't control the situation!" Brooklynn snaps. "I can control my actions!"

"What actions?!" he throws his arms out. "You're not a bad person!"

A shudder runs up Brooklynn's spine and she stiffens. "Maybe you don't know me as well as you thought…"

"What's wrong? What's going on? Are you okay?" Darius asks, really concerned for his friend.

"I'm on my period, okay?!" Brooklynn snaps, falling back on an easy excuse and walking up the stairs to her room.

"He can't know… He can't know…" guilt repeats over and over again.

Brooklynn sits down on her bed and sighs. Her soul was like a caged bird. Darius had the key… He had tried to offer it to her, but she refused to take it and unlock her cage… She refused to allow her walls to fall down and her feelings to take flight. Like a caged bird, she was trapped.

"I can't let them in…" she thinks. "I can't…"

---

Darius sits on the couch in confusion. "What… What…"

"Something's wrong," he thinks. "Something's going on between her and Leah… She's bothered by something."

"I can't let her get in contact with any of Leah's followers," worry murmurs. "She'll fall down that rabbit hole… become needy and crave the attention of the Internet… She'll be forced to sell her soul and become trapped in that life. I can't let her… God gave me this vision for a reason…"

Brandon's words come back to him from the night before. "Glad that you figured it out. Don't stress too much about it. Trust that God has her, K? Don't need to be anxious."

"I have to protect her…" he says aloud. "I can't let her go… I have to be strong… I have to protect her…"

---

"Have you been trying Miss Anita's exercises? Or advice?" Mrs. Fadoula asks.

Yasmina blinks, breaking her thoughts. "Oh… Sometimes…"

"Yeah?" her mother says from the kitchen.

"Yeah…" Yasmina mumbles, curling up on the couch. Her therapy session had happened the day before. She had had troubled sleep after trying Miss Anita's suggestion. Her dreams had been filled with violent encounters with the Scorpius rex, and visions of a dark fog or raining blood interspersed between them.

The morning after had brought on a day of anxiety. First, at breakfast time, a scorpion had wandered into their house; it was a usual occurrence in Texas, much to her dismay. The arachnid had caused a bout of great anxiety in her, much like the others that had come before it.

Then, when she went to school, the usual disturbances brought on anxiety and fear of a flashback.

Finally, at the end of the day when school was being dismissed, the boys had gotten into a fight. Some guy had started picking on Sammy for no apparent reason, and Darius and Kenji immediately stood up for her. The guy—who Kenji swore was high from something he smoked in the bathroom—was a year younger than Kenji and refused to back off or be nice. Darius—despite being in a cast—got more aggressive the more the kid provoked him. Kenji had to physically hold him back to keep the argument from turning into a physical altercation. It was at that point, the jerk decided to "good naturedly" shove Darius backwards, resulting in him falling over. In that moment, Kenji decided that peace was not an option, reared back, and struck the kid. The two engaged in a brawl and were soon joined by Ben—who had no idea what was going on. All he saw was Brooklynn trying to help up a clumsy Darius and Kenji tussling with another boy. He rightfully assumed the kid had picked a fight and joined to assist Kenji without hesitation.

Kenji, Ben, and the jerk—Matthais, as his name turned out to be—were suspended. Matthias for four school days because he was known for being a bit of a troublemaker, and Kenji and Ben for two school days. The two weren't suspended for as long due to the fact that neither of them had records of fighting at their past schools, they had trauma and were given a bit more leniency, and Matthais had shoved an obviously injured Darius.

Yasmina had watched helplessly from the sidelines, knowing there wasn't much she could do. A hollow, disappointed, and ashamed feeling filled her as she watched her friends fight. She desperately wished to be able to join… to be able to fight for her friends… But she couldn't. Physically, she struggled to walk without crutches, much less fight. Mentally, she was too afraid to join. The amputee hated it. She was disappointed in herself. Disappointed that she was such a failure to protect her friends and disappointed that she had become so hopelessly cowardly. "I used to say eff the odds… where did that side of me go?" she wonders anxiously.

"Yasmina?" her mother says, breaking her thoughts again.

"Huh?" the amputee shakes her head. "What?"

"I said, 'How was your day?'" her mother repeats, coming around the kitchen island and sitting down on the couch next to her daughter.

"Oh… it was… fine…" Yasmina trails off. "Where's Beebee and Jaba? I haven't seen then since this morning."

"Beebee's sleeping over with Sandra and Shelby," Mrs. Fadoula informs her. "Jaba's over at a Gutierrez house playing video games with the boys."

Yasmina laughs. "A Gutierrez house? You don't even know which one?!"

"Their names slipped my mind," her mother sighs. "They have a lot of family members… Jorge and Maggie's house. Diego wanted to invite some cousins over to play video games. Jabari was invited, too. Your father should be on his way to pick them up."

"Let me guess, Ghaleb's over at Brandon or Milton's?" the amputee asks.

"Yep," she nods. "It's just you and me right now."

Yasmina nods, getting lost in thought again. She couldn't recall the last time she had hung out with her mother and bonded. The two weren't particularly close, for many reasons. For one, the amputee's sound sensitivity hindered every relationship she had. Dinner or any form of a meal was impossible to use as bonding time. Another reason they didn't hang out too often was her siblings. The four of them all needed attention, but Yasmina was the least needy before the accident. She was very independent and introverted, making it easier for her mother to focus more on her siblings. Daily activities also made it difficult to have one-on-one bonding time with her mother. Running her and Ghaleb to and from sports meetings and competitions, plus Habeeba and Jabari's band and art classes, competitions, and concerts made Mrs. Fadoula very exhausted by the end of the day.

A very sad and depressing reason the two weren't close—that Yasmina had only addressed about a year ago—was that there was a bit of hatred towards her mother. The amputee realized she had been holding in anger and bitterness towards her mother for standing by and cowering before her biological father. Part of her was angry at her mother for marrying the dang man in the first place. Her mother had seen the things he did to her kids, yet was still too scared to stand up and do anything about it. Yasmina saw that as a whole other level of cowardly. Being afraid for your life in a dangerous situation was one thing. Being afraid of your life at the expense of your own kids was an entirely different thing.

"It's great to see him making friends," her mother says, causing Yasmina to tune back in. "You and Jabari always struggled to make friends. And while you're very lucky to have such a great friend group now, I wouldn't want to send your brother to Isla Nublar just to make friends."

The amputee chuckles. "Yeah… that was… something. Is Jaba making friends with Sammy's cousins?"
"Yeah," Mrs. Fadoula nods.

"Good…" Yasmina murmurs. "I know he was upset about leaving his friends back in North Dakota…"

"He still is," she sighs. "But he's found some good friends here. There are a lot of positives to moving here…"

Yasmina once again zones out. Guilt comes back about making her family move states away just because of her separation anxiety. She knew it wasn't her fault that she had separation anxiety, and she knew that her parents could've decided to stay in North Dakota. Yet, she still felt like a burden to her family, making them move to another state just so she could be in close contact with her friends.

"It wasn't just for me, my friends couldn't handle it, either," the voice of reason says. "In the long run, it's probably a better idea. Less money spent on flying us around to see each other, plus we have a much stronger, more family-like connection with these families. Not only is that helpful, but also invaluable. The friendships we've forged—not just me and the campers—but the friendships of the entire group are strong and powerful. Now, our younger siblings have a support system, as well as our parents if they ever fall on hardships."

Doubt and guilt couldn't leave her alone. "We had a family bond with our friends back in North Dakota. I made everyone leave them. Jabari was just beginning to have a good friend group. Now I've uprooted that all because I'm weak… I'm dependent on my friends and have no way to repay their support… I'm a leech…"

"Yasmina?" her mother says again.

"Sorry," the amputee sighs, rubbing her eyes. "Sorry that I made us move…"

Her mother smiles sadly. "Again, it's not your fault and you don't have to feel guilty about it. Moving might have disheveled our life for a bit, but now we've got a good group of friends. Family, really. It was better for you to be over here, and there are a lot of benefits for the rest of us, too. It benefitted your other friends, you know. Brooklynn needs you here. The others do. I think even Rio might enjoy having you here."

"Rio?" Yasmina lifts her head.

"She's shy and anxious like you," Mrs. Fadoula's smile grows. "Struggles with making friends and coming out of her shell. Bonnie said Rio's talked a lot about you in the past week. Seems to view you as an older sister."

"She's got three older sisters for that…" Yasmina murmurs in thought.

"None of them seem to understand her struggles better than you," her mother says. "I'm just saying, don't blame yourself for moving us. We didn't have to, and there has been a lot of good that's come from this."

The amputee nods, biting her lip in thought.

"You've been very distracted lately," she says. "Is something wrong?"

"Always…"

"Well, do you want to talk about it?"

"... I don't know how… I don't know what's going on myself…"

Her mother nods. "It's okay. If you want to try, I'll listen."

Yasmina nods, pauses, and shakes her head. "I don't know…" she murmurs, tears slipping out as she looks at her mother despairingly. "Just… not feeling happy lately…"

Her mother is silent. "Would some good news help?"

"Good news?" Yasmina raises her eyebrows.

"You're one of seven," her mother smiles.

The amputee is taken aback. "Wait, seven? Seven kids?" Her eyes trail down to her mother's stomach, which—now that she thought about it—was bulging. "You're pregnant? With triplets?!"

Her mother snorts in surprise. "Wait, have I not told you about my miscarriage?"

"When did—" Yasmina exclaims, then pauses. "... That's vaguely familiar."

"Before Ghaleb was born, I miscarried twins," her mother explains.

"That's not good news," she protests, crossing her arms. "'Would some good news help? Oh, you have dead older siblings.'"

"I thought you knew," her mother laughs. "That wasn't supposed to be the news."

The amputee counts on her fingers. "Dead twins, Ghaleb, me, Jabari, Habeeba… That's six… You're pregnant?!"

Mrs. Fadoula nods.

"Wait, what?!" she sputters, trying to process the news. "How, when? What?"

"Do you really want to know how?" her mother quirks an eyebrow mischievously.

"Mom, NO!" Yasmina exclaims, leaning back. "I don't ever want to know those details!"

Her mother cackles. "Sorry, couldn't help myself."

"How… How long have you known?" the amputee asks in shock.

"I took a pregnancy test a few days ago," she says. "While you were with Mrs. Vetrovs, I had my first ultrasound. I know you've been upset when your siblings find out things before you, so your Dad and I thought I should tell you first."

"I… uh… How… How far along are you? Do you know what it is? Wait, is it too early to tell the gender?" Yasmina stutters.

"Eighteen weeks," she shrugs. "The doctor is pretty sure it's—"

"Eighteen weeks?!" her daughter exclaims. "That's like, four or five months! How did you not know beforehand?!"

"Well, when I first started getting nausea, it was around the time you disappeared on the island," her mother sighs. "For a while, I attributed the nausea and irregular cycle to stress and grief. Then when we went traveling around to help you guys, I completely ignored the signs. But after bringing you back home and settling into our new house, and I still didn't get my cycle, I figured something was up."

Yasmina is still in shock. "Boy or girl?"

"We're pretty sure it's a girl," she smiles.

Yasmina can't figure out how to close her mouth. A feeling rises up inside her; she isn't sure what. Something overwhelming and strong. Tears begin to spill out and she starts to cry.

"The due date is August sixteenth," her mother informs her.

This only makes the feeling stronger… But it wasn't happiness. It was the same feeling of shame she felt when she thought about her leg. Why did having another sister bring on this feeling? Why did the idea of having another sibling make her feel like a failure?

Her mother notices that it's not tears of happiness. "What's wrong?"

Yasmina shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. "I don't know…"

"Do you not want another sibling?" she asks.

"I don't know…" the amputee cries. "I just… I don't know…"

"I know it wasn't exactly planned," Mrs. Fadoula says. "It will be very chaotic, especially with Roxie still being trained. Your Father and I—"

Before she can process what she was thinking, Yasmina blurts out, "He's not my father."

The two sit there in shock for a second, before the amputee finishes her thought. "But… he is… hers…"

"Is that what this is about?" her mother asks quietly.

"I… I don't…" she sniffs.

"Just let it out," Mrs. Fadoula says. "Even if it isn't coherent. Just say it. Sometimes trying to talk about something and explain it to someone else can help you figure out what you're truly feeling. Holding in the problem hasn't helped… I'm not going to force you to do anything, but if you want to rant, I'll listen. I won't talk. I'll let you go on."

The amputee sobs. "I don't know… I wish I did… It would make things easier…"

"Knowing is half the battle," her mother nods.

"I want to know… I want to be able to talk about it…"

"Just say what's on your mind. Doesn't have to make sense. We can go over everything later. Just let it out."

"How do I start?"

"Anything. Is there something you want to tell me? How about you start with what you said before. The comment about Rashid not being your real father."

Yasmina sits in silence for a bit, staring at the wall and wiping away her tears as she tries to collect her thoughts. "He's not my biological father… I'm not his biological child… but she is… She's his real daughter… I… I can't compare to her… How can I compare? I'm his step-daughter! Why would he love me now that he's got her?!"

Her mother's face changes to an expression of shock, but she keeps her promise and doesn't say anything.

"He won't ever love me the same," Yasmina rants through tears. "How can he?! I'm not the perfect daughter, and now my limb has made it worse! She'll be completely whole! She'll be healthy and strong and everything that I'm not! How can he love me when he has her! How can he love me when I'm such a disappointment!"

Mrs. Fadoula bites her lip as she blinks back tears.

"My own father didn't even love me!" Yasmina wails, causing her dog to come over to the couch. "How can someone who's not related to me love me, then?! I was a disappointment to him, and now I'm a disappointment to my step-dad! I… I'm a failure… always have been…"

"Yasmina…" her mother says softly, a bit shocked by the outburst.

"Why did you have to marry him?!" the amputee snaps. "Why does he have to be my father?! Is that why I'm not good enough?! Is that why I'm a failure?!" Her voice falters. "How can… how can my step-dad love me… when I'm the product of… that…"

"He molested me, Mom…" she sobs. "He… he touched me… Because I ran away… because I didn't accept my punishment… for being a horrible daughter…" She stares at the wall, hands shaking as she remembers the encounter. "I wasn't good enough… and now I'll never be good enough for any man… I'm used… Filthy… I… How can anyone want me after that…"

"Yasmina," her mother whispers. "You're not used. It's not your fault, and you don't have to be ashamed about what happened. You don't need to feel guilty for it… It's not your fault."

"Did you know?" the amputee asks, barely above a whisper.

Her mother is silent. "I… Not for sure… There were times when I questioned what he was doing… but I never knew for sure…"

"Why didn't you say anything?!" Yasmina wails. "Why did you stand by and let him treat us like that?!"

"I—"

"Did you not love us?" Yasmina asks, her voice cracking. "Did you not care?"

"I… I was scared…" her mother admits. "There was no escape… felt like it, at least… I was afraid he would hurt you more if I rebelled…"

"I…" the amputee pants, feeling horrible and angry at the same time. "I… I never… never want to become a mother like you… scared of my husband… scared for my own life to the point where I can't stick up for the ones I love…"

She sniffs. "I guess… I've kinda… sort of already become that… I can't do anything to help my friends now…"

Her mother nods, having heard this part of the rant before. "Be… be careful… Be careful not to let that fear control you… Don't let your fear of being abused prevent you from having any form of relationship."

Yasmina wipes her nose on her sleeve. She knew that she had been heading down that road, before she met the other campers. Scared of falling in love… "I guess… I guess that's fair…"

"Being independent is a good thing," her mother says, stroking a lock of hair behind her daughter's ear. "But so is relying on others. We need to have a balance between being dependent and independent."

Yasmina nods, squeezing her eyes shut.

"As for the… the molestation, it doesn't mean you're a bad person," she sighs. "You don't need to be ashamed, although I understand it. Being forced into something that you didn't want… especially at a young age where you can't consent… doesn't make you a bad person. If you want to get married when you're older, you'll find a man who will love you and not care what happened in the past. It doesn't reflect who you are, and it shouldn't matter. It didn't matter to Rashid… He still married me… And I had four kids with another man. He doesn't care. He still loves me. And he loves you, Yasmina."

Her mother gently lifts her daughter's head to make eye contact. "Why do you think your step-father wouldn't love you?"

The amputee grabs a tissue from the coffee table. "I could probably just blow my nose on you, Roxie," she says, looking down at the fluffy Husky beneath her feet.

Noticing that the humans were giving her attention, the Husky yips up a storm.

"What do you want?" Mrs. Fadoula asks, holding the dogs snout closed to keep her from biting her and her daughter.

Roxie pulls her snout out from her grasp, howls a complaint, and trots off to lay in front of the fireplace.

"Uhh…" Yasmina stutters, blowing her nose and chuckling at her dog. "I… It… I just… How can he? My… my biological dad didn't love me… How can a man who's not related to me love me like a father? … My own father couldn't… And now… now I'm disabled…"

"Why would that change anything?"

"Well… now I can't run… Can't walk… Can't do anything athletic…"

"You think that's the only thing that matters to him?"

Yasmina is silent. "Islam was very important to my biological dad… I was always a disappointment there… I was never the perfect Muslim… never the perfect daughter… Athletics and sports are very important to my step-dad… He was always so proud of me when I would run… How can he be proud of me now? How can he love me now?"

"Yasmina," her mother says in shock. "... You think that… that… you have to earn our love? His love?"

The amputee pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs them close. "No… Well… not really… I guess… Yeah… maybe I do…"

"That's not how a parent's love should work," Mrs. Fadoula says. "A parent's love should be unconditional. That means you don't have to earn it, and you can't lose it. I love you, Yasmina, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I may not be happy with the decisions you make, or I might be disappointed, but I will always love you."

A tear slips out the amputee's right eye, then her left.

"It doesn't matter how well you do at track, it doesn't matter how well you behave, it doesn't even matter if you've committed a crime or not," she continues. "I will always love you. And that's how your step-father feels, too. The way your biological father treated you wasn't okay. It wasn't normal or right. You shouldn't have to perform to earn our love. You shouldn't have to run your hardest to earn our love, and losing your leg doesn't mean you lose our love. If losing your leg meant we didn't love you as much, do you think we would have moved?"

Yasmina chuckles softly. "Good point…"

"You are not a disappointment or a failure," her mother assures her. "Why would losing your leg make us disappointed in you? Do you think Darius's mother is disappointed in him for breaking his leg?"

"No."

"Do you think Sammy's parents are disappointed in her for becoming paralyzed?"

"No…"

"So why would we be any different with you?"

Yasmina wipes her eyes.

"While we're on that subject, do you have to earn your friends love?" her mother asks. "Do you have to earn Brooklynn's love? Ben's?"

"I… I don't know…" the amputee murmurs. "I don't think so… Part of me thinks so, and part of me doesn't…"

Her mother pulls her into a hug. Like a little child, Yasmina curls up on her lap and cries on her shoulder. "This isn't how parents and friends act, Yasmina… We—specifically parents—should love you unconditionally. Without reason. Without rules and conditions. This idea that you have to prove yourself worthy of our love… It's a negative thought process reinforced by your biological father's toxic behavior."

Yasmina shakes with sobs in her mothers arms.

"You're not a disappointment or a failure," her mother assures her. "Just because you're missing a leg, doesn't mean we've stopped loving you. Just because you're struggling, doesn't mean we don't love you. Just because you have PTSD, doesn't mean we hate you. And just because we'll have another baby in the house doesn't mean we'll neglect you. We might be busy, but we still love you and we'll make time for you. We won't love your new sister more than you."

Yasmina leans into her mothers embrace, comforted by her words.

"Maybe you should talk to your step-father about how you're feeling," Mrs. Fadoula suggests, stroking her daughter's forehead. "He wants to be your father. He wants to cheer you on and be there for you. You can talk to him."

The amputee nods sleepily.

"Gosh, I can't believe you'll be sixteen in less than two weeks," her mother murmurs. "I used to hold you like this when you were a little toddler…"

Yasmina murmurs in agreement, drifting off to sleep. She vaguely recalls her step-father and brothers walking through the front door. Someone lifts her and carries her into her room as she drifts into oblivion.

Unfortunately, it was not a peaceful oblivion.

"You are such a disappointment!" her step-father roars, knocking a glass off the table in rage.

Yasmina curls up on the floor, bowing before him in fear.

"You're nothing to me," he growls.

"Please!" she begs. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry I'm not worthy… forgive me…"

"Run," he hisses.

Yasmina looks up. She was back in the lab on the island. The dark, metal halls were ominous and threatening as she looked around at her options. She was in the middle of a four-way crossing. Red lights on the ceiling flickered, casting a sinister glow around the place.

The amputee could hear the Scorpius rex's breath echoing throughout the place. She spins around, searching for her assailant. "Failure… Unworthy… Disappointment…" breathy, disembodied voices reverberate through the vents.

"It's in the vents…" she whispers, looking up in preparation for the attack.

Beneath her, something snaps at her leg. Yasmina looks down to find the Scorpius rex crawling out from the vent beneath her, her amputation in it's mouth. She screams and struggles to get away.

"Yasmina!"

The amputee's eyes fly open. Ghaleb is leaning over her, shaking her awake in concern. The door bursts open and her parents rush in. "What's wrong?!" her mother asks in concern. "You were screaming!"

She pants. "I… nightmare…"

The three relax. "Okay…" her mother sighs. "Do you need anything? Want us to stay with you?"

"No… I think I'm fine…" she murmurs, rolling over on her side.

Her parents leave after checking with her again, and Ghaleb lays back down in bed. Her older brother checks on her multiple times, before falling asleep tiredly.

Yasmina stares at her clock anxiously, watching as the time ticks by. She becomes increasingly depressed and anxious as she thinks over her dream and her conversation with her mother. Thoughts bombard her with negative feelings and shame.

"I'm horrible… awful… a failure…"

"My family and friends are better off without me…"

"Why should I go on? If life is like this—flashbacks, nightmares, depression, and my utter uselessness—what's the point of moving forward?!"

"I'm not even a good friend… a good daughter… I'm nothing but trouble for my friends and family… Why should I continue on?! I can't suck it up and just walk! I can't do things on my own! I'm useless and needy! Nobody needs me in this world! Why should I go on?!"

Yasmina rolls over on her back, staring up at the ceiling with tears in her eyes. Her breath was rapid and she felt like she would have a panic attack. Perhaps she already was…

Suicidal thoughts overtake her mind and visions of ways to end it roll through. The thoughts were so overwhelming, so tempting, that the amputee had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. In the back of her head, she knew that her family would want her to wake them. Ghaleb would want her to shake him awake…

But she couldn't bring herself to do it. "They've suffered enough sleep loss between me and the puppy," guilt snaps. "I don't need to wake them! I'll just be a burden and prolong the end! I'm useless to them! They'd all be better off without me!"

The idea of ending her life becomes even more tempting. "Just stop!" she wails in her head, gripping her hair and curling into the fetal position on her side. "Stop these thoughts! Please, I can't take this anymore!"

"It's never going to end… I have to end it… as long as I live, I'll have these thoughts… This won't go away! I can't stay here!" suicide wails.

Yasmina buries her face in her pillow, muffling her sobs and suffocating herself at the same time. Through her cries, she hears her phone buzz.

The amputee lifts her head. Ghaleb stirs next to her, and she turns her head to look at him. He wasn't awake, but she could change that…

"He needs sleep…" guilt bemoans, causing her partially outstretched hand to retreat.

Deciding to let her brother sleep, Yasmina picks up her phone from her nightstand and opens it. The screen blinds her for a moment before her eyes adjust. It was a text from Ben. "John 8:1-11," it read.

The amputee knew enough to recognize that it was a Bible verse, though she had no idea why he had sent it to her. "What if he knows what I'm going through… What if this will help?" hope breathes.

Jumping at the chance of help before her negative feelings could stop her, Yasmina quickly searches up the reference. She skips over the first couple of verses to get to the more exciting parts. "The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery," she reads in her head. "They made her stand before the group and said to Jesus—"

"Oops, wrong person," Ben texts, interrupting her reading. "Sorry."

Doubt enters her mind. "This won't help me… he didn't send it to me for a reason. It was a mistake!"

"Not that you can't read it, just meant to send it to someone else," Ben replies quickly, almost as if he had a psychic connection with her and could feel the effects it had on her.

Despite the letdown, Yasmina still clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, whatever Ben sent her could assist her through her horrible time. It helped that the word "adultery" had caught her attention.

"They made her stand before the group and said to Jesus, 'Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery,'" she continues. "'In the Law Moses commands us to stone such women. Now what do you say?' They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him. But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, 'Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.' Again he stooped down and wrote on the ground."

Her phone turns off, and she logs back in again to continue.

"At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. Jesus straightened up and asked her, 'Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?' 'No one, sir,' she said. 'Then neither do I condemn you,' Jesus declared. 'Go now and leave your life of sin.'"

Yasmina rests her phone on her stomach and lays on her back, thinking over what she had read. "Then neither do I condemn you," repeats.

"My own father didn't love me… How could my step-father love me?" her doubt asks. "How could a god—the one who created the universe—love me? I'm so unworthy… so filthy… How could he love me? How could he forgive me? Why would he help me? He doesn't owe me anything!"

"He didn't owe the adulterous woman anything, either…" another thought pops in. "Yet, he still forgave her and saved her from her accusers…"

Yasmina blinks back tears. For as long as she could remember, she was under the impression that sleeping around before marriage was punishable in the Christian community. She'd heard stories of girls getting kicked out of Catholic schools because they were pregnant. But now… she wasn't sure if those were rumors or just extremely crazy schools…

"Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law Moses commands us to stone such women," the Bible passage comes back.

"'Then neither do I condemn you,' Jesus declared. 'Go now and leave your life of sin.'"

Since remembering her encounter with her father, Yasmina had felt shame and guilt. The amputee had kept it a secret out of fear that people would look at her differently. She kept it a secret out of the fear that people would look at her the way she looked at herself…

Going to the Catholic church with Ben and his family felt like walking through a minefield. She had the paranoid fear that they would read her mind, hear her thoughts, know her secrets. She was scared that they would judge her. Tell her she sinned. Remind her that she wasn't worth anything because of the way her father treated her.

"'Then neither do I condemn you. Go now and leave your life of sin.'" comes back.

Yasmina knew she shouldn't be condemned for what happened as a child. She had no say in it, she wasn't willingly going along. She was the victim, and the victim shouldn't be criminalized… Even though her head knew that, she still felt guilty.

"It's not as bad as adultery… And here we have the supposedly judging Christ forgiving a woman of it…" a still, small voice says.

The amputee wipes her tears on the bed sheet. If she was going to rate sexual sins in terms of "most sinful," she'd put rape and assault as the highest. Any form of forcing another human being into something sexual they didn't consent to should be the worst. Next, she'd place adultery. A marriage was like a stronger, more loyal friendship, in her mind. Adultery was like breaking your spouse's trust and betraying them—highly immoral in her mind. After that, she'd put sleeping around before marriage in third place. The idea was wrong in her mind—she couldn't stand the idea of being with a husband, much less someone she hardly trusted or just met—but it wasn't her business, and she wouldn't outwardly judge someone for committing that act.

As for being forced into something sexual she didn't consent to, Yasmina wouldn't even name it a sin. "A victim shouldn't feel guilty for something they were forced into," she thinks sadly. "The victim of murder isn't made to feel bad for being killed… course they're dead, but the point still stands."

She chuckles through tears. "So why can't I forgive myself? Here in the Bible, they're saying Jesus forgave a woman of breaking her husband's trust and betraying him… I didn't have a choice in anything that happened to me, yet I'm still blaming myself… And I know I shouldn't… Why? … What is wrong with me?"

Deciding there was no other hope or option, Yasimna crawls out of bed and sinks to her knees in desperation. Kneeling next to her bed, she clasps her hands together against the mattress in prayer. "God…" she whispers in a thick, brittle voice. "I… I can't do this… I can't handle these feelings… They're overwhelming… I don't know what's going on… I don't know what's wrong with me… Please… show me what's wrong… I know I'm not supposed to feel this way, but I can't stop it… I can't stop blaming myself… I can't stop wanting to end it… I don't want to end it, but I do… I don't want to leave my friends… and I know that they need me… but I feel like they don't at the same time… Please… help… Help me…"

She rests her head against her hands, sobbing as quietly as she could. "Please… If you're real… show me this unconditional love you have… I don't know what it's like… Please forgive me… I'm not worthy… worthy of anything you can offer… But… if this book is true… Then you gave it all for me… I don't deserve it… But I need it… Please, help me… I can't ever earn it, but I promise to follow you and be your humble servant if you help me, please…"

"I'm so pathetic, only asking for help when I need it," a faint, disembodied voice speaks.

Yasmina whips her head around and anxiously scans the room. She could've sworn someone else was in the room…

"I deserve to go to Hell…" another voice speaks.

Yasmina looks under her bed and crawls over to her closet to search for a hidden person or monster. "Who are you?" she hisses, convinced someone was in her room. Those voices sounded like her depressed thoughts, but they didn't sound like they were in her head. They sounded like monsters or other people in her bedroom.

"I don't deserve to live," the voices hiss, more joining into a chorus of depressing thoughts.

Yasmina covers her ears and shuts out all noises, but she can still hear the voices as clear as day. They were the same thoughts she had heard over and over and over again for months now… "These thoughts aren't your own," relief speaks. "These are not your thoughts… They are foreign… They aren't you…"

"This isn't me," the amputee whispers with relief. "I'm… I'm not fighting myself, I'm fighting… whatever these thoughts are from… this is a sickness… not my own soul… I'm not fighting me… I'm fighting an illness…"

Yasmina covers her mouth as tears of relief and happiness slip out, despite her suicidal and depressed thoughts. It was a relief to realize she wasn't wrestling with herself; although she didn't know what she was wrestling with, it wasn't her. The amputee had always found it easier to fight against someone else than herself.

Yasmina recalls a conversation with her brother from years ago, when she was just starting to get serious about track racing. "I need to control my diet…" Yasmina sighed, staring at her plate at breakfast. "Eat healthier… More calories for running… but I don't want to…"

"You need to have better self-control," Ghaleb commented.

"You try controlling yourself…" she muttered.

"I can do it," Ghaleb smirked.

"Don't antagonize your sister," their mother said. "Self-control is hard for some while easier for others."

"Ha! So Yazzy is a weakling," Ghaleb smirked, throwing her a haughty look.

Something rose up inside her at that moment. "Watch me," she spat.

At that moment, something had changed. Sure, it wasn't easy to control her diet and she had setbacks, but her competitiveness won out. The amputee figured out from that moment that if someone challenged her or told her that she couldn't do something, it was fuel to push through and prove them wrong. That was how she persevered through her challenges on track. She'd take the hate comments and the negative statements given to her, and use it to fuel that competitive rage inside her that allowed her to push through.

If she was struggling with something, more often than not she would go to her brother. She'd tell him what she was struggling with, and he'd laugh and tell her she couldn't do it. Without fail, the competitive feeling would rise up and Yasmina would set to work proving him wrong. Sometimes it would take a lot of challenging for that feeling to rise up, but nevertheless, it would. There was something about her older brother telling her she couldn't do something that made her want to do it more. At first, her parents chastised Ghaleb for not being encouraging to his sister, but after explaining to them that she wanted him to, and seeing the results, they backed off. Both of them knew what was going on and there were no ill intentions on Ghaleb's part.

"These aren't my thoughts," she thinks again. "Whatever they are, they're not mine… Even if they're just a mental illness, I can still pretend that they're someone else."

Inspired, Yasmina finds her old notebook and flips it open. She gets distracted by the things she had written in it. Most of the writing was quotes from Ghaleb telling her she couldn't do something. There were many other quotes from boys and girls in her school, though. "You can't outrun me, you're a girl," one jerk said at her old school.

"But, like, you just started running, you won't be able to make it to that competition," another petty girl said.

Next to or under each quote was how she proved that person wrong. "September 12, 2014, I beat Cameron in a race, four months after he said I couldn't because I was a girl. March 4, 2010, I just barely made it into the competition Darcy said I couldn't get into."

By the time she had finished reading everything, she was already feeling much better and less suicidal. Remembering everything that she supposedly couldn't do, then remembering how she defeated that challenge was invigorating. Still, she continues on with her original task. "If I can consider depression, suicidal thoughts, and other negative feelings as challenges, maybe I can improve my situation drastically," she thinks.

The amputee searches through her phone for names, and gives every negative feeling that had been tormenting her a name. "Thana… suicidal thoughts," she murmurs, writing a log in her notebook to keep track of which thoughts were which. "Mara… depression… Jabez will be guilt… Jezebel, the feeling of shame… and Das, the feeling of inadequacy."

She begins to write in her notebook. "March 15, 2016. Thana: You should just end your life. You're not worth it. Mara: You are a burden to your friends and family. You're worthless and a disappointment to them. Jabez: You're a horrible friend. You fail to protect your friends, and you made your family move. You're a dirty slut, and no one will ever love you that way. Das: I won't ever be able to walk. I'm such a disappointment."

As more and more thoughts come to her, Yasmina writes them down. After about thirty minutes, she stops. Her mind felt empty, and the thoughts were deflated. Looking back over her writing, it felt different. Seeing names associated with the thoughts, as if they were other people, made her see them differently. Sure, they still hurt, but they didn't give the emotional weight that they used to.

She sighs. "Maybe this is what Miss Anita was talking about," she murmurs, remembering what the therapist said about releasing her emotions and feelings.

Looking at the clock, she realizes that it's past one. Getting on her knees next to her bed, she clasps her hands together again, this time with relief and gratitude. "Thank you… Oh, thank you, God," she whispers. "Thank you for showing me that I'm not fighting myself… Thank you…"

Climbing into bed, she curls up and falls right into undisturbed, peaceful sleep.

---

"Wait, wait, back up!" Kenji starts cackling. "What did you say?!"

Ben's face turns red. "N-Nothing…"

"Did you just say…" the older boy whispers, a stupid, mischievous grin creeping onto his face. "That… when we were stuck in the mud pit… and Yaz was pulling us out… that time slowed down?"

"... No…" Ben says very unconvincingly.

Kenji grins in a sinister, mischievous way. "Time slowed down for you… while watching her… be awesome."

"No," Ben insists, his blush increasing as he realizes his mistake.

Kenji snickers as they walk along the sidewalk. "You were lOvEstrUck!"

"No," Ben says forcefully, trying to hide the embarrassed grin creeping onto his face.

The older boy cackles even more. "Heuheuheu, so the rain was falling slowly as she dramatically flipped her hair out of the way, deep in concentration as she heroically pulled the rest of us out!"

"You're making it way more dramatic then it was," Ben crosses his arms.

"Her hair, drenched," Kenji continues on in a quirky, Shakespeare way. "The rain, running down her face. Her face, hard with determination! Stoic and furious, yet… attractive at the same time!"

"No…" Ben sighs, even though Kenji had basically painted his entire memory of the event.

"Ben gapes at this gorgeous heroine!" Kenji exclaims, kneeling on the ground and speaks to a non-existent audience. "His jaw drops and rain collects in his mouth as he drools over his friend. He knows that he shall never be able to love her the way his heart desires to, for the heroine was too afraid of falling head-over-heels in love!"

"You sound like Shakespeare reading fanfiction," Ben comments, his face turning bright red.

Kenji wheezes. "I blame it on the donuts we had. They might be gluten free, but they had caffeine."

"You're like this on a normal day, don't blame it on your food," Ben points out with laughter.

"Fair enough," he nods. "Still, I'm calling it. If Yaz starts working out, you'll see her in slow mo. Her sweaty hair blowing in the breeze, her muscles, rippling!"

"Enough! She's like your sister!" Ben sighs exasperatedly, opening the front door to the Fadoula's house.

Mrs. Fadoula, Darius, Sammy, and Brooklynn greet them. "So, we're all here, but Yaz isn't, and this is her home…" Brooklynn frowns.

"She skipped school at the end of the day," Sammy points out.

"She had an appointment," Mrs. Fadoula says. "Somebody cancelled at the last minute and we were able to get her in this morning. Usually it can take weeks or months to get in… It was like it was meant to be."

"What was it for—" Ben starts to ask.

"Where were you two at school today?" Darius interrupts.

"Suspended for the rest of the week, remember?" Kenji raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, right," he nods. "What did you guys do today?"

"Found a good gluten free donut shop because BEN—" Kenji shoots his friend a glare, "—hasn't had donuts in FIVE years!"

Brooklynn chuckles bitterly. "Nice, you guys get donuts and we get torture called school. I don't see the harm in pulling out and going homeschooled."

"If you guys keep getting into fights, you might end up expelled and we'll have to," Mrs. Fadoula rolls her eyes.

"Keep fighting!" Brooklynn's eyes light up.

"No," Mrs. Fadoula says sternly.

"Oh," Darius says, pulling something out of his pocket. "I think Ghaleb left his watch at my house last night. Brand asked me to give it to him."

"He's working out in the garage," Mrs. Fadoula says, wiping down the kitchen counters.

Ghaleb pokes his head around the corner of the hallway. "I'm right here," he chuckles.

A look of confusion sets on her face. "Wait, Rashid!"

Yasmina's step-father turns around, having been sitting on the couch. "Yeah, hun?"

Yasmina's mother tilts her head in confusion. "If both of you are in here, and Jabari's playing his instruments in his room—" a timely, out-of-tune tuba noise comes from down the hall, "—and Habeeba is in her room, who's in the garage?"

The group gives each other a look of confusion. "Yaz, maybe?" Sammy frowns.

"Maybe…" Mrs. Fadoula says, approaching the garage door and opening it. The others follow to look in.

Yasmina was doing mountain climbers with a block underneath her left knee so that she didn't contort her posture or injure her stump. She had on a black sports bra and grey, loose booty shorts. For the first time since the island, her hair was up in a ponytail. It was in a bit of a disarray from her exercise, and shorter, sweat-soaked wisps were hanging in her face as she worked out. Her face was in deep concentration as she listened to whatever was playing through her earphones.

Her movements were strangely slow, as if someone had taken a video of her and slowed it down. She looked so strong, so focused as she moved; every crunch was precise and powerful.

Snapped out of his thoughts, Ben feels someone touching his chin. He blinks rapidly and focuses on Kenji, who was manually shutting his jaw. The boy realizes he had been gaping at his athletic friend, and turns pink.

"Slow mo?" Kenji mouths with a grin.

"Not. A. Word," Ben mouths back with a glare.

Kenji's eyes widen and he nods. Through his head, he gestures to Ghaleb standing next to Ben. It was clear the only reason he wasn't brutally teasing Ben was Yasmina's older brother being in their presence.

Yasmina notices the group watching her and takes out her earphones. "Oh… How long have you been watching me?"

"When did you start working out?" Brooklynn asks, leaning against the wall.

"After my limb fitting appointment," the athlete grins. "Thought I'd build up my strength by getting back into exercising. It's got a lot of benefits, and if I want to be a professional athlete after I get my leg, I need to be strong."

"Wait, hol up," Darius says, leaning on one crutch. He shakes his head with a grin of shock, making the others laugh in agreement. "Start over from the top. What? You're getting your leg and working out?"

Yasmina laughs. "Oh, come on, guys, you know me. I can't let this stop me." She gestures to her left leg. "This morning, I waltzed into the kitchen and told my parents I wanted to finally get fitted for a prosthetic leg."

"Strongly told us," Mrs. Fadoula pipes up.

"By some miracle, we were able to get in this afternoon," the athlete continues. "They took a scan of my leg stump, and in a couple weeks, a temporary leg should be ready for me to use. Then I'll have an appointment to learn how to walk with my prosthesis. She's actually the older sister of Miss Anita."

"W-whoa, really?" Sammy sputters in shock.

"Yep," Yasmina nods. "I want you guys to be with me when I take my first steps. All of you: Mom, Dad, brothers and sister, and friends. We'll have the Rocky training montage song playing as I take my first steps."

The Fadoula's chuckle, having already gotten over the shock in the morning. Her friends, on the other hand, are still confused. "Wait, wait, start from the very beginning," Brooklynn says. "You were the one who was adamantly against getting a leg. Where'd the switch come from?"

"Oh, yeah, that," she laughs. "I had a revelation last night. Realized that a good portion of my thoughts in the day aren't my own. Not sure what they are… a mental illness or something… regardless, it's not my own thoughts attacking me. Depression and guilt and suicidal thoughts aren't my own. I… I find it easier to fight against other opinions than my own. Kinda hard to fight against negative thoughts when they consume your mind and you think it's yourself."

"So how are you going to fight against them, now?" Brooklynn asks.

"Well, when I was competing in track, I would use negative comments as fuel to do better," the athlete explains. "I'm a pretty competitive person, so when others tell me I can't do something, it makes me want to do it more and prove them wrong. I'm going to try giving the thoughts that torment me a name and write down whatever they tell me as a quote. Hopefully I'll see it as someone else and be determined not to listen to them."

"Sounds a bit crazy, but at this point, it's worth a shot," Kenji chuckles.

"I mean, it worked last night and got me through suicidal urges," Yasmina shrugs.

"Wait, you were feeling suicidal last night and didn't wake any of us up?" her mother interrupts.

"I was sleeping right next to you!" Ghaleb protests worriedly.

"I didn't want to wake any of you…" she grins sheepishly. "I feel bad waking you guys up all the time with nightmares and crap."

"I'd rather you wake us then end everything," her mother says.

"I know," the athlete sighs. "I'm trying to work on it."

"You can text us, too, ya know," Sammy pipes up. The other campers nod in agreement.

"I can give you Mrs. Vetrovs' number if you want," her mother offers.

"I think that'd be good," Yasmina nods.

"So… you named all of your negative feelings?" Brooklynn asks, furrowing her eyebrows.

The athlete nods. "Thana is suicidal thoughts because 'Thana' means 'death.' Mara is depression and Jabez is guilt because they both mean 'bitter or sorrow.' Jezebel is shame because of the… negative connotations… Das is the feeling of failure or inadequacy because 'Das' means 'servant.' Originally, I thought about 'Rue' being guilt because it means 'regret,' but I honestly can't picture Rue as anything other than the Hunger Games character."

Kenji starts chuckling. "So, I'm a name geek, shut up," she snaps.

"That's the Yaz we know," Darius laughs.

"Sad backwards is das, and das not good," Kenji grins, giving her finger guns. This earns him her sweaty towel thrown at him.

"So, you've really come back," Ben smiles softly.

"Well, I'm sure there will be relapses back into depression, and I'm still not over my suicidal thoughts," Yasmina sighs. "But I've found motivation to overcome it. I mean, I had motivation, but it wasn't really strong enough. I also didn't have a way to fight back or resist, and now I have at least an idea. So… yeah, I've come back."

The group applauds her.

"And if I start getting lethargic and not wanting to exercise and get up and do stuff, make me!" she continues. "Cause depression sucks, and I've decided that I don't need to let it control me! For goodness sake, I couldn't even get dressed properly in the morning sometimes! You guys had to brush my hair cause I wouldn't do it! I'm not gonna let myself fall so deep that I can't keep up with personal hygiene! That's just contradictory to it! Also, awkward side note, but I shaved my legs for the first time since before the island and they feel amazing!"

The girls start laughing while the boys shoot each other confused and amused glances.

"I know it's off topic, but I'm just very happy about that," Yasmina laughs. "Anyways, I'm the warrior on the front line with depression, but I need backup for when I become tired from fighting. Sometimes it's hard to admit that… I don't usually like asking for help, and now I end up feeling guilty about it… But I really need it sometimes."

"The first step in solving a problem is recognizing it," her step-father says, approaching her and crouching down. "Now you've recognized the problem, and are actively working to attack it. We're all willing and ready to stand with you, but Yazzy, you're so strong. When you put your mind to it, nothing can stop you. I'm sure in no time, you'll be on top of the world. And even if you're not, it's okay. I'm so proud of you."

Yasmina smiles as tears spill out, and her step-father pulls her into a great big bear hug. She wraps her arms around his hulking shoulders and lets out a relieved, happy sob. Those words meant so much to her. They meant the world. They gave her courage, comfort and encouragement. She wanted to stay in that moment, hugging him and hearing those words. She wanted to remember that feeling of her father-figure being proud of her forever. She wished she could somehow trap that memory in a jar so she could relive it whenever she wanted to.

"What changed?" her step-father asks, pulling back. "What made it dawn on you?"

Yasmina is about to say "I prayed to God and my perspective on the voices in my head changed," but doubt enters. "Gosh, imagine how stupid that will sound. He'll think I'm crazy… most of them will… I was desperate for help last night… Willing to receive help from anyone… Maybe… Maybe I was just that: desperate. So desperate and vulnerable, that when I prayed, my mind was finally open to the solution that was always there… I was just unable to see it until now… I mean, Dad believes that I'm strong and can put my mind to anything and conquer it… What will he think if I tell him I prayed to the Christian God?"

"Um… I… I don't know," she bites her lip. "I guess… I guess the answer was always there… I just… couldn't see it until last night…"

"I'm just glad you changed, no matter how you came to the conclusion," he smiles, standing up.

"She's had her phoenix moment!" Kenji declares.

"Eh?" Yasmina tilts her head.

"Metaphorical," Ben butts in. "I guess this situation could be described like a caged bird. We can offer you the key, and even unlock your cage for you, but if you don't take flight yourself, there's nothing we can do."

"I was referring to the phoenix rising from the ashes, but I like yours better," the older boy grins.

"Heh, I think it's time I take flight," Yasmina smiles.

"Welp, you still in the middle of your workout?" her step-father asks. She nods. "Want us to help you out? We both know your Mom will be worried about you and your leg."

"Be very careful, and don't strain yourself too hard," Mrs. Fadoula warns.

"That's not the point of working out, Mom," Yasmina argues. She still complies and allows her friends and family to help her workout. Sometimes the others would join in with her.

That night over dinner at the Gutierrez house, Yasmina announces that she's getting a prosthetic leg. A chorus of voices and questions confront her. "Will you be taller with your new leg?" Shelby asks curiously.

"Shouldn't be," Yasmina frowns. "If both legs were missing, maybe, but it would be difficult to walk if one was taller than the other."

"If I lost both legs, I'd want to be six foot," Kenji comments, slyly kicking Jabari under the table and causing a kicking war.

"You're not six foot," Yasmina frowns, mishearing him.

"Ow!" Kenji laughs as the adults stop the two boys from continuing their war. "Of course, I am."

"No, you're five, ten," the athlete says, genuinely confused.

"What are you talking about? I've been six foot this whole time," Kenji grins mischievously.

Confusion turns to frustration and irritation. "No, you're five, ten," Yasmina insists.

"Nope, six foot," the alpha male crosses his arms decisively.

"You liar," the athlete sputters. "You're five, ten."

"No, six foot," he insists.

"Five, ten!" she exclaims. "You give off five, ten energy!"

Kenji laughs. "How do I give off 'five, ten' energy?"

"Five, ten energy is that boy who is sour about being two inches under six foot, so he wears two inch sole shoes to make himself reach the six foot mark," Yasmina explains.

"That do be the energy you give off Kenji," Brooklynn nods.

"Nope, I'm six foot, one," Kenji changes his height.

"Wh- you just changed it!" Yasmina protests. "Six foot with or without your hair, cause that adds two inches at least!"

Kenji merely cackles.

"Would you two take your argument somewhere else?" Miriam asks.

"Or just let it go," Mrs. Fadoula says.

"No!" Yasmina huffs. "He's incorrect!"

"And why does that bother you?" Ben asks.

"Because it does!" the athlete crosses her arms.

"Typical sibling behavior," Darius pipes up. "He could breathe wrong and it would trigger her. His entire existence is annoying sometimes."

"Yeah, so stop existing!" Yasmina barks out a laugh.

"Or what? You gonna put your foot down?" Kenji grins mischievously, causing a round of laughter.

"Kenji, I'm warning you," she hisses, grinning despite herself.

"Oh, come on, you don't have a leg to stand on," he snickers.

She purses her lips, half furious and half wheezing.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and say you're irritated," he leans back, crossing his arms behind his head. His pun streak was going strong.

"You better shut up," she warns.

"That'll cost you an arm and a leg, and you've only paid half the price!" Kenji exclaims, slipping out of his chair and dashing to the field. As he runs away, he throws up the middle finger at her, not caring about being reprimanded.

"That's it!" Yasmina laughs, getting up from her chair, gathering up her crutches and hobbling after him as fast as she could.

Kenji stops in the middle of the field and grins, watching her struggle to come after him. Every time she gets closer, he moves teasingly just out of range, infuriating her more. Finally, fed up with him evading her, Yasmina drops her crutches and throws herself at him. Kenji can't move out of the way in time, and she slams into his legs, knocking him over. "What do you think about amputee puns now, huh?!" she grins in victory.

"They're still funny," he snickers. "Only if you find them funny, though. And you were laughing."

She snorts. "Fine, they were pretty funny."

She lets go of him and rolls off. The two lay on their backs, watching the sun go down behind the trees. "You're lucky I didn't have my horse castrator," she breaks the silence.

Kenji laughs. "You've claimed it as yours?"

"Mr. Gutierrez said I could have it," Yasmina shrugs, making him wheeze even harder. "I'll carry it around whenever a guy tries to mess with Brooklynn and Sammy."

"Yeah, but it's not like the guy's just going to lay down and let you perform the procedure," he says, wheezing as he hears the ridiculous sentence he was saying.

"True," she shrugs. "That's why I need you and the bro squad to team up with me."

"That's a violation of another male," Kenji laughs. "But depending on what he did, I might help you."

The two snicker at their dark humor. "Just so that we're on the same page, you know this is a joke, right?" Kenji asks.

"Yeah, a castrator wouldn't be the best self-defense tool, anyway," she says, chuckling. "I mean, in a fight, it would pinch, but you kinda have to have someone held down to do it properly, and then it's no longer self defense, really."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't be using it for self defense," he says.

"No, I'd be defending my innocent sisters from the likes of heinous men," she nods.

Kenji winces. "Uhh, speaking of heinous men… mind if I… talk to you?"

"Sure," Yasmina says, getting anxious.

"You know how… I got a girl pregnant about a year or so ago?" he grimaces.

"Yeah…" she murmurs.

"Well… she's come out and accused me of… assaulting her… and threatening and forcing her to keep the baby," Kenji sighs.

"Bulls***," Yasmina tschs.

He chuckles softly. "I… I don't know what to do… I told Ben this morning… you guys are the only ones that know, right now…"

"Don't be ashamed, she's the one in the wrong," Yasmina shrugs.

"I-I know…" he murmurs.

"Then why are you acting ashamed?" she asks.

"I… wonder if she… if she was right…" he admits softly. "Was I… was I threatening? Was I… assaulting her? I don't recall touching her, or even moving towards her… but what if I remember it wrong… I wasn't the greatest kid back then…"

"Kenj, you were a brat, not a bully," Yasmina sputters. "I can't actually see you physically assaulting anyone… verbally, possibly if you were really, really angry. But I honestly can't see you getting angry enough to yell at her for having an abortion. As bad as it sounds, you wanting to keep the child seemed out of character… At that point in time, I would've expected you to ghost her. Threatening her and forcing her to keep the child doesn't sound at all like you in any scenario I can come up with."

Kenji nods, a little hurt by her words, but understands her point.

"And what evidence does she have?" Yasmina continues. "It's not like there's any physical signs. Maybe video footage, depending on where you were at the time… possibly a couple eye witnesses… basically, it's your word against hers."

"That's the problem," he mumbles. "Everyone believes the woman… If a guy gets accused of sexual or any assault, he's automatically guilty for the rest of his life…"

"Only to the world," the athlete says. "And you still have us."

"I'm worried about how Sammy's family will react," the alpha male groans. "Mr. Gutierrez, his brothers, and Holly in particular."

"Honestly, they all trust you," she says. "The one I'd worry about the most is Holly. Besides her, I think everyone has your back."

"That's what Ben said," he sighs.

"Well, do you disagree with him?" Yasmina crosses her arms.

"No… well, not on this subject," Kenji clarifies.

She laughs. "Nooo, you don't agree on everything? I thought you two were twins!"

"Nah, we disagree on religion, mostly…" he chuckles. "That's the main one…"

"Did something happen between you two?" Yasmina asks.

"Mostly just disagreeing on how to help Brook," Kenji shrugs. "He apparently sent her some Bible verse last night… something about Jesus forgiving the adulterous woman. I think he was trying to tell her that since he's trying to be Jesus-like, he'd forgive her no matter what she does. Which I agree with, but the thing I disagree with is his method… She doesn't believe in the Bible like he does, and it… honestly… I feel like that's counterproductive. I think sending her something about a cheating woman would make her feel like he was comparing her to that."

"Yeah…" Yasmina bites her lip. "So that's who Ben meant to send it to last night…"

"He's got a point about the verse, though…" doubt murmurs. "Ben would never imply that, though… not to me or Brooklynn… He was just trying to be nice… truly, it wouldn't help… Surely, there's gotta be SOME sins that are unforgivable… Would it even matter? I'm probably overthinking this whole thing… There was nothing supernatural, probably… And no reason to mention it to Kenji…"

"Wait," the athlete scrunches up her face in confusion. "Why is he trying to show forgiveness to Brooklynn? Did something happen?"

Kenji sighs. "Guess you got some stuff to catch up on."

"Sorry," she winces.

"Eh, it's fine, you were dealing with a lot mentally," the alpha male shrugs. "Well, I talked to Brooklynn some time ago. It was after Leah was grounded by her parents and she can't go on YouTube. Brooklynn became defensive of Leah."

"Became defensive of Leah?" Yasmina interrupts. "As in defending her?"

"Yeah, somewhat," he nods. "When I asked her why, she snapped and stormed off."

"That's weird…" the athlete murmurs.

"Sammy, Ben, and now Darius have had the same experience with her," he sighs. "We hit a nerve and she snaps hurtfully. She said some hurtful things to Sammy and Ben. Not sure what she said to Darius two days ago… all I know from him is that it seems like she's still trying to impress Leah. And she seems to feel like she did something wrong to Leah."

Yasmina groans, putting her hand to her forehead. "Great… She really shouldn't. I mean, I get that Leah was emotionally abusive and manipulative, and sometimes it's hard for victims of that to leave, or even recognize it as abusive… But I thought she was mad at Leah and standing up to her…"

"Hmm, you got a point there," Kenji says, chewing on his lip. "So you think Leah is like one of those abusive exes? The ones that keep their partner coming back, even after all the manipulation and abuse?"

"Yeah, but the friend version, if you can even call Leah a friend," Yasmina gags. "From what I understand, it was Leah who made Brooklynn famous, and she was like an older sister… It's probably really, really hard for Brook to let that friendship go, even after all the abuse."

"Yeah, that might be what's it," Kenji nods. "Good point. We were thinking Leah was threatening her or something."

"Don't put it past her," Yasmina says quickly.

"Yeah, but looking back, your explanation makes a lot of sense," he shrugs. "Getting defensive of her abuser, shutting down and getting angry when we try to talk to her about it, still in the mindset of pleasing Leah and feeling like she did something wrong… Plus, Leah is grounded and lost technology privileges, so it'd be hard for her to threaten Brooklynn."

"She'd find a way, trust me," Yasmina says. "But yeah, the manipulated victim seems like the most likely option. Don't throw blackmail off the table, though."

"We won't, but I like your perspective on things," he smiles.

"Oh, and about the accusations, are they official? Like are you going to court?" she asks.

"Not that I know of… it's really more of her coming out with a video and telling her story," he murmurs.

"Sob story," the athlete corrects him. "Don't worry, that b**** won't make you lose your friends… What does Sammy think of this?"

"I haven't told her yet…" the alpha male mumbles.

"... Did something happen between you two, too?"

"Not really… Sammy just seems to have a lot on her mind right now… She's been acting funny… won't open up and pretends like she's happy all the time. She says she has to… says her God demands it. I just… I wish she would open up and trust us… I'll definitely tell her about what's going on, I just didn't want her to be the first to know… I trust her, but for her own sake, I don't want to burden her with this problem."

"You're not a burden, but I get what you mean," Yasmina nods.

"Hey, boy, you alive?" Mr. Gutierrez asks, approaching them.

"Yep, just talking," Kenji says, sitting up.

"Thought you were dead meat with the puns you were makin' back there," he chuckles.

"Oh, pretty close," Yasmina grins, sitting up, as well.

"Welp, if you two are done stargazin', it's time to head home," Mr. Gutierrez says. "Or whichever house y'all end up in tonight."

The teens chuckle, and Kenji helps Yasmina up. The two follow the Rancher back to the house to head back home.

---

"Okay, what are some positives about being an amputee?" Mrs. Pincus asks, chuckling.

Yasmina taps the edge of her soda bottle against her lip in thought. "Uhhh… I guess in some situations, it would allow you to be lazy… 'Oh, I'm disabled, I can't do that,' sort of stunt."

"Can't see you ever using that excuse," Ben laughs.

"Ooh!" the athlete perks up. "Unlike with shoes, where I should pay half the price since I'll only need one, socks are an amazing deal since I can use both. One pair is two socks for me, so I basically get two socks! Also, mismatched socks and finding the right pair are never a problem for me."

"Aww, but mismatched socks are a quirky fashion trend now," Ben snorts.

"Speaking of fashion, Halloween would be a piece of cake," Mr. Pincus grins.

Mrs. Pincus swallows her drink and nods. "Pirate, easy peasy. Like Captain Hook."

"He lost his hand, Mom," Ben laughs.

"Oh, right," she chuckles. "Well. A pirate is still an easy option."

"Steampunk would be fun to pull off," Yasmina smiles. "Riley and her family would do a lot of Steampunk, Victorian and Renaissance cosplay. Also viking cosplay. Oh, speaking of vikings, I'm going to call it right now. When Halloween rolls in, Kenji is gonna try to convince me to dress up as Hiccup and he'll be Toothless or something."

"Oh, definitely," Ben laughs.

"Or you could pull off a surfer attacked by a shark costume," his father suggests.

"Any horror costume, really," Yasmina nods. "Ooh, it would be fun to try a gender swapped Peeta, because in the books, he lost his leg. Can't remember which… it wasn't a big deal, and the movies didn't add it in, so I often forget about it… Ooh, gender swapped, inverted Winter Soldier would be a lot of fun. Instead of a metal arm with a red star, its a metal leg."

"I wanna see you as the Winter Soldier now," Ben grins.

"You could be Captain America," she suggests.

"You think I can pull off Captain America?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"Like pre-buff Captain America," Yasmina smirks, making the Pincus' laugh out of surprise.

"Heheh, I'll be scrawny Cap and you'll be Peggy Carter," he laughs.

Yasmina blushes slightly. "I'm too emo to be Peggy."

The four talk a bit longer before the parents get up to clean up. Yasmina curls up closer to Ben on the couch, leaning her head on his shoulder and snuggling in close. She can see a pink tint creep onto his face out of the upper corner of her eye. "I wonder what he's thinking about," she wonders. "I wonder what he sees in me…"

"He would be a nice guy to settle down with…" a thought comes along.

Yasmina has to purse her lips to keep from giggling. "Where did that come from?!" Sure, he was a nice guy. Very sweet and loving and understanding. Ben was also strong and brave when he had to be. He was laid back and chilled and always seemed to understand her.

But she didn't like him in that way… right?

The thought sparks a memory to resurface. "Oh, Ben, there's something I've been meaning to talk about…" she says softly. "I need to say it now while I'm thinking about it, otherwise it will be too late someday…"

"O-okay," he stutters.

---

After school the next day, Mr. Kon and Kenji drop Yasmina and Ghaleb off at their house. Mr. Kon was going to show his son around the business and see if the boy was interested in taking over someday. Kenji wasn't particularly interested at the moment, but he was willing to check it out. The business was already established and running well, and if Kenji enjoyed running it, it would be a great job and good source of income. Plus, he was spending time with his father, and his father was giving him pretty much his undivided attention. Yasmina suspected that that was the main reason he agreed to do it.

Yasmina hobbies into the house, when her mother calls her. "Yeah?" she says, standing in the doorway of her parents bedroom.

Her mother walks out of the closet, pulling her long hair into a bun; her hair tie in her mouth. She mumbles something to her daughter before putting her hair back. "Do you think this looks risque?"

Yasmina looks her mother up and down. Mrs. Fadoula had on a loose, mahogany-colored, long sleeve shirt and long, loose black pants. She had on black slips and a small, gold pendant. Her long, brown hair was pulled into a tight, neat bun, and her makeup was minimal.

The athlete quirks an eyebrow, unsure why her mother was so fancy. "Um… depends on the occasion?"

Mrs. Fadoula sighs. "My parents want to see us again… They've moved to New Mexico and are only two hours away. My brothers and their families are staying tonight and the rest of the weekend at our parents house. They thought it would be a good chance to see us again."

"When are we leaving?" Yasmina asks.

"In a few minutes," her mother sighs, stressed. "We want to get there by at least five o'clock, and it's two forty right now, so if we aim to leave right now, we might be able to get out the door at three."

"Well, this isn't sudden at all," the athlete says sarcastically.

"Do you think you could change your shorts?" Her mother asks, beginning to ramble a bit. "Maybe some longer, loose fitting pants? Or a maxi skirt? Wait, is that even a thing… Just something a little more covering."

Something connects in Yasmina's mind as her mother talks. "She's trying to impress her parents… Playing up to what's important to them and trying to make them proud… just like me…"

"Mom," she interrupts. "You don't have to suck up to them. If they're your parents, they should love you unconditionally. If not, they suck."

Her mother sighs with a laugh. "Guess I had that coming…"

"Mom, honestly, you shouldn't try to impress them," Yasmina says, anger towards her extended family rising up. "They haven't done anything for you. Dad couldn't get away with what he did without them noticing. There's no way they didn't notice he was abusing us. They turned a blind eye to it. Why should they get your hard work to earn their approval? They should be earning your approval and trust."

Her mother smiles softly. "I guess you have a point…"

"And you're covered up enough, the only thing showing is your head, neck, hands and ankles," Yasmina points out. "Pretty modest to me. Not to their extent, but still."

"Yeah, you're right," her mother sighs. "Could you still put on some longer shorts, though?"

The athlete rolls her eyes. "Fine," she mumbles, heading to her room to change.

Ten minutes later, the family is packed in the car and heading on their way to see their maternal extended family for the first time in about seven years. Habeeba had no memory of her extended family on either side, and Jabari could recall only a few memories.

When they arrived, Yasmina's grandparents greeted them. "Ayishah!" her grandmother exclaims, hugging her long lost daughter. "Oh my, you've changed so much!"

"You could say that," Mrs. Fadoula chuckles.

Her father approaches, and after an awkward pause, the two embrace. "Baba," Mrs. Fadoula says softly.

"It's good to see you again," he says, relieved.

She nods. "This is my husband, Rashid," she says, gesturing to Yasmina's step-father. He greets them and shakes hands with her parents before they move onto the children.

"Ghaleb, oh, you've grown!" their grandmother says, hugging her grandson. She gasps and kneels down to see Habeeba. "Oh, I remember when you were a toddler!"

Habeeba smiles, immediately hugging her grandmother.

"Jabari! You can't be twelve," their grandfather says, pulling his grandson into a hug.

"That's how aging works," Jabari says, a bit uncomfortable.

"Hi, Jadda," Yasmina smiles shyly as her grandmother turns to her.

"Yasmi—" her grandmother stops mid sentence, staring at her amputation in shock.

The athlete smiles sheepishly. "Yeah, it's a long story…"

"Oh, I'm so sorry for you," her grandmother sighs, hugging Yasmina tightly.

"What happened?" her grandfather asks, hugging her as his wife gets distracted by the puppy.

"Uhhh… dinosaur attack," she winces.

"Oh, you were in the accident?" he asks.

"Actually, she was on the island for two months," Mr. Fadoula informs him.

"Woah!" her grandfather exclaims in shock, his mouth forming a perfect O and his wrinkles forming ripples around his mouth in comedic fashion. "I thought I recognized your face on the news! Two months?! Forget disability, that's a symbol of survival!"

"I lost it while trying to save Darius," she admits shyly.

"Ah, so it's also a badge of heroic bravery," he declares.

"And a sign of how much she cares for her friends," her step-father smiles proudly.

The athlete smiles bashful at the ground. The others had told her before that it was a symbol of her bravery, but she wasn't in a position to receive that idea. Now… Now that she had identified the guilt and negative thoughts about, she was starting to see her amputation in a new light.

Her grandfather moves on to how strong Ghaleb had gotten, and the introvert takes a step back to breathe.

The group moves inside to see the house and the rest of the family. "Talib, Salam," her mother laughs, giving each of her brothers a hug.

"Ayishah, good to see you again," Her older brother says. "Ah, little Ghaleb is not so little anymore."

"Hey, Khaal Talib," Ghaleb says, giving his uncle a hug.

"Wait, I thought his name was Talib," Habeeba whispers to her older sister.

Yasmina chuckles. "Right, we stopped speaking Arabic after leaving. Khaal is uncle, and Khaalah is aunt. Jadd is grandfather and Jadda is grandmother."

"Ohhh," Habeeba nods.

After Mrs. Fadoula reunites with her family and introduces her husband, the kids are reintroduced to their extended family. "Kids, this is your uncle Talib and aunt Majidah," Mrs. Fadoula gestures. "And your uncle Salam and aunt Leila," she gestures to her younger brother.

"You guys remember your cousins, right?" Talib asks. "This is my oldest, Naeem." A boy about Ghaleb grins at the oldest Fadoula. "Yasmina, you remember Abelarda and Hafsa, right?"

"... Oh, yeah," the athlete nods, looking at the twins who were a couple months younger than her.

"Hi," the two girls murmur, glancing at Yasmina's leg. The two were identical and were wearing the same shirt and pants, so thankfully they had on different colored hijabs. One wore a rose pink, and the other wore a Byzantine purple hijab. Yasmina wasn't sure which was which, but she'd figure it out later.

"And then my three younger sons, Jihad, Bilal, and Sharad," Talib continues, gesturing to his younger boys. "They're around your age, Jabari."

"Hey," Jabari mumbles, a little uncomfortable.

"These are my sons, Najib and Tarik," Salam says. "And my twins, Rasha and Reema. They're your age, Habeeba."

The three younger girls immediately hug and start talking. Yasmina's face falls at the name Reema, a pain in her heart as she remembers her dinosaur back on Isla Nublar.

The grown ups begin to discuss boring topics. Jabari grudgingly goes to hang out with his cousins. Ghaleb and Naeem follow the younger boys out into the yard to play. Habeeba brings their dog outside, and the younger twins follow to play with Roxie.

Yasmina and the older twins sit on the couch awkwardly, listening in on the conversation because they weren't sure how to interact. The adult conversation turns passive aggressive when one of the aunts provocatively brings up religion. The athlete gets uncomfortable; she was nervous about her immediate family finding out she prayed to the Christian God. She was absolutely terrified of what her extended family would think.

Her cousins notice her discomfort and subtly gesture for her to follow them. Yasmina follows them to a spare bedroom and sits down on the edge of the bed. Her cousins sit down and lean against the pillows. "Normally I like listening in on tea like that, but that argument was getting… Uncomfortable," the one with the purple hijab says.

Yasmina glances between the two of them, unsure who was who.

The twins were used to it. "I'm Abelarda," the one with the purple hijab says.

The one with the pink hijab says, "I'm Hafsa."

Yasmina nods, playing with her sock awkwardly.

Her cousins take off their hijabs and Yasmina chuckles. "Well now I can't tell you guys apart."

The three girls would make a comment, then sit in silence for a few minutes and repeat the process. Finally, Hafsa hits on a subject they could discuss. "What's your favorite show?"

The three girls chat over shows, movies and books for a while. "Funny how I know your media preferences and cartoon crushes, but nothing else about you," Yasmina chuckles.

The twins glance at each other. "Who's your favorite Youtubers?" Abelarda asks.

"I'm not a big fan of Youtubers," the athlete sighs. "I mostly use it as a music player. My favorite Youtuber would have to be Brooklynnunboxestheworld."

She can see her cousins exchanging glances between each other and her leg stump. She had a compression sock over it, but that didn't help the visual shock of the injury. The three sit in awkward silence, before Yasmina breaks it. "If you wanna ask what happened, I might tell you."

A few seconds of silence passed, before Abelarda spoke up. "How… What happened to your leg?"

"Was it a procedure or an… accident?" Hafsa asks.

"It was a dinosaur…" Yasmina murmurs, a nauseous feeling rising up in her stomach as she thinks about the event.

"So you… you were one of the campers…" Hafsa murmurs.

"Yep," Yasmina nods.

"We thought it was you, but we… didn't want to assume," Abelarda says.

"Thanks," the athlete smiles.

"We've been subscribed to her for a couple years now," Hafsa says.

"Which side did you stan a few weeks ago?" Yasmina quirks an eyebrow and crosses her arms.

"We were kinda on both sides," Abelarda says.

"Then you're not a true Brooklander," she states, her respect for her cousins diminishing somewhat.

Before they could argue, the bedroom door opens and Ghaleb sticks his head in. Before either of the Fadoula children could react, their cousins yelp. "Get out, please!" Abelarda exclaims, grabbing a pillow to hide her head while Hafsa rolls off the bed and crouches down.

Ghaleb smacks his head and covers his eyes. "D'oh! Sorry! It's been a while, forgot I'm not mahram. Can't see your hair. I didn't—I didn't see anything."

Yasmina laughs at the girls creative ways of hiding as she passes Hafsa her pink headscarf.

"Uh, Mom says dinner is ready," Ghaleb says, closing the door.

The girls put on their hijabs and head to the dinner table. It seemed the adults had smoothed over their differences and the dinner was pleasant. After dinner, Yasmina does a video call with Brooklynn so that her cousins could meet her. Brooklynn wasn't happy about their position on the Internet battle, but after hearing the girls reasoning to not take a side, she understood. Somewhat.

At eight oclock, the Fadoulas go to leave. The rest of the family follows them to say goodbye. "You'll have to bring your friends over sometime," Hafsa says.

"I mean, they tag along so often, they might as well be family," Yasmina shrugs.

"Is Ben your boyfriend?" Sharad asks annoyingly.

"Um…" Yasmina chews on her lip, contemplating her answer.

"Hold up," Ghaleb asks in concern. "Why is your answer not immediately no?!"

"Uh, because if I say yes, it'll drive you insane!" she answers quickly.

"So he's not your boyfriend?" Ghaleb asks, suspicious.

"I mean, he is my boyfriend," she shrugs.

"Like a boy who's just a friend," Hafsa suggests.

"You could say guy friend because boyfriend sounds romantic," Abelarda adds.

"Guy friend makes you sound like a Tik Tok pick me up girl," Ghaleb gags.

The girls stare at him. "No it doesn't," Abelarda frowns.

Fed up with her brother, Yasmina sighs frustratedly. "Fine! You want me to call him my human of the male variety friend?!"

The cousins start laughing. Ghaleb rolls his eyes. "Fine, guy friend works."

As they talk, Yasmina notices a scorpion crawling near her foot. Immediately, her PTSD is triggered and she yelps, falling over and scrambling back. Ghaleb tries to lift her to her feet and hold her out of range of the tiny arachnid as her step-father crushes it under his boot. "Avenge me," she says shakily, her mind on E750.

Her grandfather is reminded of something and heads into the house. He comes out with a strangely shaped object. "I've been trying to pass this down, but my other children and grandchildren don't want it."

"We do want it, just as a way to remember Jadd," Talib sighs.

"No, it must be used for the purpose my father intended it to be used to honor his name," Yasminas grandfather says stubbornly. He turns to the Fadoula children. "When my Ab died, he instructed my Um to take his ashes, and build them into a Jambiya. This Jambiya would be called the Althaar."

He holds out the ornate knife in its sheath for the children to see. "The Althaar is to be used to avenge our family and those we care about. It is also called the Himaaya, and is a weapon of protection for the ones we hold dear to our hearts. It is to be used as such, not as a mere trinket or object of remembrance."

"Our old Jadd might have been a theater major," Salam teases.

"Protecting yourself with it is fine, it's the revenge thing that seems a bit illegal," aunt Majidah says.

"Plus, who would actually put their ashes in a knife?" Jabari asks.

"I knew a track friend who wanted to do that," Yasmina says vaguely, stepping forward to look at the Jambiya.

"Would you be interested in taking the Jambiya my father intended to use for protection and revenge?" her grandfather asks.

"Yes," she nods, a dark glint in her eyes.

"Yasmina," her mother snaps. "I know exactly who you are thinking about and I forbid you from using that knife for that purpose."

"I think this should be yours," her grandfather hands her the knife.

"Baba!" her mother protests. "Don't encourage her!"

"Right, right, this is just a way to remember your great grandfather," he says, winking at Yasmina.

"Thanks, Jadd," the athlete giggles.

"Why do I feel like this will bite me in the butt later?" her mother sighs, giving up and coraling her children into the car.

The way back home, Yasmina examines the Jambiya. Holding the weapon meant for protecting and avenging loved ones made her feel a sense of power. One she hadn't felt since she was on the island.

The athlete goes over the progress she had made over the past two days like Miss Anita had suggested. "I've identified the voices in my head and figured out a strategy to defeat them. I've started the process of getting a prosthetic leg. I've exercised. I've confronted my need for approval from my parents. I've confronted my extended family and become more comfortable with people asking about my leg. I'm seeing my amputation in a new light. I… I've become stronger in myself and don't need to ask for help from God… And I've regained that sense of power and protectiveness I lost."

Yasmina leans back in her seat, feeling proud of herself. Feeling proud of spreading her wings and taking flight.

Nothing could stop her now.