Scene: The Island, Day One

The crash had been loud enough to silence everything. Now, the only sound was the ocean. White sand stretched endlessly in both directions, the turquoise water lapping at the half-submerged wreckage of the private jet. A few scattered suitcases and the faint smell of burnt metal were all that remained of the girls’ spring break plans.

Serena stood near the treeline, her hair messy but somehow still camera-ready, clutching a designer tote that had miraculously survived. “Okay,” she said, blinking hard. “Okay, this is... fine. It’s fine. We just need to call for help. Someone’s coming, right?”

Mia, her ponytail half undone and knees streaked with sand, was kneeling beside the debris, sorting through it with calm, efficient motions. “Serena, the plane’s radio is gone. The phones have no service. The only thing coming is the tide.”

Serena frowned. “That’s not very helpful, Mia.”

“Neither is panicking,” Mia said, not looking up.

A soft laugh cut through the tension. Summer was sitting cross-legged in the sand, tapping her phone like she could coax it back to life. “No bars. No Wi-Fi. Guess my stream’s officially over.” She dropped the phone into the sand and sighed. “My followers are gonna think this is performance art.”

Grace approached from the shore, brushing sand from her silver hair. A strip of cloth was tied neatly around her arm — improvised, but precise. “Let’s stay calm. We’re all alive, and that’s what matters. We should take stock of what we’ve got.” Her voice was steady — a practiced calm that carried more authority than she realized.

Emma wrung out her soaked shirt nearby. “Two bottles of water, one ruined makeup bag, and a bikini that’s officially done for.” She tossed the shirt aside with a grin. “But hey — free beachfront property.”

That earned her a weak chuckle from Summer. Even Grace smiled faintly.

Mia stood, brushing her hands off. “All right... so we’re stranded.”

Serena crossed her arms, staring down the stretch of beach. “Someone’s going to find us. They have to.”

Grace glanced toward the ocean, her expression unreadable. “Maybe,” she said quietly.

For a while, no one spoke. The sound of waves filled the silence, gentle but endless. The girls lingered near the wreck, glancing now and then at the horizon — at the smoldering fragments of their trip, at the empty sky above.

Summer hugged her knees. “It’s weird,” she murmured. “It doesn’t even feel real.”

“Yeah,” Emma said softly. “Not yet.”