Every hatch, every window, every barrel and even the crow’s nest had opened at exactly the same moment.

Someone was definitely watching them.

And judging by the giggling, they were not very good at hiding.

Boxy stood at the end of the crooked jetty and stared up at the pirate ship. The patchwork sails fluttered gently. The enormous spoon-anchor bumped against the hull. Somewhere behind a barrel, somebody whispered, “Is that him?”

Another voice whispered back, “Which one?”

“The captain.”

“The square one?”

“No, the floppy one.”

Gluebert stiffened.

“I heard that.”

The pirate parrot landed on the railing.

“CAPTAIN FLOPSY!”

“I heard that too.”

Pete quietly turned over his sign.

GOOD HEARING, CAPTAIN.

“I am not a captain,” said Gluebert. “And I am certainly not floppy.”

His wizard hat chose that moment to droop over one eye.

Boxy reached up and straightened it for him.

Gluebert cleared his throat.

“That was intentional floppiness.”

A head popped out of a porthole.

It wore an enormous red hat.

Then the head disappeared.

Another head appeared from inside a barrel.

It wore a tiny blue hat.

That one disappeared too.

Then a pair of boots lowered slowly from the crow’s nest.

No person.

Just boots.

Boxy blinked.

“Hello?”

The boots wiggled.

“Hello,” said a voice from somewhere underneath them.

Gluebert peered upwards.

“Are you attached to those?”

“Sometimes.”

The boots vanished.

A hatch opened in the middle of the deck and a man sprang out with such enthusiasm that his hat came off, his coat spun around backwards and one boot flew over the railing.

He landed with both arms raised.

“WELCOME!”

His loose boot splashed into the sea.

He looked over the edge.

“Bother.”

The man was short and round, with a bright purple coat, stripy trousers and a beard that seemed to have been combed with a fork. Three seashells hung from one ear. A wooden spoon was tucked into his belt like a sword.

He turned around twice, realised his coat was backwards, then decided to leave it that way.

“I am Captain Barnacle Bobbins,” he announced. “Master of this vessel, ruler of absolutely nothing and winner of the Golden Turnip for Outstanding Pirate Posture.”

Pete’s sign appeared.

IS THAT A REAL PRIZE?

Captain Bobbins leaned over the railing.

“Not yet.”

He glanced at Gluebert.

“And you must be Captain Flopsy.”

“I must not.”

“Assistant Captain Flopsy?”

Gluebert hesitated.

The parrot leaned close to his ear.

“FLOPSY.”

Gluebert sighed.

“Gluebert will do.”

Captain Bobbins saluted.

“Gluebert Willdo. Excellent pirate name.”

“That is not my name.”

“Even better. Mysterious.”

Boxy stepped forwards.

“We found your ship at the end of the map.”

Captain Bobbins gasped.

“You have a map?”

Boxy took out the old treasure map. The newly drawn line glowed faintly across the middle, tracing the route they had already travelled.

Captain Bobbins stared at it.

Then turned it upside down.

Then sideways.

Then held it against his beard.

Gluebert frowned.

“What are you doing?”

“Captain methods.”

Pete slowly lifted another sign.

HE’S ONE OF YOU.

“I do not hold maps against my beard,” Gluebert said.

“You should,” said Captain Bobbins. “Very informative.”

He handed the map back.

“I have no idea what it means.”

Gluebert nodded approvingly.

“At last. An expert.”

A soft creak came from the ship.

The deck tilted slightly.

Then a barrel rolled past them.

The barrel opened one eye.

“Morning,” it said.

Boxy jumped.

The barrel closed its eye and continued rolling.

Captain Bobbins waved after it.

“That’s Bernard.”

“Is Bernard a barrel?” asked Boxy.

“Mostly.”

More heads appeared across the ship. Some peered from windows. One appeared upside down from behind the mast. Another popped out of a coil of rope wearing a teapot as a helmet.

Captain Bobbins spread his arms.

“My crew!”

The crew cheered.

A ladle flew through the air.

Nobody seemed to know why.

Gluebert ducked.

The ladle struck the parrot.

CLONG.

The parrot blinked.

“CAPTAIN FLOPSY!”

Gluebert pointed at it.

“Even when somebody else gets donked, I still get blamed.”

Captain Bobbins nodded sympathetically.

“That is the burden of leadership.”

“I am not leading anything.”

At once, the ship gave a loud groan.

The jetty wobbled.

A plank sprang upwards and flicked Gluebert’s robe over his head.

Pete’s shoulders began to shake.

His sign appeared beneath the robe.

VERY LEADERLY.

Boxy helped Gluebert untangle himself.

“Are you alright?”

“No.”

A pause.

“Yes.”

Another pause.

“I dislike pirate architecture.”

Captain Bobbins climbed down a rope ladder and landed on the jetty. His missing boot floated past behind him.

“Come aboard! We’re just about to set off.”

“Set off where?” asked Boxy.

Captain Bobbins froze.

He looked at the sea.

He looked at the ship.

Then he looked back at Boxy.

“No idea.”

Gluebert raised one finger.

“Surely a captain should know where his ship is going.”

Captain Bobbins leaned closer.

“Do you?”

Gluebert opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then quietly adjusted his hat.

“That is an unnecessarily personal question.”

Captain Bobbins smiled.

“The Sea of Maybe does not much care for plans. Islands wander. Tides change their minds. Compasses become distracted.”

He reached into his coat and produced a compass.

Its needle was pointing directly at a sandwich.

Captain Bobbins nodded.

“See?”

The compass needle trembled.

The sandwich shifted slightly.

Pete held up a sign.

SUSPICIOUS SANDWICH.

Captain Bobbins put the compass away.

“There is only one place around here that does not move.”

Boxy looked towards the mist.

“The jetty?”

“No.”

“The ship?”

“Absolutely not. It wandered off twice yesterday.”

Gluebert glanced at the vessel.

“How does a ship wander off?”

“Very quietly.”

Captain Bobbins turned and pointed beyond the pirate ship.

The mist parted.

Behind it stood an island.

Not a tiny wandering island.

A proper island.

Golden sand curved around bright blue water. Tall palm trees swayed in the breeze. Colourful beach huts dotted the shore. Shells glittered beneath the waves. In the centre, a hill rose gently beneath hundreds of fluttering ribbons.

The island did not drift.

It did not spin.

It did not wander off in a huff.

It simply stayed.

Boxy stared.

“It’s beautiful.”

Captain Bobbins smiled.

“That is the Island That Stayed.”

The pirate crew cheered again.

Somebody threw the ladle back.

This time Gluebert caught it.

He looked surprised.

Then extremely pleased.

“I meant to do that.”

Pete’s sign appeared.

KEEP IT. YOU’VE EARNED IT.

They climbed aboard the pirate ship. Captain Bobbins gave Boxy the important job of standing near the wheel and looking adventurous. Pete was appointed Official Keeper of the Signs. Gluebert was given the ladle.

“What am I meant to do with this?” he asked.

Captain Bobbins thought carefully.

“Look authoritative.”

Gluebert lifted the ladle.

“Like this?”

The entire crew gasped.

One pirate saluted.

Another dropped a biscuit.

Captain Bobbins whispered, “Natural talent.”

The parrot landed on Gluebert’s shoulder.

“CAPTAIN FLOPSY!”

Gluebert lowered the ladle.

“I preferred the biscuit.”

The patchwork sails filled with wind. The spoon-anchor lifted from the sea, dripping weeds and one very confused sock. The pirate ship creaked away from the jetty and glided towards the island.

Boxy looked back.

The old treasure map had begun to shimmer again.

A new line slowly grew from the jetty and curved across the water behind them.

It did not show where they were going.

Only where they had been.

Captain Bobbins noticed him watching it.

“Funny thing, maps.”

Boxy looked up.

“They are supposed to help you find the way.”

“Some do,” said Captain Bobbins. “Others help you remember it.”

Gluebert rested the ladle against his shoulder.

“And some spend most of their time on people’s heads.”

“That was a wizard method,” he added quickly.

Pete revealed a small sign.

STILL BLANK.

The ship reached the island.

As soon as Boxy stepped onto the warm sand, something whizzed past his ear.

FWIP!

Gluebert ducked.

Captain Bobbins ducked.

Pete ducked.

The parrot did not.

BONK.

A round, colourful disc bounced off its hat and landed in the sand.

The parrot blinked.

“CAPTAIN FLOPSY?”

Gluebert pointed triumphantly.

“Not me!”

A group of coconut-shaped creatures came running along the beach.

They had little pipe-cleaner arms, wobbly legs and enormous foam hats. One wore sunglasses. One wore six bow ties. Another had stuck so many flowers to itself that only its feet were visible.

The coconut in sunglasses skidded to a halt.

“Sorry!” it cried. “Frisbee emergency!”

The flowery coconut tripped over its own decorations and rolled past.

“Still learning!” it shouted.

A coconut wearing a tiny crown hurried after it and whispered at the top of its voice.

“I AM EXTREMELY QUIET.”

Behind them came the six-bow-tie coconut, carrying a clipboard.

“Is everyone here? Are we late? Is this a meeting? Has anyone seen my seventh bow tie?”

Last came a coconut wearing a paper moustache and standing very still.

“You cannot see me,” it announced.

Boxy looked directly at it.

“Yes, I can.”

“Impossible. I am invisible.”

Pete lifted a sign.

GOOD HIDING.

The moustached coconut bowed.

“Thank you.”

Captain Bobbins waved.

“Ah! The Coconut Companions. Sunny, Questiony, Whispernut and... er...”

The invisible coconut removed its moustache.

“Who said that?”

Captain Bobbins nodded.

“Exactly.”

Sunny, the coconut in sunglasses, looked Boxy up and down.

“You’re square.”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.”

It turned to Gluebert.

“You’re floppy.”

“I am leaving.”

“You’ve only just arrived.”

“I shall arrive somewhere else.”

Boxy picked up the round disc.

“What is this?”

Sunny gasped.

“You’ve never seen a foldaway flyer?”

“No.”

The coconuts all screamed at once.

“HE’S NEVER SEEN A FOLDAWAY FLYER!”

Whispernut, still shouting, added, “THIS IS SHOCKING.”

The crowned coconut fainted dramatically onto a beach towel.

Pete’s sign appeared.

THAT SEEMS EXCESSIVE.

“It is a flying disc,” explained Sunny. “And a fan. And a plate, but only during emergencies.”

“What sort of emergencies?” asked Boxy.

“Snack emergencies.”

The crowned coconut sat up.

“I had one this morning.”

Gluebert took the disc and examined it.

“I believe I understand.”

Captain Bobbins stepped backwards.

The crew stepped backwards.

The coconuts stepped backwards.

Pete stepped behind a palm tree.

Even the suspicious sandwich shuffled behind a bucket.

Boxy frowned.

“Why is everybody moving?”

Gluebert held the frisbee beside his head.

“Because they wish to observe a professional.”

He threw it.

The disc sailed beautifully across the beach.

It rose above the palms.

It crossed the glittering water.

It vanished into the mist.

Everybody waited.

Five seconds passed.

Then ten.

Gluebert folded his arms.

“There. Perfectly thrown.”

FWIP!

The frisbee shot out of the mist and smacked him on the back of the head.

DONK.

It bounced away before anybody could catch it.

It looped around a palm tree, clipped Captain Bobbins’s enormous hat and sent it spinning onto Questiony’s clipboard.

“Was that planned? Is the hat playing? Does it get a point?” asked Questiony.

The frisbee skimmed under a deckchair, shot between the legs of three pirates and scooped up the suspicious sandwich.

The sandwich travelled proudly through the air like a tiny, bread-based captain.

“My lunch!” cried somebody who had not previously claimed it.

The disc struck a beach hut.

BOING.

It changed direction.

Everyone ducked.

It struck a bucket.

CLONK.

Everyone ducked again.

It landed briefly on the invisible coconut’s head.

“Ha! It cannot see me either.”

Then it launched itself back into the air, carrying the sandwich with it.

Gluebert watched it approach.

“Remain calm. I know exactly what it is doing.”

Pete’s sign appeared from behind the palm tree.

RUN.

The whole beach scattered.

Captain Bobbins dived into a sandcastle.

Sunny hid beneath a towel.

Whispernut shouted, “EVERYBODY BE QUIET!”

The frisbee swooped once around Gluebert.

Twice.

Three times.

Gluebert turned in dizzy circles, still pretending this was all part of the demonstration.

“Observe the advanced return manoeuvre.”

The sandwich slipped from the disc.

SPLAT.

It landed squarely on his face.

The frisbee dropped neatly at his feet.

Nobody spoke.

A slice of cucumber slid slowly down his beard.

Pete stepped out from behind the tree.

His sign read:

A PROFESSIONAL.

The coconuts erupted into cheers.

“That was incredible!”

“Do it again!”

“Use a bigger sandwich!”

Questiony raised its clipboard.

“How many points was that? Did the sandwich win? Is Gluebert part of the game now?”

Gluebert removed the cucumber.

“I have completed my demonstration.”

Captain Bobbins climbed out of the flattened sandcastle and clapped him on the shoulder.

“You have brought great honour to the island.”

“I have brought mayonnaise to my eyebrow.”

Boxy laughed.

For a moment, he forgot all about maps, paths and where they were supposed to go next.

The beach was warm.

The sea sparkled.

The coconuts were arranging bottles into a game they called Extremely Sensible Frisbee Bowling, despite the fact that none of the rules were sensible.

Captain Bobbins watched Boxy quietly.

“This island is unusual,” he said.

Boxy looked around.

“I had noticed.”

“No, I mean really unusual.”

Captain Bobbins nodded towards the sea. Far beyond the beach, the other islands continued drifting through the mist.

“This is the only one that stays.”

“Why?”

Captain Bobbins smiled.

“Nobody knows.”

Gluebert wiped the last of the sandwich from his beard.

“I suspect it is attached to the seabed.”

Captain Bobbins shook his head.

“There is no seabed.”

Gluebert paused.

“That seems inconvenient.”

“The island does not always stay,” Captain Bobbins continued. “Sometimes it waits for an hour. Sometimes a whole day. Once it stayed for nearly a week, though that may have been because everybody forgot to say goodbye.”

Pete’s next sign read:

WHAT MAKES IT LEAVE?

Captain Bobbins looked towards the hill of ribbons.

“When the day is finished.”

Boxy frowned.

“How does it know?”

The captain’s smile softened.

“Funny thing about memories,” he said. “You hardly ever notice you are making one. You only realise afterwards, when you wish you could step inside it again.”

He looked across the beach at the coconuts, the crooked huts and Gluebert’s mayonnaise-covered eyebrow.

“The island notices for you. It stays until there is something worth carrying away.”

The sea breeze moved gently through the palms.

For once, nobody made a joke.

Pete looked down at the sign in his hands.

Boxy looked at the coconut companions, the coloured beach huts and the strange little pirate crew laughing beside the shore.

Then Captain Bobbins clapped loudly.

“Right! Who wants a snack?”

The crowned coconut leapt to its feet.

“EMERGENCY!”

Everybody ran towards the beach huts.

Gluebert watched them go.

“What happens now?”

Captain Bobbins grinned.

“Now we have a really good day.”

The pirate parrot landed on Gluebert’s hat.

“CAPTAIN FLOPSY!”

Gluebert sighed and followed the others.

“Of course we do.”

Captain Bobbins led them towards a row of beach huts painted in colours so bright they looked as though the rainbow had sneezed on them.

The crowned coconut hurried ahead.

“Snack emergency! Snack emergency!”

“What exactly is a snack emergency?” asked Boxy.

The coconut stopped so suddenly that the others bumped into it.

“It is when you want a snack…”

It lowered its voice.

“…and there isn’t one already in your hand.”

Gluebert nodded gravely.

“At last. A crisis I understand.”

Inside the largest beach hut stood a long wooden table covered with the strangest feast Boxy had ever seen.

There were watermelon slices made from card and paper.

Ice lollies decorated with colourful tissue squares.

Ice creams made from soft felt.

None of them were real.

Captain Bobbins picked up a paper watermelon and took an enormous bite.

“Mmmm.”

Boxy stared.

“You know that isn’t real.”

Captain Bobbins chewed thoughtfully.

“Needs more watermelon.”

Gluebert picked up a felt ice cream.

“I suppose this one is pretend too.”

The crowned coconut gasped.

“Of course it is not pretend.”

Gluebert raised an eyebrow.

“It is made of felt.”

“That is how you know it is fancy.”

Pete quietly lifted a sign.

BEST INVISIBLE ICE CREAM EVER.

The coconuts cheered.

One of them handed Pete a tissue-paper lolly with a bow on it.

“We made that one for you.”

Pete looked surprised.

The coconut pointed at the colours.

“Blue at the top. Green in the middle. Purple at the bottom.”

Pete looked at Boxy.

Those were his favourite colours.

He had never told the coconuts that.

At least, not with words.

He smiled and held the lolly carefully.

Captain Bobbins picked up another paper watermelon.

“This is the finest meal I have eaten since breakfast.”

“What did you have for breakfast?” asked Boxy.

“Lunch.”

“And what did you have for lunch?”

“Breakfast.”

Gluebert frowned.

“That explains absolutely nothing.”

“Thank you.”

After the feast, which left everybody exactly as hungry as before, the coconut companions led them to the far end of the beach.

Buckets of foam shapes, seashells, paper, ribbons and coloured decorations were scattered across the sand.

A large blue sheet had been spread out beside a long strip of yellow paper.

“What are we making?” asked Boxy.

The sunglasses coconut spread its pipe-cleaner arms.

“The beach.”

Boxy looked around.

“We are already on a beach.”

“Yes, but this one is enormous.”

It pointed to the sheet.

“We are making a smaller one.”

Gluebert nodded wisely.

“Much easier to carry.”

Everybody began work.

Boxy tore a wavy strip from the yellow paper and placed it across the bottom of the blue sheet. Pete carefully added shells and little seaside shapes. Captain Bobbins stamped so many boats into one corner that they looked as though they were having a traffic jam.

Gluebert selected a foam crab.

“I shall place this somewhere artistically significant.”

He pressed it onto the middle of the sky.

Boxy looked at it.

“Why is the crab flying?”

Gluebert folded his arms.

“Migration.”

Crabs began appearing everywhere.

In the clouds.

On the lighthouse.

One balanced on top of a tiny boat.

Another seemed to be climbing the sun.

Pete held up a sign.

CRAB INVASION.

Captain Bobbins gasped.

“Quick! Protect the sandwiches!”

The suspicious sandwich, which had somehow followed them, shuffled behind a beach hut.

Boxy laughed and added a small palm tree near the edge of the picture.

The coconut companions stamped fish into the sea, starfish onto the sand and one slightly confused whale halfway through a beach hut.

By the time they finished, the picture was colourful, crowded and wonderfully wobbly.

“It doesn’t look exactly like the island,” said Boxy.

Captain Bobbins tilted his head.

“No.”

“Is that alright?”

“Of course.”

Captain Bobbins pointed to the flying crab.

“That certainly happened.”

“It did not,” said Gluebert.

“It nearly did.”

“It did not nearly happen either.”

Captain Bobbins smiled.

“A memory does not have to look exactly like the day.”

Boxy looked back at the picture.

“What does it have to look like?”

“Like how the day felt.”

For a moment, Boxy simply stared at it.

The silly crabs.

The crowded boats.

The bright sea.

Pete’s favourite colours.

It did feel like the day.

Messy.

Funny.

Full.

The crowned coconut arrived dragging a circular wreath across the sand.

“We need somewhere to put all the things we found.”

The others gathered shells, foam fish, tiny boats and seaside shapes. Together they pressed them around the wreath until there was hardly any empty space left.

Gluebert held up a glittery starfish.

“This creature is technically not a fish.”

Captain Bobbins blinked.

“What is it?”

“A star.”

“That lives in the sea?”

“Yes.”

Captain Bobbins turned to Boxy.

“The ocean is making things up again.”

The wreath was hung from the side of a beach hut where it spun gently in the breeze.

“There,” said the crowned coconut. “Now the beach has a beach decoration.”

Pete’s next sign read:

VERY BEACHY.

The island remained perfectly still.

The sun drifted lower.

The light became softer.

Yet Captain Bobbins did not seem worried.

Boxy looked towards the sea.

“Is the day not finished yet?”

Captain Bobbins shook his head.

“Not quite.”

“How can you tell?”

“The island is still here.”

Gluebert leaned on his ladle.

“Perhaps it simply enjoys our company.”

The captain looked at him.

“Perhaps.”

Gluebert’s expression softened.

“Places can feel different when the right people are in them.”

Boxy glanced at him.

That sounded like one of the things Gluebert truly knew.

Then the pirate parrot swooped past carrying the frisbee.

“CAPTAIN FLOPSY!”

Gluebert’s thoughtful expression vanished.

“Bring that back!”

The parrot threw the frisbee.

It skimmed low across the sand, bounced from one coconut’s head, knocked over three bottle pins and landed in a bucket.

The coconuts erupted.

“STRIKE!”

“That was bowling,” shouted one.

“No, it was target toss.”

“No, it was coconut bonking.”

A coconut wearing six bow ties adjusted every single one of them.

“That is not an official game.”

“It is now.”

The games continued until nobody could remember the rules to any of them.

They threw the frisbee onto towels.

They counted catches.

They knocked down bottles.

They hunted for objects that matched its colours.

At one point Captain Bobbins declared the frisbee to be an island and shouted, “SHARK!”

Everyone scrambled onto it.

The frisbee held one coconut.

The other coconuts piled on anyway.

For several seconds there was only a wobbling heap of hats, flowers, pipe-cleaner arms and panicked squeaking.

Gluebert stood safely beside them.

“I believe you are supposed to run to the island.”

The coconut at the bottom groaned.

“I am the island.”

Pete’s sign appeared above the pile.

ISLAND FULL.

When the last game finally ended, the coconut companions led everyone towards the hill in the centre of the island.

Hundreds of ribbons fluttered from its trees.

But as they climbed closer, Boxy realised they were not ribbons at all.

They were bracelets.

Blue ones.

Green ones.

Pink ones.

Yellow ones.

Some had shells.

Some had fish.

Some had stars.

Some had strange patterns that did not repeat at all.

Captain Bobbins touched one gently.

“Everyone who visits makes two.”

“One to keep?” asked Boxy.

“And one to leave behind.”

“Why?”

“So the island remembers you too.”

At the top of the hill stood a long table covered with rainbow cord and bright seaside beads.

Everyone sat down.

The coconuts sorted beads into small bowls. Gluebert immediately mixed them all together.

“I have created a new sorting system.”

“What system?” asked Boxy.

“Surprise.”

Boxy threaded a shell bead, then a blue bead, then a tiny fish. Pete chose green, purple and blue.

Captain Bobbins made a bracelet entirely from starfish.

“It tells the story of my life.”

Gluebert looked at it.

“Your life has been almost entirely starfish?”

“More than you would expect.”

Gluebert began making his own bracelet.

Unfortunately, one end of the cord became tangled in his beard.

Then the other end wrapped around his ladle.

When he tried to stand, he pulled Captain Bobbins’s bracelet across the table, tipped over three bowls and accidentally tied himself to the crowned coconut.

Nobody moved.

Pete slowly raised a sign.

FRIENDSHIP ACHIEVED.

The crowned coconut looked up at Gluebert.

“I always knew this day would come.”

Gluebert stared down at it.

“We met this morning.”

“Some friendships move quickly.”

Boxy carefully untangled them.

When everyone had finished, Captain Bobbins helped tie the bracelets securely.

Boxy kept one bracelet and hung the other from a branch.

Pete did the same.

Then the sunglasses coconut approached Pete.

It was holding a bracelet made in his favourite colours.

“We made this before you arrived.”

Pete looked at it.

The coconut pointed to the tiny sign-shaped bead in the centre.

“We thought you might like it.”

Pete’s smile faded.

Not because he was unhappy.

Because something inside him had shifted.

He looked at the bracelet.

Then at the paper lolly they had made for him.

Then at the beach scene where they had left space for his colours.

His fingers tightened around his sign.

He wrote something.

Stopped.

Rubbed it out.

Wrote again.

His sign read:

HOW DID YOU KNOW?

The coconut tilted its head.

“You showed us.”

Pete looked confused.

“I saw which colours you picked,” the coconut continued. “I saw you move the starfish beside the shell because you liked them together. I saw you smile at the purple beach hut.”

Captain Bobbins sat beside him.

“You have been talking all day.”

Pete looked down at his hands.

His signs rested quietly in his lap.

The captain smiled.

“Words are useful. Very useful. Especially when ordering pudding.”

Gluebert nodded.

“Extremely.”

“But they are not the only way to have a voice.”

Nobody spoke for a moment.

The breeze moved through the bracelet trees.

Hundreds of tiny beads clicked softly together.

Pete looked towards Boxy.

Boxy smiled.

“We hear you.”

Gluebert lowered himself carefully onto the sand.

“We always have.”

Pete swallowed.

Then lifted a new sign.

EVEN WHEN I AM RUDE?

Gluebert sighed.

“Especially then.”

Pete’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

The moment loosened.

The coconuts laughed too.

Captain Bobbins wiped one eye.

“Sand.”

“There is no sand near your eye,” said Boxy.

“Emotional sand.”

The games and stories continued until the sun had turned the sea gold.

Nobody announced that the day was ending.

Nobody packed it away.

They were still laughing when Boxy noticed that the pirate ship seemed farther from the beach than before.

He blinked.

The bracelets chimed softly above them.

The palm leaves leaned towards the sea.

And the line of wet sand at the shore was slowly sliding away.

“Captain?” said Boxy.

Captain Bobbins followed his gaze.

“Ah.”

“Is the island moving?”

“It appears so.”

Gluebert looked down at his feet.

“I did not feel it start.”

Captain Bobbins smiled.

“You usually do not.”

The island had begun to drift while they were busy enjoying it.

Not quickly.

Not sadly.

It simply loosened itself from the place where it had stayed and moved gently into the Sea of Maybe.

Boxy looked back at the beach scene, the wreath and the bracelet trees.

“Will we ever find it again?”

Captain Bobbins shrugged.

“Maybe.”

“That is not very helpful.”

“It is the Sea of Maybe.”

Gluebert stood beside Boxy.

“Some places are not meant to stay exactly where we left them.”

Boxy looked at him.

“But what if we forget?”

Gluebert lifted his bracelet.

“We will not.”

The pirate crew returned to the ship. The coconuts waved from the beach, their little arms wobbling wildly.

The crowned coconut called out, “COME BACK SOON!”

“WHERE?” shouted Captain Bobbins.

The coconut paused.

“GOOD POINT!”

Boxy, Gluebert and Pete climbed aboard.

As the ship pulled away, Boxy took out the treasure map.

A new line had appeared.

It curved from the crooked jetty towards the island, but it did not draw every place they had visited.

Instead, little pictures bloomed beside it.

A bracelet.

A laughing coconut in sunglasses.

A flying crab.

And one tiny sandwich splat.

Boxy smiled.

“It did not remember exactly what happened.”

Captain Bobbins looked over his shoulder.

“No.”

“It remembered how it felt.”

Pete reached into his pocket and placed one small purple bead onto the map.

The paper shimmered.

The bead became a bright purple dot beside the bracelet.

Boxy smiled.

“Now it has everything.”

The Island That Stayed drifted into the evening mist.

Soon the beach huts disappeared.

Then the palms.

Then the hill of bracelets.

But Boxy could still hear the laughter.

He could still feel the warm sand beneath his feet.

He could still see Gluebert wearing a sandwich on his face.

Some things stayed even after they were gone.

Captain Bobbins took the wheel.

“Where are we going now?”

Boxy looked at him.

“You’re the captain.”

Captain Bobbins looked horrified.

“I was hoping you knew.”

The compass in his pocket began to spin.

Once.

Twice.

Then its needle pointed towards the sky.

Everybody looked up.

Far above them, something enormous moved behind the clouds.

A shadow with wide wings.

Too large to be a bird.

Too quiet to be a storm.

The pirate parrot stared upwards.

For the first time all day, it said nothing.

Pete slowly raised his sign.

THAT SEEMS LARGE.

Gluebert gripped his ladle.

Captain Bobbins swallowed.

Boxy watched the shadow disappear beyond the clouds.

The treasure map shimmered inside his hands.

A new mark had appeared near the top edge.

Not a path.

Not yet.

Just the shape of a feather.

Boxy tucked the map safely away.

Whatever came next, they would not know until they reached it.

That was alright.

They had a ship.

They had a captain.

Probably.

They had each other.

And Gluebert still had mayonnaise in one eyebrow.

The parrot finally found its voice.

“CAPTAIN FLOPSY!”

Gluebert sighed.

“Of course.”