The Island
IT WAS A SKULL.
That much Beth Anderson knew after two seconds of dusting off bits of dirt and grass and fallen palm debris.
"Well?" Amber demanded.
"What is it?" Kimberly asked, standing right behind Amber, anxiously trying to look over her shoulder.
Beth glanced up briefly at her fourteen-year-old niece and her niece's best friend. Until just seconds ago, the two had been talking a mile a minute, as they always did, agreeing that their friend Tammy was a bitch, being far too cruel to her best friend, Aubrey, who in turn came to Amber and Kimberly for friendship every time she was being dissed by Tammy. They weren't dissing anyone themselves, they had assured Beth, because they weren't saying anything they wouldn't say straight to Tammy's face.
Beth loved the girls, loved being with them, and was touched to be the next best thing to a mother for Amber, who had lost her own as an infant. She was accustomed to listening to endless discussions on the hottest music, the hottest new shows and the hottest new movies—and who did and didn't deserve to be in them, since the girls were both students at a magnet school for drama.
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