Wake Me Up When September Ends

Turner slowed his pace as they reached the edge of the courtyard path.

“A boat,” he repeated.

Abby didn’t slow down. If anything she tugged his hand harder, bare feet slapping softly against the sand as she practically ran down the last stretch toward the shoreline.

“Yep!”

"Do you know how to drive a boat?" Turner asked.

"I know how to drive a car, how different could it be?" Abby smirked.

"Um...very different," Turner rubbed the back of his neck.

Turner slowed a little more, heels digging slightly into the sand as Abby continued to pull him forward like she’d already committed to the idea and reality just needed to catch up.

“Abby,” he tried again, more cautiously this time, “that’s not how boats work.”

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, grin still firmly in place. “You’re telling me steering and going forward is somehow more complicated just because it’s on water?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

Abby nearly skipped out onto the marina, where three small motorboats sat, anchored to the dock with rope. As she swung open the gate to the dock, the light shifting of the wood due to the waves of the ocean caused her to lose her balance slightly. She widened her stance and gripped onto the gate for safety.

“Okay,” she admitted after a beat, glancing down at the gently rocking planks. “That part’s new.”

Turner stepped up behind her, one hand hovering near her waist on instinct before he caught himself and let it fall back to his side.

“It moves,” he said dryly.

“Thank you, Turner,” Abby shot back, though there was a hint of laughter under it. “I hadn’t noticed.”

She tested her footing again, more carefully this time, then took a few tentative steps forward onto the dock. The boards creaked softly beneath her weight, the water lapping quietly against the sides.

Turner followed, slower, more deliberate.

“Seriously,” he said, watching her inch her way forward, “we don’t have to do this. There are plenty of activities that don’t involve us potentially drifting into the ocean because you thought boats were just water cars.”

Abby paused halfway down the dock and turned to face him fully.

“First of all, they are water cars. You just don’t trust me.”

“I trust you,” Turner replied immediately.

“Mm,” Abby hummed, unconvinced. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”

“I trust you,” he repeated, a little more firmly, “just… not your boating expertise.”

"And secondly," she continued, ignoring him. "I have confidence. That's what matters here."

Turner let out a slow breath through his nose. “Confidence is great. Confidence does not replace knowing how not to crash a boat.”

“Counterpoint,” Abby retorted, “we’re not near anything to crash into.”

Turner opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“…That is unfortunately a strong argument.”

“Thank you,” Abby shot back, pleased.

They reached the end of the dock, where the closest boat bobbed gently against the side, rope tied in a loose knot around a weathered post. It was a small motorboat, just big enough for two or three people, with a simple console and a single outboard motor.

Abby crouched slightly, peering into it like she was inspecting a new toy.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “This looks easy.”

“You don’t even know what you’re looking at.”

“There’s a wheel,” she pointed. “And a throttle thingy.”

“Wheel and throttle thingy. That’s exactly how professionals describe it.”

Abby glanced back at him, grin widening. “See? I’m basically an expert already.”

She stepped one foot down into the boat without waiting for further input, the sudden shift in balance causing it to rock much more than the marina, her center of gravity not adjusted to this sort of activity. Turner immediately shot his hand out to hold her wrist, steadying her as best as he could

“Whoa...” she laughed, grabbing his wrist in tandem. “Still getting used to that.”

“Yeah,” Turner muttered, tightening his grip just enough to keep her steady as the boat rocked under her weight. “That’s kind of the whole thing I was warning you about. Well, at least one of the things I was warning you about.”

"Details, details," Abby tutted, stepping her other foot into the boat. "You gonna join me?"

He exhaled, resigned, and stepped forward, carefully placing one foot into the boat. It dipped under his weight, rocking again, and he instinctively grabbed the side.

“Yeah, okay,” he said under his breath. “I hate this already.”

Abby laughed, shifting to make room for him as he climbed fully in. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being realistic,” Turner shot back, steadying himself as the boat swayed. “There’s a difference.”

“Mmhm.”

"The last time I was in a boat, I was dolphin-watching at Virginia Beach and I threw up."

"You told me about that. You were five, the ocean was choppy, it was early in the morning. Complete opposite of today."

Turner narrowed his eyes at her slightly. “You remember a suspicious amount of detail about one throwaway story I told you like… two years ago.”

"Well, you told it to me several times," she shrugged. "Not like exactly to me every time, but I was in the room when you told it to someone else."

"Yeah, well that's where my...ocean-o-phobia or whatever it's called came from."

“Ocean-o-phobia, huh? That sounds dramatic. Are you sure it’s not just you being a little wimpy?”

Turner shot her a look over his shoulder. “I am not wimpy. I respect water. It’s…dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Abby lightly laughed. “Sounds like you're saying ‘I get queasy.’”

“Potato, potāto,” he muttered, gripping the edge of the boat as it rocked gently.

Abby leaned closer, letting her hand brush his casually on the thigh as she reached for the throttle. “Okay, moment of truth,” she said, voice playful. “You ready to see me in action?”

Turner gave a dry exhale. “Ready as I’ll ever be…which is to say not very.”

With a dramatic flourish, Abby pressed the key into the ignition. The outboard motor sputtered and coughed, then roared to life, making the boat jump slightly under the sudden surge. Turner jumped as well, clutching the sides.

“You okay?” she asked, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“I’m fine,” he muttered through gritted teeth, trying not to cling to her for support. “Totally fine.”

“Relax,” she said, flicking the throttle forward just slightly. The boat drifted out from the dock with a gentle sway. “See? Easy.”

Turner let out a slow, cautious breath, trying to match her confidence. “I’m still not sure ‘easy’ is the word I’d use.”

“You’ll see,” she said, nudging the wheel gently. “Boating is all about trust. Trust the machine, trust the water…trust me. I promise I won’t tip us over.”

Turner exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax, though every instinct in his body was screaming at him to cling to something solid. He gave a tentative nod. “Trust you…got it.”

Abby grinned, leaning slightly closer so their shoulders brushed. “Good. That’s the spirit.” She nudged the throttle a bit more and the boat picked up speed, cutting a soft wake behind it. The water glimmered under the morning sun, calm save for the gentle ripples they left in their path.

Turner’s hands remained clasped in his lap, unwilling to move too much, but also not wanting to seem panicked. “You really make this look…too easy for someone who's never done this before,” he admitted.

Abby laughed, the sound warm and teasing. “That’s because I’m naturally talented,” she said, though her eyes twinkled mischievously. “And because you’re obviously overthinking everything.”

"I always overthink everything, you know that."

Abby laughed as she reached out again, just letting her fingers lightly graze his hand. “Well, you can overthink all you want as long as you enjoy the ride too. That’s what dates on boats are all about.”

He let his hand linger near hers hesitantly, then relaxed slightly into the motion of the boat. “Alright… I’ll try.”

“Try? Pfft,” Abby teased. “You’re already doing better than you think. And if we tip over, well…we’ll just swim. Adventure, remember?”

Turner shook his head, chuckling despite himself. “Yeah… adventure. Right. With you, I should have expected nothing less.”

She flashed him a mischievous grin. “Exactly. Now, hold on. I’m taking us onto the scenic route!"

Abby pushed the throttle forward a little more, the boat cutting smoothly through the water, sunlight glinting off the small waves. Turner leaned back, still clutching the sides, feeling his stomach flip a little with every gentle bump.

“Scenic route, huh?” he said, voice tight but amused.

“You don’t get to be this close to me and complain,” Abby shot back over her shoulder, her grin wide. “It’s part of the package. If you're gonna be mopey, get off the boat."

"Uh...but we're in the middle of the water."

"Aw shucks, looks like you're gonna have to be happy then, unless you want me to throw you overboard!"

The boat glided through the morning light, leaving a gentle wake that shimmered behind them. Turner noticed something odd almost immediately: the water rippling behind them seemed…different, as if it were shimmering with more than just light. He squinted, leaning forward slightly.

“Uh…Abby?” he said cautiously. “Do you see that?”

She glanced back, following his gaze. Her brow furrowed. “What…oh.” The wake behind them had began to glow, strands of silver, gold, and purple weaving through the water. “That’s…weird.”

“Yeah, weird is…an understatement,” Turner muttered. “That’s definitely not normal.”

Abby’s fingers tightened slightly on the wheel, eyes scanning the horizon. “I’ve never seen the water do that before. Maybe it’s…some sort of…oceanic thing? Bioluminescent algae or something?”

Turner shook his head, uneasy. “No…that’s not it. This looks like a Kendra thing. It almost looks like it's pointing somewhere.”

Abby squinted forward, the sunlight bouncing off the water’s surface. “Pointing somewhere?”

"Yeah, see how they converge off in that direction?"

They followed the shimmering trail of their own wake, and gradually, a shape began to emerge on the horizon. At first it looked like a small, ordinary island—but as they got closer, it became instantly recognizable.

"It's the hotel," Abby said. "But that's not the direction we came from..."

"Probably some security feature by Kendra to prevent us from going too far out. Something like a tether so that we'll always know where the hotel is," Turner deduced.

"But why wasn't it visible before?" Abby wondered.

Turner furrowed his brow, scanning the island in disbelief. “The hotel seems brighter? And there are three boats in the dock still...even though we took one of them out."

Abby eased the throttle, slowing the boat as they drifted closer. Turner’s eyes stayed locked on the island, the morning sunlight glinting off familiar walls, balconies, and the sharply manicured gardens—everything exactly as he remembered it, yet… different.

“I…don’t think it’s important to understand it right now,” Abby said finally, her tone calm but intrigued. “We just…check it out? Moored boats, seemingly no one around, and we can figure it out. Maybe someone’s setting up something. Or it’s just an abandoned set from a former season that looks identical to this one.”

Turner glanced at her, hesitant. “You’re not worried this is… dangerous? Kendra might be testing something, or—”

“Dangerous? With Kendra?” Abby cut him off with a grin. “Please. She's not gonna let anything happen to you. Worst that could happen is some sort of transformation on me, but I'm willing to risk it.”

Turner exhaled slowly, trying to match Abby’s confidence even though every instinct in his body was screaming at him. “Alright… fine. Let’s just check it out. Carefully.”

Abby eased the boat closer, the glowing strands of their wake fading as the island loomed larger. The familiar angles of the Harem Hotel’s balconies, the gardens, and even the little plaza area made Turner’s stomach flip. “It’s… eerily perfect,” he muttered, scanning for any signs of life.

“Yeah, like someone built it just for us,” Abby said, her hands still steady on the throttle. “Or maybe someone’s been watching us and replicated it exactly.”

They reached the marina at the island’s edge, and Abby carefully slowed the motor until it idled, letting the boat drift gently to the wood. Turner stepped out first, carrying the rope with him and tying it to the only free spot on the dock. Abby followed, with much more grace than she did getting into the boat, joining his side.

Sara grabbed her bag from the counter, glancing at Phoebe with a mix of amusement and concern. “Alright, kiddo,” she said, slipping her arm through Phoebe’s, “we’re going shopping. You need some clothes, toiletries, maybe a crash course in island survival.”

Phoebe blinked at her, still trying to process breakfast and the chaos that had proceeded. “Kiddo?” she asked jokingly. “You know we're the same age, right?”

Sara grinned, unfazed. “Yeah, but you’ve got that ‘just dropped into a magical chaos hotel’ vibe going on. Kiddo fits perfectly.”

Kathryn suddenly appeared on Sara's other side. “Phoebe, do you have anything on you besides what you’re wearing?”

"I mean, I have what's in my jacket pockets...a phone, my car keys, and my wallet," Phoebe listed.

“Perfect,” Kathryn sarcastically said with a nod. “You’ve got the essentials. A cell phone which won't get service in another dimension, car keys for a different planet, and a wallet containing useless currency.”

Phoebe blinked at them, half-amused, half-alarmed. “I…guess that covers survival basics?”

Sara laughed, squeezing Phoebe's arm. “On this island?”

Kathryn tugged her bag strap over her shoulder, eyes scanning the small lounge as if cataloging everything for future reference. “Step one: you need clothes that won’t scream ‘I just got teleported onto a tropical island with my autumn attire on.’ Step two: toiletries so you don’t disgust everyone by accident. Step three…well, I don't know if we need a step three exactly.”

Phoebe took a tentative step forward. “Wait, where exactly am I staying? I don’t…know where my stuff is, or even which building I’m in.”

"I've been trying to figure that out all day," Kathryn sighed. "I don't imagine you'd want to stay up with your brother, his girlfriend, and whomever happens to be his date for the night."

"The three of them probably wouldn't appreciate it," Sara added quickly, but blushed at the connotation.

Kathryn nodded warmly, a rare sign from her. “Exactly. You, me, Sara...you can have your very own little temporary base of operations. Until you figure out where the Hotel wants to put you."

"You can just stay in my bed," Sara offered. "I'm a heavy sleeper."

"You sure she's ready for the 'Sara's bed' experience?" Kathryn poked Sara in the side.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sara shot back, mirroring Phoebe's thoughts exactly.

"You have some strange routines, that's all," Kathryn threw her hands up in defense. "I still remember that one time where I came back from my date night with Turner and you were throwing all of the sheets into the washer at 8:30 in the morning."

The memory of that night replayed in Sara's head, as she was reassuring herself the night before, triggering her transformation and causing an...unfortunate incident in the middle of the night.

Sara groaned and waved her hand vaguely. “Let’s…not go into the nighttime horrors of Sara Rogers. Long story short, it involved...er...some amount of sleepwalking.”

"Right, because that's comforting," Phoebe rolled her eyes.

The three of them walked along the cobbled streets towards the town area. Sara kept looking over at Phoebe, unable to believe that she was actually here with her, both relieved and horrified at the thought. Kathryn saw her roommate looking at the new girl with adoration and chuckled slightly, soft enough so neither of them could hear.

“So…” Phoebe began, a little hesitant, “this is, like…not a resort, right? More like…an experimental social environment?”

Kathryn smirked. “That’s a generous way to put it. ‘Resort’ implies you signed up for a vacation of comfort. This is more…well, you put it perfectly. An experimental social environment. Just so happens that it involves your brother being a harem master, but we've been over that several times already.”

"Less beachside cocktails, more…’please don’t explode emotionally while Turner makes breakfast’,” Sara added. "Although, still some beachside cocktails. We've gotta get drinks while you're here, since they're free and all."

"You sure that bar's safe?" Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "Seems like a trap of Kendra's, if you ask me."

"It probably falls under the same vein as food," Sara shrugged, holding the door to the clothing store open for the three of them. "I don't think it's legal for Kendra to trap essentials."

"It is when you're in a lawless universe," Kathryn retorted, following Phoebe into the shop, Sara trailing closely behind the pair.

The three of them stepped inside the small boutique, the bell above the door jingling softly as they crossed the threshold. Sunlight from outside cast a warm glow over racks of shirts and blouses, shelves stacked with pants, and an assortment of baskets full of miscellaneous accessories. Phoebe’s eyes darted nervously from one item to the next, trying to absorb everything.

"We can come back here whenever we need," Kathryn knocked Phoebe out of her stupor. "Just focus on some...climate-appropriate attire for now. I don't reckon you'll want to stay in your jacket and long pants in the tropics for much longer."

Phoebe took a hesitant step toward a rack of lightweight blouses, brushing her fingers over the fabrics like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to touch them. “Okay…so, how much am I supposed to buy?” she asked. “Is there a ‘you’re in a magical harem island, shop responsibly’ rule I should know about?”

"Nah, I got plenty of BP that I'm not planning to use anytime soon," Sara shook her head. "Go wild."

"BP?" Phoebe echoed.

"Oh, that's the name of the currency here...Kendra hands it out for being popular."

Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Wait… popularity points? Like… in a game?”

Kathryn rolled her eyes, clearly both amused and exasperated. “You could call it that. Basically, the more people in the audience who like you, the more BP you earn. It’s used to buy clothes or weird useless magical shit that Kendra thinks is necessary.”

"Hey, don't knock it," Sara swatted Kathryn's arm. "I used it once to help out Charlotte."

"Yeah, and Lauren used it one time to transfer her arousal to Charlotte and lead an island-wide manhunt for her," Kathryn responded.

Phoebe blinked, still holding her jacket close to her chest. “Right… got it.” She glanced around the shop, suddenly aware that everything looked tiny and very organized, from the neatly folded stacks of shirts to the perfectly hung dresses on the racks. “So… do I just pick what looks normal, or is there a trick to this?”

Kathryn wandered over to a rack of light jackets and pulled out a pale teal one, holding it out to Phoebe. “Try this. Matches your eyes, neutral enough not to scream ‘I belong in another timeline,’ and light enough for morning breezes.”

Phoebe took it hesitantly, letting her fingers brush over the fabric. “I… guess I could try it.”

Sara, meanwhile, had grabbed a few pairs of shorts and some loose tees from a nearby shelf. She handed them to Phoebe like a miniature starter kit. “For the first couple days. Just a few simple outfits while you're still getting yourself assimilated here.”

Phoebe’s gaze shifted between the two women, realizing just how much effort they were putting into not only outfitting her, but preparing her psychologically for the Hotel’s absurd reality. “You… really don’t have to do all this,” she murmured, almost overwhelmed.

Sara grinned. “Well, you’re family. And I don’t mean just your brother. You’re part of the weird Hotel ecosystem now—temporarily, at least—and it’s kind of my job to make sure you don’t starve, freeze, or spontaneously explode in public.”

Phoebe laughed softly at that, the tension in her shoulders easing for the first time since breakfast. “I’ll take that.”

Kathryn moved over to a display of simple sandals and pulled out a few pairs. “Shoes. You’ll want something you can walk in without regretting it. Lord knows what Abby was up to today waking without shoes on.”

Phoebe picked up one of the sandals, carefully turning it over in her hands as if she were examining a small artifact. “Right. Definitely needed. Can’t exactly run from magical chaos in heels.”

Sara smirked. “Trust me, you'll want sneakers for casual walking too.” She held out a pair of soft canvas slip-ons. “Try these on.”

Phoebe slipped her feet into the canvas slip-ons, wiggling her toes experimentally. “Wow… these actually feel normal,” she said, glancing up at Sara with a small, grateful smile.

Sara clapped her hands together. “Victory! You ready to go check out?"

Kathryn stepped up behind Phoebe. “Yep. Shoes on, jackets picked, and a starter wardrobe in hand. Let’s grab some toiletries and maybe a snack for the road while we're out here.”

Phoebe glanced down at her bag, now slightly heavier with the jacket and a couple of tees folded neatly inside. “I feel… armed,” she said, half-joking, half-relieved. “Like I’m prepared for… whatever.”

"Well, never say whatever, this place has a tendency to throw curveballs," Kathryn grimaced.

"Oh, yeah, I remember that time Emma and Turner were out on the beach and she got caught in a rainstorm wearing a white shirt," Sara recollected.

"Or that time that Becca went missing and got herself eliminated," Kathryn replied.

"Or, on a lighter note, that time I was going out dancing with Turner and the dancing instructor was that weird doppelgänger of Kendra, what was her name again?"

"Georgia or something, wasn't she the host for that damn cooking challenge too?" Kathryn recalled.

"Yeah, that...that was a bit of a nightmare," Sara shuddered, remembering what had happened to Kathryn in the aftermath of the challenge.

They rounded the corner toward the small checkout counter, the bell above jingling again as the boutique’s interior stretched into a tidy row of registers. And just like a convenient plot device, there she was, Georgia, standing behind the register, leaning on the counter.

“Surprise!” Georgia said brightly, as if seeing them was exactly what she had expected.

Kathryn froze. “You're the cashier?”

Georgia chuckled, tapping the register screen. “Oh, that. I’ve got a lot of hats here on the island. Cooking challenge host, dancing instructor, tour guide, occasional instigator. Cashier is just the most mundane of my gigs.”

Kathryn crossed her arms, her expression sharpening. “We didn’t know anyone was manning this. Where’s Kendra?”

Georgia’s grin faltered just a fraction, but she didn’t look uncomfortable. “That's on a need-to-know basis, and you don't need to know."

"Then let me try another angle," Kathryn glared at the woman behind the desk. "You're close with Kendra, yeah? Why is Phoebe here?"

Georgia leaned back slightly, resting one elbow on the counter, eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and calculation. “Oh… that. Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it my call, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Kathryn took a step back, keeping her icy glare. “Not exactly helpful. Don’t give us the corporate line. We know you’ve been around Kendra enough to know. Hell, we don't even know for sure that you're not like...an alternate universe form of Kendra."

Georgia let out a short, sharp laugh, the kind that sounded amused but not mocking. “Alternate universe Kendra? Now that’s a new one.”

"You're dodging the question," Kathryn quickly responded, almost interrupting. "Phoebe was brought in a different way than the rest of us. She wasn't taken on day one. She wasn't even taken when the show needed someone to fill a spot, like what happened with Anastasia. She just showed up, out of the blue, without explanation from Kendra, who by the way has been completely unreachable this whole time."

Georgia didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she picked up one of the folded shirts from the counter, swiped it across the scanner agonizingly slowly, and refolded it as if the creases mattered more than the question. The silence stretched just long enough to make it uncomfortable.

Sara shifted her weight. “Okay, that’s officially the longest anyone here has ever taken to answer a question,” she muttered.

"Who's payin' the BP for these here clothes?" Georgia deflected.

"Georgia...whatever your last name is!" Kathryn yelled. "Answer the damn questions!"

“Tropical-appropriate shorts," the Southern woman simply responded. "Excellent choice. Very practical. Not at all the sort of thing someone would buy if they expected to leave in the next twenty-four hours.”

Phoebe felt her stomach drop. “I didn’t say I was staying.”

"Neither did I," Georgia responded nonchalantly. "Who knows what goes on inside Kendra's marvelous mind? I certainly don't. And yelling at me ain't gonna change nothing. Have you even tried lookin' for her at all? Or have you been waitin' for her to come to you?"

Kathryn’s jaw tightened. “We have tried looking,” she said flatly. “She just conveniently isn’t anywhere she’s supposed to be. Stage? Empty. Main lounge? Empty. Weird creepy lighthouse? Locked. It’s almost like she wants us guessing.”

Georgia scanned another shirt, the register letting out a beep that felt wildly out of place in the middle of the tension. “Well now,” she said, voice still light, “that sounds like someone who enjoys suspense. Y’all should try reality television sometime. Oh wait.”

Phoebe shifted the bag in her hands, trying to follow the conversation without spiraling again. “Can I just ask something really simple?” she said carefully. “Am I… actually a contestant here? Like, officially? Because nobody’s told me anything, and I’m kind of buying clothes like someone who’s stuck here longer than a day.”

"That," Georgia responded, scanning another pair of shorts. "Is not information I'm privy to. And you can trust that because I said so."

Kathryn made a sharp, frustrated sound. “Oh my God, you sound exactly like Kendra.”

“High praise,” Georgia replied pleasantly. “She’d be flattered.”

Phoebe swallowed. “No, I mean seriously. Everyone else got, like… an introduction, right? Rules? Points? Magical personality rewrites? I didn’t get any of that. I just… walked into a karaoke bar and suddenly I’m on an island with my brother and a group of women who all look at him like he invented oxygen.”

Sara turned a bright shade of red. “Okay, that is not how I look at him,” she said quickly, then paused. “Well. Not all the time.”

Kathryn snorted under her breath. "Sure you don't. One more week and you'll have literal hearts in your eyes around the poor guy."

Sara opened her mouth, closed it again, and glared at her roommate. “Traitor.”

"Anyways, to answer y'all's questions so you can get on your merry ways, I ain't got the foggiest clue what her motives are," Georgia said, scanning the last shirt. "If I were you, I'd try knockin' on her office door again to see. Now, who's gonna be payin' for this?"

Sara: 8920 BP -> 7920 BP