The Island's Inhabitant

Mission

"What am I supposed to be doing again?" Maximillian Skeet asked, looking around at all the dusty articles that had been shoved into the McKnight attic.

Zoey turned to her classmate with a slight huff of impatience and said, "Help me sort through all this stuff. I'm trying to compile all the stories my father used to tell me and my siblings when we were younger."

"Are you sure you're up for this? I mean, your dad did just die only a few days ago. Don't you think it's too... soon?"

"Max, do you have any idea how much more grievous it is knowing that your siblings may not remember your parents in three or four years?"

Max thought for a moment, then released a chuckle. "Hey," he said. "I may be the best student in this entire county, but you don't have to speak differently to me. Just talk natural. I know slang too."

"Max!"

"Right. Sorry. I guess I can't exactly relate, to tell you the truth."

"How come?"

Max sighed and looked away, clearly uncomfortable to expand on the subject. Confused for a moment, Zoey watched him. Then she recalled his home life, and her face flushed with the embarrassment of asking.

"Oh... my bad..."

"You're fine. Either way though, remind me again the benefits of helping you."

Zoey scoffed in disbelief at Max. He chuckled again and immediately set out to the job she had unofficially hired him for. At first, Zoey was too annoyed to do anything besides work alongside him. But she thought about his question. Why would he help her? Especially when she had never specified what he could possibly get out of it. Sure, maybe a look into the McKnight family history, but what use was that to him? She hadn't promised him any kind of payment, except maybe a thanks and a glass of lemonade. What made him willing to spend his summer break hanging out in a dusty attic sorting through junk?

"Zoey," Max stated, starting the girl from her reverie. "I'm doing this for practice, okay? I don't know exactly what I plan to do in the future, but I feel like this will help me. Call it a hunch, I guess."

"But... I can't pay you for this..."

"So? I'm not doing it for any reward. Just a thank you—verbally would be preferred—and maybe a glass of lemonade."

"Are you sure?"

Max set down the stack of papers he had been sifting through and turned towards his classmate. "If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't say it, Zoey. I'm not the class president because I'm smart and have the skills. I'm the class president because I'm a man of my word and never ask or promise more than I can expect. So don't even think about paying me."

Zoey wanted to press the matter. She felt bad assuming so much of Max's free time. However, she could sense that he was set in his decision. Unable to find a reasonable argument to combat his, she remained quiet. Besides, even if they weren't best friends, Zoey knew Max well enough to know that he stated the truth. He never promised any outcome, only his best efforts to achieve a goal.

Well, she thought. At least I'll still be gleaning a lot of information about Dad and Ma and Uncle Denver...

The attic was incredibly cluttered, so Max and Zoey spent the first several days scanning through all the boxes. Surprisingly, there was quite a bit of junk, and with Mae's permission—and pleased gratitude—they were able to throw away or donate most of the old toys and comic books and memorabilia that meant little to the remaining McKnight family.

"I still can't believe," Max noted one time as they packed the boxes into Mae's trunk, "that you can just give this stuff away so easily."

"What do you mean?" Zoey asked, wiping the sweat from her brow.