Shipwrecked

by Mary Alice Monroe, Angela May (Editor)

Overview

Jake, Macon, and Lovie fight to survive at sea in this third “powerful coming-of-age tale” (Kirkus Reviews) in the middle grade, New York Times bestselling The Islanders series by Mary Alice Monroe!

Jake Potter’s biggest dream finally comes true: he gets his very own boat! And it’s just in time for another summer of fun on Dewees Island with his best friends, Macon and Lovie.

But on their very first fishing trip, the engine dies, and the three friends find themselves adrift at sea. When a storm carries them to a small, uninhabited island far from Dewees, the kids must use every ounce of their strength, courage, and knowledge to survive as they wait for rescue. Will their friendship survive the ultimate test?

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781665933018
Publisher:	Aladdin
Publication date:	06/17/2025
Series:	The Islanders , #3
Edition description:	Reprint
Pages:	288
Product dimensions:	5.10(w) x 7.60(h) x 1.10(d)
Age Range:	8 - 12 Years

About the Author

Mary Alice Monroe is the New York Times bestselling author of twenty-seven books, including the bestselling The Beach House series. Monroe also writes children’s picture books, and a middle grade fiction series called The Islanders. She is a member of the South Carolina Academy of Authors’ Hall of Fame, and her books have received numerous awards, including the South Carolina Center for the Book Award for Writing; the South Carolina Award for Literary Excellence; the SW Florida Author of Distinction Award; the RT Lifetime Achievement Award; the International Book Award for Green Fiction; the Henry Bergh Children’s Book Award; and her novel, A Lowcountry Christmas, won the prestigious Southern Prize for Fiction. The Beach House is a Hallmark Hall of Fame movie, starring Andie MacDowell. Several of her novels have been optioned for film. She is the cocreator and cohost of the weekly web show and podcast Friends & Fiction. Monroe is also an active conservationist and serves on several boards. She lives on the South Carolina coast, which is a source of inspiration for many of her books.

Angela May is the founder of May Media and PR and a former award-winning television news journalist who helps promote great books and share important community stories as a media specialist. She has been working with Mary Alice Monroe for more than a decade. The Islanders series are their first books together! Angela’s husband is a middle school assistant principal. They have two children and live in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina. Connect with her at AngelaMayBooks.com.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1: The Islanders Are Back Together Again!

June 16

THIS WAS GOING TO BE the most epic summer ever!

I could feel it the moment I stepped aboard the ferry. Another summer was beginning at my grandma Honey’s house, the Bird’s Nest, as she calls it. This year, my parents were staying on the island too. Well, at least for part of the summer. They still had to go to work, which lately felt like all the time. But that wouldn’t ruin my mood because it was summer, and today I’d be back on Dewees Island with my best friends—Macon and Lovie.

The ferry sped across the Intracoastal Waterway, carving deep wakes of white-tipped water on either side of the ship. I stood on the open rooftop and leaned against the warm metal railing, taking in the broad expanse of sea and sky. The wind blew through my hair, and my grin spread from ear to ear. I loved being out on the water. The islands, palm trees, and beaches looked different from on a boat, like I imagine the world must look like to the pelicans, eagles, and other birds that fly along the Carolina coast.

I spotted the Dewees Island dock ahead and made a beeline for the ferry boat stairs. My feet clanged on the metal as I hurried down. I was first in line to exit by the time the ferry turned off the big engines. Macon waved and grinned as he trotted down the wood dock to meet me halfway. He was even bigger this summer.

“Finally! You made it,” Macon said as we slapped each other’s backs.

I felt the lingering sting of his strength. “Bro,” I said, stepping back with my chin tilted upward. “You’re massive! How tall are you now?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Macon shrugged. “Almost six feet, I guess.”

At least, I thought, and felt a tiny bit jealous. Macon had always been bigger than me, but I expected I’d catch up one of these days. He just kept growing. And me? I seemed stuck at the same height.

I leaned to the side, trying to look past Macon. “Where’s Lovie?” I asked, hoisting my black backpack onto my shoulder and grabbing my duffel bag handle.

“She’ll be here after her babysitting job.” He gestured for me to follow him. “I’ve got my golf cart. Let’s go drop your stuff off at your grandma’s. Then we can go fishing! Summer’s waiting!”

A short while later, Macon and I were back on the dock with our fishing gear, waiting for Lovie. Neither of us wanted to waste one minute of our summer on Dewees. We had both waited impatiently an entire school year to see each other again, but now that we were back on the island, it felt like we had never left. We talked easily, catching up, like only best friends could.

“This will be my lucky day. I can feel it,” I said as I grabbed a silver mullet out of the yellow bait bucket.

Macon snorted and swiped away the sweat beading up on his brow. “You know that you’ve called this your lucky day thirteen times since we’ve been out here.” He slowly reeled in his line and nodded toward the dog sitting beside me. “The only lucky thing here is your dog.”

Lucky looked up at the sound of his name, thumped his tail, then went back to watching the water with unbridled intensity. He was forty pounds of muscle covered in a mess of wiry brown hair, poised to leap into the water. Lucky was as eager for a fish as I was. In contrast, Macon was sitting with one leg hanging over the dock and one bent at the knee. He tossed his line with a snap of his long arm, sending the line spinning far into the creek. Fishing seemed to come naturally to him, like most other things.



“You must be pretty bored to be keeping count. But this time I really mean it.” I drew back my rod over my shoulder and then threw my arm forward with effort. The line went soaring and kerplunked into the calm dark water. Almost as far as Macon’s cast.

Macon checked his watch. “We’ve been out here for half an hour and not one nibble.” He lay back on the dock with an exaggerated groan, laying his rod next to him. “It’s a good thing our lives don’t depend on what we catch, like back in the old days.” He patted his belly. “Speaking of which, I’m hungry.”

I could hear Macon unwrapping a chewy granola bar.

“Want one?” he offered through a stuffed mouthful.

I glanced over to see the bar, already half-eaten in one huge bite. Macon pinched off a piece for Lucky. He wagged his tail with thanks.

“You can’t go anywhere without food,” I teased.

Macon smirked, then popped the second half of the snack bar into his mouth. “Fuel for the mind,” he said, tapping the side of his head. Lucky nosed at his other hand, hoping for a second morsel. “And I’m a growing boy,” he added.

I looked out over the water and tried to will a fish onto my hook. Come on, fishies, I thought, imagining a spottail bass checking out my bait. I slowly reeled in my line, holding my breath with hope. Atop the nearby wooden piling, a brown pelican watched the action. Suddenly, the tip of my line bent. I jerked my rod, hoping to set the hook into whatever fish was at the end. It tugged back for a moment, and I reeled my line in as fast as I could.

“Nothing!” I hissed at the sight of an empty hook. “And my bait is gone too!”

“Lucky day, all right... for the fish!” Macon slapped his hand on the warm wooden boards, laughing at his own joke. Even my dog looked amused.

I plopped down on the edge of the dock. I found a dried-up periwinkle shell between the wood slats and flung it out over the water, annoyed.

“You jinxed us with all that lucky talk.” Macon took a long swig from his water thermos. “My mama says you shouldn’t wish a fisherman good luck.” He took another sip of water. “It’s actually bad luck.”

“That’s stupid,” I said, stretching my bare feet out into the cool water.

Macon frowned. “Are you calling my mom stupid?”

“No. Sorry. I meant that the old saying sounds stupid. Remember what you heard was the best fix for the jellyfish sting I got that first summer?”

Macon put his palm over his face and shook his head with a small chuckle. “Man, you’re not gonna let me live that down, are you?”

I took off my ball cap, pushing back the sweaty hair matted to my forehead. “Nope,” I replied with a smirk.

“Lovie should be here in a few minutes, right?” Macon asked, changing the subject.

“Yep. She said twelve thirty in her last text.” I readjusted my ball cap on my head and smoothed out my new T-shirt.

“Dressed to impress?” Macon said, wiggling his eyebrows at me with a teasing smile. “She’s going to be glad to see you’ve got your Islanders ball cap on for her.”

“I’m not wearing it for her,” I said, giving him a light punch to his upper arm, which felt as solid as a tree. His size made me glad to have him as my friend instead of an enemy. “Where’s your Islanders cap?”

“In my room... somewhere.”

I’d been in his room, and it was a lot like his brain—filled with fascinating things scattered around in every crevice and corner.

“Good luck finding that,” I teased.

As we laughed, a small boat slowly cruised by us, heading out toward the ocean. We did the Lowcountry thing where you wave at the passing boaters. The family that was packed onto the boat waved back. A black Labrador sat on the bow. That caught Lucky’s attention. He stood up and barked a hello with his tail wagging. The other dog lazily looked our way.

I felt the old yearning swell inside me. “Man, I wish...”

“Not that again,” Macon moaned.

“How much do you think a boat like that would cost?” I asked.

“You couldn’t afford the gas for that boat, bro!” Macon said.

I didn’t reply. It was true.

“Plus, why do you need a boat? Lovie’s getting ready to pull up here any minute, and you know she’d let you drive her boat since you got your boater’s certification.”

“Yeah, but it’s her boat.” My phone buzzed. I unlocked the screen to read the text. “Hold on. It’s my dad.”

Gotta cancel kayak plans. Sorry, son. Delayed with work stuff. Wanna try for Friday? Mom and I will catch a late ferry tonight.

“Whatever,” I muttered as I quickly typed back OK.

“Problem?” Macon asked, reeling in his line.

“My parents never seem to keep their promises these days,” I said, and shoved the phone back into my pants pocket. “Just my dad saying...”

The sound of an approaching boat engine drowned out my words.

A decrepit, mud-encrusted boat puttered up to the dock. Macon clenched his jaw as we shared a nervous glance.

“Oh no,” I whispered, trying not to move my lips. “It’s Oysterman Ollie.”

Lucky stood at attention, his tail lowered as he sensed the sudden change in mood. I wanted to skitter off the dock and hide in a muddy hole like a fiddler crab. But I couldn’t make myself move. Macon froze.

The potbellied man with a thick, graying beard huffed and grunted as he tied up his boat and stepped over onto the dock. His filthy white boots left a trail of dried mud clumps. The scruffy man panted, the corners of his mouth turning downward under dark eyes and sagging jowls, as he gasped like a grouper fish.

A breeze engulfed us in a mix of pluff mud, fish guts, and old sweat. I resisted the urge to tuck my nose under the neckline of my T-shirt. I leaned closer to Macon and whispered, “Do you think Oysterman Ollie remembers us?”

“Act cool.” Macon made the first move by leaning over to grab his backpack. I did the same.

“It’s been two summers,” I whispered while closing up my tackle box. “You think he’s still mad about us accidentally borrowing his boat?”

Macon’s brows rose, and he whispered back, “Correction. You and Lovie stole the boat. I just got pulled into your pea-brained scheme.” He grabbed his fishing rod. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What about Lovie?”

“Later.”

We turned to slip past when Oysterman Ollie abruptly turned to look straight at us with his rheumy eyes. I swallowed hard, choking down my nerves.

Oysterman Ollie moved two fingers from his eyes toward us in a signal that I knew meant I’m watching you. I felt frozen in place even though the sun was high and bright. Then, without uttering a word, the old fisherman hobbled up the metal ramp toward the land. A stack of loose papers fluttered in one of his hands.

Beep! Beep!

The sound of a boat horn drew our attention from Oysterman Ollie to the water, where Lovie was easing her boat into position.

“Hey, you guys! Sorry I’m late,” she yelled, and tossed her bowline out. I caught it with my free hand and helped tie her vessel to the metal cleat on the wooden dock.

“Finally!” Lovie leaped over the boat’s gunwale onto the dock. “The Islanders are together again. Now our summer can begin!” Lovie gave a big open-mouthed smile, like a dolphin, chasing away my worries.

Lucky jumped up to greet her with tail wags and leg licks. “Hi, sweet boy!” She squatted down and ruffled the messy hair behind his ears. Then she stood up, arms stretched out wide, and leaped toward me in a big hug. I was surprised but hugged her back just as tight. “Took you long enough to get here,” she said.

“Look who’s talking,” I replied with a big smile.

Then she turned to hug Macon, who looked stiff and caught off guard by Lovie’s big squeeze. When she stepped back, she whistled slowly. “You’re definitely a lot taller than last summer!”

“Yeah,” Macon said, looking at his feet.

Then Lovie pointed at my head. “You’ve still got your hat.”

Macon cut me a glance, and I stammered, “Yeah,” and tugged the rim down, hoping to hide the warmth flooding my cheeks. She tugged the bill of her own similar cap and tossed her long blond braid back over her shoulder.

Macon lived in Atlanta, so I didn’t see him at all during the school year. But I saw Lovie from time to time because she lived not far from my town of Mount Pleasant on Isle of Palms. It’d been a few months since we last saw each other, and Lovie was already a little bit taller than me, but her hair was the same. Ugh, when was my growth spurt going to kick in? And her favorite gold sea turtle necklace still dangled around her neck.

Lovie suddenly pinched her nose and cried, “Ew! What stinks?”

I pointed to the mud and barnacle-encrusted boat.

Her eyes widened. “Did you see Oysterman Ollie?”

“Yeah,” Macon groaned.

The grayish-brown pelican that had been watching me fish was now sitting at the helm of Oysterman Ollie’s boat. Lucky barked excitedly, scaring the pelican. As it flapped its long wings and lifted off, the bird released a big splatter of white poop, decorating the captain’s seat.

Macon laughed, shaking his head. “Even the bird agrees with me! That’s one bad luck boat.” We all erupted in laughter.

“Come on, you guys,” said Lovie. “Let’s get away from this stinker before the oysterman sees us and thinks we’re messing with it.”

“Great idea!” I replied. “Where to first?”

A grin spread widely across her face. “Race you guys to the Nature Center!” Lovie took off like a jet with my dog right behind her.

“And she’s off,” said Macon.

We clumsily followed with our fishing rods and gear. The laughing cackles of startled marsh hens erupted from their hidden spots in the grass. It sounded to me like a welcome home. I couldn’t help but grin. The Islanders were back together again!

Editorial Reviews

"A powerful coming-of-age tale."

Kirkus Reviews

2024-04-05
In this third series entry, Jake looks forward to another wonderful summer adventure on Dewees Island, South Carolina, with best friends Macon and Lovie, but a chilling prologue signals that something dire is afoot.

After the friends joyfully reunite, Jake announces his determination to purchase a boat. His parents grant him permission, but he must earn the money and make all the necessary repairs. His pals help, and they soon schedule their inaugural voyage. But Jake’s father, who’s often cancelled activities due to work pressures, postpones this longed-for adventure several times. An angry Jake decides to take Lovie and Macon out by himself (their own parental issues may help them overcome their initial reluctance). Jake writes a note explaining their plans but deliberately leaves his phone behind. After a fine start, the friends encounter sudden storms and lose their supplies. Worst of all, the boat stalls and then capsizes, leaving them washed up on an uninhabited island, where they make surprising discoveries. They’re dehydrated, hungry, disheartened, and frightened and must rely on their knowledge, skills, and ingenuity (plus a bit of luck) to survive. Jake narrates the tale in his illustrated journal, employing wonderfully descriptive language that captures not only the exciting events but also the beauty and magnitude of the Lowcountry, while emphasizing the friends’ deep commitment to each other. Readers will feel every emotion along with these characters. Jake and Lovie are coded white; Macon reads Black.

A powerful coming-of-age tale. (map, authors’ note) (Fiction. 8-12)

Kirkus Reviews