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The sun hangs low over Isla Nublar, casting long shadows across the clearing where six kids stand in awkward clusters. The air smells of jungle rot and salt spray, and the distant roar of something big rumbles through the trees. A helicopter descends, rotors whipping hair and dust into a frenzy. When the blades slow, a lanky boy in a pink polo steps out like he owns the island. "No need to worry, Kenji is here so let the party commence!" He throws his arms wide, expecting applause. Silence. He shrugs, tosses his bag at Roxie without looking, and saunters over to Darius. "So what's up with you?—" The bag thuds off his head, sending him sprawling. Roxie dusts her hands. "Great. Let's get to the treehouse!" Inside the jeep, Brooklynn is already filming. "What's up Brooklanders! It's ya gir…