The media circus isn’t there this morning, whichmakes me wonder if Kale has started his community service. They’vebeen camped out for days, hoping to snap a photo or get a comment,but nothing has seemed to pan out for them. I’m pretty sure theywere warned to stay off of private property, and they respect thelaw, but they push the boundaries.
My stomach twists when I think of what’s beenwhispered through the grapevine. Kale grew up next door to me, inthat very house that sits in silence now, until his parents savedenough money to move to California. He wasn’t happy about it at thetime, but seeing his Instagram pictures over the years, it seemedas if he adjusted to the west coast lifestyle. He had friends, wentto parties, and grew into the awesome, fun guy I knew he would be.I always envied California because they got the best of him. Heleft just as we were discovering ourselves, becoming our ownpeople.
I turn the water off and grab the towel that’s drapedover the side of the privacy fence. I know it’d be inappropriate towalk over to the neighbors’ house and ask to see their grandson. Myfamily wouldn’t approve, and Keiko would lecture me for weeks tocome. He’s been the most adamant about me keeping my distance. Buthe doesn’t know the Kale I know – or knew.
Keiko never bothered to step in when I was thatscared child standing on the shoreline barely able to stick her toein the water. My mom’s warnings of shark attacks, jellyfish stings,and rip currents left me clinging to my arm floaties, lifejacket,and that silly dinosaur float that I wore around my waist. Ifnothing else, I was destined not to drown. I was equipped with thebest sunscreen and water shoes, ready to avoid danger at allcosts.
Kale was the one who helped me shed the armor andventure into the sea. He was the one who taught me how to paddleinto a wave and how to pop up on a board. He was the one who toldme that I’d never be able to search for mermaids or hidden treasureif I was trapped in the sand. I can’t imagine not waking up to anearly morning surf session or swim in the ocean. Life wouldn’t bethe same without the smell of salt water lingering in my hair, evenafter a solid wash. The water brought me to life, and I owe that tohim.
Somewhere under the gossip and mugshot is the samekid from next door, the same guy who walked along the beach with meand listened to my endless talk about Starlight Cavern and how Ijust knew a mermaid colony once lived there. We’d made so manyplans to explore the caves once we were old enough to drive andcould go without our parents’ permission.
Maybe things have changed, and maybehe made a mess of his life, but I still believe in him. There’s noway the guy I used to know changed that much in the few years he was inCalifornia. Regardless of what the news media says or what isfloating around on the surf forums, I know Kale isn’t a hardenedcriminal who’s crossed over to the dark side. I’m determined toprove it, one way or another.
I glance back at his grandparents’ house.The front door cracks open, and a flutter rustles in my chest. Itug my towel tighter to me and rush into my house. As much as Iwant to show there’s a chance at redemption for him, there’s no wayI’m proving his light side today.
Chapter Three – Kale
Kapuna sets a cup of coffee in front of me,even though I’m sure he knows I’m not a fan of the taste. I thankhim anyway and sip the hot drink, just because it’s the politething to do. He and Nanna didn’t have to accept me back into theirhome. They knew what this would entail – community service, flightsback to California to testify when the trial rolls around, meetingswith lawyers, and checking in with probation officers. They putfaith in me to turn my life around. I just wish I had that kind offaith in myself.
Out the window, a group of kids rush alongthe shoreline, dashing into the water to hurry out to the emptylineup. There’s a sting in my chest, deep and powerful, as thememories roll in. I remember being just like them, racing out inthe mornings before school trying to catch a wave or two. If youwere lucky enough to grab a good one, everyone would talk about itfor the rest of the day – in class, at break, at lunch, in thegym.
One time, Topher landed a massive aerialbefore school, and it was all anyone could talk about in HornIsland. We had rare offshore winds that day, and he made the mostof it. I can still see it, the way his board landed with ease andhow he threw his fist in the air, claiming it like he’d just wonthe world title.
“I saw Makana last night,” I say to the cupof coffee more than to Kapuna. “I waved at him, but he pretendednot to see me. He was with his friends.”
“Now you listen to me,” Kapuna says, tappingthe table to make me face him. “Your cousins will come around.People like to run their mouths, and they can’t see their own flawsbecause they’re too busy pointing out other people’s.”
“I shamed our family,” I say. “I did this tous.”
“No,” he says. “You made mistakes. We alldo. It’s how we handle the aftermath and what we do to right thosewrongs that matter. People will always talk because they havenothing better to do. You need to hold your head high. You can’tseek out the light if you’re hanging your head in the dark.”
I nod and manage to sputter out a ‘yes,sir,’ but there’s nothing I want more than to reconnect with my oldfriends and family here. I want to hang out on the beaches withthem, sit on their decks watching the sun set, and argue over whogot the best tube ride
