And the truth is, I’m nothing but troublefor everyone here.
Chapter Eight – Leilani
When Kale arrives home from communityservice, I bolt from the chair on our deck and dash across theyard. My brother sent me a strand of lengthy text messages today,apologizing in advance for what he’d said to Kale. Even if hethinks he’s right, Keiko knows he crossed the line. Bringing ColbyTaylor’s name into it was probably the worst thing he could’vedone.
“Hey!” I shout out, hoping to keep Kale fromgoing inside. “I’m sorry about my brother. He told me what he saidto you. He shouldn’t have.”
“It’s fine,” Kale says. “Seriously, I getit. I was pissed this morning, but I’m over it. I understand whyyour family doesn’t want you talking to me. I’m not offended. I’vealready told you that. I’m just biding my time until I can get outof here.”
“Is that really what you want?” I ask. “Youwant out of Hawaii?”
He looks past me, out toward the water thathe taught me how to surf in. Then he runs his hand over his hairand motions me toward the deck behind his house. I follow throughthe sand, uncertain of where this conversation will go, but thefact that he’s even willing to talk to me right now says a lot.
He stretches out on a patio chair. “All Iever wanted was to come home. To be with my friends and family, tosurf my waves again, to just be home,” he says. “And now, I don’tbelong here either. I blew it in Cali. I’m unwelcome here. I gotmixed up with powerful people who ended up having power over me,and I dug my own grave deeper and deeper until they knocked me downin it. I feel like I’m literally six feet under staring up at theworld wishing someone would pull me out of this hole, but no one isnearby to help.”
It’s just a flicker of light, but I see itin his eyes, like a blast of sunlight bouncing through thedarkness. He’s still in there, buried under the mistakes andregrets.
I sit on the chair next to him. “Do youremember the first time I got on a surfboard? Just to paddle out?”I ask.
He sits up a little bit and nods.
“Do you remember what you told me before wepaddled out?” I ask. “We were standing on the shoreline…”
A smile pops onto his face in an instant.“You were wearing a lifejacket. Pink with a butterfly on it? It wasbulky as hell,” he says. “And you had orange floaties on your arms…and water shoes? Didn’t your mom make you wear water shoes?”
My mom had a picture of me on the fridge formany, many years smiling on the beach with all of my inflatablelifesaving devices attached to me. It’s an image I can’t escape,even now.
“Yes, that’s exactly the picture I didn’twant you to paint for me,” I say. “But do you remember what yousaid?”
He nods. “Your armor is weighing you down,”he says. “You were terrified to strip it all away because your momhad you convinced that this was the only way you’d be safe.”
“But I left those floats on the shore and Igot on that board,” I remind him. “All of those things you did? Allof the bad things that you guilt yourself over? You need to leavethose in that grave you dug and let me help you climb out ofit.”
He hesitates and then shakes his head.“Leilani, I can’t,” he says. “This isn’t like learning to surf orfacing the ocean.”
“Facing your fear,” I correct him. “As longas you stay in that hole, you’re never going to move forward. Nothere. Not in Europe or Australia or anywhere. I’m not judging youby what you did. I knew you before, and I want to know you after.But I can’t if you’re six feet under.”
He doesn’t say anything else, which onlymakes the moment more awkward than before.
“Do you still have your phone?” I ask.
He nods and hands it to me like it’s aforeign object that he hasn’t used in years. I’m sure none of hisCalifornia friends are in touch with him these days. I key mynumber in and then call my own phone so I can save his. It’s a Caliarea code.
“You should come out with me tonight,” Isay. “Just to hang out with me and some friends. Fresh start. Ithink you could use the oxygen. I’ll text you later and see ifyou’re up for it?”
He nods. “If Nanna and Kapuna are okay withit,” he says. “They’ve taken on a lot letting me come back here.What they say is the law right now.”
Chapter Nine – Kale
“Don’t stay out too late,” Nanna instructsme as she scrubs a plate in the sink before loading it into thedishwasher. “And you already know to stay out of trouble.”
“I will. I promise,” I tell her.
I reach out to hug her, and she leans intome to avoid touching me with her soapy, wet hands. I was surprisedthat she and Kapuna were okay with letting me go out for the nightwith Leilani. Maybe it’s because they know she’s a good influence.They said they wanted me to start rebuilding my life, and hidingaway from everyone wasn’t advancing my future. I guess that’s thegood thing about grandparents – they’re much more open to lettingyou have freedom than your own parents are.
When everything went down in California, mymom immediately closed the blinds and hung black-out curtains tokeep anyone from spying on us. Dad wore sunglasses anytime he leftthe house, and Mom became a recluse, which broke me because she wasalways such a social person. I hope they’re doing better nowthat I’m away, but I struggle to believe it. I ruined their nameand their reputations. I know how people are. They instantly wonderhow my parents raised me, if they could’ve done more to stop me, ifthey instilled
