by Kat Bastion
Damn. After a hard swallow, I found my breath again. “People sail in that?” It made Ho‘okipa Beach look like the keiki pool.
“Windsurfers break bones in this.” His solemn tone pinged an ache into the pit of my stomach.
“Ever broken anything?” My legs bounced, anxiety firing nervous energy through me.
“Not while windsurfing.”
“Really?” I glanced at him. “What did you break?”
“Collarbone. Third-grade soccer. My shoulder tried to take on the ground. Shoulder lost.”
I smiled at his humor, fascinated by the morsel of personal information he’d just shared. Were it any other time, I’d have asked him more.
But he said nothing further.
Focus absolute, gaze trained on cresting angry giants that surged up, darkening the sky, he seemed to have entered a kind of meditative state as he methodically stretched his muscles.
He vibrated with an intensity I’d never seen in him before.
Tension rippled through the air all around us: from the camera crews, from the judges and officials, from a growing crowd of spectators. And from our three-by-three square of sand.
I tried to stamp out my anxiety. Had to suck in a deep lungful of air when I’d forgotten how to breathe. Broken bones? The least of my worries.
Mase was about to go out there—face the wrath of an unforgiving planet.
Pulse accelerating at the insanity unfolding around us, I turned his way. He didn’t budge, even when I crossed my arms and stared at him. He’d entered a calm place where none of the environment penetrated his brain, not the hazardous conditions nor the people.
You could die in this.
I didn’t say it. Felt sick in my gut that I’d even thought it.
Not wanting to jinx our first real competition day any further, I followed his lead, staying focused on my tasks by giving him the rundown on the day. “You’re in the second heat. With two others.”
“Who?”
I scanned down my clipboard, holding down the corners of the paper that tried to whip around in the wind. “Royce and Mateo.”
He gave a nod. “They ride clean.”
The first rounds in the three-day competition were dedicated to wave riding. After that, came freestyle. The last was racing.
The next hour flew by. Before I knew it, Mase sailed out there in the middle of an oceanic grinder. I stood on the beach, gripping my hands together, hoping Mase would step back onto the beach in one piece.
His first ride? Incredible: clean lines, no crazy tricks. Just surviving that beast earned him a great score.
On his second drop in, he caught air. Big air. I gasped as the gust ripped him up into the sky. A camera-crew helicopter swung out then up and angled away to avoid hitting him with their rotor wash.
For several death-defying beats he sailed through the air like a kite on a broken string. Then gravity took over, tumbling him down. He spun out of control—and dropped like a rock.
I yanked my hand from my mouth and raced to the shoreline, staring up at the sky. “Pull up, Mase!” I shouted, doubtful about how he’d recover…but hoping all the same.
A million horrible things crashed into my mind at once. Him landing on the board perpendicular to the water, breaking multiple bones on impact. The board hitting the water at an angle and impaling him. And assuming he survived the four-story fall he was about to take, him getting knocked unconscious or his gear tangling around him, causing him to drown.
The next minutes passed by in a blur. Rescue watercraft towing a yellow Lifesled raced into the maelstrom. Tense eternal seconds later, the watercraft reappeared from the undulating surf, one of the two lifeguards who’d ridden out on it holding Mase’s lifeless form up on the sled. They angled at high speed toward the far end of the beach, where the medic tent had been located.
Dozens of people rushed to surround them before I even made it over there, medics, race officials, spectators…I couldn’t tell. All I remembered was pushing my way through, trying to breathe, praying he was still alive.
By the time I made it over there, his eyes had half opened. Blood streamed down his face.
“Mase!”
His gaze seemed unfocused, but he turned toward me. Then his lips twisted into a lopsided smile. “Hey, island girl.”
Then he passed out.
Over an hour later, with a stitched gash on his forehead and deep purple bruising on his shoulder, he glanced up when I walked into the tent.
“Damn, Mase. You look like you’ve been gang jumped.”
He bobbed a nod with low grunt, then a winced as his hand shot up to his head. “Feel like it.”
“Here, drink this. Only slow sips. They want to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”
“When can I bail?”
“Anytime you’re ready to stand.”
He swung his upper body up and twisted, then wobbled backward until his shoulders hit the towel-covered cushioned table. “Maybe not just yet,” he muttered. “How’d I do?”
“Decent. Your first ride scored high enough to advance into tomorrow’s round.”
“Good.” He shut his eyes, dropping his head back to the pillow.
My hands began to shake, tears welling in my eyes. “Mase?”
“Yeah…”
When I didn’t answer, he cracked open an eye. Then both opened wide and he sat up with a low groan, but he crushed me against him in a strong embrace in spite of his injuries.
“Please don’t die out there,” I whispered.
I can’t lose you.
He tightened his hold on me. “I won’t.”
I clung to him, holding on to that promise. But I sighed, terrified, knowing firsthand that forces greater than ourselves sometimes took that decision out of our hands.
Mase…
Nine days after I’d won my first competition under Makani’s sponsorship, Leilani stared at The Liberty Bell, a piece of American history that I’d seen a million times: as a boy on fieldtrips, with Deke and my father when good ole pops got philosophical and wanted to impart wisdom on his preordained eldest son.
Her eyes narrowed at the bell.
“Don’t like it?”
“It’s not my liberty.”
“No, I guess not.” The United States had fought, bled, and died to break free of the tyranny and oppression of the British. Hawai‘i had been a sovereign nation then, a kingdom unto its own. Until a hundred years later, when we decided they were too wild, needed to be tamed…civilized. Governed.
Her gaze remained locked on the crack in the bronze bell.
“Why did you insist on coming here, then?” We’d already been to Constitution Hall and the Benjamin Franklin Museum.
“I wanted to understand you, where you come from.”
I nodded at the bell. “This isn’t me.”
“Isn’t it? Your beliefs are shaped by the things you’re taught. Just like mine are.”
“Are they so different? Your beliefs? Mine?”
“How could they be the same? The political system is broken, rigged to line the pockets of the powerful. The ones who get elected are those who lie the best, shout the loudest, shock the most. Those same types of greedy businessmen stole our land from us.”
“So make a difference.”
She scoffed. “I’m no politician.”
“Lead by example, then. What I’m doing.”
“Surfing?”
I shook my head. “Living humbly. Being kind and giving.”
“But how does that change anything?”
“That’s the thing.” I’d been giving the topic a lot of thought lately. “Everyone thinks their mark to change the world has to be big, heard it all my life: ‘Make a splash,’ ‘Hit ’em with a game changer.’ People in power want one gigantic atomic bomb whose blast vibrates the whole world. But they’ve got it all wrong. It’s too big.”
Her gaze drifted toward the skyscrapers dominating the Philadelphia skyline, toward a spot on the
globe where enormous radical ideas had altered the course of our world. She turned and gripped the handrail, letting out a heavy sigh.
I stepped behind her, wrapping my arms around her to warm her chilled skin.
She nestled back into my hold. “All the steel and concrete feels foreign; it’s dead.”
“On the earth,” I agreed. “Not of it.”
“Yeah.”
“When I left here, when all I wanted was to be surrounded by nature and those who valued it, I went back home.” To a time when two boys found their hearts in the simple gifts the earth offered. “Untouched beach. Wild jungles. Pure water. But accepting the beliefs of those around me, blending into what already exists and contributing what I can is important to me. If we keep that spirit alive one act at a time—with every act we make—we make the world better.”
“Are you happy you came?”
I gently rested my chin on her head. “Ask me again tonight.”
“Will it be that bad?”
“The party? No. Stick with me and my friends and you’ll be fine. My parents? Yeah. It’s always bad.”
“Do you want to skip it?”
“No. I need this closure. Like you said, I come from here. It shaped me. But instead of molding me into its cold steel and unforgiving concrete, I broke free. Because one of the true things that mattered to me…the person who mattered the most…died.”
She turned in my arms. Black eyes stared up at me, glittering with emotion. “Is it hard being here without him?”
“Some. He karate-kicked that bell once in front of my father. Broke his big toe.”
“No!” Her hand flew over her mouth. “Did he not like it either?”
“Nah. Just didn’t like being trotted around and lectured about his future.”
“I get that. Remember when I said I felt like I was living someone else’s life? My makuakane has heavy expectations of me too. The boys can be as wild as they want, but the girl in the family? Needs to be proper, follow all the rules. Even though all of us were taught to fight for Hawaiian sovereignty above all else. And my desire to travel? Not something he approves of. Who I want to date? Not my choice in his eyes. Why I moved in with Makani when I turned eighteen—to give me breathing room.”
“Yeah. I get parents and their unreasonable expectations. The pre-med thing? Mostly them. Took me giving it a try, though, to realize it wasn’t for me.”
Her voice softened. “Doesn’t it bother you that your friends are still here?”
“No. They have their own lives. Are passionate about things they have here. And their ties to family are stronger.”
“What are you passionate about? What about your parents?” Her brow wrinkled. “Much as some of my family angers me, I can’t imagine living without mine.”
“You. I’m passionate about you.” I tugged her into my arms, hoping we’d survive the coming storm. “Family?” The word had been redefined for me. “You’ll…see.”
Leilani…
Among the couples waiting in line ahead of us, and those dripping one by one from stately limousines and low-profile sports cars at the curb, the men wore black tuxedos like Mase. The women? Flowing ankle-length gowns made of soft silks and rippling chiffons in solid but muted hues of silver, buttercream, peach, or lilac.
“You sure I look all right?”
I smoothed nervous hands over Tutu’s vintage 1950’s dress that I’d admired ever since I was a little keiki. Tonight had seemed the perfect first occasion to wear the flirty dress. But I began to doubt myself with its knee-length flaring hemline and tropical dark-green pattern that was brightened by canary-yellow on both its petticoats and gathered low-cut neckline.
Mase slid his hand along my lower back, possessively gripped my hip, then gave a gentle tug, tucking me up against his side. His lips brushed over the top of my ear, his warm breath over my skin dancing goose bumps down my side. “You look good enough to eat.”
I blew out a shaky breath, heat tinging my cheeks as I blushed.
Okay, then. Good enough for Mase? All that mattered.
“Mr. Price?” An auburn-haired woman checking the guest list at the door glanced up for a second confirmation from Mase. At his nod, she raised up a hand and waved her fingers in a beckoning motion to a security guard in a black suit just inside the building who gave her a chin-up signal in reply. After leaning toward a similarly dressed companion, he abandoned his inner post to stand beside us.
“This is Senator Price’s son.”
“And guest,” Mase reminded her.
“Yes.” She gave me a cursory glance. “And guest. Please escort them in.”
Leaning in toward Mase, I whispered, “We need escorts?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you.”
“No. We don’t need escorts.”
Another security member fell in line on the other side of us. We followed the increasing sounds of ragtime music as they led us down the hall and into the entry of a massive ballroom.
I paused at the entrance, taken aback by the opulence of the grand space.
A wall-to-wall sea of crisp white tablecloths held sparkling crystal and gleaming china. Chairs were draped in matching white, with black satin that pinched tight at their waists then curved behind into a big bow. Each table’s centerpiece featured tea light candles flickering in glass as they encircled a regal vase; within, a floral arrangement held ivory roses blushed with a hint of pink, arching Phalaenopsis orchids, white with a spattering of coral specks on their petals, and, surrounded by rich emerald leaves, two King White proteas, one spread wide open, the other a snowy bud about to bloom.
Without thinking, I released Mase’s hand and drifted over to the bud, stroking the soft protective petals with a sigh, then a wistful smile. A piece of home had traveled almost five thousand miles to say hello.
Hello, I thought back to the beautiful flower.
In the middle of a hectic political scene, with jostling people uttering sweet platitudes meant to disguise caustic ulterior motives that even an islander could detect, a lone flower stood pure, unaffected by it all.
I straightened my shoulders back, tipping my head high. On a steady inhale, I surveyed the room again, filled with a sense of pride and purpose. The bright tropical silk of my vintage dress stood out among the sleek, sedate gowns for a reason. Those women were vipers in disguise. I would be what the proteas represented: purity, grace, a child of ‘āina—Hawaiian.
The aloha spirit vibrated through me and I would share that love of earth and family with those around me, regardless of their attire, beliefs, or breeding. Because if Mase and I expected the world to accept us, to invite unity among race, then we needed to accept them as well.
A gentle touch on my forearm made me turn to face a pretty girl with a widening smile. “Oh. My. God. You’re dress! Where did you get it?”
Shining cherry gloss covered perfect lips. Thick black eyeliner and long lashes framed striking green eyes. Dark red hair had been sleeked back into an impeccable high chignon, even though a few wisps of hair had been teased loose at the crown and nape.
And she wore a vintage halter dress in the same silhouette as mine. Only instead of tropical green with bright yellow accents, hers shimmered a deep satin red with black.
“My grandmother.” I grinned, happy to find a kindred spirit, in fashion if nothing else. “She wore it to her high school prom.”
“It’s to die for.” She cocked her head, reaching for the hem. “May I?”
I glanced at Mase, who wore a huge grin. “Sure.”
With care, she pulled the hem up a few inches, revealing more of the yellow petticoats. “I knew we should’ve gone louder.”
“You’re the one who wanted to dress conservative for ‘business’ respectability. I had to give, you had to give.” A tall man appeared beside her. And although he wore a black tuxedo, the lapels were a shinier satin and trimmed entirely in silver-braided piping.
I couldn’
t tear my gaze from his head. Shaved clean on both sides up to the top of his head, inky black hair stood on end, two inches out from his scalp.
The man caught my stare and smirked as he ran his fingers over the top, brushing the ends. “Taming down the clothes, yes. The Mohawk? No.”
When he shook his head, metal piercings in his eyebrow, ears, and nose glinted even in the dim candlelight.
Mase wrapped an arm around my shoulder, then tilted his head down toward mine. “Don’t let these two scare you. They’re good friends of mine. Chloe and Daniel own and run a sinful bakery. I’m guessing Sweet Dreams is supplying this shindig?”
“You bet your ass, we are.” Daniel gave a Mohawk-bouncing nod. “Figure we can get everyone high on sugar, hook ’em into booking more events with Invitation Only, and keeping everyone in the black.”
“Guys, this is my girlfriend, Leilani.”
“Girlfriend?” Chloe stretched out her arms, then gave me a gentle hip-bump. I shot Mase an amused look but grinned and hip-bumped her back as Mase fought a smile.
“Girlfriend!” A brunette with bright blue eyes whirled in beside Chloe, then gave me a gentle hug. “Mase, you holding out on us?”
Mase laughed. “Never from you, Kiki. Leilani, this is one of Cade’s three sisters.”
Kiki wrapped an arm around Chloe’s waist and her other around mine. “C’mon, new girlfriend. We’ve got primping going on in the bathroom with Kendall, Kristen, and Hannah; we’ll introduce you.”
Panicked, because I’d never run off with girls I’d just met, I usually hung out with guys, and I’d never primped in my life, I blinked and stared over my shoulder as Kiki and Chloe dragged me away.
Mase waved me on with his fingers and mouthed, “Go. You’ll be fine.”
Says him.
I’d also never been thrust into a mostly white world.
Who was the haole now?
Mase…
On a hard breath, I prayed Leilani would relax and enjoy herself.