by Andre, Bella
“Oh, so it’s hitting you, is it?” He grabs my arm.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie through my teeth.
“Well, let me refresh your memory — my hotness, my awesomeness, you saying you’re not attracted to me anymore… the shrimp incident…. Need I go on?”
The fact that the shrimp incident is its own thing is seriously depressing.
Preston’s beaming, and I’m ready to throw up again, that is, if I had anything in my stomach besides 7up.
Suddenly, I feel two hands grab my arms, and a low voice says, “Come with us please, ma’am.”
I mean, honestly, I DON’T EVEN LOOK LIKE ANGELINA RIGHT NOW! Oh hell. This is how my life is going to end. I’m going to get kidnapped in Maui!
Preston’s face pales slightly as a man in a police uniform asks him the same. We’re escorted to the side of the building to a door which reads Security Office.
You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding.
“Ma’am,” the man in the uniform asks me, “do you realize it is a federal offense to make death threats in an international airport?”
I look up at him and lock eyes on his nametag: Jorge. Seriously, what are the odds? And come on, it’s not like I said bomb. I then proceed to explain just that to Jorge, who looks at me like I just confessed to having a bomb.
Chapter Twenty
So word to the wise: Never say bomb… ever. Not even as a slang word, because apparently, it’s like a free ticket to jail. Which I found out the hard way, because as of right now, I’m sitting behind the bars of a Maui airport holding cell, looking out and wondering if I will ever, in fact, see freedom. I mean, seriously. They didn’t go over what you could and could not say on the stupid safety video on the plane. Oh sure, they tell you what to do if the plane crashes (Gee, thanks), but if the plane does, by some miracle, manage to stay in the air, you better be careful to say only kind words to other people, or else…
The office door opens, and I hear footsteps coming down the hall toward my cell. I strain against the bars in an effort to see who it is, until Preston appears with the smuggest-of-all-smug grins on his face. Naturally, he didn’t get arrested. He was the one being threatened, and he had the foresight not to say bomb like I did. I mean, he’s not a complete idiot. Which I am just now realizing, as I see he has not come to laugh at me but to free me from my prison.
He shakes his head, stuffs his hands in his pockets, walks up to the bars, and chuckles. “How you get yourself in situations like this, I will never understand.”
“Wow. Stating the obvious… you shouldn’t have.”
“Ha ha! I love it when you get so sentimental. It warms my heart.”
“I’ll warm your heart,” I sneer.
“I’m counting on it.”
Okay, and now I’m blushing and looking away. WHY IS HE TORTURING ME?
“You know,” he says, “it’s only fair I keep you in here a little bit longer after all the hitting and threatening. Plus, you aren’t so good at listening when you’re busy chasing me.”
The man had a point, not that I was admitting anything in my current position.
“So, I’ve decided on a compromise.”
“How kind of you, good sir,” I say in my British accent that sounds more like Australian.
“Give me five minutes, and then I’ll free you. You can either get on a plane and never see me again, or… if you like what you hear, you can stay a few more days with me before we go back to Melba.”
It didn’t sound too bad. I mean, I can listen for five minutes if it means freedom. All I truly want to do is break through these metal bars Superman-style, but I’m pretty sure any effort to escape is frowned upon in these cases. So I resign myself to the only choice I actually have.
“Deal.” Then, I sit on the metal bench and cross my legs. The metal bench might have been a good way to escape, minus the fact it is literally chained to the wall.
“Good,” he says, then he starts to pace in front of my cell. "Wow. There’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear come out of my own mouth."
Awesome.
“Clock’s ticking, buddy,” I say impatiently. Immediately I realize the irony and hope he didn’t catch it. No such luck.
“Oh, pardon me. Did you have somewhere you need to be?” he asks, mocking me.
“Fine, sorry,” I mutter.
“Even though you have insulted me gravely, tried to maim and sometimes kill me… I find that I have fallen for you.”
He looks up to meet my eyes with an intense gaze of his own, which sends my heart into fluttering like it did during our first kiss.
“You’re aggravating, insulting, brave, menacing, and well, a little insane.”
“Point taken.”
“But,” he says holding up his finger, “you’re adventurous, loving, outgoing, caring, and hilarious. I mean, you’re in jail and all, because you threatened to kill me for lying to you. Talk about keeping a guy accountable. I think about the adventures we’ve had over the past four days, and I can’t imagine having a normal day ever again, as long as I know you.”
I’m trying to decide if he is insulting me or complimenting me; either way, the fluttering is back, and all I want to do is kiss him. I want to kiss him because nobody has ever made me so angry and so happy all at once. The feelings are intoxicating, choking out any previous desire to maim him.
“So…” he looks so adorable and innocent, “…Angelina.” He laughs. “What do you think?”
Damn, I thought for sure he was going to propose. I mean, it would be awkward telling all my mom’s church friends that my future husband and I got engaged in a Maui prison. Then again, those who know me well would just be like, Oh right, okay. That makes sense.
“I think… I want to stay,” I find myself saying, and I actually mean it. I want to stay and I want to be with him forever, only he already knows I am in love with him on account of my incessant blabbing earlier this week when I thought he was leaving me. Perfect. How romantic of me.
“Great!” he says, clapping his hands together. “I was hoping you’d say that!”
Oh my gosh. He loves me so much! I can tell by the way he was hoping I would stay, I mean, come on!
“It would have been super-expensive to reschedule our plane tickets for today,” he says, interrupting my thoughts.
“Wow, you are the epitome of romance,” I snarl at him, not realizing I have no room to talk, considering I somehow got myself arrested. But let’s just review: it really wasn’t my fault, just saying.
“Amanda, you’re going to have to improve your attitude if you want me to spring you from this place,” he teases, motioning for the officer to unlock the doors.
“Oh, um, I’m sorry. Are you threatening me?” I ask, smiling innocently on the outside but sweating on the inside. You know, if that was like… possible.
“Pretty sure if I threaten you, I’ll somehow offend you again, leaving you no choice but to take it further. Because, let’s face it, that’s just what you do. And somehow I feel we would yet again find ourselves in a prison, or getting kicked off a plane… or out of the country…” he says, looking up as if that is inevitable if he chooses a life with me.
“Yeah, I get it,” I snap, cutting him off and sticking my tongue out at him again.
The guard shakes his head then opens the gate.
“I’m free, I’m free!” I yell, throwing my hands into the air. The problem with flailing like this is I'm not totally aware of the close proximity of the guard. So naturally, I knock him square in the face. His nose only bleeds for like five seconds, but it’s enough for Preston to shoot me a pensive if you get yourself thrown back into jail, I’m not getting you out glare.
I apologize several times before Preston physically lifts me off the floor and carries me out. Again, so romantic. I punch him while he's carrying me, but it's no use. The man is solid, and I’m like a pesky little girl fighting her way through pounds of muscle.
�
��Oh, wow, did you tucker out already?” he teases as he puts me down on my feet.
“I’m not a child!” I say loudly enough for a little boy and his mom to stare then walk away fast. The mother also has her hands over the kid’s eyes. Please, like I am more indecent than TV.
I lifts my hand in protest, getting ready to argue my point to the hovering mother, when Preston puts his hand over my mouth.
“No.”
“But—” I argue.
“No.”
“But—” I say again. I mean, come on, at least let me explain myself.
Instead he gives me one of Kristin’s famous glares.
I roll my eyes and grab his hand instead. “Where are we off to? The hotel? The beach? Food? OOOOH, let’s get food!” I yell rather loudly. Apparently being locked up in a prison makes you want to yell. I wonder if this is how people feel when they spend the night in jail, like their whole lives have new meaning. Well actually, I don’t have new meaning I just find prison makes my stomach feel empty.
Preston, still staring at me, smiles widely before answering, “I think it’s best we go to the hotel to get you cleaned up, and possibly have a late late, late dinner, considering it’s around nine already.”
“Oh, wow. It is late. Weird, I thought I was in there a whole night,” I say, dramatically shaking my head.
“Please, Amanda. I was like ten minutes, and it was only that long because I had to explain to them exactly why you were making death threats toward me.”
I nod my head in understanding but can't hold back the laughter.
“Most interesting vacation ever?” I ask, meeting his green eyes in laughter.
“Definitely,” he says, stopping in the middle of the street.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Kissing you.”
Before I know it, he’s pushing my hair behind my ear and leaning down toward my lips. I close my eyes just as he gently touches my mouth with his own, then wrap my hands around his neck. I am just getting used to the way it feels, when he pushes me away and continues walking.
A sinking feeling develops in the pit of my stomach. I can’t help it. I mean, most of the kisses we shared were in anger, frustration, or just plain passion. This was a good kiss, but it was our first honest kiss, and I feel like I somehow messed it up. We hold hands all the way back to the hut.
I watch him pour me some POG juice and take a giant sip before slipping into my room to freshen up. I come back from the bathroom and notice a little note on my bed. MEET ME HERE. It's the beach; he wants me to meet him at the beach!
I start sweating as I realize what this could mean. He’s either leaving me, proposing, or playing a trick on me. Which one is it? I quickly get ready then run down to the beach, forgetting my room card in the process.
I skip down to where he was pointing and am stopped by Preston himself. He smiles and blindfolds me then carries me — yes, carries me — to the sand and puts me on a blanket. Let’s face it, he is romantic.
I’m smiling so big right now, if there were bugs in the air, they would be stuck in my teeth. I mean, I am elated. I wait for him to take off my blindfold, but instead of taking it off, he leans in rather close. I can tell, because I can feel his breath on my face. My heart suddenly starts fluttering, as I feel his lips touch mine.
Wait, how is this fair? I’m blindfolded! Well, actually it does kind of make sense. I mean, people close their eyes when they kiss. Then a thought hits me. What if I’m the freaky girl who opens her eyes when she kisses, and he can’t stand it, so he has to blindfold me! Shit. That’s why, I’m an eye opener!
I immediately panic, making my kissing worse, considering I can’t catch my breath. Only he takes it as an invitation to kiss me harder, making me more nervous, and well, that’s when I make some sort of whimpering noise as if he is biting me. He stops and laughs then begins talking.
“I love you… so much. I want to be the one.” He stops talking then takes my hands in his own. His hands feel a little clammy, like he is nervous.
My stomach does somersaults while I wait for him to say more. “But—”
He just said but. This is it. Is he already breaking up with me? I can’t be that bad! I can change!
“I won’t open my eyes anymore!” I blurt out before thinking, and then silence.
I wait and wait some more before he asks, “What?”
I then proceed to explain to him my theory until I hear him rumbling with laughter.
“So not where I was going with that, but good to know you have that particular insecurity,” he answers, still laughing.
I am most likely red. Why can’t I ever stop talking? WHY MUST I EVEN SPEAK! It would be better for me to be mute.
“You were saying…” I urge him along.
“I was saying…” he says, taking my cue, “that I love you. I can’t imagine not being with you, even if you are bordering on insanity most days.”
“And those are the good days,” I interrupt jokingly.
“Sadly, I know,” he says laughing. “But I also want you to know I would never ask for forever if I didn’t do it the right way first, and since your dad is no longer here, I thought the only way to prove to you that I want to honor him first, was to do this.”
He pulls off my blindfold. Directly in front of me is a sandcastle. I can tell he used buckets because I can still see their indentations on the castle tops, but it’s perfect. He’s perfect. I start to cry, and he pulls me into his arms.
“I think he would’ve liked me,” Preston says, smiling as I continue to cry.
I nod my head in agreement because the words won’t come.
“Anyway, I want to start a new tradition with you. We build sandcastles together now. Is that okay? I want to be the missing piece. Amanda, I want dates. Not just one or two, but several. I want you to be my girlfriend. I want to ask you to dance with me and have you say yes.” He turns slightly red then continues talking, “I fell in love with you when you were fourteen. You were the only girl in the class who gave me a valentine. And come on, I was the biggest nerd on the planet. My best friend was a rat and I had absolutely no muscle or body fat.” He pushes the hair from his face and smiles, “I like you. A lot. I’ve liked you forever. So I guess that’s what Im asking for. I want you now—and eventually I do want your forever, because honestly? It feels like I’ve been waiting for your yes, forever.”
I look at him dumbstruck. The guy is basically proposing, and he BUILT ME A SANDCASTLE! I know, for some girls it’s a little cheesy, but for me… well, it’s perfect. I don’t even know how to respond. So, in pure Amanda fashion, I tackle him, knocking him over in the process, and kiss him passionately with my wet tears.
He answers my kisses with a few of his own before pulling me into a hug.
“Forever,” I say shyly.
“Probably,” he answers smugly, then laughs and tries to grab my hand.
I glare at him as he starts to run away. I hold out my foot and see him trip while I suppress laughter. Aggravating man.
Chapter Twenty-One
We walk back to the room hand-in-hand, me with a ridiculously huge grin on my face, and Preston with a smug grin of his own plastered all over his handsome face. All in all, it felt like a pretty great trip. I mean, we went to prison together, stole some celebrity identities — you know, the typical American vacation.
I was just getting ready to lean into him and ask for a hug when one of the hotel security guards approaches us.
“Sir.” He nods toward Preston. “Ma’am.” He tips his head toward me.
Oh no. This is where we go to federal prison for impersonating celebrities!
“Do you happen to own a, um, hairless cat?” The man seems amused by the description, making me want to punch him in the face. How dare he insult my cat!
“Yes,” I say timidly, not wanting to jump to any conclusions.
“Well, ma’am, the cat somehow escaped out of your room and is now in one of the nearby coc
onut trees. We tried to get her down, but none of us know her name, and well, we figured she is yours, since you are the only guest we have who actually brought a pet from home to the island. You see, we need to get the cat down, because it’s scaring the guests.”
“Scaring the guests?” I laugh. “How is that possible?”
The security guard shifts his feet and looks down while he answers. “Our cats have hair, ma’am.”
“That’s not even a good excuse!” I seethe, looking to Preston for help, but I don’t know why I rely on him for any help right now. He looks like he’s about to double over in laughter.
“Fine,” I say loudly. “He’ll get her down.” I point to Preston and smile. “Won’t you, sweetie?”
Preston shoots daggers at me then smiles weakly at the security guard. “Where’d you say the cat is?”
The security guard points back up to our hut then toward the tree next to it. Sure enough, there is a small spotlight on Mrs. Butterworth. She must be so scared!
I run over to the tree while simultaneously tugging Preston’s shirt. “Can’t you just shimmy up there?” I plead.
“Shimmy?” He smirks. “You want me to shimmy up a coconut tree? How do you suggest I do that?”
I look at him and throw my hands in the air. “You’re a fireman! You’re supposed to be able to shimmy!” I know it’s a lame accusation, but Mrs. Butterworth is suffering!
“Didn’t know firemen shimmied, lady,” the security guard pipes in.
I shoot him a searing look. He steps away from me. Good boy, I want to say, but instead I look to Preston and start pouting.
“Try calling her first,” he says, obviously annoyed.
“Fine,” I say. I call her name but alas, she doesn’t come down. Then I remember the song I made up for her; it’s the only thing she will come out of hiding for, but I can’t possibly sing it in front of everyone, and not with Preston here. He’ll recognize the tune! I redden as Preston eyes me suspiciously then cups a hand around my mouth.
“Little kitty, little kitty, you are so pretty pretty, little kitty, little kitty.”