It’s bullshit. It doesn’t get to be that easy. It’s not that easy—not for me. Not when thinking of Lea buried in the ground surrounded by worms and beetles and a coffin she would have hated—dark wood with pink trimmings like she was some weird Victorian lady who collected haunted dolls—still makes no sense to me.
When I get back to the house, the car is gone and nobody’s home. I sit in my room, staring out the window and waiting for the headlights to flicker through the glass.
Aunty Ani is the only person who gets out of the car.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Mr. Watanabe is outside pruning his collection of orchids behind the house. I think he knows I’m about two seconds away from setting something on fire, because he tells me I can go inside but, if I feel the need to break something, to leave the piano alone.
I tell him I’d never break an instrument. That’s like taking your anger out on a puppy.
I flip through the basket of music he left me. I try to play a little bit of everything, hoping to find something that could unburden the heaviness in my chest. I want something angry. Something untamed. Something alive, like the orange blaze of an explosion, with glass shattering and wood splintering in every direction. I want a song that makes me feel like I’ve conquered the world through hate and fury.
Mr. Watanabe must’ve heard me playing the keys too hard, because his voice interrupts me. “You play dat one too fast. You sound like you ready fo’ war.”
“I’m in a war,” I correct, pulling my hands back all the same.
He nods to me. “I can see dat. But I no care about your war—I like you stop butchering Tchaikovsky.”
I rub the skin behind my ear. “It’s called venting. Therapists encourage it.”
He grunts, then steps into the room, staring absentmindedly at the sheet music. “You know, war not only t’rowing grenades and shooting da bullets all ovah whereva you feel like it. Dea’s an order to it. Dea’ rules.” He shrugs. “If you no like Tchaikovsky’s rules, den you go try make your own.”
“What, like write my own song? I’ve been trying that. It’s not working.”
“Try mo’ hard den.”
“It’s not that easy. The next song I write will be the first one I’ve written without Lea. It’s like saying good-bye to her. It’s like I’m accepting she’s never coming back.” I blink at him. “It . . . it scares me.”
“You no can help going trew life wit’out being scared sometimes. But if you face your fears, you no need fo’ be scared anymore,” he offers. And then he heads for the doorway. Without turning back around, he adds, “Whateva you do, try play sumt’ing dat no sound like one exorcism. If you keep upsetting da plants, dey not goin’ bloom anymoa.”
I think of my song with Lea. I think of being here in the summer without her. I think about birds flying away to the place she exists—somewhere out of my reach. The place I’m still trying to escape to. And I think of the blue . . . water? Sky? Heart?
It’s too literal. It doesn’t mean anything.
And then I think of a summer with the world on fire, birds like chunks of lava flying through the air, and blue turning violet turning red. A world that’s determined to swallow me up, because the fire keeps building and building and it’s impossible for me to get away from it—to fight the mountain of rage that’s finally ready to explode.
It’s a volcano. I want to write a song that sounds like a volcano.
So I do.
I know it’s not the song I owe my sister, and I know I’m still letting her down by not keeping my promise.
But right now I don’t care. I need the volcano.
And it feels fucking good.
Blue
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Aunty Ani tries to bring up Mom every single day. She says I’ve put if off for long enough. She says I need to forgive her. She says she deserves to be forgiven. She says it’s time. She says Mom isn’t going anywhere, no matter how much I want to run away from her.
Thinking of her nearby, staying in a hotel, waiting for me—it should be comforting, but it’s not.
“I’m not interested in talking,” I say. “It’s too late to fix this.”
“It’s never too late,” Aunty Ani says.
I spend a lot of time at the beach writing lyrics. I get so used to the feel of the hot sand beneath my legs that I actually start to feel cold when I’m not there.
“Summer Bird Blue” is taking up so many pages of my notebook that I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever get it right.
It’s either too personal or not personal enough, too depressing or too cryptic. It’s never right, no matter how many times I rewrite the words.
The sky is so blue
like the summer I left you.
Wrong.
The summer is so cold
and the birds are getting old.
What even.
I watch you fly away
like the birds in May.
Oh my God, these lyrics are the worst.
They’re weak, and volcanoes shouldn’t be weak.
I need Lea. Writing isn’t the same without her. Living isn’t the same without her.
But I have to finish this song. I owe her.
I look across from me. Anyone else would see the base of a coconut tree and a scabby patch of grass mixed with sand. But I see Lea, wearing white cutoff shorts and the blue and yellow flannel shirt that—like the Amélie one—we always fought over.
It was a good shirt. It made us look like we came out of an Urban Outfitters catalog, and I really can’t explain why. We both were always different sizes, but it hugged all the right places and draped in the most flattering way possible.
Lea’s hair is in a side braid, and it always looks great like that because her hair is thick and wavy. She’s smiling at me.
“I’m trying,” I say.
I know, she mouths.
Trying to write, trying to keep her close, trying to not be so violently sad all the time.
I feel a spray of water land on the back of my neck, and I pull my notebook toward my chest to protect it from water damage.
“Dude,” I say instinctively.
Kai’s head is hidden under a towel. He pulls it off, his spiky hair pointing in every direction. “Huh? Oh, sorry.” He laughs and drops the towel near his surfboard.
“You’re like a golden retriever,” I say, wiping the water spots away.
He rubs his hand through his hair and more water flies toward me.
“Stop,” I say, but I’m smirking too and shaking my head. I’ll admit it—Kai is growing on me.
He sits beside me and leans all the way back until his head hits the sand and his knees are bent. Pulling his hands behind his head, he sighs. “Ahh, I’m so tired.”
I look at him for a second. God, his arms are big. He doesn’t look big, but I’ve never seen that amount of arm muscle on anyone in my life. They’re like Marvel comic muscles.
He nods to my notebook. “You almost finished? Does this mean I’ll finally get to hear you play the guitar?”
“It’s not my guitar to play,” I say. “It’s Lea’s.”
He raises a brow.
I shoot him a look. “This is not me pulling the dead sister card.”
“I never said anything.”
“You did that thing with your eyebrow. Yeah, that one. I know what it means.”
“I don’t even know what it means.”
“You do it when you’re thinking of the most annoying thing possible.”
“Harsh.”
“Accurate.”
“You really think I’m annoying?” He pushes himself up on his elbows.
I stiffen. And blink. And find myself poking holes in the sand. I try to think of something to say with the sandwich method, but then I realize I don’t have an insult to say to Kai. Only three compliments.
You have nice arm muscles. I like your eye freckle. It’s nice when you smile at me like you actually care what I
think.
And that’s not a sandwich—that’s just three pieces of bread. An overload of carbs. Nobody needs that many compliments.
“I know it’s your thing and everything, but you don’t have to be so mean all the time.” Kai flicks at the ends of his hair like he’s swatting a fly away. “I mean, we are friends.”
I stop thinking about bread and Kai’s freckle. “You think I’m mean?”
“Are you kidding? You’re so mean.” He dusts sand off his forearms and looks out into the water. Not smiling. Silent.
I frown. “Oh.” I look across at imaginary Lea. She’s rolling her eyes, shaking her head, and tutting at me like I’m the last one to figure all of this out.
I get it, I want to tell her. I’ve messed up. I’ve hurt Kai’s feelings.
I swallow, my hands clasped together in my lap. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be mean.”
“Holy shit.” Kai sits all the way up. “Did you just apologize to me?”
“Okay, for the record, this is what I meant about annoying.”
He laughs. It sounds like a wave, loud, then soft, like it’s rolling to a stop. His mouth falls flat, and when he looks at me his eyes are scrunched. “If you ever like talk about her, you can. I won’t keep making jokes about it. I only make jokes to try to cheer you up, you know? But I can be serious if you need someone fo’ listen.”
I try to look in his eyes, but honestly, his pectoral muscles are so distracting. Instead, I look across the beach and push my toes farther into the sand. “Honestly, why do you never have clothes on?”
He pulls his chin back, but his jaw is so defined it doesn’t disappear. “I’m wearing shorts. It’s not like I’m in my Bibbidees.” He grins, then straightens. “Wait. Are you checking me out?”
“No.” I roll my eyes, picturing Lea’s giggle. She used to tell me she liked watching me talk to boys because it was like watching a house of cards collapse or a wedding cake fall over. One giant disaster.
“It’s okay if you are. I don’t mind.” Kai pauses, tapping his thumbs against his knees. “I check you out sometimes too.”
“What? That is such a weird thing to say.” My cheeks burn.
Kai covers his eyes with the back of his hand and lets out a tired laugh. “Okay, I take it back, then.”
“It’s too late. I can’t unknow what you’ve just told me. Now it’s awkward.”
“How do I make it not awkward?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to smell my arm?”
“What? Why would I want to smell your arm? What is wrong with you?”
He laughs and holds his arm in front of me. “Come on, I like know whatchu think.”
“You are making this worse. You know that, right?”
He doesn’t pull his arm away. I sigh.
“Fine.” I groan, taking a quick smell of his forearm. He smells like vanilla and sugar and maybe some chocolate, too.
“Why do you smell like a bakery?” I ask.
He laughs, pulling his arm back. “Body butter. With SPF.”
“You’re so weird.”
“Do you like it? The body butter, I mean.”
“I guess.”
“That’s good.”
“Why is that good?”
“Jerrod read something about how girls are more likely to go out witchu if they like the way you smell. Something about biology and being able to smell if someone’s a good genetic match.”
“That sounds like complete nonsense.”
“It’s science.”
“Even if it is, you used body butter that smells like chocolate chip cookies. That’s cheating.”
He shrugs. “You like go fo’ dinner with me? Tonight?”
My skin goes tingly. “Are you asking me on a date?”
Kai nods. “Yeah. Want to meet me outside at six o’clock?”
I look across from me. Lea’s watching, urging me to answer.
My heart beats and beats and beats. Are these nerves? Is this what butterflies feel like? Or is this something else?
“Okay,” I say finally, and I honestly don’t know if I said it because I want to or because it’s what Lea would have wanted me to do.
Kai smiles. “Okay.” He waits a few seconds, looking way too proud of himself. And finally, he says, “Well, I should probably get you home. I have to get ready—I have a date with one girl tonight.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Kai’s waiting by the gate at exactly six o’clock. He’s wearing a blue T-shirt, black shorts, and flip-flops. When I get close to him, he doesn’t smell like a bakery anymore—he smells like soap and mouthwash and maybe chewing gum, too. It’s like he’s sterilized himself clean with every variation of mint known to man.
He grins when he sees me. “You look great.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I look exactly the same as I did earlier,” I say, because it’s true. I thought about changing, but I wasn’t sure how much “getting ready” was normal. Just a shower? A shower and fresh clothes? A shower, fresh clothes, and full makeup?
It started to feel too confusing. It started to feel serious.
So I sat in my room writing lyrics and waiting until I saw Kai’s bedroom light go out and knew it was about time to go.
Kai drives to a Japanese restaurant called Takara. When we arrive, the parking lot is so full we have to park across the street and walk.
I can hear live music coming from somewhere—probably one of the hotels nearby. There seem to be hotels everywhere. People spill out onto the sidewalks in groups of three or more, and I actually have a hard time finding anyone who isn’t wearing flip-flops and clothing that shows off their legs.
In Washington everyone is always wearing jeans. Is it weird that these are the kinds of things I notice on a date?
Takara is shaped like a giant square with dark beams and windows. Inside, everything is wood and cushions, and all the lights hang low to the tables like they’re meant to be intimate.
It’s kind of fancy. Oh God, I think this is an actual real date. Not like a, “Hey, let’s go to the movies and see if we like each other” kind of date. This is the kind of date you go on with somebody you already know you like.
I suddenly feel like there’s a lot less air in the room.
The waiter asks us if we want to sit at a table or the sushi bar, and Kai says the bar. There are a bunch of people sitting in the booths, but only a few sitting along the sushi counter. We take two of the empty seats, and Kai picks up one of the menus and passes it to me.
“Do you like sashimi?” he asks.
“I’ve never had it,” I say.
“I always get the Samurai Platter. It comes with two of these, one of these, and miso soup.” He pauses. “You like crab?”
“I’m not sure.” I look at the menu. “I’ll get whatever you’re having. Except not the eel—I don’t think I can do eel.”
“Okay. No eel. Got it.” Kai nods, and when the sushi chef leans over to ask what we want, he asks for two Samurai Platters and green tea for both of us.
“Does your dad know you’re hanging out with me?” I ask.
Kai’s laugh is so relaxed, like he’s never worried about anything. “He knows I’ve been teaching you how fo’ swim. But, I mean, we don’t really talk that much. It’s not like he asks who I go on dates with.”
“Do you go on a lot of dates?” I ask.
“Not really. I had the same girlfriend fo’ a long time in high school, so I went on dates with her.”
“When did you guys break up?”
Kai makes a face at me, his eyes smiling. “You interrogating me? Let’s see, we dated fo’ two years, decided we were better as friends, broke up three months ago, and if you’re wondering, no—I don’t still have feelings fo’ her.”
I feel my cheeks turn pink. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, hapa. You got any exes you like talk about while we’re on the subject?”
I think about Caleb. I think abou
t the last time I saw him. “No,” I say firmly.
Kai taps his finger on the table and tilts his head like he’s juggling a question. “How come you never learned how fo’ swim?”
“We live in Washington. I think Mom was so used to having a beach on her doorstep in Hawaii that it never occurred to her to take us to a public pool.”
“Doesn’t Washington have plenty kine beaches?”
“Yeah, but have you ever been swimming in the ocean up there? It’s freezing.” I remember cliff jumping with Lea and how when we’d hit the water it felt like jumping into a pool of ice cubes. I’d hated every second of it—the flying, the falling, and the swimming. Well, the doggy-paddling, anyway.
“Why did your mom leave Hawaii?”
“My dad was in the navy,” I say. “Mom followed him when he got stationed in Oak Harbor.”
Kai’s eyes go wide. “You’re a navy brat too and you never said anything?”
I crack my knuckles uncomfortably in my lap. “Well, I’m not a navy brat,” I say stiffly. “My dad was only in for a little while, and he left us when he got discharged. So it doesn’t count.”
Kai’s quiet. “Do you stay in touch with him?”
“No.” I don’t say anything else about it, and Kai doesn’t ask.
The waiter brings us two cups and a pot of hot tea. Kai pours it out for both of us, and I wrap my fingers around the cup to feel the warmth.
“I hope I can get orders here in Hawaii. Or California. Somewhere where I’m not going to freeze my okole off.” He sips at his drink.
“I don’t understand why you’re even joining. I mean, you don’t even want to join. What if you end up somewhere cold? What if you end up on a submarine?”
He shrugs. “It would be hard fo’ surf on one submarine. But it’s only four years. And then I can go to school back here and maybe help my mom with Palekaiko Bay.”
“Seems like a waste of four years,” I say quietly. “Because you’ll be stuck there—on your submarine or whatever. You’ll be stuck somewhere where you can’t surf and you don’t even really want to be, all because your dad wants you to. You can’t change your mind and quit. Doesn’t that scare you?” Making big decisions terrifies me. It always has, but it’s even worse now that Lea is gone. Because every decision I make—or don’t make—it’s one more decision Lea doesn’t get to have. Her life ended—her choices were taken away from her.
Summer Bird Blue Page 17