“As long as it works,” I say. “Just don’t give her this book.”
I show Maria the book my grandmother wrote.
“Our Ocean, Our World,” Maria says. “Nice.”
“You need to read it next,” I tell her. “It gave me the idea for our project.”
“Which is?” Maria asks.
“The History of Our Water World!” I cheer.
“What’s that?” Maria asks.
“Think about it. We want to teach kids about the ocean and why the wildlife that lives in it is so important to our planet,” I say. “But we need to do something memorable, too, so that people will stay involved. Remember what Jeek said about showing people a world they’ve never seen?”
“I remember,” Maria says. “Keep going.”
“We have to make it real to them. I can translate some of Akemi’s journal, and we can use your sketches to illustrate them. Show them what it was like before our oceans became polluted.”
“What Maria imagined it was like before,” Ms. Tremt corrects me.
“Of course.” I laugh. “Based on reading Akemi’s words.”
“I like it so far,” Maria says. “We can turn it into a section on the school website, and maybe publish them too.”
“Exactly!” I say. “And I can also get Baba, my grandma, to send me photos of the same places now. So people can see the change.”
“Ooooh,” Maria says. “Now you’re talking.”
“And then we can present it all with a fun event, but we can use it to create awareness. Then people may commit to continuing to help,” I say.
“We can really be like Jeek, and film the event too!” Maria suggests.
“Yes!” I say. “We can put the film on our website too. And show it to classes in our school, and other schools, to teach kids there too.”
“Your grandmother will be so proud.” Ms. Tremt sighs happily.
Maria and I hit the bookshelves, and the computer, and start to brainstorm. We can raise money for the Marine Conservancy, which is one of the organizations my grandmother worked for. We think about a bunch of fun activities like water balloon fights, dunk tanks, and Slip ’N Slide and agree to pull in some other kids to help think of more ideas. I know I can talk Faris into it.
“We can have an information table at each activity,” Maria says.
“Definitely,” I agree. “And let’s have a ‘Dream Team’ station.”
“What’s that?” Maria asks.
“That’s your station!” I say. “We can have a whole bunch of art supplies and paper. Then you can help people write stories and draw sketches. We can collect them all and put them together. It’ll be a group work of art that can remind everyone of our cause.”
Maria loves that idea, of course. We know we have a lot more work to do, but we can’t wait to present the idea to Jada.
“There’s no use spending more time on it if she doesn’t like it,” I say.
“Doesn’t like it?” Maria asks. “How can that happen? She’s going to love it.”
“I think so too,” I agree. “But let’s not count our nenes before they hatch.” (Just a reminder, a nene is a Hawaiian goose, in case you didn’t get my little joke. Ha.)
“Agreed,” Maria says.
We head to the cafeteria to see if Jada is in there. She is, wrapping up a stack of care packages that the Be the Change club is sending to soldiers overseas.
“Presenting . . . the first project of our subgroup,” I announce.
Maria presents the Story of Our WaterWorld idea. I know it’s technically my idea, but I’d rather listen to her talk than do the talking myself. And anyway, I need to save my voice for comedy.
“Guys, I love it!” Jada gushes. “Just make sure not to overextend yourselves. You’ve got a lot of different things going on, and that’s going to take a lot of volunteers. So you might want to cut back a little if you can’t get the help.”
“Right,” Maria says.
“Believe me, I’m speaking from personal experience,” Jada says. “And make sure to outline a schedule and a budget right away. You can change it as you come up with more ideas, but you need to know that you have enough time and money to make it work.”
“Can we run things by you?” I ask. “I mean, I know you’re busy, but seeing as this is our first project and all.”
“Of course,” Jada says. “Ask me anything . . . except to do the work. I don’t have time for that.”
“Thanks, Jada,” Maria says. “We’ll definitely take our time and make sure we think through every detail.”
“And every other detail too.” I laugh. “We’re talking about Maria now.”
“I know.” Jada laughs. “That’s why she’s in charge!”
Maria and I are super busy with school and homework and baseball practice and project planning all day on Friday, so we don’t get to check in with Ms. Tremt much. We giggle to ourselves when we see her wandering the hallways, looking in air vents and making odd noises. We check in with her at the end of the day. No bird.
I can hardly sleep that night, and wake up before the sun even rises. My stomach is doing flip-flops and my chest is sweaty and feels like it’s on fire. I’m not worried about the bird, though, or some time-fabric tear or anything like that at all. I’m freaking out thinking about the comedy contest later. What if I bomb? What if no one laughs? What if I look down and I’m not wearing any pants? Okay, that’s not going to happen, because Mom will never let that happen, but I’ve had some dreams that have turned that image into a big worry on my list.
My cell phone buzzes to tell me I have a new text message.
It’s Maria. The day is already off to a good start.
Heading out to meet our friend.
Can I stop by soon?
It’s important.
Sure, I text back.
At nine a.m., the doorbell rings and I run down to get it.
“Hi, Maria,” Yumi says. “Cute skirt!”
Maria beams at Yumi. “Thanks!” she says.
Maria grabs my arm and starts yanking me out the door.
“Tell Mom I’ll be back,” I say.
“We need to stop by the mall to pick up an outfit for the contest later,” Maria says, which is news to me.
“You’re doing that now?!” Yumi yelps. “Mom is going to be so mad. You should have done that a week ago. You know she’s going to want you to stay home and practice your routine.”
“I know.” I laugh nervously.
“That’s why you’re going to tell her,” Maria says to Yumi, like a boss.
“He owes me a favor, then,” Yumi says.
“I do,” I agree. “And let Mom know that Maria’s going to help me practice the routine while we shop.”
After Yumi closes the door, Maria picks up a few items she has hidden in the bushes, and then we sneak behind the garage. Maria fills me in on the details. Ms. Tremt frantically searched the school late Friday afternoon to no avail. She returned to the library, sure that terrible consequences were awaiting, when she finally found the Hawaiian rail cuddled up in a box of books. So Ms. Tremt brought “Manu” back to her house (that’s what she’s calling the bird now; it’s Hawaiian for . . . you’ll never guess . . . bird) and e-mailed Maria. Maria had gone to the movies with her brothers and didn’t check her e-mail until the morning, but as soon as she did, she made plans to meet Ms. Tremt. Maria picked up the bird, and The Book of Memories, and even a special gift for Akemi that I’d asked for help with.
When we’re out of sight of the house, we sneak behind my garage and activate The Book of Memories. Aloha, Hawaii 1900!
Our first job is to take Manu to the secret pond and release him there. Mission accomplished!
“Did you ever wonder why birds are so happy?” I ask Maria.
“I have not,” Maria says.
“They eat everything that bugs them,” I say.
See? I promised I’d practice.
Next stop: Akemi’s. She’s so ex
cited when she sees us that she squeals and pulls us into a big group hug.
(Honestly, I never really pictured Akemi as a group-hug kind of girl.)
I’m just as excited as she is when I see that all of her stuff is right where it belongs, nothing packed up and ready to ship off to Japan.
“Why are you still here?” she says. “Did you lose your job?”
“Oh no,” Maria says. “They’re still waiting for us on the pineapple plantation.”
“They have another boat going there on Tuesday,” I fib. “So we decided to stick around so we could go to Leilani and Tua’s with you.”
“You’re making me so happy,” Akemi says. “I really wanted to go, but I definitely wouldn’t have gone there by myself.”
We follow the path past the secret pool, around the beach, and down the hill into the village. Tua was right. It’s pretty easy to find their home; it’s the noisiest one on the path.
“Aloha!” Tua cries to us from down the road.
He runs up to us and tackles me in a big bear hug. He nearly knocks me over. I think I’m done with hugging for the day.
“This is Makuahine,” Tua says, introducing his mother.
Tua’s mom places flower necklaces, called leis, around each of our necks.
“Aloha,” she says to each of us.
“Nice to meet you,” Maria says.
“Thank you for inviting us to your home,” I add. “This is incredible!”
Leilani and Tua introduce us to their family, and there are way too many people to keep track of. Aunts and uncles, grandpas and grandmas, and a whole table of cousins: Akamu, Mano, Hiapo, Noelani, Ka Nui, Lalama, Pono . . . you get the picture.
So the first thing I need to tell you about is the food. Because there is literally a ton of it. There’s poi, which is made from the mashed-up stems of the taro plant and looks like it could be a food cousin of okayu, a Japanese rice porridge. I love okayu. Poi, not so much. There’s salted fish, which is delish, and a salted jerky that Leilani tells me is called pipikaula. The most impressive thing on the menu, though, is the kalua pig. That’s right, a whole pig, wrapped in banana leaves, which the family has cooked in an underground oven. We watch as they pull the pig out and shred up the meat. It’s juicy and flavorful and I can’t eat enough of it. Maria can’t eat it, though. She thinks the pig is staring at us.
I’m not even finished with my last bite when Tua pulls me aside. He takes off his shirt and tells me to do the same. I’m a little self-conscious, but it seems like all the guys at the party are doing it, so what have I got to lose? Then some of Tua’s cousins come over carrying a pile of grass skirts.
“Put one on,” Tua informs me.
“Seriously?” I say.
“Seriously,” Tua says.
I know how powerful his bear hugs are, so I put it on without another word.
A group of musicians start pounding their drums, and all the men wearing grass skirts gather in a circle and begin to move to the beat. It’s time for the hula, a traditional Hawaiian art form. It uses music and movement to tell a story.
“The Hawaiian goddess Laka divided hula dancers,” Tua explains. “The olapa are the younger dancers who move with a lot of energy. The ho’o-paa are the elders. They sing and play the instruments.”
“So we’re olapa?” I ask.
“You got it.” Tua laughs. “Are you ready?”
“Not really,” I admit. “But I’ll try.”
The hula moves are pretty funky. I try to keep up, but I keep getting my feet tangled up in the grass skirt and bumping into the other dancers. Have I mentioned that they’re all huge? And they don’t look like they’re thrilled with my stellar dance moves.
I look over, and Maria, Akemi, and Leilani are pounding the floor, doubled over and laughing hysterically. Very nice, friends, very nice.
The drums start to quiet and one of Leilani’s uncles begins to tell a Hawaiian legend.
Long, long ago, there were two brother gods known as Kane and Kanaloa. They decided to take a journey and rode a cloud to our beautiful island of Oahu. Kane was a kind and generous god. When his brother began to complain that he was thirsty from the long journey, Kane stopped and looked around. There was no fresh water to drink. Kane used his tall wooden staff to hit the earth. Immediately, fresh water flowed from the spot. Then the brothers continued on. Every time Kanaloa complained about his thirst, Kane banged the ground with his staff. That is why there are now many water holes between Hanauma and Lae’ahi.
The brothers rested at Ke’apapa Hill. “Brother, can your mighty staff find water here?” Kanaloa teased. Kane stayed quiet and listened to the sound of the water rushing through the hill. He smiled. Instead of banging his staff on the ground, he stomped his foot. Water gushed forth, creating the spring Kapanahou, which has the shape of Kane’s foot. The water we have tonight comes from that spring, so we thank you, Kane, for your kindness and generosity.
I’m all wrapped in the story when Maria taps me on the back. I jump, startled. Maria chuckles and points over to a table where Akemi and Leilani are making leis together. They look like they’re going to be BFFs. Clearly, our work here is done.
“We’re going to have to head off,” I tell them. “We have to get ready for the big ship day.”
“Oh no!” Leilani says. “We’re going to miss you so much!”
It looks like the girls are all starting to tear up, and I want no part of that, so I figure it’s time to pull out the surprise.
It’s the gift that Ms. Tremt helped me get for Akemi. I hand it to her.
“It’s just a small gift,” I say. “I hope you’ll like it.”
Akemi unwraps the present. It’s a first-edition printing of Darwin’s On the Origin of Species.
Of course, Akemi hasn’t heard of the book, but she flips through the pages.
“I can’t wait to read it,” she says. “Thank you.”
“I can’t wait for you to read it,” I say, getting a little emotional myself. “I want you to know how much you mean to me . . . to us.”
Look, I’m not a tough guy, but there is no way I am crying in front of a whole lot of people. And I can tell that I’m just about to cry. It doesn’t help that I also have crazy butterflies in my stomach every time I think about the comedy contest that I will be time traveling back to. So it is definitely time to go.
Maria and I wander back to the secret pool. I try out a few of my jokes on her, but she seems to be lost in her thoughts too.
“Going to miss it here?” I ask her.
“I am,” Maria says. “It’s really a special place.”
“I know,” I say. “It’s always been special to me because it’s where many of my family members lived. But this time is different. I can really understand why my uncle works so hard to protect the environment here.”
We’re ready to go, but we take an extra minute to just sit quietly on the rock and soak in all the awesomeness of the secret pool. Then we activate The Book of Memories and I see the space behind my garage. We walk into the picture just in time for . . .
The comedy contest! Maria says good-bye and I head back inside to get changed. Luckily, Maria planned ahead, so she surprised me with a shopping bag with an outfit we had picked out after school during the week. Mom is amused to see me wearing a lei.
“Where did you get that?” she wonders.
“Maria,” I say. “She’s reading Baba’s book, so we’ve been talking a lot about Hawaii. She asked a florist in town to make me one as a special good-luck charm for the show.”
“That was very sweet of her,” Mom says. “I think she’s a keeper. She’s a lovely girl.”
“Mooooommmm,” I moan. “It’s not like that!”
It’s not, really. Don’t get any ideas, people! But you know, maybe I wouldn’t be so upset if it was like that. Just sayin’.
• • •
I could probably win a comedy contest just with a video of the activity in the Mori household right n
ow. Mom would never admit it, because she wants me to think that she’s cool as a cucumber, but she’s super nervous. I am too. And a Mori-family trait is that when we get nervous, we get flustered and clumsy.
I promise that none of Mom’s Satsuma vases will be harmed in the making of this production, but everything else in our house is in danger. Dad can’t find his ties, and as he shoves aside clothes in the closet, the tie rack comes flying out and nearly hits me in the head.
“Ken!” Mom yells. “How’s he going to win the contest with a concussion? Be careful!”
Then Yumi can’t find her lucky socks, and I don’t know why she needs to be lucky, but there is a whole mess of drama around Yumi’s socks. Want to guess where we find them eventually? Yup, in her sock drawer.
“Kai, practice,” Mom says as she runs a comb through my hair.
“Mom!” I protest, grabbing the comb. “I can do my own hair. And I’ve already run through the routine sixteen times today. Let me save my voice.”
“I’m sorry,” Mom says. “Just remember to hold that beat after you say, ‘Did you ever wonder . . .’ Don’t rush!”
“Yes, Mom.” I sigh. “I’ll remember.”
“And then do that funny thing where you scrunch up your face like you’re thinking really hard,” Mom adds.
“Already planning on it,” I say.
“Oh, and don’t forget to leave some space for the audience to react when you finish your line,” Mom continues.
“MOM!” Yumi yells. “Enough already!”
We pile into the car. I wish we could say we’re packed in like a clown car, but it’s not that funny. There are only four of us, and we have a minivan, so we all fit in pretty comfortably.
Dad pulls into the WKBL parking lot where the contest is taking place. There’s a check-in table for contestants up front, and Mom pulls me toward it. After I sign in and get my badge and time slot, we head toward the small stage. I’m glad it’s small, because it doesn’t look so intimidating. The crowd sitting in front of the stage, though? That’s intimidating.
“Kai, remember—” Mom starts.
“Mom!” I say. “No more advice! I feel like I’m going to hurl already!”
Hang Ten for Dear Life! Page 7