Sunrise

by Melissa J Morgan

  Micah didn’t seem to expect that answer. “Uh, yeah, you’re welcome,” he said. Then they looked at each other, as best they could in the dim light, sort of dazed.

  Can I put my head in the bag now? Pretend this isn’t happening? Cassie wondered. She could not believe she had actually told him no.

  Then Tori came to the rescue—as always.

  “What she means is yeah,” Tori piped up. “We’re dying for a walk. Aren’t we, Eddie?”

  Eddie had just shuffled over and was standing there as confused as Cassie. “We are?” he said.

  “Yeah, we so are,” Tori said. She pushed Cassie forward, a step closer to Micah. “Right, Cass?”

  “Yeah, sorry,” Cassie mumbled. “I got confused.”

  In a matter of minutes, the four of them were on a long stretch of beach, the sound of splashing and laughter echoing in the distance. Tori and Eddie held hands, walking with their toes in the lapping tides. Cassie and Micah walked silently side by side, enough space between them that their hands never touched. Cassie wondered what would happen—what stupid thing would shoot out of her mouth—if they did.

  “This isn’t about the surf contest, is it?” she finally asked. It was the only thing she could think of, and she was desperate to break the silence.

  “No,” he said. “I was just wondering what you were doing this Sunday.”

  “Why?”

  “Just, Sunday’s our day off . . .”

  She walked blankly through the darkness. When she’d look back on this moment, she’d want to smack herself upside the head. “On Sunday?” she said. “I guess I’m doing laundry.”

  Laundry?!

  “Oh,” he said. “Cool.”

  “I need to get detergent,” she said.

  “Yeah, you’ll need that.”

  “But it can’t be Tide.” He was silent for a moment, so she continued. “Tide gives me hives.”

  “It does?”

  “I guess it’s really strong stuff or something. I get these huge red welts, they itch like crazy and—Um. It’s just gross.”

  In her mind was an incoherent wordless thought of only: ????

  Truly, she had no words for the fool she was making of herself.

  “That’s too bad,” he said.

  “That I’m doing laundry?”

  “No, I mean I was gonna say you could borrow some of my detergent, but I think maybe it’s Tide. So . . .”

  “So then I shouldn’t, you know, ’cause that would be like really . . .”

  “Gross.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.” They’d reached a turn in the beach. “I guess we should head back now,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said.

  It was the most meaningless conversation she’d ever had.

  But then Micah stopped. She felt so out of sorts, she wouldn’t have been surprised if hives had spouted up all over her face. “You really have to do laundry on Sunday?” he asked.

  Tori and Eddie were passing by at that moment. Tori stopped and inserted herself in the conversation. “She’s not doing anything on Sunday,” she said. “Why, are you guys going out somewhere?”

  She was asking like it had already happened.

  Like Cassie hadn’t just mortified herself over laundry soap.

  “I was thinking we could take a drive off camp grounds,” Micah said. “Sunday morning.”

  “That sounds like fun. Right, Cass?” Tori poked her hard with an elbow.

  “Uh-huh,” Cassie said.

  “She’ll be there,” Tori said.

  But Micah was looking at Cassie for the answer. He seemed to want to hear it from her own lips. “You sure?” he said. “You have time with all that laundry?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Laundry can wait. I’ll be there.”

  Danica was enjoying her swim in the lagoon—even with Cassie around. Danica was doing perfectly fine, diving in, splashing with her girls, gazing up at the stars, loving this island that she only got to see in the summer, hearing people calling her name from all directions, everyone always calling her name, wanting her to be a part of things, as it should be . . . when she realized some people were not in the lagoon with everybody else.

  Cassie.

  And Micah.

  She stopped swimming and looked around for them. The water reached to just under her neck. She had her arms down at her sides, down in the warm water, so it hid her hands, which were balling up into fists where no one could see them.

  “What’s up?” Sasha asked her.

  “Nothing,” Danica said. Even if her friends did know she was into Micah again, she didn’t want it to be a public topic of conversation. She should never have admitted it in front of them, not until she was sure Micah liked her back.

  It was at this moment that Tori and Eddie, and Micah and Cassie, ambled up. They must have wandered away where people couldn’t see them. Talking about her, probably. Danica was sure of it. They’d gone out of her earshot to talk about her, only because she’d had a few words with Cassie about the surf contest.

  What’s the big deal? Danica thought. I can try to psych out my competition if I want to. That’s like expected.

  But then she saw how close Cassie and Micah were talking. Were they holding hands? It was too dark to see for sure. Suddenly, she felt a sense of uncertainty in her gut, a bottomless insecure feeling she wasn’t used to.

  Sasha saw where Danica was looking. “Uh-oh,” she said in a low voice. “Cassie moves fast.”

  Danica felt on edge, exposed, like everyone knew her business and they were all laughing about it behind her back, as she would, if it were anyone else.

  “Just go talk to him,” Sasha said. “He’ll totally want to get back together with you. I mean totally. Cassie doesn’t stand a chance.”

  Danica wanted to ask her friend how she could be so confident. Was it really that much of a given that he liked her again, especially after what she did last summer? Micah had walked away from Cassie now. He was talking to the guys, just standing there, looking like his usual cute self, completely oblivious to Danica’s change of heart.

  “You’re gonna go talk to him, aren’t you?” Sasha said. “This is the perfect moment.”

  “I’ll wait till he comes to me,” Danica said. Obvs.

  Micah looked up and saw the two girls watching him. Danica had a flash of gratitude that she’d worn her turquoise bikini, seeing as she looked so good in it. Then he started walking over—she saw it for sure, the first few steps—and then she saw him stop short when the bright lights were shining through the palm trees.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing. There was a mad scramble as the C.I.T.s and lifeguards left the lagoon and scattered for the van. Danica realized she was the one who had the van keys so she took off running, too. In a matter of seconds, it seemed, all the C.I.T.s and lifeguards were safely piled into the van and they hit the road. The bright lights were headlights, just as suspected, but no one could determine what the car was. It didn’t matter, really, just as long as they got out of there and back to the Ohana campgrounds before anyone knew they’d been gone.

  No problem, it seemed.

  Danica, seeing as she somehow found herself with the van keys, ended up at the wheel. She let off most of the C.I.T.s and lifeguards at a side entrance into the camp, so the big group could sneak back to the bunks as quietly as possible. Then she pulled the van around to the lot and parked it where they’d found it. Sasha and Sierra had stayed with her, and they all carefully crept from the van, closing the doors with the faintest of clicks. All they had to do was return the van keys to the hook in the C.I.T. director’s office and—

  “Danica!”

  The sharp voice cut across the sandy lot, hitting Danica flat in the back. She knew that voice without even having to turn around.

  It was Simona, the C.I.T. director. “Danica, what are you doing?”

  Danica froze, but Sierra and Sasha—her two most loyal friends on the island—jetted
off in opposite directions, leaving her to deal with the fallout on her own. And of course, the incriminating evidence was in her left hand, jingling there like a beating heart. With the keys to the van in her possession, she couldn’t deny a thing.

  Danica sat in Simona’s office, on a green wicker chair that poked sharp sticks in her thighs. She still had on only the turquoise bikini, but now she was far less grateful to be wearing it. Now she felt ridiculous. Also, she felt cold. And queasy. And a little annoyed at her friends for leaving her to take all the blame. Now, whenever she wore this turquoise bikini, she would forever remember this moment with the stabs of the wicker and Simona looking all disappointed and that particular shade of blue her knees turned when she was cold because she had bad circulation. She’d never be able to get over this, would she? The bikini was effectively ruined forever, and that, somehow, seemed like the worst thing of all. She used to love this bikini.

  All she could see out the windows was the dark night, just this flat blackness without any sight of stars. The ocean roared in the near distance, ferocious. And Simona paced, just as ferocious, before Danica’s green wicker chair.

  Danica had never seen this side of Simona. Okay, Simona was a big girl to begin with. She was tall, and broad-shouldered, and let’s just say you would not want to be behind her in the pool if she was kicking. She was not someone you wanted to make mad.

  “Danica, you realize I have every right to call the police right now and have you arrested,” Simona said.

  You wouldn’t, Danica thought in horror. What she said instead was only, “Please don’t . . .”

  Simona nodded. She sat. The wicker chair she chose sunk beneath her in crackles and pops and Danica forced herself to keep a straight face. “I’m not calling the police, Danica. I just wanted you to realize how serious this is. Do you?”

  “I do,” Danica parroted back. Where was everybody else? Why was she the only one of the whole group of C.I.T.s and lifeguards to have to suffer through this lecture? Could the woman at least throw her a blanket so she didn’t have to sit here shivering in her bikini?

  “I hope you do. I could send you home for this,” Simona said.

  “Home!” That got Danica sitting up in alarm. In fact she sat up so fast, she got a wicker sword in her leg that could have poked a major artery. “Simona, please. I’m sorry. I was borrowing the van, just to, you know, go for a drive, I don’t know, get some fresh air, it was stupid, I should have never done it, I know that, but please don’t send me home.”

  Simona kept all trace of expression from her face. She wants me to think she’ll send me packing, Danica realized. She could not get sent home early.

  Then again, she wouldn’t rat out her friends here to stop that either.

  Now Simona was leaning forward and trying out this friendly tell-me-everything smile, saying, “Let’s talk about who was with you. I know you didn’t take that van alone, Danica.” She stared hard at Danica, willing her to spill.

  Danica had this picture in her mind of a girl with a yellow surfboard and light brown hair: Cassie. All she had to say was Cassie’s name. And it wasn’t even a lie—Cassie had been there. It had been her idea to go to Lani Kohola, after all.

  But even Danica couldn’t do that. She just shook her head.

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Simona said.

  “It was all me,” Danica said.

  Simona shrugged. “You can try to be as honorable as you want . . . you’re still in trouble.” And this was how Danica learned she wouldn’t be able to take part in the expo. And if there was another strike against her—if she did just one more thing wrong—then she would lose her position as a C.I.T. and be sent home.

  As Danica walked back to the nai’a bunk, taking her time through the pebble-covered paths, she let herself breathe in the ocean air.

  She lost her shot at winning that expo—and she so would have won, bet on that—and it was doubtful that the counselors would send her to the big inter-camp surfing contest in Oahu now, but at least she could stay. She could stay! And, for a moment, that felt good enough.

  Then her mind turned to Cassie, who would probably win and take Danica’s spot, not to mention Danica’s boyfriend. Danica couldn’t bear the thought. She couldn’t let Cassie have everything.

  Seven

  Cassie could barely sleep Saturday night, knowing she’d be waking up before breakfast to meet Micah. She tossed, she turned, and by the time she crawled out of bed, she was so anxious and sleep-deprived, she worried she wouldn’t look cute enough for her date with Micah. Or rather, her maybe-date—she wasn’t even positive it was a date. Who goes on a date at seven A.M. on a Sunday morning? Cassie had never heard of such a thing.

  Immediately she thought of Tori. Tori would know. I wish I could talk to her, Cassie found herself thinking as she got dressed and dug out her flip-flops from under her bed. Then, as if by magic, Cassie caught sight of Tori out the bunk window, dragging a giant bag between the hammocks.

  Cassie figured Tori must have gotten up early, too, to wish Cassie good luck and maybe give her a second opinion on her outfit. But when she ran out to meet Tori, who had stalled and was heaving, trying to catch her breath, Cassie quickly learned that this wasn’t the case.

  “I’m on laundry duty,” Tori said, shooting a look of pure hatred at the laundry bag in question that was bulging with sheets and towels. “My counselor, Lauren, caught me sneaking back in last night. So this is my punishment.”

  “No!” Cassie said. Then she clamped a hand over her mouth because she realized how loudly she’d said it. Where they stood between the hammocks was close enough to the n’aia bunk to be heard and wake up all the C.I.T.s.

  “Lauren’s making you do laundry this early?” Cassie asked.

  Tori shoved out her lower lip in a pout. “It’s cruel and unusual punishment to force someone like me to get up before eight o’clock on a weekend—I should call Amnesty International. And, besides, do you know how grody my bunk’s dirty towels are? I could get scabies!”

  They looked at each other in horror.

  Cassie snapped out of it and grabbed the other end of the laundry bag, to help Tori with the weight. “Let me help you get this to the laundry room.” She couldn’t help but feel responsible. Whose idea was it to go to that lagoon off-campus, anyway? Hers.

  But Tori pulled the laundry bag away. “Don’t touch!” she hissed. “You’ll get that cute shirt dirty.”

  “Who cares?” Cassie said. “Let me help, seriously.”

  “Get your hands off my moldy laundry, Cass, I’m serious. You have to go meet Micah, like, right now. And, by the way, you look adorable. Blue’s your best color.”

  Cassie smiled nervously, all her massive insecurities rearing their many heads yet again. “You don’t think I look like I’m trying too hard?”

  Tori smiled. “You look like you. And he likes you. So go! Before he thinks you stood him up.”

  Cassie tried to protest, but her cousin insisted. She looked back one last time at poor Tori fighting the whale of a laundry bag across the sand. But then, in the distance, she saw Micah standing beside a beat-up old Jeep in a bright white T-shirt and black shorts. All at once, she felt like she’d heard you’re supposed to when you see someone you really like—that heart-skipping-a-beat cliché, it actually happened in real life!

  Even if this wasn’t technically a “date,” it sure felt like one. Especially when she stepped up to him and said, “Hi.” And he said, “Hi,” and there was only that—those two words—and the breeze off the ocean and the sun in their eyes. If that moment could have expanded to fill up a whole entire day, she would have been happy.

  “So,” Micah said at last, “are you up for a drive?”

  “I didn’t know you had a car here,” she said, though she was standing beside it.

  “My dad’s old Jeep, yeah. He gave it to me when I got my license. It gets around okay . . . that’s all I need it for.”

  “Yeah,�
� she said.

  “Do you have a car here?”

  “I don’t have my license yet. I’m sixteen, but I just, you know, haven’t gotten around to it.”

  “Right, because you travel so much.”

  She nodded. “I used to.” She didn’t want to talk about what she used to do, so she changed the subject. “So where are we headed today?”

  “It’s a surprise,” he said.

  She hopped in the Jeep and soon they were headed down the back roads of the island, out a ways from Kona, toward she didn’t know where, and she didn’t really care. She just liked sitting next to him, the wind whipping through her hair as they drove.

  It wasn’t until they pulled off onto a narrow sand-covered road that she began to get an idea of where they were headed. She saw the bright blue-green ocean sparkling through the gaps in the palms. He was taking her surfing. Of course.

  She should have realized. How much more obvious could it be? she thought.

  It was early in the morning—the best time to go surfing; any surfer knew that. And—she could see through the rearview mirror—there were two surfboards stacked in the back of the Jeep. People from Hawaii always kept boards stowed in their cars, sure, but somehow she knew that one of the two boards back there was meant for her. Coincidentally, she was even dressed for surfing—she always wore a bathing suit under her clothes, that was normal growing up here, like people on the mainland probably walked around all day wearing underwear. She was ready to go surfing, as if this had been the plan all along.

  Micah probably assumed she’d known from the beginning. He wouldn’t have specified Sunday morning if he hadn’t been trying to give her a hint.

  If this had been a date, he would have asked me to go out at night, Cassie realized. She felt stupid for not realizing this earlier.

  The Jeep pulled to a stop in a bank of sand. “Surprise!” Micah said. “I heard about this spot from the surf counselors and thought we’d check it out. What do you think? The surf report this morning said there’d be some pretty good height.” He gazed out at the waves—and they were a good height, just as promised. “Lookin’ good,” he said.