Sunrise

by Melissa J Morgan

  Cassie felt utterly disappointed. She felt dumb, dumb, dumb.

  “Cool,” she said weakly. “I didn’t actually realize that’s what we’d be doing today,” she added, “surfing . . .”

  Micah had already jumped out of the Jeep and was pulling the boards onto the sand. “Uh, yeah,” he said, seeming confused. “Isn’t that what we were talking about last night?”

  “I thought—” Cassie started. But she couldn’t say what she’d thought.

  Micah dropped the second board on the sand and stood it upright to lean on it. The sun washed over him, showing off the contrast of his white shirt and his cocoa skin, his curly hair moving in the breeze. But his eyes, deep brown and intense, settled on her, seeming worried. “Didn’t you think that’s where we were going this morning?” he said carefully.

  “You said it was a secret,” she said lamely.

  Micah circled the front of the Jeep, coming around to open her door for her. She hadn’t left her seat. “I was thinking it would . . . I don’t know . . . maybe get you comfortable again. With surfing. You know, in time for the expo next week.”

  He was holding the door open for her so she could jump out. It took her some seconds to do so—and there was this big part of her that didn’t want to make the jump. This part of her that wanted to stay in the Jeep. To make him turn around and take her back to camp. Going surfing was so not what she wanted to happen on her maybe-date.

  What did I want to happen? she thought wildly. A romantic picnic on the sand? With chocolate-covered strawberries and a ukulele playing in the background?!

  It was ridiculous. Micah clearly saw her as one of the guys—just someone to go surfing with—and she should have known that.

  Normally, this would have been no problem, no problem at all. She’d surfed with guys and girls alike; she’d been known to go up against the big waves with anybody, it didn’t matter who, or when, or where. But that was the old Cassie, the Cassie who never would have spent the summer at Camp Ohana in the first place. The person she was now still did not want to go out on that board.

  She didn’t want Micah to see that, though.

  So she stepped out of the Jeep. She shrugged her shoulders, as nonchalantly as she could muster. “Cool,” she said. “Which board’s mine?”

  “I guess I should’ve told you,” he said. “In case you wanted to bring your own board. I was thinking maybe you’d show up with it.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. She was acting cold, but she couldn’t help herself. That’s just what was coming out of her when she thought of surfing the waters this morning—coldness. She felt frozen inside.

  They were wading out in the water when it all went wrong. All of a sudden, Cassie could see ahead to what would happen: She’d get on the board, belly down. Micah would do the same on his board. The sun would beat down on their backs. Then a wave would come—a good wave, no, a great wave. It would wash straight toward them, begging for a ride, and Micah would of course let her have it. So she’d feel like she’d have to try for it, of course. She’d feel pressured, forced to make herself do it. And she’d try to jump up, try to push forward and stand, but then something would happen. Something always did. And she wouldn’t be able to stand up. The wave would pass her by. She’d make a fool of herself in front of Micah again, she knew it.

  It felt like her fate was already predetermined.

  You know what? she thought suddenly. I’m not gonna let it happen.

  So all at once she started wading back to shore. She rushed out, and it wasn’t till she stood with her two feet out on dry land that she felt any better.

  Micah stood confused in the waist-deep water. “What are you doing?” he called.

  “I’m not up for it,” she called back. “I’m just—” She shrugged. “I just don’t want to surf, okay?”

  He started wading out, pushing the board in front of him. “Yeah, okay,” he said. Then they stood awkwardly together on the sand.

  Cassie didn’t know what to say. She’d ruined the whole morning, she’d ruined everything, and she should have thought to keep her mouth shut, because it was about to get much worse. “I just, you know, don’t want to, okay?” It came out sounding defensive.

  “I said okay,” Micah said. “You don’t want to, no worries, you don’t have to.”

  “Good,” Cassie said.

  “I didn’t realize it was such a big deal,” Micah said. “What happened. You know, with the—” He paused. “The shark.”

  This was just how her surfing coach and her surfing teammates had responded—taking her alone out to surf, thinking getting back in slowly would make all the difference, would get her to forget she almost got herself chewed up by a shark. Maybe other people could forget something like that, but Cassie was having a hard time doing it.

  So sue me, she thought. I can’t help how I feel.

  What she wanted to say to Micah was how mortifying it was to be unable to face up to your fears. Some days she was okay; other days she wasn’t. She wanted to explain that to him, to say: Sorry. I am so, so sorry this turned out to be a not-okay day. But those words would not find their way to her lips.

  Instead, she said, “It’s not a big deal. I’m over it. I’m just not into practicing for that expo, that’s all—that contest is just not something I’m interested in.”

  WHAT did I just say to him?

  Then her mouth kept on going: “It’s just some little contest,” she said. “For amateurs. I stopped doing that kind of thing when I was, like, twelve.”

  He just looked at her. “You know what,” he said at last, “I heard you. I get it. The contest next week’s not a big deal to you. Fine, whatever. It’s a big deal to me, though. So let’s just drop it, okay?”

  “Fine. Considered it dropped.”

  “Great.”

  “Good.”

  “We should go,” Cassie said. “Besides, it looks like it might rain.”

  They both glanced up at the sky. Cassie was relieved to have something else to look at besides his face or her own feet—and she figured Micah felt the same way.

  “Yeah, I guess we should,” Micah said.

  The drive was too awkward for words. Cassie kept herself turned toward the window, watching the side of the road as they made their way back to Ohana. The plastic top of the Jeep was pulled up, and rain began to drum down as they were halfway back to campus, loud enough so there was no point to talking. That, Cassie realized, was her first bit of good luck all day.

  The rain turned heavy. By the night, Cassie was holed up in the bunk, feeling sorry for herself and worse for Micah—who obviously had meant no harm. She’d tried writing him a letter multiple times, but after many scribbles and cross-outs, all she had worthy of showing him was:

  I’m an idiot. I’m sorry for what I said. Can we forget what happened and start over?

  “It’s awful,” she heard from across the bunk. “It’s, like, the absolute worst thing that could have happened, like, ever.”

  “I know. It’s just wrong. Like, so wrong.”

  Cassie bolted up in her bed, hid the page she was attempting to write, and looked over. Her two fellow C.I.T.s Sierra and Sasha were talking with wide gestures. Did they hear about what happened with Micah? Cassie thought in a panic. She hadn’t expected the news of how terribly she’d treated him to travel so quickly—now people were even talking about it with her in the room!

  Sierra saw her looking. “Don’t you think it was just awful?” she said pointedly.

  Cassie realized that she was alone in the bunk with Sierra and Sasha. Rain poured outside. A storm like this was unusual in Kona—this part of Big Island was known for its always pleasant weather. Rain, any rain, was rare, and a storm like this was especially strange to see. It fit Cassie’s mood perfectly.

  “Well, don’t you?” Sierra repeated.

  “I—” Cassie started.

  “Poor Danica,” Sasha said.

  “What do you mean?” Cassie said.
Maybe they don’t know what happened with me and Micah. Because what would Danica have to do with it?

  Wait . . . does Danica have something to do with it?

  She was totally confused.

  “What, you don’t know?” Sasha asked. She turned to Sierra. “She doesn’t know!” At this, they scrambled over to Cassie’s bed to fill her in on the Danica gossip and how she got caught red-handed with the van keys and got banned from the surf contest next weekend. The strange thing was, even though Danica could have shared the rap with all the other C.I.T.s and lifeguards—it’s not like she snuck out on her own—she hadn’t ratted a single other person out. She’d taken the fall herself.

  Sierra and Sasha were shaking their heads, repeating again and again how this was the worst news ever, but Cassie did notice that they seemed to love talking about it. When another C.I.T. entered the bunk, they repeated the exact same news to her.

  Cassie left the bunk and stood out on the lanai. Sheets of rain fell on all sides—she couldn’t even see out to the other bunks. The humuhumunukunukuapua’a bunk was just across the way—Micah could have been inside, maybe—but through the dark night and the rain she couldn’t see.

  Again, she felt somewhat responsible—she’d been the one to first mention Lani Kohola. Maybe if she hadn’t said anything, all the C.I.T.s would have gone swimming as usual in the Camp Ohana stretch of ocean, and no one would have gotten in trouble. More importantly, Danica would still be competing on Sunday.

  Cassie stared out into the pouring rain. She felt bad for Danica, she really did. And the worst part was that there wasn’t anything Cassie could say to her that would make a difference.

  “Isn’t this storm awesome?!” Andi shouted, interrupting Cassie’s thoughts as she ran up the bunk stairs.

  Cassie shrugged. She wasn’t a fan of rain—when it was raining, you couldn’t surf. Not that she planned on surfing; she was just used to seeing rain as bad news.

  “Hey, did you hear what happened with Danica? She can’t compete in the surf contest,” Andi said. “That means you’ll win for sure.”

  “I heard,” Cassie said. She didn’t mention that she didn’t want to compete. She also didn’t mention that, more importantly, if she was competing she would definitely want Danica in the contest with her. If Danica was a good surfer, the contest could only be better if she was surfing in it.

  “Hey, you haven’t seen her around, have you?” Cassie asked.

  “I think across the way, on the lanai of the humuhumunukunukuapua’a bunk,” Andi said, pointing into the dark rain. “Here, if you’re going out there, take my umbrella. You’ll get drenched in two seconds flat.” She left her dripping umbrella in Cassie’s hands and went inside.

  Cassie took a step toward the rain, then she hesitated. Danica wouldn’t want to talk to her. And, besides, what was she doing at Micah’s bunk? Something about that didn’t feel right. Before Cassie could wrap her brain around it, though, Danica herself shot out of the rain and onto the lanai where Cassie was standing. She shook herself out and then the umbrella, clearly drenched from wherever she’d been.

  Cassie tried to think of something to say. What she wanted to do was apologize for what happened, to ask if there was anything she could do. What she said instead was, “Wet out there, huh?”

  Danica lifted her head, gathering her long hair into a wet, messy bun. “Clearly,” she said, like Cassie was dim.

  “Danica . . .” Cassie started.

  “Yeah?” Danica said. She had her hand on the door knob, ready to go inside.

  “I, uh, I heard about what happened with Simona . . . and the expo.”

  “Yeah, and?”

  “Well, that sucks and I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Cassie said quickly.

  “You’re sorry . . . whatever for? Because it was your idea to go to that lagoon? I didn’t tell Simona, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m not. I know you didn’t tell. I just feel bad that you can’t compete.”

  “You and me both. Because as I said, I would’ve killed it.”

  They held each other’s gazes for a long moment.

  “Yeah, well, I’m going inside,” Danica said. She slipped in and let the door slam behind her.

  Maybe I should say something to Simona,

  Cassie thought, standing alone out on the lanai. Then she took it back. She’d be crazy to help someone who was always so mean.

  Eight

  The rain had stopped by Monday morning, but that didn’t mean the ocean was safe for swimming. Micah noticed the red flag hanging off the lifeguard tower on the Ohana stretch of beach. That meant violent surf—no swimming or anything else—until further notice. For the rest of the day, the water was off-limits.

  But the Camp Ohana staff had plans in place for bad weather. The campers wouldn’t have to sit bored stiff in the rec hall all day, playing checkers and making friendship bracelets. A hiking trip to a nearby park called the Hau’oli Lava Caves was swiftly organized.

  As Micah and the other C.I.T.s and junior counselors helped pack the vans with supplies, he found himself still dazed from his trip with Cassie the previous morning. How stupid was it to assume she’d want to go surfing after all she’d been through? He wanted to say something to her now, but he didn’t know how to begin the conversation.

  There she was in the other van, loading a cooler into the back with Andi. Andi waved with her free arm, but Cassie didn’t wave. He looked away. He was relieved when they ended up in different vans on the way to the caves.

  The Hau’oli Lava Caves (or “Happy” Lava Caves, as the name translated from the Hawaiian) were a series of inactive lava tubes open to tourists, spelunkers, and explorers. The tour guide, a short bald man in khaki hiking gear, had gathered the campers outside the entrance to the caves to give them some history on the place before they were free to wander around inside. Micah was the C.I.T. assigned to watch over the mo’o (meaning “lizard” in Hawaiian) bunk, a group of twelve-year-old boys who could barely stand still let alone listen to what the tour guide was saying.

  “Hawaii Island, otherwise known as Big Island because obviously it’s the biggest of all the islands making up the great state of Hawaii, was formed from five separate volcanoes,” the tour guide explained. “Only two volcanoes are still active. The caves that make up our park aren’t caves at all. They’re really a series of lava tubes from one of those volcanoes. The tubes you’re about to explore are said to be more than a thousand years old, so in fact—”

  “C’mon already! Let’s just go in the volcano!” yelled one of the boys from the mo’o group.

  “Fine, fine, just put on your helmets and go on in the caves. But don’t be too loud in there—or else you’ll cause an eruption,” the guide said. He had a frazzled, serious look on his face, so it was hard to tell for sure if he was teasing.

  Micah knew he had to be, but the boys in his group heard the word eruption and stopped shouting for a moment.

  “He’s kidding,” Micah assured them. But maybe he shouldn’t have said that, because as soon as they knew there was no danger they stormed down into the cool, craggy darkness of the caves and resumed shouting.

  Micah led his group through the ancient tunnels—or his group led him. At one point, one of the boys did a running leap off a stalactite and came sprawling straight at Micah. They skidded in the dirt and both fell.

  “C’mon, guys,” Micah said from the ground. “Tone it down a few notches. For me.”

  All was well—he hadn’t broken anything—until Micah caught sight of Cassie around the crooked bend of one of the tunnels. The warm glow of the dim lights strung throughout the caves made the place seem almost red, as if still filled with lava. He saw her wandering past, a flash of her beautiful hair and her adorable walk, and he awkwardly got back on his feet. He thought to lead his group after hers, to instigate a collision, so he and Cassie could maybe have a few words, but then, in another tunnel across the way, he caught a glimpse
of Danica. She was laughing and having a blast with her group. And after he’d heard Danica was asking after him at his bunk the previous night, he wondered if maybe he should head off to have a few words with her.

  He was torn between the two tunnels, the two girls.

  But there was no time to make a choice between one or the other because the mo’o bunk was terrorizing the tour guide around the bend. Micah did the responsible thing like any good C.I.T. and jetted off after them. If Danica wanted to talk to him, she’d find him later. Same went for Cassie—if she ever found the heart to talk to him again in this lifetime, she knew where to find him. Just follow the screaming mo’o bunkers; that’s where he’d be.

  Meanwhile, Cassie was the C.I.T. assigned to the pinao bunk—Tori’s bunk—as she’d been hoping. She followed the winding lava tubes, putting her hands against the cool hardened walls, trying to pretend to have a good time. The air was filled with a red glow, like they’d wandered onto some other planet. To be deep inside an actual volcano . . . it was almost too symbolic. Cassie felt about to burst, too.

  But thank the volcano gods for Tori, Cassie thought. Because every lava tube they entered seemed to have Micah just coming out of it with his group. Or walking past. Or going in.

  Once, they met halfway inside a slim, dark passage—he was going one way, Cassie was going the other—and they exchanged these words:

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “You’re standing on my foot.”

  “Oh sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Okay, see you later.”

  “Later.”

  And that was that. After witnessing this awkward exchange, Tori grabbed Cassie and pulled her away from the rest of the pinao bunk to have a chat. “You haven’t talked to him since Sunday morning?!” Tori asked incredulously. Of course, Cassie had recounted the disaster later, but maybe Tori didn’t understand the depths to which Cassie had sunk. The fool she’d made of herself. The awful awfulness of it. No wonder all that she and Micah could say to each other was that one was standing on the other’s foot. (For the record, Cassie had been standing on Micah’s foot—just one more strike against her.)