Just My Luck

by Jennifer Honeybourn

  “Sure.”

  He shifts, lowering his arms so they’re resting on his stomach. “Last New Year’s Eve, Hayes and I went to a party at my friend Toby’s house. It was the week after my grandfather died, and we were both in a bad place. We got stupid drunk,” he says. “Toby tried to convince us to stay over, but it was a nice night and we didn’t live far from his house, so we decided to walk home.”

  His fingers start to drum against his abdomen. He’s tense and I wonder if I really want to hear what he’s about to tell me, this thing that won’t let him sleep at night.

  “I don’t remember whose idea it was, but we decided it would be funny to steal the stop sign at the end of our street. It was just supposed to be a dumb prank, but when I woke up, my dad mentioned that there’d been an accident down the road.” Will swallows. “I knew as soon as the words left his mouth that it was because we’d taken the stop sign.”

  I put my hand over his to stop it from jumping around. He turns his palm up and laces his fingers through mine. We’re holding hands and while fireworks are going off throughout my body, I’m also worried about where this story is leading.

  “Anyway,” he continues, “because there was no stop sign, this guy—John—drove right through the intersection and right into a truck. He was hurt pretty badly.”

  My heart sinks. His fingers are still shaking a little and I squeeze them lightly. Will stares up at the sky, the endless expanse of stars.

  “No one knew we’d taken the sign,” he says. “Hayes completely freaked out. He didn’t want anyone to find out what we’d done, but there was no way I could keep that secret. So I told my dad. He flipped, of course. Then he paid to keep things quiet, so my brother and I wouldn’t get into any trouble.”

  “Is that why you’re going to business school?” I ask him.

  He nods. “I can’t disappoint him again.”

  I’m impressed that Will was brave enough to step up and take responsibility for what he did. I’ve kept my secret to myself. Although I’ve been trying my best to make amends by sending the items I stole back, I wonder if it would have even occurred to me if my luck hadn’t sucked so badly. Maybe that shoebox would have just stayed buried in the back of my closet. Maybe I would have eventually forgotten all about it or let myself off the hook, because really, who had I hurt? The stuff I stole was useless and the people I took from probably hadn’t even noticed they were missing anything.

  He’s trusted me with his secret. I guess I should return the favor.

  I close my eyes. “When I worked in housekeeping, I took some things from the guests,” I say. “Not anything valuable, just dumb stuff, like a candle and a shot glass.” I hope Will doesn’t notice my palms are sweating. “But that doesn’t make it right. I’ve been trying to track it all down and send it back.”

  There’s a relief in telling someone, a lightening of the weight on my chest. Will squeezes my fingers, the same way I squeezed his a few minutes ago, and tears sting my eyes. For the first time in months, I feel like maybe everything is going to be all right.

  And then, before the thought has even left my mind, the chaise we’re sitting on collapses. Somehow the legs give out and we land with a thud. Our hands are still entwined, but Will’s fingers are now digging into my skin and my butt aches as if I’ve been spanked.

  “What the hell?” Will says.

  Right—I forgot to tell him that I’m being punished by the gods.

  “Are you okay?” He sits up just as the sound of someone yodeling cuts through the night air. I glance back toward the house. All the lights are on and I can see the outline of someone standing on the roof, about to dive off it and into the pool.

  Will swears. “It’s my brother. He yodels whenever he’s about to do something dumb.”

  We scramble off the chaise and run toward the house. My friends are standing in a circle below, chanting at him to jump. All of them except for Nalani.

  “You have to get him down,” she says, wringing her hands. “He’s going to break his neck! How am I going to explain that to my parents?”

  “Hayes!” Will yells.

  I gasp as Hayes looks down at him and almost loses his balance. He rights himself and takes a swig of whatever is in his Solo cup, then tosses the cup off the roof. It lands in the pool and a second later he follows it, only he’s not nearly as graceful. He hits the water with a smack, sending a tsunami of water over the edge of the pool.

  I hold my breath until he resurfaces, yodeling at the top of his lungs. Everyone cheers. Everyone except Will and Nalani and me.

  Will sighs. “Maybe we’d better call it a night.”

  Twelve

  I don’t know what I was thinking, scheduling surfing lessons with Ansel the night after Nalani’s party. The sun has barely brushed the sky when I pull up beside my brother in the Ho‘okipa Beach parking lot. He’s unloading his surfboard from his truck.

  “Tell me why we couldn’t have done this later in the day,” Hayes grumbles. He’s beside me in the passenger seat. His eyes are closed and he’s pale, so he’s clearly feeling the effects of last night’s poor choices. We practically had to carry him out of the party.

  Maybe it’s evil of me, but I’m a little bit glad that he’s not feeling well. The idea of Hayes being tossed around by the waves—and potentially tossing his breakfast—brings me great joy.

  “It’s less crowded first thing in the morning,” I say. “And the wind is usually lower.”

  “Come on, Hayes. Get it together!” Will says from the backseat. He claps a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “This is going to be great.”

  Hayes does not look convinced. He closes his eyes, making no move to follow us out of the van.

  I hand my brother the coffee Will convinced me to stop for after I picked him up. Extra-large vanilla macadamia nut, Ansel’s favorite.

  “Please, just be nice,” I whisper to him.

  “I’m always nice,” Ansel replies.

  That is not even a little bit true. And, judging from the scowl on his face, he is in a mood.

  Will comes to stand beside me. His hair is in its usual pompadour. He’s wearing board shorts and a T-shirt that’s molded to his body, highlighting his athletic frame and the ripple of his biceps. I suddenly feel very warm.

  I threw on a long-sleeved white T-shirt over a turquoise bikini. My hair is tucked underneath one of my brother’s wide-brimmed surf hats.

  “You must be Ansel,” Will says, holding out his hand. “Thanks for agreeing to this. Marty says you’re the best.”

  Ansel studies Will before finally taking his hand. “You bring boards?”

  Will nods. He leads us around to the back of the van and pops open the door to reveal the two electric-blue surfboards he rented, laid out on the folded-down rear seat.

  “I hope these are okay,” he says. “I haven’t done a lot of surfing, so I didn’t really know what to get.”

  “They’ll do,” Ansel grunts. He glances at the clunky black dive watch strapped to his wrist. “Let’s get started.”

  Will raps his knuckles on the passenger-side window and startles Hayes awake. “Get moving.”

  Hayes groans, but he rolls out of the vehicle. His eyes are bloodshot and he stinks of alcohol.

  We each grab our surfboards, tucking them under our arms. The board Ansel lent me is nine feet long and neon green, so bright that you could probably see it from space. It was his first board and he used it for years, so it’s pretty thrashed. It looks so used, especially in comparison to the beautiful boards Will and Hayes are carrying, and I’m embarrassed, even though I know Will probably hasn’t even noticed. And if he has, he doesn’t care.

  We walk down the tree-lined path that leads to the beach. As soon as we hit the sand, we kick off our slippers into a pile. Ansel drops his backpack, stuffed with towels and sunscreen, and after he gives Will and Hayes a quick brief on water safety, he instructs them to put their boards down a few feet apart from each other.


  I settle on the ground, next to my brother’s bag. Like Ansel, I practically grew up on a surfboard, so I can skip Surfing 101. I watch as the boys all lie belly down on the boards in the paddling position and Ansel demonstrates how to pop up.

  Will catches on quickly and Ansel lets him sit on his board beside me while we wait for Hayes to get the hang of it. His balance is totally off and he tumbles off the board again and again, his face turning redder with each attempt. When he finally manages to do it three times in a row without falling, Ansel declares him ready to try it in the water.

  Hayes stares out at the ocean, the crashing waves pounding against the shore. “Wasn’t there a shark attack on Maui a few months ago?”

  “Not at this particular beach,” Ansel says, picking up his board. “Well, not recently, anyway.”

  Hayes rolls his bottom lip between his thumb and his forefinger. From the look on Ansel’s face, he’s losing what little patience he has—the waves are calling to him and he wants to be out there. He claps one of his big hands on Hayes’s shoulder and gives him a shake. “Listen, you’re more likely to die from being kicked in the head by a horse than from getting eaten by a shark.”

  I don’t know where Ansel got that information, or if it’s even true, but he says it with such confidence that Hayes’s face relaxes slightly.

  While Ansel focuses on Hayes, trying to help him onto his board, Will and I wade into the warm water. I lie belly down on my board and start to paddle out.

  I know he’s watching me and that makes me brave. Or stupid, depending on how you look at it, because I pick a wave that is a little bigger than I would usually ride. I’m not normally a show-off, but I want to impress him.

  Will is sitting on his board, his legs dangling in the water. “That was amazing!”

  I smile. He’s impressed and I should leave it at that, but instead I decide to try it again. This time I paddle out a bit farther. Except I know as soon as I pop up on my board this time that it’s a mistake—this wave is way more than I can handle. Fear runs up my spine. I think about bailing, but I’m already in the tube, so there’s nothing to do but see how long I can hold on.

  I crouch as low as I can. My thigh muscles are working overtime to keep me upright, but it’s not enough—the board slips out from under my feet and I’m thrown headfirst into the water. My board clips me on the side of the head and I cry out in pain as the water closes over me. I start to panic. I break through the water but another wave crashes over me and pushes me back under. I’m flailing around, terrified, when someone grabs my arm and hauls me up.

  “You’re okay, Marty,” Will says. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

  I’m coughing and gasping, trying to draw air into my lungs.

  Will wraps his arm securely around my shoulders. He helps me onto my board—it’s still connected to my ankle with a surf leash. Once he’s sure I’ve got a good grip, he tows me to shore.

  I’m shivering as he drags the surfboard onto the sand. He kneels by my side, his blue eyes crinkled with concern. Realizing something is going on, a small crowd starts to gather around me. I hear them murmuring, wondering what happened.

  Someone passes Will a T-shirt. I wince as he gently holds it against my forehead.

  “I’m fine,” I say, trying to sit up. “I just had the wind knocked out of me.”

  “Why don’t you just lie still for a few more minutes?” Will says.

  But I don’t want to lie here with everyone staring at me. So instead of taking his advice, I push myself up.

  And even though Will is right beside me, he’s not quite quick enough to catch me when I pass out.

  Thirteen

  When I come to, Ansel is pushing his way through the crowd, his face twisted with panic. “What happened?”

  “She’s okay,” Will says, still pressing the T-shirt to the wound on my forehead. “Head wounds bleed a lot. They always look a lot worse than they actually are.”

  But I must look really bad, because my brother drops to his knees in the sand beside me. He picks up my hand and squeezes. Hayes is standing just behind him, his forehead creased like an accordion.

  My throat feels coated with sand and all I can taste is salt water. The sun is beating down on me, and lying on top of this hard surfboard is killing my back. But all of that is more comfortable than being watched by a bunch of random people.

  “I need some water,” I say. My voice cracks.

  Will lets up the pressure on my forehead. Hayes holds a water bottle out to him. Ansel loops his arm around my back and helps me slowly sit up.

  “Just take small sips,” Will instructs, twisting the cap off the water bottle and handing it to me.

  I’m too thirsty to listen, so I end up gulping the water and then spitting half of it back up when I drink it too fast.

  Something wet trickles down my face. I feel like I might pass out again as Will holds the T-shirt back up to my forehead.

  Is this day over yet?

  “We should get you to the hospital,” he says.

  “I’m fine,” I insist. I don’t feel fine, but I really don’t want to go to the hospital. I’m not sure what our medical insurance covers and I don’t want my mom to have to pay for an unnecessary hospital visit. I just want to go home and pretend this whole situation never happened.

  “Let’s let the doctor tell us that,” he says. “You okay to stand up?”

  I nod.

  The crowd claps as Will and Ansel work together to lift me to my feet. My face burns. I’m glad that they have their arms around me because my legs don’t feel like they can support me at the moment. It’s awkward walking with Will’s hand pressed to my forehead, but we manage to make it to the parking lot. Ansel crouches down to slide my slippers onto my feet so I don’t have to walk barefoot over the gravel.

  Will settles me into the backseat of the van and then climbs in beside me.

  “What about your boards?” I ask my brother as he buckles up my seat belt. We left them behind on the beach. Ansel saved up for months for his board. My throat closes.

  “Hayes and I will go back and grab them,” he answers. “Don’t worry.”

  I let out a breath.

  Ansel and Hayes hurry back to the beach. After they’ve loaded the surfboards into the back of the truck, they pile into the front and Ansel peels out of the parking lot, gravel crunching under the tires.

  * * *

  “There are a million people here,” Hayes says, glancing around the packed waiting room at Maui Memorial. “This is going to take forever.”

  Will shoots him a dirty look. “Somewhere else you need to be?”

  “You guys don’t have to wait with me,” I say. I wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t want to—they came to Maui for a vacation; it’s a lot to expect for them to sit in a hospital waiting room for who knows how long.

  “Yes, we do,” Will answers firmly. He guides me to an orange plastic chair.

  Ansel returns from checking me in. “It’s going to be a while,” he says.

  “I could have told you that,” Hayes grumbles.

  We’re all still in our beach attire. The orange chair is hard against my bare legs and I’m feeling itchy from the sun and sand. My head is throbbing and every time I let up pressure on the T-shirt, blood runs down my face.

  Ansel checks his phone. He grimaces, and I remember that he’s supposed to work this afternoon.

  “Just go,” I say.

  He shrugs. “I’ll call in sick.”

  “No way.” I can’t let him do that. He doesn’t get paid when he takes a sick day.

  “Someone should be with you when you get out of here,” he says. “Mom’s out with Auntie Kaye for the day.”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “You heard what Will said—head wounds just bleed a lot.”

  “You look like something out of a horror movie,” Hayes says.

  “I’ll stay with Marty,” Will says to my brother. “We can bring her back to the hotel. We’ll look a
fter her.”

  If I wasn’t in so much pain, I would smile. It’s really sweet that Will wants to be here with me.

  Ansel glances at me, uncertain. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I repeat.

  * * *

  “You’re lucky that surfboard missed your eye,” the doctor says an hour later, after he finishes stitching me up. “You’ll probably have a scar, but it shouldn’t be too bad.” He leans forward to admire his handiwork.

  I shift on the examination table, and the paper underneath me crinkles. Seven stitches, just above my left eyebrow.

  “Scars are badass,” Will says from his perch on the rolling stool beside the doctor. I know he’s trying to cheer me up, but he’s not the one who has to walk around with the memory of this day on his face forever. I may have to consider bangs.

  The doctor gently tapes a large white bandage to my forehead. “Take it easy for the next few days,” he says. “Tylenol if you need it. The stitches will dissolve in a week or so. No swimming.”

  I give him a weak smile. No need to worry about that. It will be a while before I’m brave enough to get back into the water.

  I take a deep, shuddering breath. I can’t stop thinking about the waves closing over my head, how quickly I could have been in real trouble if Will hadn’t seen me go under.

  The doctor removes his rubber gloves, rolls them into a ball, and pitches them into the garbage can like he’s sinking a basket. He types something into his iPad and sends us out to reception.

  In my first stroke of good luck in a while, it turns out that my dad is still paying for our medical insurance and it will cover most of the cost of this visit. Most, but not all—the bill is still three hundred dollars, an amount that makes my stomach hurt. I wonder if there will ever be a day when I don’t have to worry about money.

  Will calls an Uber. He asks the driver, an older woman with short white hair, to stop so he can grab some pain medication for me—my head is throbbing and the skin around my stitches feels rubbed raw. Hayes waits with me while Will runs into the pharmacy. Every time I close my eyes, he pokes me, even though I’ve told him repeatedly that I don’t have a concussion. The Uber driver has turned the air conditioning off, but I’m still shivering in just my bathing suit and T-shirt. I’m touched when Hayes pulls a wrinkled shirt out of his bag and tucks it around me like a blanket.