“We could still do it,” Kai said. “Run away.” His eyes met mine in the lamplight, a question in his expression. I knew what he was asking. And I knew what I wanted to answer. But I was scared to let myself go. To relinquish control.
So as Kai leaned toward me, I turned away. His lips grazed my hair. I pretended I didn’t notice. “Thanks for inviting me here tonight,” I said, scooting back and standing. “It was really great to catch up.”
“Yeah, I’m glad we did this.”
“I guess I’ll … see you around.”
Kai bent down, gathering up the beach towels. “I’ll walk back with you,” he said.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that; I can take care of myself.” It irked me when guys acted like they needed to be “protectors” for girls.
“I know,” Kai said. “But I should be heading back too, and I thought we could walk together.” He handed me the lantern and widened his eyes. “Maybe I’m scared to walk back alone, okay?”
He laughed, and I laughed, and things felt better between us, almost like the kiss attempt had never happened. The walk back to the hotel passed quickly—I was aware of every minute ticking by, grains of sand slipping through my helpless fingers. We kept to safe subjects, like funny YouTube videos and stories of grumpy teachers and our favorite bands. Kai told me about this local musician who sometimes played at a restaurant down the road called The Blue Oasis. “I’ll take you there,” Kai said. “Next time you’re in town.” And even though it was never going to actually happen—my parents were splitting up, and I probably wouldn’t come back to Hawaii for years, and Kai and I likely wouldn’t talk again after this night—his words made me hopeful.
So I smiled and replied, “It’s a date.”
We were back at the hotel, standing at the edge of the outdoor hallway that led to my room. A lamp glowed a few feet away, casting our shadows against the wall. In the distance, the waves were a rhythmic hum.
“Well, I guess this is goodbye-for-now, Tegan Rossi,” Kai said.
“I’ll miss you,” I blurted out. I didn’t know why I’d said it. Past 1:00 a.m., and I was tired, and suddenly the last thing in the world I wanted to do was to go back into that room where my parents slept, to my normal life that quite soon was going to shift into something grayer and lonelier. Besides, it was true. I had always wondered what had happened to Kai. After seeing him again now, I was definitely going to miss him.
“I’ll miss you too,” Kai said. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and waved it at me. “That’s why we should stay in touch. And then you’ll come visit again. Next summer?”
“Maybe. Yeah, okay.” I smiled, taking in his mess of dark hair, his strong nose, his dark eyebrows and big, expressive eyes. There was no way I’d be back next summer.
He opened his arms for a hug, and I leaned into him. Underneath his cologne I smelled something else, sunscreen or salt water. Maybe he spent so much time in the ocean that he always smelled a little of salt. His arms around me were solid and warm.
“I’m horrible at goodbyes,” I mumbled into his chest.
“I know,” he said. “I remember from last time. That’s why this is just goodbye-for-now.”
I gave him one last squeeze, pulling back to look at his face. “Goodbye-for-now, Kai Kapule. Thanks for tonight.”
I’d been too scared to kiss him earlier, but now I wished he would try again. His brown eyes held mine. I couldn’t read his expression. He leaned in, and my heart surged. His lips brushed my cheek—sweetly, gently—only for a moment, and then he stepped back, releasing me.
I hesitated. He looked as if he wanted to say something else. But when he didn’t say anything, I walked up the path toward my hotel room. I turned around, just once, to see if he was watching me. He was. He smiled and held up his hand in a goodbye wave. I waved back. I felt sure it was the last time I would ever see him.
Then I turned the corner, and that was that.
I was never actually going to run away with Kai that night. But kissing him—really kissing him—would have been a metaphorical running. Running toward something new, something I wanted but was afraid to want, something that I couldn’t control and that might have disrupted my carefully balanced plans. Kissing him would have meant I needed to be vulnerable. To let someone else in.
Every day after that night, I wished I had kissed him. I wished I had said yes. I wished I had let myself fall from the edge of the cliff.
I stumble across the threshold of the cave into a warm Hawaiian afternoon. After the dim light of the lava tubes, the sun is especially bright, and the colors around me seem more intense than normal. Lush green grasses, bushes with bright-yellow flowers, palm trees drooping with brown coconuts, and, in the distance, the sparkling blue of the ocean. The dirt path is exactly the way I remember it, winding up from the lava tubes toward the golf course and the resort where I stayed with my parents.
My parents. Are they here? Did we come to Hawaii on a family vacation? For some reason, I can’t remember the flight over. Maybe I went to the lava tubes to meet Kai again, but I fell asleep. Maybe I bumped my head and lost my recent memory.
No, that can’t be right. Kai wouldn’t just leave me in the lava tubes. Unless he was running somewhere to get help for me, like he had when we were kids and I hurt my arm.
But I would definitely remember if my parents were here together because it would mean they could stand to be in the same room again—something that hasn’t been true since the divorce, not even at my high school graduation. They sat on different sides of the auditorium, and I had two separate graduation parties: one with my mom’s family and one with my dad’s. Andrea thought it would be special to have two parties, but it just made me tired and sad. It would have been so much better with everyone together.
If my parents are here, trying one last time to knit our family back together, it will be nothing short of a miracle.
I glance around for Kai, but I don’t see any sign of him. Not even a trace of footprints in the dust. I don’t know what else to do, so I head up the path, the same path I walked with Kai three years ago. Maybe more memories will come back.
Three years ago …
My phone vibrated with a text before I’d even slipped my key into the lock and let myself back into the hotel room. When I glimpsed Kai’s name on my screen, I felt an undeniable surge of happiness.
Kai: next time let’s have more than 1 aloha ok?
I read the text multiple times, but it remained a riddle. I replied with a confused emoji and a series of question marks.
A few seconds later, my phone vibrated again.
Kai: aloha means hello & goodbye. today i had to say hello & goodbye to u at the same time = only 1 aloha
As I read his words, a wave of bittersweet emotion coursed through me. Nostalgia? Regret? Hope? I wanted to race back down the hall and chase after him, but I told myself that would be stupid. We would have to say goodbye all over again. I was leaving tomorrow, and that was that.
I was trying to decide what to text back when my phone vibrated again.
Kai: next time u owe me 2 separate alohas. it’s too hard to say goodbye when we just said hello
Tegan: i know. what if i call u when i get home & say aloha?
Kai: not as good as in person, but i’ll take what i can get
Looking back, that’s when our friendship truly began again. The next day, I called him when I got home, as promised. We’ve talked pretty much every day since.
Against the sapphire sky, the palm trees shimmer like a mirage. I’m wearing thin flip-flops that slap against the ground with each step. The path has transitioned from sandy dirt to black asphalt that practically steams in the humid heat. As kids, Kai and I wondered if you could really fry an egg on a hot sidewalk. We decided to perform an experiment, and Kai stole an egg from his parents’ fridge. Tragically, before he reached our designated meeting place, the egg broke in his shorts pocket. He told me
that he could never again reach into a pocket without remembering, too clearly, the gooey feel of raw egg against his fingers.
I reach the crossroads where the path splits in two. One branch winds down along the perimeter of the golf course—toward the beach and the resort—while another veers off to the right, toward town. I’m about to turn left, the way Kai walked me back to my hotel room three years ago, when I spot something in the distance.
A small figure with dark hair cresting the ridge. Heading toward town.
Kai?
The figure is too far away to tell whether it’s him or not.
Still, it’s something. I turn right and hurry up the path. After a few steps, I break into a run, my flip-flops slap-slap-slapping the ground, sounding like a drum, like a pulse, like my frantic, hopeful heartbeat.
Two months ago …
“There’s only one thing I want for graduation,” Kai began. There was an unusually cautious tone in his voice.
“Let me guess … ” I said. “A new kitty?” It was a carried-over joke from I didn’t even remember when—I was a cat lover, but Kai preferred dogs. We had an ongoing battle over which was a superior pet, even though Kai had no experience with cats, and I had no experience with dogs. Sometimes I talked to Olina, his family’s dog, when Kai and I FaceTimed. I refused to admit that she had totally won me over with her playful barks and wagging tail.
Kai laughed, but it sounded strained. He cleared his throat, then said, “All I want for graduation is for you—Tegan, please—will you come visit? Even just for a few days. It’ll be so great! We can relax on the beach, hike Akaka Falls, go snorkeling … ”
It was two days before finals began, and I was a hot mess of stress and sleep deprivation. Nothing sounded better than stretching out on a beach towel in the warm Hawaiian sand, waves rolling in, my best friend squinting at me in the sunshine. Graduation seemed far enough away to be another lifetime. So I let myself surrender to the deliciousness of the daydream. I didn’t think about what it might mean, or what might happen, or how everything might change. I sighed into the phone and said, “That sounds like absolute perfection.”
“Really? You’ll come?”
“Yeah. Let me just get through finals and check with my mom, and then I’ll book my plane ticket.”
“Okay, perfect. That sounds perfect. I’ll talk to you later.” It was like he wanted to get off the phone before I changed my mind. “Call me if you need a study break.”
“Thanks, will do. Bye.”
As I hung up, a spark of doubt flickered in the back of my mind—was I really going to do this? Visit in person and risk opening the Pandora’s box of whatever feelings Kai and I had for each other? Staying on the shore was so much safer than diving into the uncertain, choppy ocean waves. I was already mentally backpedaling: People’s plans change. Kai will understand if I can’t come. I resolved to deal with it later and opened my textbook to continue my long trek up the mountain of final exams.
Before long, I’ve caught up enough to see that yes, the figure I’m following is definitely Kai—same jet-black hair, tan skin, broad shoulders. “Kai!” I shout when I get close enough. “Kai! It’s me, Tegan!”
He stops and turns. My heart leaps. But instead of smiling, he looks confused.
And when I reach him, and get a closer look at his face, I feel uneasy. Something is off. He looks a lot like Kai, but … something is different from the friend I remember. He looks like a Kai impersonator. All the individual features are there, but when you put them together, it doesn’t add up.
I rest my hands on my knees and bend over, my breath ragged from running. My feet hurt. Sweat trickles down my back. My heart is beating fast, and not just from exertion—I feel suddenly nervous, and embarrassed, and shy. I thought that when I saw Kai again in person after all these months apart, we would be instantly comfortable together, and it would seem like I’d never left Hawaii. But now that I’m standing here with him, I feel … awkward. Uncertain. Maybe following Kai was a bad idea. Maybe I should have turned left at the crossroads, toward the hotel, and looked for my parents. After all, I still can’t remember what Kai and I argued about. Maybe he’s angry with me.
“Tegan?” Kai says. His voice sounds different too—slightly higher than I remember. “You’re Tegan?”
I nod. “Look, I know we got in a fight, but I can’t remember anything about it. I don’t even remember how I got here. Please, can you forgive me for whatever I did and help me? I need my best friend right now.”
“Okay, sure. Let’s go find him.”
“Kai, please. Don’t act like you don’t know me.”
Then he smiles, and I know even before he says anything else: this person is not Kai. His smile is different.
I step backward. “Who are you?” I ask, my fists clenched.
“I’m Theo,” he says, laughing. “C’mon, I’ll take you to Kai. He’s probably at the shop. I was headed that direction anyway.”
Theo. Kai’s younger brother.
My tension and fear melt away into relief. I bound forward and give him a hug. “Theo! Wow, I can’t believe it—the last time I saw you, you were a little kid! Sorry about burying you in the sand, by the way.”
He pats me on the back agreeably. “It’s okay. No hard feelings.”
“Kai’s kept me up-to-date about you,” I say, breaking away from the hug.
“You too. Believe me, I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Does he mean that in a good way or a bad way? I can’t tell. It strikes me that he might know why Kai and I got into a fight. I could ask him. But I bite my tongue and decide against it. I’ll wait to talk to Kai directly.
I follow Theo down the path toward town, excitement burgeoning in my chest. I can’t wait to see Kai.
Kona is bigger than I remember—there’s a chain supermarket now, plus a Costco and a Target. Still, downtown looks mostly the same: surf- and snorkel-guide kiosks, clothing stores, knick-knacky tourist shops, casual seafood restaurants. Even though it’s a weekday morning (today is Monday, according to Theo), lots of people are out, walking and window-shopping. You can spot the tourists by their sunburns, tacky T-shirts, and big floppy hats.
Kai sent me a tacky T-shirt as a Christmas gift one year: bright pink with white hibiscus flowers, plus a sunset in the background. It was also three sizes too big, so I wore it as a nightgown. My favorite gift he ever sent me was a puka shell necklace. Unlike the factory-made ones some kids at school wear, my necklace was a single puka shell attached to a thin gold chain. I wore it all the time and got so many compliments, until I lost it a few months ago. I searched everywhere, tearing apart my bedroom and my mom’s car, but no luck. It must have slipped off at some point while I was wearing it. The chain was very delicate, easily broken. I never had the heart to tell Kai that I lost it.
Now, following Theo as he weaves around people and bikes and street vendors, I mourn the loss of the necklace yet again. I wish I had it on—to show Kai how much I love it, as if by association I can prove how much he means to me.
I’m more nervous to see him than I expected to be.
Theo glances back at me. “We’re close!” he says. “It’s up on the next block!”
Kai works at a tourist shop that sells carved wooden dishes, signs, and decorations. He told me a little about the shop when he first got the job last year, but he seems pretty indifferent—doesn’t love it, doesn’t hate it. His boss is “chill” and will let him bump up his hours to full-time when he graduates; plus, the work is easy. His real love, he says, is carving, but working at the shop will pay the bills. Last we talked, he was planning to move out of his parents’ house right after graduation and get his own studio apartment downtown. I always tell him he should go to college, study art or business—it could help him open his art gallery one day. But Kai always replies that college is too expensive and he doesn’t need it. I think he’s just scared, and I’ve told him so. Maybe that’s what o
ur big fight was about.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice a girl backing out of a doorway, holding an enormous cardboard box. We bump right into each other. The box wobbles in her grasp and tilts, spilling papers onto the sidewalk.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” I bend down to gather up the mess. The girl sets the box down on the ground.
“No big deal,” she says. “It was my fault. I couldn’t even see where I was going.”
We smile at each other, and I feel a jolt of recognition—she looks familiar. Dark hair streaked with burgundy highlights, charcoal eyeliner rimming almond eyes, a small stud of a nose ring, barely noticeable, in her left nostril … but I can’t place her.
The girl, meanwhile, seems suddenly flustered. She hurries to gather up the papers, which I see now are leaflets and postcards advertising an art show. I thought she was coming out of a shop, but it’s actually a gallery.
I hold up one of the postcards. “This looks neat. Mind if I take one?”
“Sure,” she says, not meeting my eyes.
I slip the postcard into my back pocket and neaten the rest of the stack before handing them to her.
“Thanks,” she says, hefting the enormous box into her arms again.
“Do you need a hand with that?”
“No, I’m fine.” She sweeps past me, walking in the opposite direction of Kai’s shop. I stare after her, puzzled by her sudden coldness. Did I do something wrong?
Then I feel a tap on my shoulder and whirl around.
Theo stands there, looking impatient. “What happened? You were right behind me, and then you disappeared.”
The Best Week That Never Happened Page 3