I try to swim faster, but my arms are heavy and tired. Even though I’m wearing fins, my legs are spaghetti from kicking and kicking.
Our sea turtle’s shell becomes smaller and smaller, receding into the expanse of clear blue water, until he is a faint glimmer.
Kai touches my arm, gesturing toward the shore. I gaze out toward the ocean’s depths a little longer, searching. I think I might see him. But maybe not. Maybe that’s a distant shadow in the water.
I nod at Kai. Wordlessly, we turn around and swim back. Goodbye-for-now, sea turtle.
As we approach the shore, the pull of the waves grows stronger. I was so swept up in the exhilaration of following our sea turtle that I hadn’t noticed the goose bumps on my arms and legs. Now I’m cold. And exhausted. As soon as we are close enough to touch the ground, I pop my head above water and let my fins rest on the sandy floor. Kai does the same.
I take off my snorkel mask and wipe water from my eyes. It is strange to take in gulps of air after breathing through the tube. When Kai pulls off his mask, there are red marks on his face from the suction. I bet there are twin marks on my face.
“That was incredible!” Kai exclaims, pumping a fist in the air. “Our sea turtle! We found him!”
“Do you think that was really the same one? From so long ago?”
“Could have been. Did you know that sea turtles can live for a hundred years? So our childhood is a small blip in time, to a sea turtle.”
The sand shifts beneath my feet. “Those memories were a lifetime ago. Does it seem that way to you, too?”
Kai shrugs. His face is guarded all of a sudden, as if he’s bracing himself for what I might say next.
I step nearer to him. “But now that I’m back here with you, everything seems so much … closer. Like I could reach out and touch the past. Like its heart is still beating, if that makes any sense.”
Kai’s face relaxes. “I know what you mean,” he says.
The waves sweep into us. Their unending rhythm comforts me. These waves were here when we were kids. They were here during my last visit. They were here during all the years I was somewhere else. The waves are here whether I am thinking about them or not. They simply exist. Here before we were born. Here after we die. These waves, rolling in and receding out. Constant.
I look into Kai’s eyes. There’s so much I want to tell him—emotions and thoughts jumbled up inside me like tangled knots—but I don’t know where to begin. So we stand there silently for a few moments, holding our snorkel masks, our finned feet touching the ocean floor. Gazing at each other.
Involuntarily, I shiver.
“You cold?” Kai steps forward and wraps his arms around me. “You’ve got goose bumps!”
“You’re not cold?”
“Naw. I’m used to being in the water forever. After a while you develop a tolerance.”
Another wave hits us. Kai tightens his arms around me. Our floating snorkel masks bump into each other.
“We should head in,” Kai says. “Get you a towel.”
“Yeah, that sounds nice.”
But neither of us moves.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“For what?”
“For yesterday, for today. For everything. I’m having the best time here with you.”
Kai beams. “I’m so glad. This was all I wanted for graduation, remember? It’s paradise, having you here.”
At that word—paradise—something flashes into my mind from yesterday. Something Paulo said. Kai always says, “Hawaii would be total paradise if only—” But then Kai interrupted him. What was Paulo going to say? Did it have anything to do with me?
Kai’s fingers trace circles on my back. “I’ve been thinking about yesterday,” he murmurs.
My heart beats, beats, beats. “You have?” I ask.
“About last night. About … ”
His eyes search mine: asking permission. I lean closer and tilt my face up: granting it.
“About how I’ve been dying to do this again,” he says, his mouth meeting mine.
“Me too,” I whisper against his lips.
We kiss, and it’s not awkward at all, and I wonder what I was so worried about. He tastes like the ocean. He runs his hands along my arms, rubbing away the goose bumps. We sway with the waves. I wrap my legs around his waist, barnacling myself to him. His hands cup my bottom: a perfect seat.
Eventually, reluctantly, we pull apart. My lips tingle with salt. One of my fins and both of our snorkel masks have floated away. Kai swims over to retrieve them. I follow him to shore, splashing in the waves.
I always thought the magic in my childhood memories with Kai stemmed from what we did together here: snorkeling, lounging in the pool, building sandcastles, claiming our secret hideout. But the magic of those memories doesn’t live in the activities we did. The magic comes from the person I did them with. I would feel just as much magic if Kai and I were sitting side by side studying for finals in some bland coffee shop.
Studying for finals. I wish that Kai and I were going to the same college. Is he going to college at all? Or is he still planning to work at the shop? It would be a waste of his talents to not even try college.
Ahead on the swath of beach, Kai holds open my striped beach towel. “It was baking in the sun for you!” he shouts.
I don’t want to think about college or the future or anything else but this moment.
I run into Kai’s arms, and he hugs me with the towel. How glorious it is to be warm and dry after swimming in the ocean. It’s way different from the lake back home. It feels much more satisfying to come out of the ocean, to stumble back onto dry land. To turn around and look at the vast expanse of blue you were just a part of, mysterious and everlasting.
On the way back to the Jeep, Kai grabs my hand and squeezes it. “We have to do something before we go home.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Oh really?”
Kai blushes. “Not anything like that. I mean, um, unless you wanted … ”
“I was joking!” I pinch his side. “I mean, I barely know you.”
He laughs, and I laugh, and the awkwardness dissipates.
“Besides,” I continue, “I’m not in a rush. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
He squeezes my hand again, and we walk in silence for a little bit. I savor the sun warming my bare shoulders and the comfort of Kai’s fingers interlaced with mine.
“Wait!” I say when we reach the Jeep. “What do we have to do before we go home?”
“Oh yeah.” Kai loads our snorkel gear into the back. “If we don’t do this, Paulo will be extremely disappointed in us.”
I trace a smiley face into the dust on Kai’s side window. “Let me guess. Just give me a minute … ” Aha! I point my finger at Kai. “Shave ice.”
He points at me. “You up for it?”
“Is the same place still there, from when we were kids?”
“Halo-Halo Island Breeze. You bet. The best shave ice in town.”
I climb into the front seat. “I think there’s a halo-halo with my name on it. Let’s go!”
Shave ice is something I’ve only encountered in Hawaii. It’s like ice cream mixed with a snow cone. Sounds weird, but it’s delicious. My favorite flavor is the halo-halo—a flavor I never would have tried without Kai’s influence. My little-kid self gravitated toward the traditional offerings: strawberry shortcake, chocolate fudge. Kai ordered the halo-halo and insisted that I try it before I ordered. I was skeptical. His ice cream was purple, and I’ve never liked grape-flavored things. But Kai assured me it was not grape, so I tentatively took a bite. The taste was like nothing I’d ever tried before. Sweet, but not too sweet. Creamy, savory richness that made me immediately want more. It tasted like … sunshine, if sunshine had a taste.
“What is that?” I remember asking Kai, my voice filled with wonder.
“Ube. It’s a form of purple potato. There’s azuki beans
in there too. And boba.”
I did not know what ube or boba or azuki beans were. I only knew I wanted more. So, I ordered my own halo-halo, and the rest is history.
Kai pulls into the parking lot of Halo-Halo Island Breeze. Actually, it’s the parking lot for the local fish market, and Halo-Halo Island Breeze is a food truck that has taken up permanent residence in the far corner. Sometimes, Kai tells me, the line for shave ice stretches all the way around the parking lot. Today, we’re lucky; there are only a handful of people in front of us. The line moves slowly, but nobody seems to mind. The late-afternoon sun is warm, the sky a cloudless blue. I study the menu posted on the side of the truck. The caramel volcano sounds intriguing. So does the Kona coffee crème. But when it’s our turn to order, and Kai looks at me expectantly, I say: “The regular, please.”
“We’d like two halo-halos.”
Kai pulls out his wallet, but I beat him to it, pushing a handful of bills through the window.
“This one’s on me!” I say, dropping my change into the tip jar.
A few minutes later, the man calls our number and hands our plastic bowls through the food truck window. Kai and I sit on a bench shaded by mango trees. Closing my eyes, I taste the creamy, deliciously cold shave ice.
When I open my eyes, Kai is smiling at me. “As good as you remember?” he asks.
“Even better!” I slowly savor another bite.
We sit in silence for a little while, enjoying our shave ice. Occasionally, our elbows brush. I rest my knee against his.
“Hey, Kai. Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course. Shoot.”
“What was that R.J. guy talking about? In the restaurant last night?” My mind keeps circling back to that strange, tense encounter.
Kai sighs. “Oh, Tegan—he’s a jerk. It wasn’t really about you. He was just trying to get under my skin.”
I slide my spoon around the rim of my bowl. “What does he have against you?”
“He’s angry. We used to be friends, but then … there was a misunderstanding, I guess you’d say.”
Kai is holding something back. I don’t want to push him, but I also wish he would confide in me. His mom said he’s been depressed lately. Does this “misunderstanding” have something to do with it?
“I heard what R.J. said about me,” I murmur. “I heard him say, ‘Doesn’t look like she’s worth it.’ What does that even mean?”
Kai crunches an azuki bean. He looks uncomfortable. “Okay, here’s the story. It’s really not a big deal. I went to prom with this girl Nadia—”
I nod. “I remember. You sent me photos.”
“Yeah. We went as friends. At least, it was clear to me that we were going as friends. But I guess Nadia wanted to be … more.”
In the photos Kai sent me, Nadia’s body was pressed against his. Her smile was huge. The two of them fit so well together. And Kai looked happy. It would have been easy for her to think … to hope …
“Anyway,” Kai continues. “I never felt that way about her. I always liked her as a friend. We’ve been in the same group since middle school. R.J.’s her twin brother. He’s a decent guy, actually. Just protective. After prom went down, he got all over me for ‘breaking Nadia’s heart.’ He claimed I was purposely leading her on and that the only reason I didn’t want to be with Nadia was because I was holding onto a stupid pipe dream … ”
He glances over sheepishly, as if suddenly remembering that he’s talking to me.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Was I the pipe dream?”
Kai nods. “My friends all knew about you. They liked to give me crap for being in love with this mainland girl who barely even knew I existed.”
“Hey—that’s not true! You’re my best friend.”
A corner of Kai’s mouth lifts in a half smile. “I would insist that you and I were just friends, but they always knew I was lying. R.J. and the other guys could tell I had a crush on you. And when I let down Nadia, everything boiled over.”
I’m not used to Kai talking so blatantly about his feelings for me. My entire body is buzzing. “What do you mean, ‘boiled over’?”
“R.J. ambushed me after school and punched me in the face. I had a black eye for a week. None of the other guys came to my defense. The girls all took Nadia’s side and stopped talking to me. I pretty much lost my group of friends.”
I touch his arm. “Kai, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”
He shrugs. “It was only the last few weeks of school. Then we all graduated. I guess they weren’t really my friends after all.”
I think of the photo on his bookcase. All of them leaning in close together, laughing. I find it hard to believe they weren’t really friends.
“Did you try to apologize?” I ask.
“Apologize? What for? I did nothing wrong.”
Sometimes I forget about this aspect of Kai’s personality: his stubbornness. It only rears its head very occasionally—but when it does, watch out. Kai’s stubbornness is like lava barreling down a mountainside. Impossible to change its course.
I lean my head on his shoulder. “You must have felt so alone. Why didn’t you tell me about this when it happened?”
“It was too complicated. I didn’t want to bore you with my stupid friendship drama.”
“You never bore me! You know that.”
Kai wipes a smear of whipped cream off my cheek. “Okay, the real reason? I didn’t want to bring up something that hinted at my feelings for you. I thought it would scare you away. You’re too important to lose. I couldn’t risk it.”
And then we had our big argument, and stopped talking to each other, and you put my photo facedown on your nightstand. Did you think that you lost me? I take his hand, bring it up to my lips, and kiss it. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I mean, I’m sorry it took me so long. To stop being afraid. To let myself fall. To admit my feelings for you.”
Kai kisses me. He tastes of ube and sugar.
“You’re worth the wait,” he says. “I always knew you would be worth the wait. That’s why I kept waiting.”
He stands up and gathers our empty bowls and sticky plastic spoons for the trash can. When he comes back, he’s smiling. “Besides,” he says. “I was never alone. I had you.”
It’s a sweet thing to say, and I nod and tell him, “Of course. You’ll always have me.” But I wonder: Is that enough? Am I enough?
As if in response to my thoughts, he reaches down and pulls me up, wrapping his strong arms around me. He smells of the ocean and sunscreen and something else—his own Kai scent. I breathe him in. For years I’ve seen his face on a screen and heard his voice through my phone speakers, but I didn’t realize all that I was missing: the smell of his sweat, the feel of his warm skin against mine, the taste of his lips. Now my senses can’t get enough of his body occupying the same physical space as mine.
A few minutes later, as we walk across the parking lot to his Jeep, I tell Kai about literally bumping into Nadia yesterday, when I was following Theo to the Tiki Room. I leave out the part about how cold she was, because I understand that now. At the time, I had thought she looked familiar; she must have immediately known who I was. She must have felt ambushed. The same way I felt when Kai emailed me photos of the two of them all dressed up for prom. I had asked and asked for the photos, because I was trying so hard to force Kai into the friendship box. Yet a lump had formed in my throat as I clicked through the images, a brittle smile cracking across my face. I had tried to push away and ignore the ache in my chest, telling myself that he and Nadia made a cute couple, even though a deeper part of me was sick at the thought.
I feel for Nadia. And I feel for Kai. He needs his friends back. As much as I would like to forget about my life outside of Hawaii, I’m not able to stay here forever. I’m starting college in a couple of months.
College. A memory half-surfaces,
like a split second of déjà vu. I sit down, pull out my phone, and open a new text to type a message to Kai. But I can’t find the words. So, I close the screen without sending and shove my phone back into my coat pocket.
Kai nudges my hip. “You okay, T? You look freaked out.”
My mouth is dry. “I’m fine. Just a sugar rush.” The flash of memory fades away, like a dream that only gets hazier the more you try to pin it down.
The interior of the Jeep is dense with heat. Kai rolls down the windows, and a timid breeze sweeps in as we pull out of the parking lot.
“Anyway,” I say, changing the subject back to Nadia. “She had these flyers for an art exhibit in town.”
“Yeah, it’s on Thursday. The gallery is down the block from where I work. I have a piece there.”
“Wait—what?” I smack my palm against the dashboard. “You have a piece of art? In an exhibit? And I’m just now learning about this?”
Kai flushes. “I guess it happened when we, um, weren’t talking. But it’s not a big deal.”
“Don’t be silly! This is a huge deal! We are totally going to the exhibit on Thursday.”
“No, we’re not.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve been trying to get your art into exhibits for ages. Why are you not more excited about this?”
Kai looks out the window. I follow his gaze. In the distance beyond the arid landscape, bright-blue ocean glimmers like a mirage.
“It’s because Nadia works at the gallery. They’re all gonna be there. My old friends. It’s all messed up now, you know? It doesn’t seem worth the bother to go.”
“Kai, pull over.”
“What?”
I point to the side of the road. “Can you pull over for a minute?”
He guides the Jeep over to a patch of scrub at the side of the road and cuts the engine. The late-afternoon sun slants into our eyes. Without the breeze, the air quickly grows warm.
I maneuver my body in the bucket seat so I’m facing Kai as best I can. I stay quiet for a few seconds, looking into his eyes. I want him to know that I’m serious. That this is serious.
The Best Week That Never Happened Page 9