“I love you,” I say, feeling a rush of joy that I’m still around to say it.
“I love you too,” Kai replies. Another rush of joy: I’m still around to hear it.
The path is paved and narrow, bordered with lush ferns and flowering bushes. There are lots of people here already, mostly families and members of a tour group wearing identical red baseball caps. I keep my eyes peeled for geckos, but I don’t spot any.
After a few minutes, the path widens into an outlook over a breathtaking cliff, green with foliage. There it is, across the ravine. Akaka Falls.
The falls are narrower than I anticipated, like a single spigot of water streaming down, down, down. Taller than I expected too. Turbulent white at the peak, the waterfall gradually dissolves into blue mist by the time it reaches the murky pool at the bottom. It is mind-boggling to imagine a fish climbing up this waterfall. It seems a thoroughly impossible feat.
My mind flashes to something my mom said once, when I was frustrated over a big homework assignment in middle school. “It’s impossible!” I had exclaimed, dropping my pencil onto the table in resignation. “I’m never going to finish this in time. I might as well give up now.”
I had expected my mom to frown, to lecture me about the importance of following through, to try to coax me forward with stories about how important a good education is, how school is a privilege, how she wished she had finished four years of college. How the future was wide open for me, and I only had to work for it.
Instead, she had smiled. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Isn’t it fun?” she said. “Achieving the impossible?” Then she squeezed my shoulder and walked away.
Is that what this week is meant to teach me? Is that the wisdom of the o’opu alamo’o? That it should be fun? Maybe that’s the crucial piece of the puzzle. This week is impossible, after all. I died. Yet I’m still here, with Kai, hiking through a Hawaiian rain forest on a humid summer morning. I’m still here, breathing, thinking, feeling. Maybe all I’m meant to do is to have fun. Soak it all in. Make it count.
“Excuse me.” Someone taps my arm. I turn and see a young woman, maybe five years older than I am. “Could you take a picture of us?” Behind her is a guy around her age, with a new-looking haircut and pale skin. Both of them are pretty pale, actually—and not sunburned. Either they’ve been super vigilant with sunscreen, or they arrived in Hawaii, like, this morning.
“Sure,” I say. As she hands me her phone, I notice a sparkling diamond ring on her left hand. I bet these two just got married. I bet they’re honeymooning.
She joins her guy, fitting into the crook of his shoulder like it’s a space made exactly for her. They beam at me. He says something, and she laughs. I snap a few photos in a row so they’ll have options to choose from. Watching them is watching a future I’ll never have.
I’m jealous, because I want this so badly for myself. But I’m happy for them too. Because I can tell they’re enjoying it.
“Thanks!” the woman says as I hand back her phone. “Want me to take one of you?”
“Sure!” Kai steps in, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “That would be great.” He and I walk to the walled edge of the overlook, and we pose together like the honeymooners had—his arm around my shoulders, my arm around his waist, our bodies pressed together like two halves of a zipped-up sweatshirt. We haven’t taken many photos together this week, which is unusual for me. Andrea might be the photographer of my friendship group back home, but I’m the documentarian—the one who pulls out her phone to capture a random Tuesday lunch, or the striking shadows against a brick wall, or the sunset on my way home from school. This week, I haven’t really thought about taking photos. It’s been a nice change. I’ve relaxed into each moment, no longer worrying about trying to preserve everything in pixels. Where I’m going, there’s no need for photos. But I do want Kai to have a keepsake from this week. A new picture he can frame for his nightstand. One of us together.
I smile so wide my cheeks ache.
Suddenly, Kai leans down and kisses me, dipping me backward like we’re in a movie. Honeymoon Guy whoops.
“Got it! A perfect shot!” Honeymoon Lady exclaims.
Kai pulls me back up to standing. I try to catch my breath.
“You two are adorable together,” she says, handing back Kai’s phone.
“She’s a keeper,” the guy puts in, winking at Kai. “I can tell.”
“I know,” Kai replies, his hand finding mine.
“Good man. Don’t let her go.” Honeymoon Guy wags his finger.
“Don’t worry,” Kai says. “I won’t.”
Later, after we’ve sipped water and people-watched in the shade for a while, Kai turns to me and says, “What next?”
I’ve been thinking the same thing. Here we are, at Akaka Falls, the place Okalani and Keone told us about, with the whole day stretching before us. And while the falls are striking, and while I’m glad we came to see them, there’s a small part of me that is … disappointed. Restless. I bounce my knee up and down, the way Kai does when he’s nervous. I don’t want to admit that I was hoping for more. Even though I keep insisting we can’t change my fate, I’ve been secretly wishing and searching for puzzle pieces. I thought there would be an important piece here. But Akaka Falls seems like any other Hawaiian tourist destination: beautiful, vibrant, humming with people. No secrets in sight.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
Maybe Kai can read my emotions on my face. Or maybe he’s feeling the same way. He stands and pulls me up with him.
“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go.”
“Are we leaving? Already?”
Kai grins like a puppy that’s stolen a sock out of the laundry. “We’re leaving the beaten path, if that’s what you mean.”
“What are you planning, Kapule?”
“I want to get closer to the falls. Let’s hike down farther. I want to see the o’opu alamo’o.”
“Is there a path?”
“Maybe. If not, we’ll forge our own path.”
This sounds dangerous. This sounds like a not-entirely-smart idea. I look down at my silver gecko charm.
“Okay.” I lift the backpack onto my shoulders before Kai can grab it. “I’m in.”
It’s actually not that hard to slip undetected off the official trail and into the rain forest. Kai and I stroll casually to the far end of the viewing platform, past all the people taking photos of the falls and drinking coconut water, past the little kids chasing each other in spur-of-the-moment games of tag, just like Kai and I used to do. At the far end, making sure that no one is watching us, we quickly climb over the low wall, dropping down about three feet to the sloped mountainside. Akaka Falls shoots out over a cliff, but this side of the canyon descends more gradually. Kai plans to wind our way down in switchbacks, steadily snaking back and forth. We follow a narrow strip of rocks and dirt between the ferns and vines; it might be a path, or not; it’s hard to tell.
We’ve only been hiking for ten minutes when my doubts about this plan rear up. I’m all for adventure and spontaneity. I pride myself on not being afraid of anything. And I’m not afraid now. But there’s a difference between being brave and being reckless. We haven’t made any discernible progress down the mountain. If anything, Akaka Falls seems farther away than it was from the viewing platform. We can’t possibly make it all the way down to the falls, close enough to see the o’opu alamo’o. All we’ll do is get lost, or get bitten by a snake or a spider, or fall and break a bone trying to navigate down steep, slippery rock.
“Kai?” A bead of sweat slowly courses down my back under my thin T-shirt. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yeah,” he says, half-turning to look at me. I recognize the focused set of his eyes. Stubbornness. Once Kai Kapule sets his mind on something, it is very hard to change it.
“Isn’t this great?” he continues. “We’re in the rain forest—actually in it, for real. Thi
s is true hiking. We’re trailblazers, T!”
The light is different down here. Up on the real trail, even the parts shaded by leaves and branches, it was very sunny. Down here, everything is dim. I look up, and the sky has turned a steely blue-gray color.
Only a minute or two later, I feel the first drop.
“Um, Kai?” I point up at the sky.
But I don’t need to tell him. Suddenly, a waterfall opens up right above our heads. Buckets of water pour down, drenching us.
Kai shouts something I can’t make out. Then he starts laughing. We both do. I close my eyes. Water streams down my face. I let the backpack fall off my shoulders, onto the ground. Kai sloshes over to me and wraps his arms around my waist. He kisses me, and he tastes like rain, and I can feel his muscles through his soaking-wet T-shirt. I think of that scene in The Notebook that Andrea and Mel and I always swooned over, how we thought life couldn’t get much more romantic than Ryan Gosling declaring his undying love for you in the hammering rain. And here I am, in a Hawaiian rain forest in a summer rainstorm, kissing this boy I love who loves me back, kissing him as if it’s my last day on Earth, because it is, almost. And it’s even better than The Notebook.
Move over, Ryan Gosling. Real life is infinitely better than any image on a screen.
How did I not realize that before? How did I not know that being with Kai in person would be a million times better than FaceTime and texting, that kissing him would be worth the risk a million times over?
Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe this moment is the puzzle piece I’m meant to collect.
Kai tightens his arms around me. Our kisses deepen, and I forget about everything else except for him, and me, right here, right now.
Then, as quickly as it swept in, the rain lets up. The gray clouds disperse, and the sun comes out again. Kai and I collapse onto a big slab of rock. Our clothes are soaked, but it feels nice in the humid heat. I wring out my hair. Kai shakes his head like a dog after a bath.
“It’s all the ‘Ohi’a tree’s fault,” Kai says.
“What?”
“The rainstorm. My favorite picture book as a kid was a legend about Akaka Falls. There’s a stone around here somewhere, called Pöhaku a Pele. When a branch of the ‘Ohi’a tree strikes this stone, the sky will darken, and a rainstorm will come.”
“I love all the legends and stories here.” I hug my knees to my chest. “Do you believe it? About the ‘Ohi’a tree?”
Kai tilts his head thoughtfully. “You know, if you had asked me that question last week, I would have scoffed and said definitely not. But with all that’s happened—with you appearing here like this—it’s changed how I see the world. There’s a lot more mystery and magic than I believed was possible.”
“I know what you mean. I used to try to find answers to every question. Research, rationality, and logic—those were my touchstones. But now, I think it’s actually okay, not being able to explain everything.”
Kai rests his hand on my knee, and we lapse into a comfortable silence, gazing across the ravine at Akaka Falls. The clouds part, and the sun shines upon the waterfall like a spotlight, and—
“Look!” I point at the falls. “A rainbow!”
The colors glimmer, luminous and clear, alive in the misty waterfall.
“Waianuenue,” Kai breathes. “You really are my lucky charm, T.”
“Waia what?”
“Waianuenue. Wai means ‘fresh water’ and nue means ‘colorful’ or ‘dancing.’ Waianuenue means the rainbow you can sometimes see—if you catch it just right—in waterfalls.”
“What a perfect name. It does look like the colors are dancing.” The rainbow seems like a message meant for us, about magic and mystery, things explained and not explainable.
I take a deep breath. I don’t exactly want to have this conversation, but I need to ask. I only have two more days left here. I can’t leave any words left unsaid.
“Kai?” I ask gently. “What are your plans, you know … after this?”
“Well, tomorrow I have a surprise planned, and Sunday we’re going snorkeling with the mantas, right?”
“No. I mean, yes. We are. But what I meant was—what are your plans for, you know—the future?” Because I’m not going to be around to see for myself. “Are you still planning to stay in Kona instead of going to college in the fall?”
His face shuts down a little, his expression immediately more guarded. He doesn’t want to have this conversation either. He’s tired of this conversation.
“Yep,” he says. “I’ll be working at the Tiki Room during the week, helping out on the boat on weekends.”
The boat means his parents’ business—Mrs. Kapule filled me in about how it’s expanded since the manta snorkel I went on with my parents all those years ago. These days, Mr. and Mrs. Kapule mostly work in an office, managing the business stuff and marketing, and they hire employees to handle the boat tours. I imagine Kai likes being out in the water, guiding the tourists. And I bet he is great at the job—he’s so cheerful and calm and friendly. But it’s not like Kai’s parents need him to help out. Their business is thriving. They can afford to hire people. Working on his parents’ boat should not keep him from following his own dreams.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” I ask quietly.
“Yes.” Kai’s tone is firm, unyielding. “I love it here. Why should I leave?”
“You don’t have to leave. You could go to the University of Hawaii.”
Kai waves his hand. “I want to be an artist. I don’t need college.”
“My mom always told me that college isn’t only about what you learn in books. It’s about expanding your horizons. Trying new things, meeting new people, venturing out into the world on your own. All of that would be amazing for your art. Not to mention, you could study business too, and you’d be able to help out your parents even more than you do already.”
Kai’s eyes bore into mine. “Why are you pushing me on this, T?”
“Because I’m not going to be around to push you later.” I bite my lip, swallow the lump that’s appeared in my throat. “I just—I’m sorry, I don’t mean to fight about this.”
“No,” Kai says. “Go on. I want to hear what you think.”
I look out at the falls. The rainbow is still there, but fainter than it was a few minutes ago. “I don’t want you to regret it later,” I begin. “Both my parents got their community college degrees but never went on to a four-year university. My mom always wished she had been able to. It’s a gift, you know? To go to college. To keep learning and studying and growing.” I take his hand, trace the lines on his palm with my fingers. “I know how much you love it here. And I can see why—it’s paradise. But it’s not the only paradise in this world. There are so many other incredible places to explore. The lake by my grandparents’ house in Pennsylvania is its own paradise. I’ve never been to Paris, but I imagine the narrow cobblestone streets and the grand avenues and the Eiffel Tower are paradise too.”
Kai nods. I sense that he really is listening to what I’m saying. That’s all I can ask. He doesn’t have to agree with me—I only want him to hear me out.
“I’d hate for you to stay here because you’re playing it safe,” I continue. “Because you’re afraid to venture beyond what you already know and love. Do you want to know the truth?”
“What?”
“You’re not just great here on the islands, Kai Kapule. You’re great anywhere. You would be amazing in college.”
A smile tugs one corner of his mouth. “You’re just saying that because I’m your boyfriend.”
I playfully squeeze his knee. “Only a little. Mostly I’m saying it because it’s true.”
A gecko darts out from the bushes, flashing neon green in the sunlight before disappearing again into the ferns.
“When it comes down to it, this is your life,” I say. “This is one hundred percent your decision. No one else’s.”
I look into his eyes, to make sure he is listening. He is. His normally laughing eyes are serious.
“But if there’s one thing I’ve learned this week, it’s that life is too short to be dictated by fear. I read once that we regret most of all what we don’t dare to try. I think that’s true.”
Kai looks down at our knees, side by side in a row. He wraps his arm around me. “I’m glad you finally dared to give me a try,” he murmurs.
“Me too.” I lean my head against his. “Best decision of my life.”
After a few minutes, I stand up and stretch. The rainbow has disappeared. No sign of the gecko either. I’m tired, and hungry, and my feet ache.
“Can we go home now?” I ask.
“We’re already home.”
“What?” I laugh. “No we’re not.”
“Yes, we are,” Kai says. His eyes are serious, like they were this morning, when he got down on one knee and asked me to be his girlfriend. “My home is wherever you are, T.”
I hug him close because I don’t know what to say. I feel the same way about him—and it’s such a sweet sentiment—but his words make me unsettled. Because, in two days, I won’t be here anymore.
I don’t want to take his home away. I guess he’ll have to find his own home apart from me. Because where I’m going, he can’t come. And if he tries to follow me, I won’t let him.
He won’t try to follow me, will he?
Kai hoists the backpack onto his shoulders, and we start climbing the makeshift path through the ferns, back up the ravine to the lookout point, back to where we began.
“Can Tegan come?” Paulo asks. “To my championship game?”
We’re sitting around the kitchen table, having dinner with Kai’s family. By the time we made it back from Akaka Falls, it was early afternoon, and I was so exhausted that I fell asleep while Kai was taking a shower. He let me rest, only waking me up when dinnertime rolled around. I asked him to wake me up sooner next time. If there is a next time. I don’t want to waste any more precious hours napping when this week is nearly over. Thinking about it makes anxiety spiderweb across my chest.
The Best Week That Never Happened Page 19