Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Measure for Measure (Act 1, Scene 4)
KATE
The music moves through my body as we dance. The band has called everyone to the dance floor, and we’re crammed together, swaying, laughing, singing the old familiar rock song. All animosity, broken hearts, or clique distinctions are gone, at least during this song. The guys wear tuxes and the girls wear the best labels in fashion. Even love-is-death Elaine now smiles and laughs, her hands raised with everyone else’s. Some people hold up their iPhones and BlackBerrys, trying to record the occasion. The photos will be online before the night is done.
It’s a moment. One of those special high school times I’m sure we’ll remember into old age and wish we’d savored more. I take it in, surprised by the joy pulsing through me.
High school prom. While so many things don’t live up to expectations, this actually does. The evening sky is a vivid kaleidoscope growing brighter toward the sunset over the sea.
Monica, Oliver, and I dance close to each other, twisting our arms together, laughing and singing with the band. There are years of memories between us, and I swear, I love these two people more than almost anyone in the world. Even as I dance, the music pounding through my chest, I want to capture this night, stretch it out, iron it onto our memories, keep it from ending.
The next song winds down. My mouth is parched and I gasp to catch my breath.
“We’re going to take a quick little break,” the lead singer announces, followed by dissenting moans from the crowd.
“Need drink,” I call to Oliver, motioning with my head toward our table.
“I’ll get them!” he says, and I smile at how utterly handsome my best guy friend looks in his Armani tux. His hair is grown out a bit, and he looks like some model from Europe, maybe someone from the British aristocracy. In my opinion, Oliver was born in the wrong era. He dresses to perfection, plays poker and rugby, is already involved in the family business, and has a collection of cigars from around the world—though he never actually smokes them. He tends to like older women, and I tease him mercilessly about that. He absolutely hates being called a metrosexual.
“This is the perfect place to have prom. It’s fabulous,” Monica says with one of her rare exuberant smiles.
“If you say it’s perfect, then I know that’s the truth.”
Monica and I move toward our table. Emily drops to a chair, fanning her face as Trevor leans down and kisses her shoulder. Half of the seniors at the table next to us appear to be at least slightly intoxicated as they snap picture after picture, nearly falling over several times. Ted and his date, Talia—a senior—are at another table near ours. Monica is convinced he’s trying to make me jealous. I don’t think anything could spoil tonight. For weeks, I’ve dreaded the idea of prom. I’m burned out on social events, small talk, fake people. But this night could almost make those of us who are jaded about love believe in it again.
White lights are strung in lines over the entire event area. The lawn is covered with a temporary wooden floor. The tables are covered and hold centerpieces themed after different works of Shakespeare. We have the Romeo and Juliet table.
Some of the band members begin to mingle. Even Oliver, who is a music junkie, is impressed with this local group; talk is they’re supposed to break out this year. Now that the music has paused, a lot of people are moving around. Lanterns light all the pathways; I see people walking down the steep stairway from the main grounds of the hotel and others down the pathway to the small beach at Aloha Cove. More lanterns decorate the massive rocks that rise from the sea floor.
Jessica waves and jumps up and down from her post at the beverage counter.
“I can’t even be annoyed by Jessica,” Monica says, sitting in a chair.
“You do realize this is the first time you haven’t called her ‘freshman.’ You must be in a good mood.”
Monica laughs and folds her thin, tanned legs gently one over the other. Our dresses, though completely different in style, are both silver and both from a new SoHo designer. Monica thought we should somewhat coordinate our dresses since we’re dates. Hers is a tight dress with a long slit up one leg. My strapless bodice is white, with a full silver princess skirt. Monica’s silky brown hair has already lost most of its curl, despite the foam rollers, and my blonde chignon has a few tendrils falling loose down my back. “Ah my dates! I have the sexy vixen and the virgin maiden,” Oliver said when he saw us.
I nudge Monica with my elbow and motion toward Katherine. She’s leaning close to Blake, having one of those intense conversations best reserved for places other than prom. A girl I don’t know sits staring off on the other side of Blake.
“That could be trouble,” Monica says. “I think she was already three sheets to the wind before prom started.”
“I told her she could come with us tonight.”
“Yeah, thanks a lot.”
“Well, she was still pretty upset that Blake brought someone else. It’s the classic she-doesn’t-want-him-but-doesn’t-want-anyone-else-to-have-him scenario.”
“Ladies, you two are the perfect combination,” Jase yells as he jogs by. “I’d marry either one of you, or both!”
Monica gives him a wry smile but keeps studying the Katherine–Blake conversation. “If I were Blake, I would’ve done the same thing.”
“You would’ve done worse than find some random date to replace yours. You would’ve gotten true revenge—brought the guy’s brother or best friend or arch enemy. Something like that.” “True.
Revenge is more fun than love.”
Suddenly I remember to search around for the new guy— Caleb. He’s a no-show to the prom, and I find this both a relief and vaguely disappointing. For a while I watched for him, catching myself looking up the stairway again and again.
“One for each of us,” Oliver says, setting three drinks on the table. “Do you think I should get one for Katherine?”
“No, this is perfect,” Monica says, drinking hers down in one shot. “I’ll be back.”
Oliver sets down my virgin cosmopolitan with a raise of his eyebrows.
“You better not have added something to that,” I say, glancing around and spotting Ms. Liberty in her Lady Macbeth costume at a table with several other teachers including Hamlet, Ophelia, and three teachers dressed as the three witches.
“You’ll have to trust me,” he says, again with the Oliver grin. “They brought the Breathalyzer for real. Any suspicious students are going to be tested, including every driver leaving the grounds.”
“Well, why would you be suspicious? Your dad owns the hotel and you’re spending the night here.”
“Ms. Liberty has it out for me.”
“Yes, she does,” says Oliver, looking at someone behind me. I narrow my eyes at Oliver and tap his shoulder. “Listen buddy. You may be making me dance with you to make someone else jealous; I’m fine with that. But when I talk, you listen and look at me.”
Oliver leans in and kisses my cheek before turning around a chair and sitting with his legs straddling the back. “You know, this is mutually beneficial. You help me look attractive to Ursula, and I keep Ted from mauling you on the dance floor. So stop complaining if I check on Ursula’s coordinates. After all, you keep checking to see if Ted is in the vicinity. And you keep looking for Mr. Hawaii.”
“Am not,” I say, then I put my finger over my lips and look for Monica. She’s talking to the bass guitarist. “Monica has a thing against Mr. Hawaii. I should have never told you about him.”
“You might be able to keep things from Monica, but never from me.”
I roll my eyes, but he’s pretty much right. At least Oliver is trustworthy in this area. “By the way, Ursula doesn’t seem old enough for your taste; what about Ms. Liberty?”
He shakes his head. “I suppose you meant that in a humorous sense?”
I glance up and see Ted studying us. Ted hangs on the periphery of everything I do. He watches me when he thinks I’m not looking. When he thinks I’m looking at him, he laughs, leans in to some girl. When we were dancing, he kept moving toward me. Guys like him should be awkward at dancing— it might knock them down a few notches. But Ted is a good dancer, though not as much as he thinks.
My feet ache already. I slip off my shoes and plop my ankles on Oliver’s thigh. He rubs them for a moment and then drops them as he rises quickly.
“It looks like you ladies need another drink,” Oliver says with a slight motion of his head toward the beverage counter. Ursula is walking that direction.
I’m alone for a moment at our table. I see Elaine sitting at a table talking with her hands. Brian Beater is sitting beside her—a guy who still picks his nose in class. I wonder if she’s debating the pain of love with him.
“Hey Kate, I hear it’s a party in the Daisy Room afterwards?” Emily says as she weaves her way through the tables.
I almost correct her and say Orchid Suite, but stop myself. “Who told you that? There’s no party. The seniors have a few rooms, but they’re supposed to be calm or they’ll be kicked out.”
Emily shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. But I’ll pass that around. Back to plan A.”
Plan A is a party at Oliver’s house. Oliver’s parties tend to get out of control, and I’ve avoided them ever since “the incident.” But I’m beginning to think most of the partygoers will need rides from parents or taxis. My father set the condition that every driver must pass the Breathalyzer test before leaving the hotel grounds. That might ruin a few postprom plans.
I reach for my clutch on the table to retrieve my phone; I want to send a global text to everyone cutting off that rumor about the “Daisy Room” party. Are these people insane—like this is any random hotel that we could get away with something like that? Unlike most of my friends, my parents care about such things.
Just then, I glance up the stairway and my fingers stop typing the message.
A dark-haired guy leans on the railing, looking down at the prom. He has wide shoulders, and his deep tan-colored skin contrasts with the white of his T-shirt.
This must be Caleb Kalani.
CALEB
My cousin Finn leaves me a text to meet him at the pool area of the inn. He came to pick me up before we head into Portland to see a movie—my choice—and to stop by some friend’s house— his choice. I shower and change in the maintenance building so we can go straight into town.
Approaching the pool area, music rises from the lower events area. I’m surprised at how good the band sounds—a mixture of alternative rock and punk that reminds me of Nirvana or Coldplay, but with a sound of their own. I’d imagined some lame knock-off group; I suppose it’s my predisposition toward the snide when it comes to rich-people events.
“You’re missing your prom,” Finn says when we meet, enjoying the fact that our previous sarcasms can now include me. Finn has a chip on his shoulder deeper than mine. Back in Hawaii, he hated hales more than my grandfather. Now that he’s in the States, his dislike for white people, especially rich ones, hasn’t waned. And he’s on his own here. Cut off from our Hawaii ties and the Kalani family almost exclusively, he’d do most anything to get back into Grandfather’s good graces. It was his own doing. And I can’t blame him for his contempt. But it’s still not easy to be around.
“Let’s check it out.” Finn motions toward the stairway that leads down to the lower level, where I know the prom is happening. His pockmarked face and narrow eyes make him look even crueler than he is.
“Thought we’re going into Portland?”
“We will. We need to see this, man. Maybe I’ll get myself a rich girlfriend out of it.” He laughs and takes off toward the music.
As we get closer to the edge of the upper level, the sound of laughter and talking mix with the guitar, drums, keyboard, and raspy-voiced lead singer.
Finn leans on the railing, staring down.
“Sorry man, this isn’t your prom. I think this is an episode of Gossip Girls.”
Gossip Girls?” I raise my eyebrows at Finn. “
“It’s some TV show Meela watches.”
“Uh-huh. Your sister watches it?” I smile as if I don’t believe him, which I don’t. He hits me in the arm. Hard.
Finn’s phone rings as the band sets down their instruments for a break.
“Hang on, man.” Finn walks back up toward the pool, talking into his cell.
I don’t want to find Kate’s blonde hair or face in that crowd below. I’d planned to have till Monday before confronting that issue. Instead, I stare out at the constant rhythm of waves. The sun has fallen into the sea far beyond where the waves travel from to finally slide across this rocky coastline. Across that water are my tiny home islands. I long for the warmth and scent of tropical flowers and the cawing of exotic birds. I miss raging bonfires and sleeping outside on the beach with my muscles sore from a full day of surfing.
I hear Finn’s footsteps behind me.
“Look at them. Spoiled rich kids gone wild.”
From above they remind me of children with their laughter, movement, the splashes of light as some take pictures. I don’t focus on individuals.
“Looks fun,” I say to spite him.
“Then go down,” Finn says with an edge of scorn in his voice. “It is your prom. I want to see you dance with someone.”
“Whatever,” I say and turn away.
“I dare you,” he says. “My jeep. For a month.”
“You understand what that means? Sure you want to stick by that?” Dares between Finn and me have always been very serious business. We don’t give mercy once they are made.
“I dare you again.” His thin lips press together like a snarl. I stare at him a minute and think how this will make Dad happy too. “This one is going to hurt you.”
“A full song’s worth,” he calls and I head down.
KATE
Monica laughs with her hair tossed back at something the bass guitarist says, and Oliver is now talking with Ursula at the refreshment bar. Constance, Derek, and Felicia rush over when they see me alone at my table. They’re discussing the band and some rumor about one of the teachers, while I add my oh reallys and ahs and watch the guy on the railing above the dance.
Caleb stares out beyond us toward the ocean and sunset. My contacts are working overtime as I strain to see him better. Another guy comes up beside him; he leans on the railing as well, and I think tattoos cover his arms and neck. There’s a grimace on the new guy’s face as his gaze sweeps over the party.
Suddenly I wonder . . . which one is Caleb? I just assumed the first guy was Caleb, the more attractive one. They’re enough alike to be relatives. The scowling one catches me staring at them, and I look away too late to miss his glare.
The first guy—who must be Caleb because Alicia would have been afraid of the other one—pushes off the railing with a smile and laugh. He slaps the angry guy on the back and motions down.
The band is moving back toward the stage.
Caleb walks down the stairs. It has to be him. He wears loose jeans and a white T-shirt. The party is a black-tie event. I wonder if Ms. Liberty will allow him in.
Why am I so relieved that the better-looking one is actually Caleb? I shouldn’t care, there’s no reason to care.
He reaches the bottom of the stone stairway, and a very tall and awkward Lady Macbeth is quickly attracted to him.
Just as I’m wondering if Ms. Liberty will send him packing, they turn my way and Ms. Liberty points at me. I try to glance nonchalantly around to see if she’s really pointing at someone else. No such luck.
Now they are coming toward me and my heart is pounding, though I don’t know why. Ms. Liberty and a very good-looking, underdressed guy begin to attract attention. Then the drummer starts making a beat and couples move toward the dance floor.
I keep my eyes on the band, watching with my peripheral vision the weaving approach of Ms. Liberty around the tables and people. I take a deep cleansing breath, like something I’d do in yoga, trying to calm my heart and nerves. Maybe the refreshment booth needs something. I rise in my chair and turn away from Ms. Liberty, but too late.
“Kate.”
I wait until she says my name again, louder over the eruption of music from the band, then I turn around, hoping that I look surprised at being called.
“Hi, Ms. Liberty.”
Caleb stares at me, and not in the friendly expression he had when he was glancing over the crowd. Suddenly the music rises to an old rock song, “Old Time Rock and Roll,” and everyone is screaming.
“This is Caleb Ka—” Ms. Liberty is intersected by a Lady Ophelia, asking for a moment of her time.
“Excuse me,” Ms. Liberty practically yells over the music. “Please make introductions yourselves.”
Ms. Liberty is gone, leaving Caleb and me to stare at one another.
“Hello,” I say loudly, and his eyes are so dark and deep I have to look away from them. My hands are clammy as I shake his hand, and sweat breaks out down my back. What’s up with this? I’ve met people from all over the world, have hung out with celebrities, but I’m actually nervous. “I’m Kate Monrovi.”
He nods slightly and I have to read his lips, the music is so loud. “Caleb Kalani.”
“So you’re new here?”
He gives me a confused expression, and I lean close to his ear to repeat it.
He nods, then talks in my ear. His breath tingles warm across my neck when he speaks. “Yes, I am new to Gaitlin.”
My neck and cheeks sting with a blush creeping through me. “Yes, of course.” I am making a total fool of myself, unbelievable.
After a moment that feels probably much longer than it actually is, I say, “I’m your student guide escort.”
“What?”
I move close to his ear and say it again.
“What does that mean exactly?” he asks, and I realize we can hear each other perfectly if we talk close, our bodies only inches apart. I’m drawn to this, unable to move away, and if I could think, I’d know how crazy it is that I’m almost sizzling with emotion the closer I stand to him.
I take a deep breath again; my heart is racing like it does after a rowing competition. “I help you fit in, find your way around campus, help if you need tutors or whatever, anything really.”
“Great, I could use some help.” He pulls away and looks me square in the eye like a challenge. His skin is smooth and his eyes are so dark, they might be black. His lips are full and the thought of kissing him stuns me with its immediate want for it. I need to get away from this guy, but my feet don’t move.
“I need some help now,” he says in my ear again.
“Okay. With what?”
The song ends and the dancers cheer. I feel a momentary reprieve, like the music is the only thing that ties us together. Looking around, I see Monica on the dance floor near the guitarist. Caleb’s voice draws me back like an invisible force that closes out everything else.
“I’m just going to say this. My cousin dared me to dance one complete song with someone here. Do you have a friend who would be willing to dance with me?”
The lead singer shouts and another song breaks out. I speak before thinking, “Is there something wrong with me?”
He smiles with a tease on his lips, leaning for my ear again. “I guess you would do.”
I laugh at this, and he’s smiling, laughing. It’s only making this bizarre attraction worse.
“But your date might care.”
I glance around, then lean close to his ear, studying the brown smooth skin of his neck. “Monica and Oliver are my dates tonight.”
“Oh, okay,” he says, as if trying to figure out what to say next.
I laugh, seeing his evident confusion at that remark. “They are my two best friends.”
We both turn to say something and our faces nearly meet. It surprises us both, and I feel such an intense urge to kiss or be kissed by this guy that I take a step away and trip over a chair.
CALEB
I grab her arm before she falls and pull her against me. She is light and smells like a combination of summer and cotton candy.
We both move apart after that, and even with her cheeks turning rosy, I wonder what she’s thinking about all of this. Is she playing me? Is she enjoying this, thinking of how she’ll tell her friends about me later—the guy who works with his hands at her father’s hotel?
I know Finn is watching from above, and I hope the angle has kept him from observing the details, the ridiculous details that even if I act cool, I’m not. Not at all.
She’s more beautiful than I expected.
When I talk to her, it’s not that she’s really a sophisticated beauty, it’s something else altogether. It’s difficult to stop staring at her. I want to figure this out, get a better sense of control, because my usual control feels thin-skinned and shaky right now.
Her chin—it’s absolutely perfect and makes me long to touch it with my fingertips. She has a cute little indention perfect for my thumb. Her face curves—a heart-shaped face, I remember from when my little sister made me help her determine the shape of her face from a magazine illustration.
Her dress is beautiful, but she’d look even better in jeans and a T-shirt—one of my T-shirts. Must get that image out of my head.
Her blonde hair is woven in intricate curls and braids around her head. I feel a compulsion to touch one of the tendrils that dangles near the small ear that my lips have come millimeters from touching. Her brown eyes have some green in them, unless that’s from the reflection from lights and tables.
Get control of yourself, fool.
I’ve seen every kind of beautiful on the beaches back home: women from around the world, barely dressed, or wearing the most expensive outfits. Kate Monrovi can’t impress me with her looks or her money. Perhaps it’s worked with other guys, I don’t know. But it means nothing at all to me. So what is it about her, then?
She’s talking again. I’m not sure if it’s harder to concentrate when she’s talking or when she’s looking off, like she’s looking for some kind of anchor other than me. When she does that I can study her better, try figuring out why I’m not my old self with her.
There’s a freshness in her face, an innocence . . . then I tell myself it’s all the pampering she just had in the spa today. It irritates me how I cut her down in my mind to settle this energy jolting through every muscle of my body.
Remember who she is. I repeat this in my head. If I forget it, I may cart this girl off and never return.
The noise decreases and we can talk again.
“So we’ve established that I am not involved with anyone.” Why were we going down this road?
“I guess we have established that.” This shouldn’t make me happy, but strangely, it does.
“So what about you?” she asks, trying to act like she doesn’t really care.
“How did we get from my dare to who we’re dating? Or not dating?” I’m out of control with this girl.
“Nice change of subject.”
I shrug. “It’s a gift.”
Her eyes study me, diving inside me and making strange things happen in my stomach and chest.
“When a guy doesn’t want to answer the question as to whether or not he’s dating someone, it usually means he’s seeing someone but wants to keep his options open.”
This makes me grin. “Is that right?”
“Or else he doesn’t like girls.”
“Do you judge all men so quickly?”
“Usually,” she says with an adorable shrug of her small, silky shoulders.
Why are we flirting? But I’m on a roll and can’t stop now.
“Perhaps guys would rather not admit when we aren’t involved with anyone because we might look like losers. And girls are more attracted to what is unavailable anyway.”
“Not true.” I see her glance toward her “best guy friend” and wonder about him. In my experience, few guys stick around as friends without some attraction or interest.
“I have examples,” I say.
“Give me your best.”
“You are in Paris, maybe. You see a dress in a fashion show and you really like it. No, you see two dresses. You find out that one is available, but the other is nearly sold out. Isn’t the sold-out one now more attractive to you than the one that’s available?”
She bites her lower lip in a disconcertingly adorable way. “Not always.” But she laughs and I know I have her.
My grandfather believes I should be a lawyer and at times like this, I think he’s right.
“I think yes, always. You have judged me as a possible cheater, but you have no idea, do you? I could be a lonely guy who just doesn’t want to admit it. I might have just broken up with someone, and it’s too painful to talk about yet.”
She’s doing that lip-biting thing that should be outlawed—if this were court I’d ask for a mistrial, claiming she was trying to influence the jury. Or the lawyer.
“I’m sorry I judged you,” Kate says, and I think she actually might feel bad about it. “But why didn’t you ask me to dance? It’s not because you thought I had a boyfriend. And whether you’re involved or not, you were planning to dance with someone.”
“Maybe I’m just not attracted to you.” I try to keep a straight face, and the fact that I’m terribly attracted to her isn’t lost on me—and possibly her—for one moment. This is exactly who I am not supposed to get involved with—not even as a friend. It’s like I’ve lost all control of myself.
She puts her hands on her hips. “Maybe it’s because I’m supposed to be your enemy for all mortal time. Maybe you can explain why that is.”
My mouth drops open, but I immediately twist into a smile. “Okay, let’s go dance, enemy.”