MONDAY MORNING, I WALK BACK FROM THURSTON Chapel alone, but migrating with the group. I don’t mind chapel—the stained-glass windows, everyone singing, the time it allows you to do nothing. Sometimes I tune in to the chaplain, or watch Ms. Freitas playing the organ, her spastic energy and the way she seems unaware of anyone else in the room. The music thunders through the cool space and makes me feel like I’m taking part in something ancient.
When I signed in this morning, I noticed Will’s signature and looked down the row. He was slouched on the hard pew, eyes closed, mouth parted, chin tilted up to the ceiling, a cap on his lap. Just blatantly asleep. I couldn’t imagine doing the same. His seems to be a life without consequences. I keep expecting to see him around campus, wondering how he’ll greet me after our night on Friday, but I haven’t run into him yet.
The air is humid and voggy, stifling. I don’t recognize any of the people I’m walking alongside. There are so many faces here. Even if I had started in kindergarten I doubt I’d know them all. I’m almost to the other end of the Olympic-sized swimming pool when I hear Whitney calling my name. I turn back and see her with Danny. He’s laughing at something in that Woody Woodpecker way of his. I slow down a bit and nearly get crushed by the other students headed to their next class.
“Hey, guys,” I say.
Whitney is wearing a maxi dress, which she pulls off despite her smaller stature. I’ve always wanted one, inspired by all the Japanese tourists in Kailua, who look stylish yet super comfortable at the same time. I tried one on at Fighting Eel, loved it, but looked like I was drowning or playing dress-up.
“What’s up?” she says, with a nice note of familiarity.
“I like your dress,” I say.
She lifts a side of it. “My hausfrau dress. Love these things. You should borrow it.”
“Want to come surf with us?” Danny asks. Today’s Monday, the day he usually can’t surf, and shouldn’t the question be rephrased? Shouldn’t we be asking Whitney if she wants to surf with us?
“I can’t,” I say. “History exam.”
“Boo,” Whitney says. “Join us after, then, at home?”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say.
I expect protests, begging, or just a simple “come on,” but there’s nothing. I begin to veer off toward class.
“See you guys,” I say.
“Late,” Danny says.
“Bye-eee,” Whitney says. She always drags out the e. She’s got all these language tics, like word special effects.
“Oh, my mom says you’re coming for dinner tonight, so I’ll see you for sure,” she calls out.
“Okay,” I say, knowing nothing about it.
“Meet earlier for cocoa, ’kay-eee?”
“Okay, already,” I say. “My arm has been twisted.”
She makes a victory gesture, pulling her elbow down and mouthing, “Yes.”
I bump into someone during this exchange. “Oh, shit, sorry,” I say to a girl with thick glasses and hair that goes past her butt. She apologizes profusely and has a look about her that says this was some kind of fun incident.
“Hard knocks,” she says and laughs nervously.
I don’t disguise my confused look, and I walk away.
When I get to the library, I wonder if that’s the way I acted when I first got to Punahou, or even until recently—needlessly apologetic, fumbling, and, well, lame.
After history and Chinese, I’m done. I walk toward the exit by the pool and see Will, farther up the hill by the bench-encircled tree. I almost turn and walk the other way, but don’t see why I should. Still, I slow my pace, but he’s moving slow as well, so I have to go even slower. He has a girlfriend and treats me like a kid. I need to get it together.
He turns then, sees me, and hesitates, maybe deciding whether to stay or go. He turns back, facing away from me, then stops walking until I get to his side.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I say, not meeting his eyes. I look at his 808 Skate hat, and he lifts his eyes as if to see what I’m looking at. You skate and golf? I want to ask. ’Cause that goes together like wrestling and synchronized swimming. Or maybe he just wears it to look like he skates. We walk slowly, as if through thick sand.
“This vog,” he says.
“I know, right.” Volcanic ash and fog. It makes my eyes itch and water. I swear it affects your mood and energy too. You can just feel it in the air.
On the walkway, he turns toward the road. “You going this way?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Are you going anywhere for break?” I ask. Spring break starts next week.
“No,” he says. “I’ve got this tournament thing. You?”
“Nowhere,” I say.
We walk out of school, stopping in front of the rock wall to wait for the light to change. The wall runs alongside the campus, so you can only see the tops of the buildings from the street. I always feel like I’m in a different world when I leave, like this wall shelters us from the real world, and then our real world is surrounded by the ocean, like a castle’s moat, guarding us even further.
“Have you been here at night?” Will asks.
“At school?” I ask. “No.”
“Or driven past?”
“I don’t know,” I say, trying to remember if I’ve driven this way after paddling.
He looks over at me, then past me. “These flowers.” I look at the spurts of white among the cacti that run along the entire rock wall. “They open at night. Night-blooming cereus.”
“Serious?” I say.
“Yup,” he says, and I hide my smile, since he didn’t get my joke. He steps off the curb, and I walk alongside him in the crosswalk, conscious of wanting someone to see us. “Little trivia for you,” he says. “It must be hard coming to this place so late in the game.”
“It is,” I say. “But I’m liking it now.” I touch my neck.
“Let me know if you need anything,” he says. “I can give you more tours.” He looks straight ahead.
“I like your tours,” I say. It’s requiring a lot of energy to maintain this even walk. My arms are relaxed, but my fingers tap nervously against my thighs.
“Yo, William!” I hear from behind us.
“Thaddeus!” Will says. “Give me a ride up the hill. I’m in bumblefuck.”
“Shoots,” Thad says. “We can smoke a bowl!”
Will shrugs his backpack off. “Need a ride to your car?” he asks.
We’re standing close to each other. He looks at me, waiting. Yes. I want to hang out, want to be with the boys, want to smoke a bowl, but my nerves make me respond, “I’m good.”
“Okay, see you at home,” he says, and we both smile a little. I wonder if it’s because he feels the same way I do: like we’ve been caught playing house.