33

I wake up to yelling. I open my eyes to see Afton and Mom standing at the foot of my bed, squared off like boxers.

Dear god, I think. Here we go.

“That is unacceptable, young lady!” Mom says, in as close to a shout as she gets. “You can’t simply not come home at night!”

“This isn’t my home!” Afton hollers back.

“You know what I mean!”

“I’m eighteen!” Afton yells. “I’m legally an adult. I can do what I want!”

“This is my house—” Mom pauses, jaw clenching. “My hotel room, and as long as you’re part of this family, staying in our rooms, you’ll do what you’re told. It’s not unreasonable for me to ask you to come home at night, and for you to let us know where you are. Who you’re with. What you’re doing.”

“No,” Afton says.

“No?”

“No. And what are you going to do about it? Ship me home? Lock me up?”

“I’m considering it,” Mom says. “I’m surprised at you, Afton. Normally I can trust you to be responsible. Think about the example that you’re setting for your sisters.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” Afton says. “Coming from you.”

I scramble out from under the covers. “Hey, you two, let’s—”

“Stay out of it, Ada,” they both say at the same time, with the same exact inflection.

They are too much alike.

“So I assume you spent the night with Michael Wong,” Mom says. She gives a humorless laugh. “I knew you had a crush on him, and I thought he must be humoring you. But staying out with him all night, that’s—”

“That’s none of your business,” Afton says.

“Everything you do is my business,” Mom argues. “I created you. My body assembled the cells that made you a person. That makes you my business.”

“Doesn’t the human body replace every single cell over the course of seven years?” Afton says.

“And the Wongs are my business,” Mom continues like she didn’t hear. “Billy Wong is my closest colleague. My partner at work. My friend.”

My breath freezes. This would be the most opportune time for Afton to confront Mom about Billy, and I don’t know how to stop her. I don’t know how to stop any of this.

“Stop,” I say, but they ignore me. “You’re going to wake up Abby.” My little sister is a deep sleeper. She’s literally slept through a fire alarm before, without so much as stirring. But still. She’s just in the next room over.

Afton scoffs. “Oh, so you’re afraid I’m going to make you look bad in front of your work buddies.”

“No, but having a fling with Michael Wong reflects badly on all of us,” Mom says.

Afton shakes her head, a tumble of long blond hair. “Why? Who cares?”

“There’s too much of an age difference,” Mom says stiffly.

Afton cocks her head. “Tell me again how much older you are than Pop?”

Ooh, ooh, I know the answer. Six years. Which is more than the four-year difference between Afton and Michael Wong.

“This is different. Two weeks ago, you were still in high school. This is inappropriate.”

Afton scowls. “Don’t you dare lecture me about what’s inappropriate.”

Mom’s cheeks color. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m only trying to protect you.”

“Well, you’re doing a stellar job,” Afton snaps.

“Hey,” I try to interject again. “Let’s just calm down, okay?”

“Michael has a girlfriend,” Mom says then.

Afton’s expression goes blank. “What?”

“I’ve even met her,” Mom says. “Michael brought her in to the hospital to have lunch with Billy, about six months ago. Her name is Melanie.”

Afton’s breath becomes funny, irregular. “Six months ago is not now.”

“One month ago he was buying her an engagement ring.”

“A lot can happen in a month,” she says.

“If they’d broken up, I would have heard about it.”

Afton sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and holds it there, between her teeth, for a long time. “You ruin everything,” she says finally.

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. I’m sorry, Afton,” she says, more kindly. “I know you just broke up with Logan and . . .”

“You don’t know anything,” Afton says. “Like you have anything to say about relationships. Look at you and Pop.”

“I’m not talking about Pop,” Mom says.

Afton’s cold blue eyes flicker to me. “Well, maybe you should. Maybe we could get some of this shit out in the open, am I right?”

Thankfully at that exact moment Abby appears, bleary-eyed and clutching her nubby blanket to her chest. “What’s going on?” she asks. “Why is Afton swearing?”

Afton turns toward the door. “I’m going out.”

“There’s another group trip today,” Mom says. “They leave in an hour, and you’re going with everyone else.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Afton says with a petulant smile, and then she’s out the door, wearing the same clothes she was wearing yesterday.

I follow her. “Afton!”

She stops. Turns.

“Thank you,” I tell her.

She scoffs. “For what?”

“I know you’re mad, and this thing with Michael sucks, but thank you for not telling her that you know about Billy. I don’t think I would have had so much control.” I know I wouldn’t have. It didn’t even seem like Afton was mad about Billy. Her anger seemed focused solely on Mom.

But Afton’s looking at me now like I am the worst. “This is all your fault,” she says, and turns to go.

Today’s field trip this time is only a half day. The first stop is a place called Pu’uhonua o Honaunau. Kahoni makes us practice pronouncing the words several times.

“Back in the ancient days,” he tells us as our bus winds its way into the parking lot, “if you broke a law, any law, the penalty was death. Hey, you!”

He points at Marjorie, who is lifting a cracker to her lips.

“No eating on the bus!” Kahoni says as sternly as if she’s stolen a car. “You have broken a law.”

“If I don’t eat every two hours, my blood sugar gets iffy,” Marjorie says in her defense.

“Your reasons do not matter,” Kahoni says. “You broke the law, so you must die.”

“He’s not really going to kill Marjorie, is he?” whispers Abby from the seat next to mine. “Wait, is this the part where he throws her in the volcano?”

“No. He’s just making a point,” I whisper back.

“You’re in big trouble now, Marjorie,” Kahoni says. “If we can catch you, you’re dead. But if you can escape and get to the nearest pu’uhonua, you’ll be saved.”

“I’m faster than I look,” Marjorie says, and we all laugh.

Kahoni goes on to talk about how the place is a temple where the chiefs’ bones are buried, and still holds their mana—their power. We file off the bus and look around. To one side is a huge L-shaped wall made of palm tree trunks, cutting the area off from everywhere else, down to the black rocky beach.

“Go explore,” Kahoni says. “But remember, this place is filled with the spirit of peace and forgiveness. Treat it with respect.”

I keep a careful eye on Abby as we wander—through the royal grounds, into several thatched-roof structures with people inside demonstrating how to make nets from a certain kind of leaf and containers out of gourds. We didn’t even discuss whose job it was to look after Abby today. Mom just handed me the hundred dollars.

Nick’s with us, as usual, standing in the back. He keeps a respectful distance. He probably thinks I’m mad at him, but I’m not. I have a lot of other, more pressing things on my mind than having tea.

Afton, true to her word, is here, too. She stubbornly sat with Michael and the rest of the Wongs on the bus. Avoiding even so much as looking at me.

I don’t know why she’s so mad at me, but I kind of get it. I was mad at her over it, too. I don’t know what to do about it, so I try to act like things are normal, for Abby’s sake. I take a lot of photos with my phone so I can go back and do some watercolors off them later. I love the wooden ki’i statues with their gaping smiles and wide grimaces. The place reminds me a little of Notre Dame, when the conference was in Paris four years ago. Pop wore Abby in a baby carrier strapped to his chest, and she went totally quiet in the cathedral, her little rosebud mouth forming a silent O as she stared up at the stained glass. This place feels the same, like the sand we’re standing on is holy, the air charged with an ancient and wise energy.

It’s peaceful, I think, being here.

“YOU’RE A DOUCHEBAG, YOU KNOW THAT?”

Afton’s voice echoes off the walls and the rocks and the trees. Everyone—even the people who aren’t part of our group—stop to stare at her and Michael standing in the coconut grove. Afton’s face is red, her fists clenched at her sides.

Michael’s looking down at his flip-flops. “Hey, look, I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“Save it,” she snarls, and stalks off down the beach.

“I guess that honeymoon’s over,” says Marjorie from somewhere in the back.

I stare after Afton. I bet this outburst has to do with the infamous Melanie. I happen to know exactly how that feels. Like screaming, “Fuck you, Leo!” in a crowded parking lot.

“Is Afton okay?” Abby asks. “Is she winning?”

“Winning?”

“You said you were in a competition to see who had the worst broken heart,” Abby reminds me.

I snort, then nod. “Yeah. I think she might be winning now.”

“Everyone’s yelling all the time,” Abby says with a sigh. “I wish it would stop.”

My heart squeezes. “Well, I won’t yell anymore, okay?”

“Promise?” She holds out her pinkie.

I take it with mine. “Promise. And remember what Pop said. Afton’s tough. She’ll be okay.” It’s the rest of us I’m not so sure about. I try to mash Afton’s words down in my brain: This is all your fault. Blaming me the way I blamed her for taking Abby to hula, which led to me discovering Mom and Billy. It wasn’t Afton’s fault. And it’s not mine.

“All right, people,” says Kahoni in disgust. “It’s time to go.”

The next (and final) stop is a coffee plantation. That word—plantation—makes me uneasy and wonder about the situation of the people who worked there, both in the past and now. White guilt at its finest, I guess. I wonder, but don’t ask about it. Then the tour guide—a woman who’s employed by the plantation, not Kahoni—explains that in this case the word means “a place where trees have been planted,” because obviously she gets that question sometimes.

But that gets me thinking about the nature of words. Sure, the word plantation has a dictionary meaning that has nothing to do with the word slavery. But the two words are connected now. It’s impossible to totally untangle them.

Like the word sex and the word affair.

Sigh. If things were going normally, I’d hang out with Afton at the coffee place. If there is one thing that bonds us as sisters, it’s our mutual love for coffee. But she avoids me after we get off the bus. Michael also lags behind in the back of the group, sticking close to his mom, who seems on edge herself.

For all of my never-ending love of coffee, I find I didn’t know that it starts out as a bright red berry that grows in a bunch on the branch of a tall, leafy bush. Inside each berry, like magic, are two pale little beans, which are roasted in huge drums and dried and then ground and turned into sweet, sweet coffee—also known as the nectar of life.

They give out samples of the different roasts. I try them all. Abby is hot and bored and predictably hungry, but I am in coffee heaven.

Then heaven hits a bit of a snag after the official tour of the plantation is over, because there’s no lunch.

“What do you mean, there’s no lunch?” Marjorie asks the tour guide in a huff. She pulls out the STS trip itinerary and waves it under the coffee lady’s nose. “It says, right here, ‘lunch will be provided.’”

“There’s been some kind of mix-up, I’m afraid,” says the coffee lady coolly. “The restaurant’s not open today. We’d be happy to provide you all with free mugs instead.”

“It says lunch will be provided,” repeats Marjorie.

The coffee lady wants to sigh, I can tell. But she says, “I’ll see what can be done,” and disappears into the building.

The group congregates on the back patio area and on the lawn, which has a spectacular view: coffee bushes as far as the eye can see, stretching all the way down to the hazy blue ocean in the distance.

My fingers close around an imaginary paintbrush. I wish I’d thought to bring my watercolors and some paper, but I assumed that we were going to be on the move all morning.

“I’m hungry,” Abby whines again. “I’m going to starve to death if I don’t eat soon.”

“And I will miss you,” I say, then smile to show her I’m not serious. “We won’t starve, Abby. Did you know that the human body can go three whole weeks without eating before starving to death? Anyway, we could always eat Peter if we get desperate.”

She giggles.

My own stomach is rumbling, and a bit heartburny on account of all the free coffee I drank and no food. “Let’s sit down.” I lead us over to where there’s a metal table and some chairs. Abby sits for all of two minutes before she pops up again and runs to do cartwheels in the grass with Josie.

I watch Afton slip into the gift shop, where everything is of course coffee-related. Coffee in bags. Coffee grinders. Chocolate-covered espresso beans. Coffee cups of various shapes and sizes.

I sigh. The thing is, I’m starting to really miss my sister. Even though I assume, from what I saw, that she looked through my sketchbook last night. Which is the equivalent of reading my diary.

Still, she needs me today. I’ve always been her support system whenever she had boy trouble. I’m there for her. I listen.

Except not lately.

I sigh again.

“Is this seat taken?” Nick is standing next to the table, red-brown hair windblown, his cheeks and nose a bit sunburned. His eyes match the gray-blue ocean behind him.

“Let me think.” I pause, smile. “Okay.”

He sits.

“How’s it going?” I ask.

“Very well, thanks. I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he says. “About last night.”

“Oh, you mean when you accused me of being evil?”

“Yeah, that. I thought about it, and you’re right. I believe you, if you say you have a good reason not to like Billy. And you’re also right that I don’t know you, not that well, anyway. But I’d like to.”

I stare over at him. “You must really, really want to have tea, huh?”

He flushes. “No. I assume we’re not doing that anymore. Even though I . . .”

Well, now I’m curious. “Even though you what?”

He clears his throat. “I got condoms.”

I sit back. “You did. How?”

He scratches at the back of his neck. “From my dad.”

“You . . .” I lower my voice. “You stole condoms from your dad?”

“No. He gave them to me, because I told him.”

My mouth drops open. “You told your dad?”

“He figured out that something was going on. He asked, so I told him. Don’t worry. He’s cool with it.”

“He is?” I can’t imagine either of my parents really being cool with it.

“He actually gave me some tips.”

I cringe. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. But good job, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Even though we won’t be . . . having tea anymore.”

“Who says we’re not having tea?”

“Uh, well. I thought . . .”

“I still want tea,” I tell him, and right in that instant I feel like it’s the truth. Life is short. Bad things are happening all around us. There’s no better time for us to live for the moment. “Do you still want tea?”

“I think I would love tea,” he says.

“Okay, then. Tomorrow night’s still on.”

“Really?”

Something about the way he says the word really? reminds me of Leo. It’s been a while, I realize, since I even thought about Leo. Which is progress, I guess.

“Look,” I say to Nick, “if I say something, I mean it. I wouldn’t tell you I wanted to have sex in order to trick you.”

“Okay. Good, I guess.” He coughs into his fist. “Good. I’ve been doing a lot of research.”

My eyes fly to his face, which is slowly but surely going as red as the coffee berries. “You have?”

“It’s been very interesting.” He stares off at the ocean for a second. “I didn’t know girls were so . . . complicated.”

“Don’t feel bad. I didn’t, either. I haven’t done this before, you know.”

“I kind of figured,” he says with a shy smile.

But he doesn’t say it like he thinks I’m unfuckable or anything. Just like he recognizes that this is as much of a big deal for me as it is for him.

“I did see this really sexy episode of the Scottish show yesterday,” I tell him. “So that’s probably all the research I need, right?”

“Oh, the Scottish show?” he says lightly. “I’ve seen that. I get why the ladies like it. That guy is ripped.”

“Agreed. He’s almost unbearably hot.”

“How am I supposed to compete with that?”

“Better do some push-ups,” I say.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “But does this mean you like redheads?”

I bite my lip against a smile. “Go team ginger.”

Our eyes meet. Then we laugh, and the tension between us dissolves. We’re both blushing.

We’re flirting. I am surprisingly into it.

Abby comes running up. “Josie’s mom says the coffee lady said that the chef is whipping something up for us, but it may take a while. Which is bad because I’m so hun-gry!” She suddenly seems to notice I’m not alone. “Hi, Nick.”

“Hi, Abby. Hey, I’ve got something you might like.” He heaves his backpack onto the table and rummages around in the front pocket before he produces a granola bar. “Here. It’s chocolate chip.”

“Oh my dog! Thanks!” Abby gasps. “You just saved my life!” She tears off the wrapper and takes such a huge bite I worry that I’m going to end up doing the Heimlich.

“That’s me,” Nick says. “Casual superhero.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“Do you want one? I’ve got one more.”

My stomach makes a pterodactyl sound. “I shouldn’t. I mean, don’t you want it?”

“I’d be happy to give it to you.”

I take it and wolf it down. Nick sits watching me. I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s different about you?”

I scan down his body. Same long, messy hair. Same wrinkled video-game-themed shirt. Same baggy shorts and dirty white sneakers. Then I figure out what’s missing. “Where’s your phone?”

“My dad made me leave it back at the room.”

“Oh my dog!” I exclaim for Abby’s benefit. “Are you okay? Are you going through withdrawal yet?”

He smirks. “Ha ha. I’m surviving . . . barely. I don’t get to take any pictures, though, which sucks.” He gazes around at all the fabulous scenery that surrounds us.

“I can text you some of mine,” I offer.

“That’d be awesome. Thanks.”

“Are you Ada’s boyfriend?” Abby asks, propping her chin in her hand.

He glances from me to her. “No. But I am a boy who’s her friend.”

“But you like her. Like kissy like,” Abby says.

He looks at me again. “You got me. I guess I do.”

“And she likes you.”

“Does she?”

“Yep.” Abby takes another enthusiastic bite of the granola bar. “Trust me. She likes you a lot. Her last boyfriend was an asshole.”

“Abby!” I exclaim. I’m blushing. I rub the back of my neck. “She’s right, though.”

“That’s . . . good to know.”

“So you should be her boyfriend, and she should be your girlfriend,” Abby says. “Have you kissed her yet?”

“No,” he says slowly. “Not yet.”

“You should,” Abby says.

“I will if she wants me to.”

Shit. I want him to. The magic is back: my palms are sweaty and my heart is racing and there’s a suspicious fluttering in my stomach. Or maybe I’ve just had too much coffee.

He has nice lips, I observe. Not too small or too big. A good proportion between the top lip and the bottom. They look soft, too. I wonder what they would feel like.

I make a mental note to start our time tomorrow night with kissing.

“A-duh. You’re not listening to me, are you?”

I blink. I’ve been zoning out. Worse, I’ve been daydreaming about kissing Nick while I’m sitting right in front of him. “I’m sorry, Abby-cakes. What did you say?”

“I said, I’m still hungry. Almost enough to eat Peter, I think.”

“Oh. Well, you’re just going to have to—”

“Lunch is served!” calls out the coffee lady from the patio. “It’s a simple spaghetti and meatballs, but I think you’ll find it quite satisfactory.”

The group assembles into a line in record time. In a minute we’re all back at the table with our plates piled high with spaghetti and meatballs. Abby starts shoveling it into her mouth. She doesn’t even bother to try to talk anymore.

“What do you think?” Nick asks as I try not to pig out myself. “Satisfactory?”

It’s easily the best spaghetti and meatballs I’ve ever tasted.

“Delectable,” I say, and he laughs.

He has sauce on his chin. “So what are you two going to do when we get back to the hotel?”

“Ukulele lessons,” I tell him.

Abby claps her hands together. “Yay! Uku-lei-lei!”

“You’ve probably got to rush back to your lonely, utterly abandoned phone before it implodes from lack of use,” I rib him.

“Stop.” His mouth splits into that crooked smile he has. I know, all the guys in romance novels have crooked smiles. But when I say that Nick’s is crooked, it’s because his teeth are crooked. And I’m starting to get why that’s a thing people like.

“I’m feeling the call of duty this afternoon,” he says.

It takes me a second, but I catch on. “Which is a game that you play on your PS4.”

“You should really try it with me sometime.”

I can’t imagine myself doing that, pretending to shoot people. Although maybe, given how angry I’ve been feeling lately, it could be therapeutic.

“I have a better idea,” I say. “Come to ukulele lessons with us.”

His mouth opens in surprise. “Why?”

“So we can hang out more. Because you’re a boy who’s my friend.”

Abby immediately understands what needs to be done here. “Please, Nick, come with us! Please!”

“You need to get uku-lei’d,” I say with as straight a face as I can manage.

“Okay.”

“Yay!” Abby jumps up and down.

“Yay,” I say, too.