When Water Burns

by Lani Wendt Young

  “There he is again, giving you those creepy eyes. He makes me glad we have a barbed wire fence.” Simone shivered. “We need to call him out.” He yelled out across the lecture theater, “What are you looking at? You see something you like over here?” He stood up and lifted up his flirty top, flashing Keahi with his boob top. “You wanna piece of this? Baby, you couldn’t handle all of this.”

  The class laughed, but Simone failed in his bid to embarrass Keahi, who only puckered his lips and blew Simone a kiss.

  “What a jerk.” Simone exclaimed with disgust. It was easy to agree with him.

  I had a much harder time agreeing with Simone later that day though when he brought home his new friend.

  “Leila, remember I told you about my awesome Accounting Studies tutor who’s helping me with my project? Come out and meet her.”

  I walked out of the room with a welcoming smile that died as soon as I saw the girl standing in our living room.

  “Lesina.”

  Barbie didn’t look too excited to see me either. “Leila.”

  Simone was excited. “You two know each other! No way. My two favorite people have already met. How? Where?”

  He looked back and forth, waiting for one of us to fill in the gaps. Lesina spoke first and her acting skills were epic because even I almost believed her. The relaxed smile, the cheerful ease, the friendly tone all added up to best-friends-are-us. “Leila is best friends with my fiancé Jason. I knew all about her before we even met a few weeks ago. Jason told me so much about her that I knew we would be great friends. And I was right. We met and just clicked right away, didn’t we, Leila?”

  I forced a smile. “Yes. We did. I was so … so … surprised to meet Jason’s fiancé but happy. Happy. Because I could see how happy he is and together you two are just perfect and happy. Really happy. So happy.” Did I just use the word happy six times? “I didn’t know you worked at the university.”

  Leila nodded, “Only part-time. My real job is with an accounting firm in town but the university was desperate for help with their tutor program because there’s a shortage of qualified people who can teach accounting. I was only too glad to help. Working with teenagers is a joy of mine.”

  Ugh. Was that a dig at my being seven years younger than Jason? “You don’t seem very old though. But then, it’s so hard to tell.” With all that muck on your face. “I would never have guessed you’re an accountant. And a teacher.” Isn’t all that peroxide seeping into your brain doing bad things to it?

  She smiled. Sweetly. “I’m afraid I was a bit of a genius at school and graduated early. Flew through an accelerated program at UCLA with a full scholarship.”

  Of course. You would be a genius. Jason was a freak genius and all freak geniuses got married to each other. And lived happily ever after in genius land. And had little freak genius babies. I wanted to smack her. Or at least kick her out of our house.

  Simone was clueless about the undertones though. “I’ve asked Lesina to stay for pizza dinner with us.”

  There goes fun pizza night. “You have?”

  “Yes. And guess what? Lesina has agreed to model for me at the Independence Fashion Awards.” Simone was gleeful.

  I was confused. “Huh? The what?”

  He rolled his eyes at me. “You never pay attention to anything I say, do you? I told you last week, I’m entering some of my designs into the Fashion Awards being held during the June Independence Week celebrations. Lesina has signed up to be my first model.”

  I wanted to say ‘this vertically challenged, over-boosted, busting-out pip-squeak is going to model clothes in an actual fashion show?’ But I didn’t. Instead I gave my best plastic smile. “That’s great.”

  Lesina was puzzled. “Wait, isn’t Leila modeling for you as well, Simone?”

  Simone laughed. Way too loud for my liking. I mean heck, the idea of me modeling stuff on stage couldn’t be THAT ridiculous, could it? “Are you kidding? She hates dressing up. My designs are couture and there’s no way Leila could handle them.”

  How dare he dismiss me? I could model couture crap just as much as the next girl. As much as Barbie could. “Oh Simone, you’re exaggerating. Of course I can handle your designs. I love dressing up.” I laughed airily and ‘confided’ to Lesina, “He’s always stealing my clothes every time we go out. And I swear he will kill me in my sleep one day for my Louboutin shoes.”

  Simone arched an eyebrow at me in disbelief – which I ignored. I stuck one hand on my hip and tried my best to look fashion weary. “I would love to model for Simone but unfortunately I’m just too busy with my work at the Center.”

  “Yes, how unfortunate. For all of us.” Simone remarked drily. “Okay ladies, let’s order pizza. I’m starving.”

  Lesina stayed for dinner. And for another two hours after that. She and Simone loved the same music. Lusted for the same Hollywood celebrities. And hated the same fashion trends. I listened to them laugh and talk and laugh some more and sourly reflected that they would make far better friends than me and Simone. Although I had to admit that maybe, just maybe Lesina wasn’t so bad after all. Once she took the stupid shoes off and relaxed over pizza and Diet Coke with us, she seemed more natural, more approachable, more likeable. I still didn’t want her marrying Jason though. There was something not quite right there.

  After she left, Simone confronted me. “What the heck was all that earlier?”

  “What was what?”

  “All that rubbish about you loving fashion? And why don’t you like Lesina?”

  I protested. Weakly. “I do like her.”

  “Yeah right.”

  “No, I do. It’s just that I feel she’s a little fake sometimes, you know? Don’t you get that feeling like she’s not being genuine? Not really herself?”

  “No, I don’t get that at all.”

  I tried again. “How about her hair then? It’s so over the top. And all that makeup she wears? It’s so overdone.”

  Simone shook his head at me, “Now you’re just reaching. What’s makeup got to do with anything? You don’t wear any and I still like you. No, there’s something else going on here. Admit it, you’re jealous.”

  “I am not!” I was aghast. And wounded that he would think that of me. “Why would I be jealous of her?”

  He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Oh, it’s so obvious. Because she’s engaged to Jason the Volcano Man and you still have a secret crush on him.”

  “No, I don’t.” And as I said the words, I knew them to be true. Yes, there may once have been sparks between Jason and I, but that was in a long ago other lifetime and they were overshadowed now by the depth of what I shared with Daniel. Because even though Daniel was ‘taking a break’ from me right now, I was still bound to him. By love. By fire. And by some other unnamed thing that even I could not explain. I took a deep breath. “I mean it, Simone. I don’t have any feelings like that for Jason.”

  “So why don’t you want him to be with Lesina then?” he demanded.

  “I can’t explain it. There’s something not right about their relationship. I can sense it but I can’t express what it is that makes me feel uneasy about them. About her.”

  “Well, I like her. And she’s helping me with my accounting project. And she’s going to model for me. So she’s going to be hanging out here a lot from now on. Don’t you dare be mean to her, you hear me?”

  I nodded and then thought of something else that was bugging me. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

  “Ask you what?” Simone was getting exasperated, his patience wearing thin.

  “Ask me to be a model for your show?” I sulked. “You asked her but you didn’t ask me.”

  Simone threw his hands in the air. “Leila, getting you to wear a MENA dress is like forcing you to endure the worst kind of torture. Have you even looked at any of my designs? You’ve been so busy with your work at the Center that you’ve hardly been home. I’m not making t-shirts and denim shorts here you know. I didn’t ask you
because I knew you would hate it. And I didn’t want to force you to do something just because you’re my friend.”

  I felt guilty. Simone was right. I hadn’t been paying any attention to what was a very big deal for him. This would be the first Independence Fashion Awards show for Samoa, there were designers entering from overseas, and it would be the first time for Simone to showcase any of his creations. “I would love to help in any way I can. I’m sure I would suck at being a model, but I can do anything else that you want done. Like, umm … I don’t know. What do fashion designers do anyway?”

  Simone laughed. “Come on, I think it’s time you had a look in our Temple of Learning. Now, don’t freak out, okay?”

  I followed him to the third bedroom, the designated ‘study.’ Which I hadn’t set foot in since we moved into the house. Or studied in for that matter. He opened the door with a flourish, “Ta dah! Don’t touch anything, you hear me?”

  I gaped. ‘Creative chaos’ was the only term that captured the mess confronting us. One wall was covered with sketches and fabric swatches. Another with pages ripped from magazines, pictures of clothes, clothes, and more clothes. There was a sewing machine on the desk in the corner and rolls of fabric, coils of ribbon, an industrial glue gun, staplers, and even a hammer and nails, a bag bursting with feathers, jars filled with shells and seeds. And everywhere on the floor was bundles of siapo tapa cloth, dried pandanus leaves, coconut shells, and more.

  “Where did you get all this stuff?”

  A shrug. “Oh from here and there. My mum got me the machine and all the other equipment. She’s being very supportive – but quietly, because my Dad doesn’t like me wasting time on the fashion fantasy. If my designs do well in the Independence Show then maybe my father will see that I can make a true career out of it.”

  I couldn’t believe I’d been so oblivious to what Simone was working on. Bad friend, bad friend … chanted its way through my head. “This is amazing. I’m so excited for you.” I took several careful steps into the mess, peering closer at the sketches pinned on the wall. “Are these your designs for the show?”

  “Yes. I’m exploring our Samoan myths about teine sa. Some people call them telesā. They’re spirit women of legend that have power to curse those who defy them and even possess people. I’m walking a dangerous line here because teine Sa are a taboo topic, you know?” His excited explanation came to a halt at the sight of my face. “What is it?”

  Simone had hit me with a wrecking ball of the unexpected. “Telesā? Your fashion collection is inspired by telesā?”

  “Yes, have you heard any of the legends?”

  A weak smile. “Oh, a few. I had no idea you would choose to focus on such a … forbidden subject for your first collection. Are you expecting much controversy?”

  “I don’t know what to expect but I’m hoping I can shake people up a bit at least. Telesā are fierce, passionate, and strong women so I want those elements reflected in my designs.”

  He showed me several sketches, vivid slashes of color with intricate detailing. I was impressed. “Wow, these are stunning.” I pointed to a red and orange creation. “That one especially. It’s almost like these telesā could be representative of some of the earth’s elements, you know? This one with the blaze of reds, it reminds me of a volcano eruption. And this other sketch with the brown pandanus leaves? If you added some green to it, that would be earth and foliage and it makes me think of lush rainforest.” For some reason, I thought of Teuila from the Center. “And I know the perfect girl who could model that one.”

  There was a gleam in Simone’s eyes, “Leila, aren’t you a surprise. Telesā as earth’s elements, I love that concept. Now, I feel an irrepressible creative frenzy coming on. You have to get out. Go on. Leave the Fashion Temple.”

  I laughed as I backed out of the room. “Fine. Just remember who your best friend is that helped inspire you when you’re a world famous designer.”

  Just before he shut the door, Simone paused, “Hey, Leila? Thanks. And to show my gratitude? I’m going to let you be one of my models in the show. Oooh, lucky you!”

  The door slammed before I could argue, and Lady Gaga cranked up on the stereo. Simone was now in his creative ‘zone’ and should not be disturbed.

  Simone’s warning had been justified because Lesina did start spending way too much time at our place. Jason was away in Savaii at Matavanu Volcano during the week so Lesina spent most evenings with Simone. It turned out that she was more than a genius accounting freak. She could also sew. So she was allowed into the Fashion Temple and put to work assembling Simone’s visions. But even more useful (in my opinion), Lesina could cook. She made ginger shrimp with coconut cream sauce and I almost forgave her for having the most irritating giggle in the entire universe. She made perfect chop suey, and I decided that the girl wasn’t related to Jessica Simpson. But it wasn’t until the night that she baked chocolate pie – decadent with a hint of koko Samoa, a delicate melt-in-your-mouth crust, butter cream icing, and a sprinkling of toasted grated coconut – that I finally stopped calling her Barbie in my mind. And I apologized to her face. For being a ‘little reserved’ when we had first met.

  She took it good naturedly. A shrug. “Hey, that’s okay. I understand. You and Jason were friends before I came along and you probably thought I was going to trample all over that friendship.” She confessed with a sheepish grin, “I was jealous of you before we even met. Jason talked about you all the time, being the toughest, bravest girl he’d ever known. It made me feel very inadequate. I’m glad we’re getting to know each other. And I know Jason is happy we’re hanging out.”

  I felt very mature and reasonable being able to talk to Lesina like that, but all the girl bonding was making me a little uncomfortable so I escaped to the Center right after dinner, leaving Simone and his helper sewing coconut shell links together in some sort of space age gladiator woman outfit. At least at the Center I didn’t get requests to be a mannequin. Just try this on for me, I need to see what it looks like on a person … Just let me borrow your legs for a minute, what do you think, Lesina, are these thigh-high coconut sinnet boots too much with the feathers?

  Yes, the Center with its physically demanding workout classes was proving to be my favorite place to hang out.

  Until the day I showed up for a class with Dayna only to find she had scored herself a new assistant. Keahi was leading the juniors in warm-up exercises outside on the lawn while Dayna was overseeing a sparring session indoors. I walked over to her and hissed, “What is he doing here?”

  She was surprised at my antagonism, “Who? You mean Keahi Meredith? He’s great. He’s been coming to my gym since he moved here but he’s been doing muay thai since he was a kid. Fought professionally back in Hawaii as well.”

  “But what’s he doing here?”

  “I put up a flyer at the gym asking for volunteers who wanted to help with our classes here at the Center and he signed up. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just wish you’d asked me first.”

  She looked around us at all the activity. “I’m sorry. We’ve got so many people signed up here now that we need all the help we can get.”

  “But don’t you think that having a male instructor is going to freak some of the women out? After all they’ve been through?”

  “No. The opposite. Having a class with a male who’s interested in helping them learn how to defend themselves could be a positive experience.”

  I couldn’t argue with Dayna’s reasoning. What could I do to get rid of him? I wasn’t about to tell Dayna that I didn’t want this boy around because he smelled like chili and vanilla. Instead, I waited until the warm-up session was finished and then walked over to where Keahi stood outside. “What in hell are you doing here?”

  His eyes narrowed, “I could ask you the same thing. I thought this was a self-defense class for a Women’s Refuge, not for spoilt rich girls from America.”

  “I’m here because my mother funded this Ce
nter. And because these self-defense classes were my idea. Not that it’s any of your business. And don’t lie. You only signed up because you knew I would be here. And I am not a spoilt rich girl from America.”

  “Correction. I signed up because Dayna said she needed help. I used to volunteer at a youth center back in Hawaii so this is nothing new to me. And as for the other stuff, do you come from a rich family? Are you from America?”

  I shrugged. Refused to answer. Which was answer enough. He sneered. “So it all fits.”

  I stamped my foot. “But I’m not spoilt.”

  He raised that scarred eyebrow at me, the one that reminded me of Jason Momoa. Even when I didn’t want it to. “Stamping your foot and having a tantrum? I’d say that was classic spoilt brat behavior.”

  Before I could react, Dayna called Keahi over to help her demo a new combination and he walked away from me with casual ease. Smiling. The only thing stopping me from cursing – screaming, breaking something, storming out of there – was my desire not to be mistaken for a spoilt brat.

  He was at the next class on the following day. And the one after that. And, much to my disgust, the students loved him. Everyone wanted to be in his warm-up group. Everyone wanted to have him as their sparring partner. Even Mrs. Amani was impressed with him.

  “He’s so good with the class. He has a natural rapport with them, you know?”

  I did know. I observed Keahi with the class, and he was a different person. The sneering attitude was gone. Along with the arrogance and barbed sarcasm. Instead, he was friendly and helpful, never overstepping the line between instructor and student but always interacting with the class with relaxed confidence and professional ease. He was patient with them and funny. Even Teuila was hanging on his every word. And no one could fault his martial arts skills. I waited until one day, after a grueling session had ended, after everyone had streamed out of the room, sweaty and exhilarated, and then went over to confront him. “I don’t get it.”