I walk, so that she’s behind me. “I saw you guys going up to the cottage. You looked so cute. So happy.”
Sabrina comes to mind—the poor girl watching all the action from afar. But it’s Whitney watching me. Sabrina’s mistake was choosing the wrong brother. It’s still like that, but this time it’s a brother and a sister. I’ve made my mistake, and now I know which one deserves my loyalty and love.
“Does he have a pretty penis?” she asks, and I push her back and bite my lip.
“Walk if you want to go grind at Andy’s,” I say, walking back to her.
“Nom nom,” she says.
“And surf.”
“Or just mush.” She slouches.
“Or go to the premiere with me tonight,” I say.
“Really?” she says, her eyes lighting up. “I’d love to do that.”
We face each other. “Are we done?” she asks.
“I think so,” I say. “Should we group hug?”
“Okay,” she says. We approach shyly, and then she clobbers me, and we do a kind of hugging wrestling move.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“Me too.”
• • •
The campus is still busy. It’s like everyone’s training for the Olympics or something. We walk the length of the pool filled with swimmers and water polo players. Up ahead by the bench that circles the tree are some seniors, the eager type, voluntarily practicing their songs.
As a junior, I’ve always felt we were on the cusp of something so much better, but maybe this is the stronger state. Juniors are observant. We see how the leaders act and note what we’ll do differently. We watch our so-called superiors, then do it better. It’s kind of a good thing to take away—keeping yourself always on the verge of something, ready to reign while knowing that not everything gets left behind.
“I can’t believe it’s almost graduation,” Whitney says.
“I was just thinking that,” I say. “Are you nervous?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Nervous I won’t get into college anywhere and I’ll have to work at 7-Eleven.”
“So. Free Slurpees. You’ll get in somewhere.”
We get quiet, maybe both thinking of the future: our summer—the jumps and risks we’ll take, the books we’ll read, the friends we’ll see, the meals we’ll make. My time with Danny before he goes to college, her time with her family, then the year after that. Juniors to seniors, confident and afraid. On the edge and ready to jump across the ocean to college. I can see it, and I can’t see it at all. Who knows what will happen?
We get to the end of the pool, then pass the ramp that leads up to the track. I remember my first day here, walking on the zigzag ramp, trying to find my Children’s Studies class by the gymnastics room. I went up and down, passing people who knew exactly where they were going and pretending I did too. It’s so much better not having to pretend.
We walk past the gate and out to the street, then wait at the light, cars speeding by, moving my hair and shirt.
“You could have taken Danny tonight,” she says.
“He wouldn’t have liked it as much.” I smile to myself. “We’re going out tomorrow night.”
“So sweet,” she says. “You should oof him.”
“Shaddup.”
I look back at the rock wall lined with the night-blooming cereus that Will told me about.
“I need to come here at night to see.”
She follows my gaze to the wall of cacti and closed petals. “It’s really nice,” she says and keeps looking at them. “Cute how they tuck themselves in during the day. We can come back later tonight. After the premiere?”
“Perfect,” I say.
I see us from a distance then, and everything becomes so simple: two girls going home, waiting for the light to change, then tonight: two girls in a car, driving by their school to see flowers bloom. We’ll be two girls on a small island in the Pacific Ocean, listening to music, moving forward, moving on, so happy in the moment, wanting to stay in it, and yet ever ready to become.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THANK YOU TO MY TEACHERS AT PUNAHOU, MY SCHOOL from kindergarten to graduation. I recall being semi-disruptive and argumentative, attention-seeking, and sassy. Yet for some reason you interpreted my antics as creative, funny, and unique. Thank you—those words are so much better. Your support was palpable and motivational—it made me want to prove you were right.
Asha Appel, Brad Yates, Dr. Kerwin, Mr. Earle, Mr. Tsujimoto, Mr. Woody, Paul Hamamoto, Ms. Kulp, Flo Van Dyke, Steve Wagenseller, Ms. Sakbun, Ken Smith, Mr. Luckenbach and Ms. Vincent-Lum, Mrs. Yap, Mr. Georgi, Mr. Tuttle, Mr. Torrey, Mrs. Byrne, Ms. McKibbin, Ms. Patton, and the list goes on . . . Mahalo.
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