Summer Bird Blue

by Akemi Dawn Bowman

  “Thanks,” I mumble.

  Aunty Ani tries to shift the conversation away from me. “Looks like you got one full house today.” She motions toward the reception area where the hotel guests are eating lunch.

  “You know how it is in the summer,” Sun says, setting her sunglasses back on the bridge of her nose. “I’m only taking a break because Ken’s supposed to meet us for lunch. He has a half day today.”

  Aunty Ani asks whether Ken is going on deployment again, and halfway through Sun’s explanation, Kai suddenly latches on to my wrist and pulls.

  “I’m taking Rumi to the lookout,” he says simply. Almost too simply for them to even notice we’ve left them.

  He lets go of my hand before it starts to feel like it means anything at all, and we’re halfway across the beach when I make a face at him.

  “Your parents own a hotel?”

  “No. My mom owns it. My dad is in the navy,” he corrects.

  “Divorced?”

  “Nope. Just financially independent from each other.”

  “That kind of sounds like being divorced.”

  “Is that what happened to your parents? Divorce?”

  I snort. “They were never married. My dad was free to go—and he did.”

  He sniffs the air like he’s amused. “If it makes you feel any better, being married doesn’t force anybody to stick around.” He pauses. “My dad is going to cancel lunch today. My mom just doesn’t know it yet.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he always cancels.”

  I watch our feet press into the sand, leaving two matching trails behind us. “Sorry,” I say.

  “Sorry about what happened to you, too. Aunty Ani told my mom about the accident—I shouldn’t have given you a hard time the other day,” he says. It’s quiet for two and half seconds, and suddenly he’s pointing excitedly toward a trail of rocks leading out to the sea. “Look, look.”

  I follow his gaze to the water. Someone is standing at the edge of the rocks, their fishing rod in one hand and a small hammerhead shark in the other.

  “The buggah big, eh?” Kai says.

  The shark flicks its tail, its gills expanding slowly and its body looking pale, rubbery, and drier by the second.

  I feel angry. God, why do I always feel so angry? “That’s such bullshit.”

  Kai looks at me quizzically. “What is?”

  “Life. I mean, you’re a shark, you’re supposed to be at the top of the food chain, and you’re swimming around looking for some breakfast one morning and BAM. You have a hook through your mouth and your life is over. Because of some jerk with a fishing pole.”

  “Most people catch sharks by mistake,” he offers. “He’s probably goin’ put it back.”

  I twist my face. We watch as the fisherman tosses the shark back into the ocean.

  “See?” Kai shrugs. “Fixed.”

  “He’s still got a hole in his mouth,” I mutter under my breath. Besides, he’s still going to die one day. The fisherman didn’t save him—he disfigured him and prolonged the inevitable.

  Kai leads me up a trail until we’re at the top of a hill overlooking the ocean. There’s so much blue and sun I start to wonder if my eyes are playing tricks on me. I know I should feel happy looking at so much beauty. I mean, they call it paradise for a reason, right? But I don’t know what happiness is supposed to feel like anymore, and no amount of coconut trees and orange blossoms is going to change that.

  Maybe when people die, the people they leave behind die, too. Maybe all that’s left is my physical body. Maybe that’s what happened to Mom.

  I wonder if we all died in the car that day, but Lea died completely, Mom died halfway, and maybe I’m struggling to find out where they went. It makes sense, I guess, that if you really loved someone and they died, that a little bit of you would die too.

  But I don’t understand why Mom is so much more lost than me. Does her not being able to function as well as me mean she loved Lea more than I did? Because that’s impossible. I loved Lea the absolute most. I know she was Mom’s daughter, but I mean, I’m her daughter too and look how easy it was for her to abandon me.

  Or maybe Mom loves her more than she loves me.

  And then the thought returns, but this time it’s more than a flicker—it’s a spotlight.

  Maybe it should’ve been me who died and Lea who was left behind, because then Mom wouldn’t be so sad. They’d get over it, the two of them, eventually, but they’d get over it together, which is better than the lone-wolf thing I’m dealing with right now.

  Oh God. I think that’s why Mom left me. Because she lost her favorite daughter.

  Why am I thinking about this?

  Why am I letting myself think about this?

  Why did I wake up today at all?

  “Anybody home?” Kai’s voice sounds like a piano chord inside an empty church.

  I snap out of my thoughts and see him waving a hand in front of my eyes.

  “Did you hear me?” he asks.

  “Huh?” I shift my weight to the other leg and cross my arms.

  He nods to the ocean. “I said there’s a sandbar out there. You like sea turtles?”

  I blink at him, his kindness not registering the way he probably means it. “Why are you talking to me?” I can’t think about being nice to him when all I’m thinking about now is my sister and my mom and the varying degrees of dead they both are.

  I don’t think I’m the right person to be in paradise right now.

  Kai’s face doesn’t change. “Aunty Ani asked me to hang out witchu. She said you’re depressed.”

  “My sister died. Of course I’m fucking depressed,” I snap. “What makes Aunty Ani think you’re the person who can suddenly fix me? Because you own a hotel? Because your mom offered to paint my nails? Because you’re some rich-kid-surfer-boy with father problems that I’m supposed to somehow relate to?”

  “Eh?” He half rolls his eyes and steps away from me. “I was just offering fo’ keep you company. I thought you’d want to get out of the house, that’s all. I don’t know what all that other stuff is you’re talking about. Father problems? Rich surfer—wait, what was it you called me?”

  “I don’t need your help, and I don’t want to be your friend.” I turn away so fast I slip on the combination of rock and sand. My feet give way so quickly that I end up on my butt in seconds, a sharp pain hitting my tailbone.

  When Kai reaches for me, I swat his arms away with both hands furiously. I shout something about leaving me alone, and it takes me all the way to the end of the path to realize he’s laughing at me.

  Like, really laughing at me. As if I’m some fan-favorite character out of a sitcom. As if injuring my tailbone is somehow hilarious.

  I should hate him for laughing and for not caring or being sympathetic, but I don’t. For some unexplainable reason, his complete disregard for my pain is having the opposite effect on me.

  Everyone else is trying to coddle me. Everyone else is handling me with wool mittens, like I’m made of glass and dried flowers. Like they’re afraid if they crush me, I won’t be able to mend.

  Kai is laughing like there’s nothing different about us at all.

  But still.

  I’m not in the mood to be anyone’s friend. And I’m certainly not going to make an exception for the boy next door.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It turns out that while sleep deprivation for an entire week is a form of torture, sleeping for an entire week just gives you a really bad headache.

  Aside from waking up for food, bathroom breaks, nightmares, and the many times Poi decides to serenade me through the window, I’ve basically been living in bed, in the same pair of pajamas, with my hair knotted in a tight bun, because who cares about showering when my world is in pieces?

  Apparently, Aunty Ani does care.

  “You stink,” she says sternly from the doorway.

  I look up from the pillow. “I’m trying to slee
p.”

  She lets out a noise of frustration. “You need fresh air. You need fo’ move around.”

  “I need to be left alone.”

  She throws her hands up. “You can’t live like this, Rumi. Not under my roof. Not anymore.”

  “Fine.” I throw myself out of bed, my whole body shaking. “Send me home, then. If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave. It wasn’t my idea to come here in the first place.”

  Aunty Ani steps forward and grabs me so suddenly my heart jumps. “I want you here, you got that? I want you here.” Her eyes are so powerful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen strength like that in Mom, even when Dad left all those years ago and she had to work day and night to keep our house.

  I look away because right now strength makes me uncomfortable.

  Aunty Ani pulls me into her chest and hugs me. “I’ll never send you away, you understand? We’re family—ohana.” She tilts her head up to the ceiling. “But you need a shower. You smell like sour milk.”

  She’s trying to show me she cares, but I’m still not sure I know what that means anymore. Lea not being here—Mom not being here—left a gaping hole in my chest. I’m numb. How do I fix that? Do I even want to fix it?

  But I take a shower anyway, because at least if I’m clean I’ll have another week of Aunty Ani leaving me alone. I stand under the water for a long time, staring at the colorful bottles of shampoo and soaps in the metal shower caddy and wondering if my skin could absorb enough water to become liquid and wash down the drain.

  I sigh, pressing my fingers to my face and scratching my scalp like there’s dirt and grime everywhere and how can I get it all off?

  I lather soap all over myself, rinse it away, and start again. But I still feel like I’m covered in a layer of muck. I still don’t feel like I have my skin back.

  So I wash myself, over and over and over again, until the bottle is empty and now I’m just rubbing water into my pores like I’m trying to drown my flesh.

  There’s a knock at the bathroom door. “You all pau in there?” calls Aunty Ani. “Or are you trying fo’ dry up the ocean?”

  “I’ll be right out,” I call back, twisting the shower faucet and letting the water slowly fall away from me.

  I still don’t feel clean.

  When I’m dressed again, I pull my hair into a wet bun and sneak outside while Aunty Ani is humming to herself in the kitchen.

  It doesn’t take me long to notice Kai in his driveway, his arms covered in soapy water and a yellow sponge in his hand. He’s washing a car I haven’t seen before—a blue Mustang convertible that looks like an old classic. Maybe something from the sixties.

  Kai is kneeling near one of the wheels, sponging down one of the hubcaps with his earphones dangling in front of his bare chest. He catches me watching from the gate, and our eyes take a long time to move away from each other. When I’m looking at one of the plants nearby, its leaves trailing along the concrete like it’s surrendering to the heat, I remember I decided not to be friends with Kai.

  So staring at him is super weird. I don’t know why I’m doing it.

  He frees his right ear and scrunches his face at me. “How’s your okole?”

  “What?” I blink at him.

  He nods toward me, his finger pointing below my waist, and I realize he’s motioning toward my butt. “From when you got all bust up.”

  “You mean when you laughed at me for falling?” I glare at him, ignoring the sun.

  He shrugs, grinning. “People fall down. You can either laugh or cry. Laughing makes it easier fo’ get back up, though.”

  “You’re weird,” I say.

  “You’re lolo,” he says.

  We assess each other the way you do when you’re little and it’s your first day of a new school year. Like we’re trying to figure out if the other person is nice or not. Like we’re trying to figure out if the other person wants to be our friend.

  Maybe it’s because he doesn’t treat me gently, or because he acts like he’s forgotten I’m the girl with the dead sister altogether, but maybe I don’t dislike Kai as much as I want to.

  He holds up a sponge. “You here fo’ help or fo’ yell at me again?”

  I help him wash the car. We don’t look at each other, or say even a single word. We simply move around the car like ants on a mission, passing the bucket back and forth and staying out of each other’s way.

  When we’re finished, Kai puts the empty bucket and sponges back in the garage and brings over two cans of guava juice from a nearby cooler. We sit on the step near his front gate, our knees inches apart, admiring our handiwork as the car gleams under the afternoon sun.

  “Why did you call me a surfer?” he asks, his eyes rich with life.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “The other day”—he shrugs—“you called me a rich surfer, or something like that.”

  “You had surfboards in the back of your truck. I just assumed.”

  “No, but the way you said it.” He pauses. “Like you thought I was one spoiled brat or something.”

  “It didn’t mean anything” is all I say.

  “Mmm.” He taps his finger against his can. “I’m not a jerk, you know.”

  “Okay.”

  “It matters to me that you don’t think I am.”

  “I said ‘okay.’ ”

  He nods. Takes a long sip. “Aunty Ani says you’re a musician?”

  I wrap my fingers around my own can of juice and follow the lines in the concrete. “Maybe. I used to be. I don’t know.” I take a long sip too. My heart used to belong to melodies and lyrics—now I’m haunted by them. I’m not sure I can call myself a musician anymore.

  “Gareth’s sistah is in one band. They play sometimes at the Coconut Shack during open-mic nights. It’s down the road from Palekaiko Bay. You like karaoke?” He pronounces it the Japanese way. Kah-rah-oh-kay, and he rolls the r.

  I raise my shoulders and don’t let them fall. He doesn’t know how much music hurts me now, because he doesn’t know how much I loved it before. He doesn’t understand my loss—I’m not sure anyone besides Lea ever could.

  And I’ve lost her, too.

  “It’s every Thursday night, if you like stop by sometime,” he says. “We never miss it.”

  On paper it sounds great. A shirtless boy half inviting me to go to karaoke in Hawaii? Lea would’ve freaked out. She would have laughed and smiled so hard over this that she would’ve complained her face and stomach hurt. She lived for moments like this—the spontaneous ones. The ones that made her feel giddy and grown-up. The ones that usually involved boys.

  But Lea isn’t here anymore. How am I supposed to smile when Lea isn’t here?

  Besides, smiling about boys has never been my thing. It was hers.

  The door opens from behind us, and a tall man with meticulously short hair and wearing an olive-green flight suit appears at the top step. Kai stands up so quickly that my body reacts before my brain does and I’m standing up too.

  The man walks down the steps and stops in front of us. He looks so much like an older version of Kai it’s almost scary. Except Kai has wild, mischievous eyes—there’s nothing wild about the man in front of me. He looks hard and stern, like he’s made up of chords that never break.

  He’s wearing a tan cap with gold pins on the sides. I catch sight of the name badge sewn over his chest. LCDR YAMADA.

  He looks at me, then at Kai, and then at the car.

  “I have to go back to work,” he says abruptly.

  I can practically feel the weight that pushes down on Kai’s shoulders. It pushes against me, too.

  “But you said I could borrow the car. You said if I washed it—” he starts.

  Mr. Yamada interrupts him. “I said I have to work. Things come up.”

  Mrs. Yamada’s voice sounds from behind the screen door. “Kai, you can borrow my car.”

  “He doesn’t need anybody’s car,” Mr. Yamada snaps. “He can learn a good lesson
here. Sometimes plans change. Besides, he spends too much time screwing around on the beach. He should be studying.”

  “Studying for what, Dad? School is over,” Kai says irritably.

  He and his father look at each other with so much fire I’m worried they’ll erupt. Mrs. Yamada must be worried too, because she’s suddenly between them with one hand on Kai’s shoulder and a smile pointed toward her husband.

  “Go on, you’ll be late,” she says, like a triangle signaling the end of a fight before it’s even begun. “Kai knows not to stay out too late. It’s only a barbecue with friends.”

  “Too much playing around, too many barbecues, too much time with friends.” Mr. Yamada looks at me. “Don’t you kids care about getting your future in order?”

  I can’t stop myself. “My sister died and my parents abandoned me. I kind of stopped caring about tomorrow.”

  Mrs. Yamada takes a quick breath. Kai raises a brow at me.

  Mr. Yamada twists his mouth, his eyes calculating, observant. And then he looks at Kai. “I don’t want you hanging out with this one. There’s something wrong with her.” He gets into his car without another word and drives away.

  Mrs. Yamada widens her eyes and laughs before motioning for Kai to follow her and disappearing back into the house.

  Kai shakes his head slowly, his face fighting a smile. “You really are lolo.” When he’s halfway back inside, he looks over his shoulder. “I’ll see you around, hapa.”

  It takes me a moment to collect myself, and eventually I retreat into my own house, alone and wondering why my mouth moves so much faster than my brain.

  Maybe that’s why I am alone—because I say things without thinking. I hurt people without thinking.

  Maybe that’s why I failed so horribly at being a sister—because I don’t consider people’s feelings. I just react.

  My skin feels brittle, and I scratch at my arms like I’m trying to find a new layer of skin that isn’t so ugly and worn. It was thick, once upon a time. Maybe too thick.