Anywhere but Paradise (10 page)

Pele

AFTER OUR VISIT TO HOWDY,
we stop at the Golden Plum to eat. Steaming plates of Chinese food arrive at our table in short order. Daddy’s boss took him here for lunch this week, and ever since, he’s wanted Mama and me to come. White paper lanterns hang from the ceiling. A red-and-gold dragon eyes me from the wall.

“Your hair looks nice, Mama,” I say as I spoon rice onto my plate. It’s fuller and curlier. Unlike mine, which is as straight as Daddy’s.

“Thank you, Peggy Sue. My hair is frizzier in this climate.”

“You always look beautiful, Virginia,” says Daddy. “Both of you do.”

Mama and I trade in our chopsticks for forks after the first few bites. But Daddy uses them the whole way through on account of all that practice he had when he served here during the war.

Afterward, we head up the valley and over the mountain to the house in Hanu.

No other cars are on the road. No lights. Not even the moon. It is hidden behind the clouds. Mama dozes.

A gust of wind moves our car to the left. The radio goes to static and Daddy turns it off. The temperature drops and the rain pings against the window.

The bag full of white cartons of leftovers on the floorboard warms my calves. I breathe in the spicy smell of egg fu yung, beef tomato, sweet and sour pork, and some kind of noodles.

I sit up with a start—pork!

I grab the bag, rustle through the cartons, and sniff. No, not that one.

“Still hungry, kitten?” asks Daddy.

“No, sir,” I say, looking up to see the lights of the tunnel ahead. I’ve got to hurry.

On the third try, pineapple hits my nose.

I roll down my window as fast as I can, hold on to the container, and toss out the sweet and sour pork. Then I collapse back into the seat.

“Peggy Sue,” says Mama, waking up. “What on earth?”

A droplet of sticky sauce plops on my leg and I reach to wipe it off.

“Don’t tell me you just threw out perfectly good food?” she asks.

Obviously, Mama doesn’t know.

“Some kids at school warned me,” I say. “It’s against Madame Pele’s rules to carry pork over the Pali. If you do, your car might break down or something else bad will happen. Pele, the mean, angry goddess of the volcano, says so.”

My daddy’s shoulders bounce with laughter, but no sound comes out.

“Mercy,” says Mama, shaking her head.

I exhale. Loudly.

On the other side of the mountain, Daddy flips the radio back on and sings about leaving his heart in San Francisco. Mama leans her head against the window again and closes her eyes.

Five songs later, we pull into the grassy driveway of our rental house. Daddy looks at me in the rearview mirror and winks. “Safe and sound, thanks to you, kitten.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, and hop out of the car. Even if they don’t believe, I know I did the right thing.

Easter

AFTER WE EAT
the scrumptious hot cross buns Mama made for breakfast, she sets out the egg timer for a holiday call to Grams and Grandpa. “Long distance is expensive,” she says.

We’ll take turns until the sand runs through the glass. I’m up first.

“Dancing last weekend was a hoot and a holler,” says Grandpa. “Only stepped on your grandma’s toes twice.” Most Saturday nights, they swung to jazzy country music with their friends at the Gladiola Rec Center.

I thank Grams for my Easter dress and ask them to tell Cindy I said hi.

I know she’s missing me as much as I miss her.

Mama taps me on my shoulder. “Love you,” I say to my grandparents, with a big old lump in my throat, and pass along the phone.

Mama’s been cooking and baking since before sunup, even though I set our table for only three this year. The house smells like strawberry cake, scalloped potato casserole, and ham. “A feast,” says Daddy.

But all I can think about is home—a table full of relatives for Easter dinner, dessert-serving duty with my cousins, then Parcheesi and checkers and Password.

And my cat without a purr.

Not Native

DADDY AND I
stand underneath the monkeypod tree and stare up at the night-blooming cereus that night after dark.

“It’s not native to the islands,” says Daddy. “But it’s learned to adapt.”

“It’s not blooming,” I say. “Are you sure it’s going to?”

“It’s changing on the inside, kitten.”

“Well, it sure is taking its sweet time.”

“You can’t rush it.”

“Is something wrong with it?”

“Not a thing. It’ll bloom.”

Maybe.

Thinking About Tomorrow

MUFFLED OCEAN SOUNDS
seep through my bedroom windows as I ready for sleep.

Tomorrow is a school day. Tomorrow I’ll see her.

I’ve yet to find the needed directions on how to deal with Kiki.

Sassing her on day one, ignoring her on others, and withholding help last week hasn’t worked.

Maybe I should try the opposite.

Charm.

Like Grams. Like Cindy. Like David.

It couldn’t hurt to try.

Sweet-Talking Monday

IT’S APRIL 18,
there are thirty more school days, and I’m smiling.

“Kiki, it’s so good to see you today,” I say as she sits next to me. Machines whir around us like bees, a box of straight pins skitter-scatters across the floor, and five girls swarm to the rescue. “I was hoping you’d be here,” I say.

Kiki stares at me.

“How can I help you?” I ask.

She’s speechless.

So I keep going. I hand Kiki the pattern instructions. “Please tell me what we need to do next?”

Two girls nearby exchange raised eyebrows. Kiki throws the paper down.

The girls shake their heads and get back to work.

“Well, let me see,” I say, picking up the directions. “I’d say the best thing is to pin in the zipper. Here, let
me get it started for you and then, if you’d like, you can take over. Or not. Whatever you think is best.”

Still, no words.

“You have great taste in fabric, you know.” Turquoise daisylike flowers with white centers, and white ones with turquoise centers, spring from a solid navy background. “These colors will look really cool on you.”

“Leper girl, there’s a colony on Molokai for you.”

My skin is still pinky raw in places where I’ve peeled. I don’t need her to tell me that. I’m living in it. I got a little more sun at Hanauma Bay, but it was worth it. Anyway, I can’t let her throw me off track.

“Kiki, you are too funny.”

Her eyes narrow.

“I meant funny in a good way, of course. Truth be told, I had no idea you had such a good sense of humor. Now, you just enjoy the class and I’ll do all the work today. Really, I insist.”

I pour on the sweetness as thick as I can.

“Is this a trap?”

“Trap?”

“I know you. I know your kind. First you say nice things, buttering front and back because you want something in return. Next thing you know, you’ll want to be friends. Pheew! What a joke. You haoles
stink inside and out. I couldn’t show my face if I were friends with you. I’m not taking your bait. Take, take, take. Jobs. Land. That’s all you do.”

Bait? Trap? Putting it that way sounds bad. Really bad. My insides turn tight and twisty.

Kiki’s right. I want something. I want her to leave me alone.

She may not be the best student in the class, but it’s not because she isn’t smart.

Like always, first thing, when I get back to the house, I check the mailbox.

Nothing for me.

I ask Mama if I’ve had any calls.

Zero.

Mama looks a little piqued. She doesn’t ask about my day. So I don’t say. I delay the window washing until later.

Instead, I conjure up a new business. It’s so green around here, surely weeds are in supply. I make
HIRE-A-WEEDER
flyers. It’s a desperate act. I hate to weed.

Holoku