Anywhere but Paradise (23 page)

Help!

I FLY DOWN
the hallway to class.

“Whoa there, Texas,” says Kimo as I plow into him going into our room.

“Sorry, Hawaii,” I say, and rush inside.

Where is Malina? Where is my friend?

Not here.

The bell rings and everyone takes a seat. Mr. Nakamoto stands beside a stack of papers on his desk.

Malina enters smiling and points to her autograph book. “Steven Hamakua, the eighth-grade class president, asked to sign,” she says as she takes her seat. “Of course I couldn’t turn him down.”

“Malina, Malina,” I urgent-whisper to her. “We have to talk. Right now.”

“What’s up?”

“Miss Bennett,” says Mr. Nakamoto. “Your undivided attention, please.”

Malina covers her mouth and whispers, “Just a sec.”

“Today, we will review our old exams,” Mr. Nakamoto says. “And I will excuse you one row at a time to clean out your lockers.”

“No fair,” says Glenn.

“Mr. Aquino,” says Mr. Nakamoto. “After all I’ve taught you this year, if this is the first time you realize that, I have finally succeeded.”

I tap Kimo’s desk across from me. “Change places?”

Mr. Nakamoto picks up the papers and we make the switch. “Row one.”

As Kimo walks toward the door, Mr. Nakamoto puts out his arm to block him. “Mr. Nahoa, return to your seat until I call your row.” He peers down my new row. “Miss Bennett, to your locker.”

“Busted,” says Glenn.

I join my classmates in the hall.

The way I see it, I have three choices when the bell rings.

I can run. I can hide. I can fight.

Briiiiiiiing

I RUN.

Under the Flags

“WAIT,”
calls Malina as I charge away from Mr. Nakamoto’s door.

Not a chance.

I run as hard and as fast as I can. Ahead in the courtyard, a haole boy is shoved to the ground. I run. Faster.

“Fight. Fight,” someone yells, and the boy and his attacker are surrounded.

A sharp whistle blows.

A teacher to the rescue.

I speed past the cafeteria, through the tunnel-like entrance and into the light. I clutch my autograph book, report card, and papers.

Kiki stands under the flagpole.

Waiting.

She lifts her arm and points right at me. Arms link through my elbows and propel me toward her.

“Let go,” I scream, kicking a girl’s leg beside me. Arms tighten around mine.

I twist back. Kids pour out of the school, headed our way.

Not a teacher in sight.

Ahead and next to the street, buses idle, waiting for riders. A radio blares over shouts about summer vacation.

A circle has formed around Kiki but parts as I am forced forward, forced into the center. Then, just like that, it closes. The arms holding me let go and melt into the crowd. I am a few feet away from her. Nowhere to go.

Kiki grabs my autograph book. My report card and papers fall to the ground. “It says here,” she shouts, opening my book, “Texas is two good to be four-gotten.”

Kimo wrote that.

Kiki swings around. “I ask you people, is that true?”

“No,” they shout.

I hug my arms across my chest.

“It says here this haole’s no ka oi.”

Malina’s words say I am the best.

“No,” shouts the crowd.

Kiki smiles at me, awash in their fervor. She rips
pages out of my book, throws them down, and grinds them into the red dirt.

“Yes,” chants the crowd.

Why did I have to move here? Why did I have to come to this school? Why did I have to meet her? She’s been nothing but mean—teasing, taunting, threatening, laughing, maybe, maybe, maybe-ing me.

I hate, hate, hate her.

Kiki tears more pages into smaller and smaller pieces, lifts her hands to the sky, and tosses the papers as high as she can. The pink rain falls.

I charge.

And trip.

And fall. Fall on the scraps of pink.

Kiki throws her head back and laughs.

The crowd joins in.

My hands, my knees—scraped raw.

I hug my knees to my chest and lower my head. My first fight. Over. Over before it even began. And I lost.

“We don’t want you here,” says Kiki. “Take. Take. Take. Go back to where you came from, haole dog killer.”

I’m trying. I’m trying so hard.

“Kiki, that’s enough.”

I look up. It’s Malina.

“Maybe Kahuna is still alive,” she says. “I hope so.
If you hadn’t let him out, none of this would have happened. Or blame my dad, not her.”

“Ooooo,” whisper some in the crowd.

“Haoles aren’t your enemies, Kiki. Hate is,” says Malina.

Hearing Malina say that, say those words about hating—she doesn’t know it, but I hate, too. I am just like Kiki.

“I feel sorry for you,” says Malina. “These islands are big enough for all of us. We are the Aloha State.”

The state of love.

“Today’s just for fun,” says someone in the crowd. “You know, tradition.”

“Does Peggy Sue look like she’s having fun?” asks Malina.

“I should go now,” I say, picking myself up. I keep my eyes on the ground and walk away. No one stops me.

“What are you afraid of, Kiki?” I hear Malina say. “That if you got to know Peggy Sue, you’d like her?”

“You crack me up, cousin,” says Kiki.

“I wish I could say the same about you,” says Malina. Then, “Peggy Sue, wait up,” she calls after me as I keep walking.

Cindy

I YANK OPEN
the mailbox beside the driveway. It’s stuffed. I tug at a magazine in the middle to unclog the jam. Bills and letters spill out.

Trying to catch them is like catching water with your bare hands—you’ll only get a few drops.

“This one’s for you,” says Malina.

I recognize the handwriting.

“It’s from Cindy,” I say, and sink to the grass. Finally.

I tear open the envelope and read:

I smush the letter and toss it in the hedge behind me.

“Bad news?” Malina asks, taking a seat on the grass.

“When I return, I don’t think we’ll be best friends anymore.” The words slip out before I can take them back.

“You mean, like, to visit?”

“Malina, I think I need to tell you something.”

Paris Confessional

“I HAVEN’T BEEN
saving to go to Paris,” I say. “I’ve been saving to go back home.”

“You lied to me?” Malina’s eyes widen.

“I feel really bad about that. But truth be told, I don’t belong here.”

Malina scrunches her eyebrows.

“It’s not you,” I explain. “It’s Howdy’s quarantine, Mama’s rock fever, mine, Daddy’s long work hours, a new school, Kiki, my sunburn, humuhumu-whatawhata? and all the other words I don’t know and can’t pronounce, the tidal wave, the hospital, Kahuna, Kill Haole Day. It’s too much. And poi. It tastes terrible.”

“Hey, I don’t like poi either.”

“Don’t make me laugh. I’m serious.”

“Me, too. Listen, things have been rough. Especially after school today. But you have friends.”

I look at her.

“Okay, not everyone. But you can’t let one person ruin your life.”

I keep staring.

“Or even a few. Not everyone in Gladiola is perfect, are they?”

I don’t answer.

“You haven’t been here that long, Peggy Sue. Have you given Hawaii a chance? It kind of seems like you made up your mind not to like it before you even got here.”

She’s right. I didn’t want to move in the first place.

“You could belong if you wanted to.”

Her words sting. More than bees or rabies shots.

So