Page 42 of Faker
“Or maybe you just want more things to tease me about.”
He shakes his head, clearly annoyed. “No, of course not. I want to know.” He closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, he seems sincere. “I swear I won’t. I honestly want to hear about your life there.”
I swallow, the inside of my mouth grainy with dryness.
“Please?” His eyes sparkle with anticipation. The genuine kindness in his voice melts me.
“Fine.” I try to sound unfazed. “I grew up on the Big Island.”
“Where exactly?”
“Kona side. Kailua, specifically.”
“Did you go to the beach every day?”
“That’s the first question everyone asks me. Not every day. Probably every other day.”
“Sounds amazing.”
“It was. Sunny almost every single day. A few rainy days here and there. Sometimes we’d have an off year where winter was rainy, but it never lasted longer than a week or so.” I mark “winter” with air quotes since there is no such thing as winter in Hawaii, only more rain.
“What are the beaches like?” He scoots his chair closer to the bed until his knees touch the edge.
“Beautiful, but rockier than you’d think. Especially on the Hilo side.”
“That’s the eastern part of the island?”
I nod and glance up at him. He’s staring at me intently, like I’m telling a suspenseful campfire story.
“Magic Sands and Hapuna are my favorite. They’re on the west side.”
“What else?”
“The waves of the water are crystal blue. There are sea turtleseverywhere, on almost every beach. The farmers markets are the greatest. You can get so much fresh tropical fruit for cheap.” My mouth waters at the thought of strawberry papayas and ice cream bananas. This is the first time I’ve felt hungry in days.
“What’s your favorite fruit?”
“Papayas. Actually, mangoes. Mangoes from the Big Island are the best. You’ll fall on the floor crying after one bite.”
“Did you ever see a lava flow?”
“No. We went to Volcanoes National Park once. I was maybe seven, and we only stayed for a few hours. The most we ever saw was steam coming out of the lava fields.”
“Still pretty cool though,” he says.
“Standing near them felt like being in a steam shower. My sister and I shredded our flip-flops walking all over the lava rock. They were ruined. Our mom was pissed.”
He lets out a quiet chuckle, and I try to memorize the joyful shape his face takes.
“Did your family have a house near the beach?”
“Nope. Too expensive. My dad never had a steady job, so we basically shuffled from crappy apartment to crappy apartment, miles away from any beach. Sometimes we couldn’t even finish out a lease because my parents wouldn’t have enough money for the rent, and we’d get evicted.”
My chest squeezes at the memory.
“I’m sorry,” Tate says.
“It’s fine. First-world problem.”
