Page 2 of The Season
He’s not wrong. I swallow, tipping my head up to meet Henry’s eyes, my heart clenching at the sight of the protective fury burning there.
He’s such a good friend. Why couldn’t I have fallen for him instead of Steve? I tried. I really tried.
“Everyone hates Steve. You know that.”
Actually, everyone loves Steve. I can’t go to downtown Honolulu without someone running up to him, fawning over him. Steve, the famous musician. Steve, with the charismatic smile and the connections.
I think my friends might be the only people on the island who don’t like him.
“Yah. I know,” I say on an exhale. “But he’s here now…”
Henry gives me an unreadable look, stretching up to his full height as he cracks his knuckles, then rolls his neck. “He’s herefornow,” he says cryptically, then glances to where Ethan sits next to Summer in the shade.
The two exchange a look, silently communicating in that way that only best friends can. Ethan stands, brushing his hands off on his boardshorts, a feral grin spreading across his freckled face.
“Henry…” I say warningly. But it’s too late. Ethan is sauntering across the grass, his smile at odds with the icy gleam in his blue eyes.
“What’d he do, anyway?” Travis asks, annoyingly directing his question at Henry, not me.
Henry’s nostrils flare, his lip curling back in disgust. “Cheated on Lily.”
I roll my eyes. It’s more complicated than that. He didn’t cheat. Not really. But I don’t say that. If they knew the whole story, they’d either be disgusted with me, or pity me.
I’m not sure what’d be worse.
“Shit.” Travis shakes his head, turning to me with his brow pinched in confusion. “And you’re still friends with him?”
I let out an exasperated sigh. No. I’m not friends with him. I’m not even sure why I invited him. Maybe I internalized too many of those forgiveness sermons from the Sunday school my parents made me attend.
“It’s a small island,” I say by way of deflection. “You know how it is.”
Of course, Travis doesn’t know. He’s from Texas, where you can escape your acquaintances just by driving a couple of hours. Here, a couple of hours will have you taking a slow, scenic journey around the island until you’ve come full circle, right to where you started.
Which is why my bags are currently sitting in the back of Ethan’s rusty pick-up truck, ready and waiting for me to go to the airport.
“Whatever,” Henry grunts, dipping his head in reluctant acknowledgment. He’s akeiki kama'ainalike me. Born and raised down the street from my parents’ house, in a town where your auntie’s neighbor will tell your grandma if you step one bare-footed toe out of line. “That doesn’t mean you had to invite him.”
He’s right, but I’m not going to tell him that. Instead, I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m going to hang out with Summer.”
I shrug out of Travis’ grasp, then flash him a smile over my shoulder, beckoning him to follow to where Summer and a few of our friends are sharing the remnants ofpokefrom Tamura’s.
Beyond them, a handful of others are playing a game of ultimate frisbee in the sunshine. I shake my head in disbelief when I see Steve is among them, looking cocky as always, his smile white against his sun-darkened skin. Across the field, Ethan and Dylan stand close together, whispering conspiratorially and casting occasional dark glances in Steve’s direction.
He’s going to get fucking pummeled.
That thought shouldn’t fill me with satisfaction, but it does.
“Hey chica.” Summer knocks her shoulder against mine as I sit cross-legged on the picnic blanket beside her, then scoots the half-emptypokecontainer in my direction. “Eat up. Who knows when you’ll next getono grindz, eh?”
I snort in amusement, then grab the spare chopsticks and dig in, closing my eyes in momentary bliss at the delicious blend of soy, wasabi, and fresh ahi.
“They have food in Utah,” I dutifully inform her around my mouthful. “Evenpoke.”
Of course, they’re called poke bowls there, and they’re mostly rice and vegetables with a few pieces of fish. But no point in telling Summer that. It would just stress her out.
Summer wrinkles her nose. “Please tell me you don’t eat seafood when you’re there? You know you should never eat fish if you can’t see the ocean.”
“Not true,” Travis interjects, dropping to my other side, his massive legs stretching out on the grass. He eyes thepokewith suspicion. “We eat fish back home in Texas all the time. Usually cooked, though…”
