Page 3 of The Season
Summer gives him a bland, unimpressed stare, her lips curving down in sharp frown. “Look,haoleboy…” she starts, lifting one accusatory finger in his direction.
Travis shoots me a panicked look and I chuckle, plopping another piece ofpokeinto my mouth as I settle in for one of Summer’s rants.
It’ll start with a brief—and probably loosely substantiated—explanation of why raw fish is healthier than cooked fish, before quickly devolving into a history lesson on theahupua’asystem of pre-European land division. She’ll throw in the fact that Queen Liliuokalani never ceded control of Hawai’i to America, making Hawai’i legally a sovereign nation, and pepper in examples of the military damaging the precious ecosystems of the islands.
I would feel bad for Travis, but he’s been around my group of friends long enough to know the risks of insulting Summer’s favorite food.
My gaze wanders to the game of ultimate frisbee as I tune out Summer’s familiar voice.
Lani is on Steve’s team, and she’s thrown him a Hail Mary pass. Steve sprints with everything he has across the field—shirtless, of course—his bare feet kicking up clods of dry grass and dirt. The disk floats above the field, hovering in slow motion above the players. He’s lined up to catch it though, and I can’t help but hold my breath as he leaps up with impressive agility, his fingertips outstretched, grasping for the disk…
Dylan leaps at the same time, twisting midair so that his back is to Steve’s front, expertly putting himself between Steve and the frisbee. It’s a standard defensive move. The aim is to knock the disk to the ground, turning it over to the defending team.
Only, Dylan doesn’t go for the disk. Instead, he drives his elbow back, right into Steve’s face, before the pair of them tumble to the ground. There’s a loud thud, a collective intake of breath from the rest of the players, and then…
“Fuuuckkk.” The sound of Steve’s groans is muffled by his hands as he clutches his face. It’s hard to tell from where I’m sitting, but I’m pretty sure he’s bleeding.
He rolls to his side, knees tucked to his chest with all the dramatic flair of a professional soccer player. “Aghhh…” When nobody comes to his aid, he rolls again, then pulls his hands away from his face to painstakingly hoist himself to a seated position.
I cringe at the sight. Oh yep. He’s definitely bleeding. Gross.
“Whoa,” Travis murmurs beside me. “And I thought hockey was brutal.”
“Oh yah,” Summer agrees unconcernedly. She pops a piece ofpokein her mouth, then gestures to the field with her chopsticks. “Everyone thinks ultimate frisbee is some hippie sport, but there’s a good reason I’m sitting here, and not playing with those lunatics.”
Dylan’s already on his feet, brushing grass off his knees, ignoring Steve’s whimpers. Lani strides across the field, looking between Steve and the grounded frisbee with disappointment.
If Steve were anyone else, Dylan would be helping him to his feet. Lani would be patting him on the back, congratulating him for his effort. Ethan certainly wouldn’t be smirking from the end zone, his arms folded across his sweat-slicked chest.
“I think they did that on purpose,” I observe.
Summer shoots me a look, one dark brow disappearing behind her thick bangs, but doesn’t answer.
“Nah,” Travis shakes his head, shaggy surfer hair flopping over his ears. “Dylan’s good people. He wouldn’t do that.”
I frown. Normally, I would agree, but ever since I let Dylan kiss me a few weeks ago, he’s been a complete lunatic.
“Hey, L.” Ethan calls out to me, jogging past Steve without a second glance. “We should probably get you to the airport, yah?”
I look to Summer for confirmation. I left my phone in Ethan’s truck, but she always knows what time it is. She rolls her eyes, pulls her phone out of her purse, then shows me the time. I worry my lower lip, then nod.
“Yah, I guess I should go,” I admit reluctantly, my stomach tightening with nerves.
As eager as I am to escape this island, this is the first time I’ve been to the snow without my parents’ financial backing. Financial backing they’ve made very clear I won’t have this time around.
You should be finishing university, not traipsing off to be a snowboard instructor. I thought you were studying for the LSAT. We didn’t pay all that private school tuition just to have you flush it down the drain…
I shove the container ofpoketoward Summer, my appetite gone.
“Message me when you get there?” Summer gives me a worried frown, and guilt tightens behind my ribs.
I give her a broad smile. “Of course.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
“Have you found a place to stay yet?” Ethan asks, coming to stand by the picnic blanket.
He’s dripping with sweat, freckled cheeks flushed from too long in the sun, lips parted with exertion. Looking at him, I know my heart should be racing with excitement. I should be dreaming about tracing the lines of his abs with my tongue. But when I kissed him a month ago, it just felt wrong. Like I was kissing my brother or my sister.
