《Wai》


 Kilokilo(Magic)

    ¡°Where did you learn how to swim like that,¡± he asked me.


    I cling onto the side of the pool, and carefully pry off my goggles, so I don¡¯t get much water in my eyes.


    I look up and its Mr.Thorne.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know when I learned, but I remember that I¡¯ve always been able to swim,¡± I replied.


    ¡°Kalea, that¡¯s impossible,¡± Mr. Thorne said.


    He looked at me, eyebrows raised, not believing a word I said.


    ¡°In Hawaii the water is everywhere. Maybe I learned before I could remember.¡±


    I shrugged and pulled myself out of the water, and quickly ran to a nearby bench to get a towel. I hadn¡¯t been in the chlorinated pool long enough to warm up to it. I shivered on the sidelines as I watched other girls try out for the swim team.


    You could tell who would make it, and who couldn¡¯t, from their strokes, or their hesitation.


    Mr.Thorne is rapidly writing down notes as more people try out, and I wait patiently for the results. Mrs. Ferguson is yelling out commands on the other side of the pool, and pacing up and down, picking who is the weakest link.


    There¡¯s no way possible I couldn¡¯t make the team, but I¡¯m still afraid.


    What if my form wasn¡¯t good enough?


    What if he isn¡¯t impressed?


    What if?


    What-if?


    What if?


    I fill my head with what-ifs, take off my flower pattern swim cap, and wrung out my long black hair, still waiting in my green one-piece. Mr.Thorne notices me waiting on the bench as raises his eyebrows again.


    He does that often.


    ¡°You won¡¯t get the results until tomorrow,¡± he says. ¡°You can go home.¡±


    ¡°Ah- ok, sorry.¡±


    I shake my hair, shaking off the what-ifs, and leave for the locker room. I quickly change after I shower, wearing a long-sleeve shirt, jeans, a big puffy coat, and a knit cap.


    I frown a little when I remember I forgot my gloves.


    Everyone else around me isn¡¯t as covered up, and some people walk right out in nothing but shorts, shoes, a thin shirt.


    It¡¯s been months since I¡¯ve moved to the mainland, and I still can¡¯t handle the cold.


    I walk down the squeaky speckled hallway, parts of it wet from the melted snow outside, and attempt to not slip again. While weaving through everyone else clogging the hallway, I see my favorite person of the day, standing near the exit.


    It¡¯s Molly.


    She¡¯s all bundled up just like me, another person who isn¡¯t used to cold weather. Her jacket is bright pink, and mine is yellow, both of us bright flowers in a sea of brown, black, and navy blue. She hugs me and gives a big grin.


    ¡°I made it,¡± she rasped. ¡°I made the cheer squad!¡±


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    ¡°What happened to your voice?


    ¡°I wanted to be the loudest, so I would be remembered. It worked¡­¡±


    She coughs and rubs her neck, knowing it was all worth it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m gonna make it until tomorrow,¡± I sigh.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok, it¡¯s ok, you got this.¡±


    Molly is the perfect cheerleader because she just knows what to say to make me feel better. She tells me that I have the home advantage, living on an island. She¡¯s my hype-man, keeping my anxiety at bay, all the way home on the bus. I lift her up too, telling her I¡¯m jealous of her long, brown wavy hair, and she says she¡¯s jealous of my thick, black hair.


    Ever since we became friends, the long bus rides staring out at the bleak landscape, the trees always nude and sky always cloudy, became so much shorter.


    I hop off the bus, and slowly make my way up the driveway, still paranoid about slipping even though it¡¯s been cleared out.


    Our new house is much better than the apartment we lived in Hawaii.


    Well, it was more like a hotel.


    It was a hotel.


    My mom moved to the mainland because the rent was unaffordable, rising higher into the sky, touching the heavens, refusing to come back down. She said she ¡°always wanted a backyard.¡± She got her wish, and we¡¯ve been here for a few months.


    I quickly tear of my outer layers, like an onion, once I¡¯m inside.


    ¡°I love heating,¡± I say to myself, as I run up the stairs and start on my second mission of the evening. It¡¯s time to read, and the book I have is like no other. Inside my room, the floor covered by my clothes, clean and unclean. I trample them, open my sock drawer, and take out my secret book.


    It¡¯s worn on the sides, and the cover is made of real leather. The paper looks like it was hand-made, and the ink is faded but legible. The only part of the book I can¡¯t read is the first. The title and author¡¯s name is all washed away.


    My last day at home- I mean, my old home- I found a book washed up on the shore. I knew mom would yell at me for bringing more junk back from the ocean, but this was different. It wasn¡¯t a sparkly rock, or a VHS, it looked like it belonged in a museum.


    I¡¯ve been nervous to read it for some reason once I opened it for the first time, worried I had actually stolen something lost from a museum, caught in the currents and washed up to the coast.


    I realize something while flipping through the thick pages.


    ¡°Why is the title washed away, but the rest of the book is fine,¡± I ask myself.


    Every day, I learn something new about my secret book.


    Parts of it are written in a language that I don¡¯t know, very little of it is in ?¨­lelo Hawaii, and I don¡¯t know much of that. Some pages are written in English, but it¡¯s written like some lines pulled out of Romeo and Juliet.


    I only understand what its about from the detailed diagrams and pictures in the beginning of the book, and as the language changes, the book passed down from owner to owner, the drawings become more crude and not as pretty.


    There is a page with the header in English.


    Uncharted Waters.


    I try to read the parts in Hawaiian and English first out loud because it¡¯s easier to understand when I say it loud, but my mouth feels jumbled and heavy. I feel like there¡¯s water in my mouth, the more I try to read a page out loud, and then I started choking.


    Water fills my lungs, burning like fire, my vision is blurry, and I started to feel cold.


    I¡¯m drowning on dry land.


    I drop the book and it stops.


    I cough, but no water comes up, and I lay on the floor heaving, gulping for fresh air, a fish out of water.


    I crawl to my bed, and crash into my pillows, my body facing away from the book, afraid to look at it.


    Is it angry?


    ¡°Of course not,¡± I say, in a bad attempt to reassure myself. ¡°You can¡¯t make a book angry, it¡¯s not alive.¡±


    I try to fall asleep but a voice in my head begins to grumble. It repeats a phrase over and over, and I don¡¯t know what it¡¯s saying. I squeeze my eyes shut, but then the language changes.


    Wai. Wai. Wai.


    It¡¯s asking for water.


    I slowly turn to see the book on the table, and no longer on the floor. Every atom in my body is telling me throw it into the woods, but I wonder aloud.


    ¡°What if?¡±


    I walk down the stairs apprehensively, make my way to the kitchen, and get a glass of wai. I go back upstairs feeling silly, offering a book a glass of water. It¡¯s a weird feeling that washes over me. I¡¯ve been rude, not offering the guest in my house a glass of water this entire time.


    In my room the book has not moved from the spot on my desk. Standing in front of it, I slowly tip the cup over, the water almost spilling onto the book, but I stop myself.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a good idea.¡±


    The front door loudly crashes open, and my mom hollers from downstairs that she¡¯s home. I jerk my body, and drop the cup, the choice made for me.

 Hulahula (Dance)

    My heart dances in my chest as I grip the cup but it¡¯s too late.


    The book is drenched in water, and it¡¯s no longer speaking to me in my head.


    Instead, I can hear my mom downstairs, calling my name. So I make a quick decision.


    I shake the water off my hands, put the glass on the table, and run out the hallway, yelling from the top of the staircase.


    ¡°Come eat dinner,¡± my mom yells.


    ¡°I¡¯ll come down in a bit,¡± I yell back.


    I run back into my room, and then panic, not knowing what to do. The book is now on my desk chair instead of on the desk where I left it. I question if it wanted to make itself comfortable, but tell myself not to think too hard about it. I pick it up, and it¡¯s not wet, but I wasn¡¯t gone long enough for it to dry.


    I decide to go eat dinner and not stress myself out.


    When I return it¡¯s now on my bed.


    Wai.


    It¡¯s thirsty again, and this time I quickly grab the half-full cup of water still on my desk, and pour it onto the book, just to see what happens. Not a drop of water touches the floor or my bed as it¡¯s sucked into the book. It becomes more rigid, and the leather doesn¡¯t look as worn as before. I don¡¯t know what to do with it, so I put it in my pink backpack, flung into the corner when I came home, and try to forget about it.


    It¡¯s probably more comfortable in the bag anyway.


    <hr>


    My hair is messy and I¡¯m grumpy when I get to school. I couldn¡¯t sleep well, and I almost missed the bus, yelling for the bus to stop and heaving. Molly thinks it¡¯s funny and pesters me as we go to her locker.


    ¡°Why are you so tired,¡± she asks me.


    ¡°Just stress,¡± I mumble.


    ¡°Just stress?¡±


    ¡°I dunno.¡±


    We stop at her locker, and she turns the dial quickly and jerks it open, as it¡¯s old and clunky, her daily fight won.


    Molly leans close to me and whispers quietly. She¡¯s already pretty hard to hear with her voice almost lost, and she repeats it several times until I hear her.


    ¡°Its a guy, isn¡¯t it,¡± she asks.


    ¡°What! No!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, its okay, I won¡¯t tell anyone,¡± she reassures me.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a guy!¡±


    Molly pauses for a moment and stares into space.


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    ¡°Are you coming out,¡± she asks loudly.


    Everyone in the hallway stares and I can feel my body shrink under the stare of many people.


    ¡°No,¡± I mumble.


    A soft ding dong ding goes off from the speakers, and we bolt to Algebra class while everyone else in the hallway scatters like roaches. We run all the way there, and slide ride into the room, right before our teacher closes the door and glares at us.


    We always talk in class so I speed walk away, trying not to get in trouble again. I just take the seat all the way in the back, next to Molly, our favorite seat. When I open my backpack I realize that I forgot my textbook.


    I also realize that I left the thirsty book inside my bag as well.


    I go pale, my body shivers, and Molly taps my shoulder.


    ¡°We can just share, it''s ok,¡± she says.


    ¡°You¡¯re the best,¡± I sigh.


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± I say with a laugh.


    While learning about whatever a hypotenuse is, I can¡¯t focus. I remember that I forgot to check if I made the swim team. There¡¯s a thirsty book in my backpack. My Algebra teacher, Mr. Langley doesn¡¯t like me.


    More what ifs swirl in my head and no information is retained.


    I quickly leave class once the ding dong ding sound echoes through class, the cue for our next class. This time I go to my locker, take some books and take out the weird one. I put it in the locker but then pause.


    What if it just moves itself to a different spot in the school, like how it did in my room?


    So I just put it back in my backpack, hoping that nothing else happens for the day.


    I get to English on time, and as I¡¯m preparing for an essay, the book talks again.


    Wai. Wai. Wai.


    I try to ignore it, but soon it''s screaming in my head so my right-hand shoots up like its on fire. My English teacher lets me out once I say I have to go to the bathroom, but instead, I go to the closest water fountain so the book can stop screaming in my head.


    Thankfully no one is in the hallway, so I press the water fountain¡¯s button and drench the book in water, and it¡¯s finally quiet.


    ¡°Are you done,¡± I ask.


    It doesn¡¯t reply.


    I assume it needs longer so it won¡¯t complain the rest of the day, and at that moment, someone turns the corner and stops. I look like a raccoon that got caught digging through the trash in the middle of the night, with my hair messy, hunched over the small water fountain.


    The guy staring at me has dark red hair, freckles decorating his face, and a confused expression. I¡¯d never seen him before and it was so weird because our school isn¡¯t big at all, I recognize everyone.


    Who is this guy?


    He scrunches his mouth and his nose flares in disgust.


    ¡°Why are you washing your old ass book in the water fountain,¡± he asks.


    I don¡¯t have a good answer, and I just start opening and closing my mouth like a fish, still hunched over the fountain. He quickly grabs the book out of my hand as I protest.


    ¡°Stop, don¡¯t touch it,¡± I yell.


    ¡°Why not, you¡¯re being gross,¡± he shouts back.


    I shush him as we might get in trouble in the hallway, but he quickly hands it back to me, when he hears it speaking.


    I¡¯m done.


    The book finally says something other than complaining about the food, but it¡¯s at the worst time when someone else is holding him. I guess he can hear it too by his reaction and quickly runs away, no longer upset but now afraid.


    ¡°Be quiet,¡± I shush the book.


    No.


    It says nothing else and I groan, worried about what new rumor would swirl around our small school.

 Pol奴(Blue)

    Classes are over and everyone rushes out of the school, from all exits, a dash to the buses to get the best spot. Molly and I push our way toward the back of the school, where the pool and gym are. I finally have the chance to see if I made the team.


    I scan the page several times but I don¡¯t see my name. I try not to panic, because maybe I missed it, but I don¡¯t see it.


    ¡°Molly, I didn¡¯t get in,¡± I say quietly.


    ¡°Aww, it''s okay,¡± she says.


    We¡¯re about to leave but she stops me.


    ¡°Kalua, this the list for volleyball,¡± Molly says.


    ¡°Oh¡­¡±


    I was so excited to make the swim team, so I looked at the first poster on the board. My cheeks burn as I finally find my name on the list for GIRLS SWIM TEAM, in huge capital letters only. The new member meeting times are underneath, and they have one today and another next week. Molly hugs me, and I hug her back, and for another moment I¡¯m no longer all jumbled inside like a ball of snakes. We let go and make plans to meet up later after sports, so we go our separate ways.


    The hallways are empty now so I can freely run to the girl¡¯s locker room and get my extra swimsuit I always keep on hand. I wear it underneath my gym clothes and try not to run again, so I don¡¯t slip.


    In the wide spacious pool, our school has both the boys'' and girls¡¯ swim teams meeting at the same time and sharing the pool. I breathe in the smell of chlorine which has now become relaxing to me and scan the entire place.


    I¡¯m in my element, the water is my home, and nothing can slow me down when I¡¯m inside it. I walk around the pool, surveying my blue kingdom, and there is a bit of sadness. It¡¯s not the same as the beach, but it¡¯s still what I need. A twinge is in my chest when I stare at the water and it seems more sinister when I think about the old book in my backpack.


    Would it drink all the water in this pool if I dropped it in?


    I zone back in when someone calls for me.


    ¡°Hey, get over here!¡±


    The tallest girl in the group is waving me over. She has dyed bright pink hair, and I¡¯m a little jealous because she¡¯s definitely pulling it off. When I walk over everyone says hi, as if we¡¯ve always been friends, and it¡¯s great. I¡¯m immediately one of them and I feel a little shy, and they can tell, but it¡¯s okay because it¡¯s your first day, don¡¯t worry about it, they tell me. They¡¯re all people I¡¯ve seen around, but I finally know their names today.


    Jennifer, Ashley, Samantha, and so many more.


    The pink-haired girl is Amanda, and her loud voice echoes without any hesitation through the pool.


    ¡°Amanda, are you capable of whispering,¡± Ashley asks.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be jealous,¡± Amanda retorts.


    ¡°Jealous of what?¡±


    Everyone laughs as they go on and on, and we turn when we notice the guys come over. Suddenly everyone gets quiet.


    ¡°They always do this, and they don¡¯t want to talk about practice,¡± Jennifer says.


    ¡°Yes, they do. About how we can practice so many things together,¡± Amanda replies. ¡°We can study for anatomy class together.¡±


    Everyone stifles their laughter the closer they get, and when the guys are up close, I see another familiar face.


    It¡¯s the freckled guy from earlier.


    I awkwardly stare at him and he does it back. I don¡¯t know what to do or say, so I start opening and closing my mouth again, but the words aren¡¯t ready to leave yet. Thankfully he speaks first.


    ¡°Why do you wash your books in a public water fountain,¡± he asks.


    People stop talking and turn to listen once they hear what he says.


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie,¡± I lie.


    ¡°I¡¯m not lying,¡± he shouts back.


    We start arguing and the only thing we¡¯d done since we met each other was shout. Everyone turns their heads away because the shouting match brought the attention of both of our coaches.


    Everyone does extra laps that evening.


    <hr>


    After practice I¡¯m waiting for Molly on the bleachers, exhausted. Everyone else has gone, and I¡¯m a little impatient, but I wait. I take out the old book and consider another experiment now that the place is empty. I walk down the bleachers, over to the pool, and hold the book out over the pale, cerulean, still water.


    I¡¯m zoned out again while I try to decide and I don¡¯t notice that someone is there until they close.


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    Roan.


    The freckled guy¡¯s name is Roan, like someone couldn¡¯t spell Ryan, and they replaced it with an O.


    His hands are in his pockets, he sighs uncomfortably, and he asks me, ¡°Are you seeing someone?¡±


    I turn so red, and I feel like I¡¯m shrinking inside again, back in the hallway. The stare of one person waiting for a reply makes me shyer than all the people looking at me earlier. He looks concerned for soe reason. I clutch the book close to my chest and can¡¯t find words again.


    ¡°Are you seeing someone,¡± he asks again.


    ¡°No¡­ I don¡¯t have a boyfriend,¡± I say.


    He makes the same face earlier when he caught me watering my book in the fountain.


    ¡°What? No! That¡¯s not what I meant,¡± Roan shouts.


    ¡°What else could you mean,¡± I mumble.


    ¡°Are you seeing a therapist? Because this is pretty weird dude.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re weird,¡± I shout back.


    ¡°You obsessed with water, is that why you joined the team?¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡±


    Words are easy when we¡¯re arguing, and soon another challenger enters the arena. Molly enters the pool area from the front entrance and sees us arguing. She starts running over to defend me, but she slips and falls on the hard tile.


    ¡°Molly are you-¡±


    I let go of the book and it starts to sink to the bottom of the pool. It¡¯s too late to decide, my clumsiness making another decision for me. I walk over to Molly and help her up while Roan stares at the pool from afar.


    ¡°Who is that guy? Is he messing with you,¡± Molly shouts. ¡°I¡¯ll get him!¡±


    ¡°You just slipped, you couldn¡¯t even get up from the floor,¡± I say.


    ¡°I can still do stuff!¡±


    Molly walks faster now and I¡¯m worried she might actually fight him. She gets close and is about to grab his shoulder, but she stops. We all turn to look into the pool and the water is slowly receding. Dark light is emanating from the bottom, swirling towards it, and eventually, the pool is empty.


    Only a pair of lost goggles and the book remains.


    "I think we might be in trouble," Molly states.


    ¡°We need to get the book,¡± I say.


    ¡°I¡¯m not touching that,¡± Molly replies. She laughs nervously, and Roan looks all over the pool, searching for some sort of answer.


    I don¡¯t know what to say, so I try to focus on getting the book back. I bolt to the supply closet. I return with the longest pool net I can find and manage to get it in, and pull it right back up.


    Roan and Molly back up as if I¡¯ve picked up nuclear waste with the pool net, and stay clear when I pick the book up again.


    The leather is now new, the book completely dry, and the letters not as faded. I open the first page, and there is no title, but there is an author.


    By Kalua Ka?an¨¡?an¨¡.


    The worst part is, it looks like my own handwriting, and I¡¯m scared again.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell anyone,¡± I tell them.


    ¡°Who would I even tell about this,¡± Roan replies. He points to the empty pool and he is about to lose it.


    ¡°Who would believe me,¡± Roan says.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t believe me right now,¡± Molly agrees.


    ¡°I¡¯m going home,¡± Roan announces.


    He leaves like there¡¯s a fire under his pants and Molly slowly walks next to me, afraid of what will happen next. I don¡¯t know what will happen next, but I do know one thing for sure.


    ¡°I can¡¯t bring this back home,¡± I tell her.


    ¡°You can¡¯t leave it in the school,¡± she whispers. ¡°What if it¡­ I don¡¯t know, eats someone?¡±


    ¡°Does it eat people?¡±


    I look at it waiting for a reply and it¡¯s quiet. My brain goes fuzzy again and this time an answer comes quickly to me.


    ¡°I have an idea. Come with me to the woods near our house,¡± I tell Molly.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re gonna get rid of it.¡±


    <hr>


    My boots crunch on top of the frozen leaves, snow, and dead grass and Molly follows me from behind. We¡¯re wearing our pink and orange jackets again, passing by naked trees whose clothes won¡¯t return until spring. Dragging shovels across the forest floor leaves a trail through the snow, evidence of our future crime. In our backpacks, we brought lanterns, snacks, and bottled water. The air stings my cheeks and it¡¯s getting dark, so we try to hurry.


    We finally agree on a spot, deep in the woods, set our backpacks down, and get to work.


    The easiest part was breaking ground, as tough and frozen over as it was, but the hardest part was making sure we dug deep enough. The lanterns made it easier to see when the sun finally gave its last breath, and sunk past the horizon. We took as few breaks as we could, and finally, when we felt it was deep enough, I opened my bag and took out the book.


    I fling it into the hole and I feel invincible.


    ¡°Sorry, not sorry,¡± I tell the book.


    ¡°Kalua it¡¯s a book, it can¡¯t hear you,¡± Molly says.


    ¡°Yes, it can,¡± I reply. ¡°It knows.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s get the fuck out of here.¡±


    I nod in agreement, and we quickly shovel the dirt back into the hole, collect as many sticks and leaves as we can to cover the mound, and run back to Molly¡¯s house.


    Mom thinks we¡¯re having a sleepover, and she¡¯s technically right. Mom also thinks Molly¡¯s parents are home, but they rarely are. She doesn¡¯t need to know everything. She definitely doesn¡¯t need to know that I kept that book in the house.


    Molly¡¯s house is big and luxurious, one of the biggest houses in town. She moved here last year and understood how weird it was living close to almost nowhere with not enough people, so we became close.


    The outside of her house has the prettiest big wooden doors I¡¯ve ever seen for an entrance, and the inside has a foyer, or whatever she calls it. We fling off our coats and I walk past the small living room into the main living room. I¡¯ve been here too many times, and it feels like a second home. It¡¯s the big living room is cream and white all over, and I sink into the chair, relaxing while Molly makes us popcorn in the kitchen.


    I only relax for a second because I hear her screaming.


    I jump up and run, almost slipping on the hardwood floors and when I get to the kitchen, Molly is screaming in front of the microwave, hysterical, the uncooked popcorn bag in her hand.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Are you hurt,¡± I ask.


    ¡°Open the door! Open the door,¡± she shouts.


    I turn to go towards the front door but she repeats herself.


    ¡°The microwave, the microwave!¡±


    My heart sinks.


    I know what¡¯s in it before I open it.


    It¡¯s the book.


    I take it out of the microwave and open the first page again, my heart dancing in my chest. The author¡¯s page has changed again.


    By Kalua Ka?an¨¡?an¨¡ and Molly Miller.