Taylor Before and After Page 2

  But also, Miss Wilson is: worn-out sandals, beads around her neck. MAKE IT MAJOR means keeping the dress but mixing in some trendy metals, like silver and copper (think long earrings and/or long necklace), wrapping the beads around the wrist, and ditching the sandals for wedges. Now Miss Wilson is MAJOR glam, the whole next level!

  I’m going to change the world, one look at a time.

  And I’ll know I’ve made my whole life happen when I get it, the Victoria Beckham tote in citrus, $860. That tote is my life goal.

  I almost forgot about the prompt! Summer … It was … the same as it always is here. Hotter, though, because the trade winds never came. They stayed stuck up north. By the end of August, everything was totally, completely still. We were all suffocating to death. The entire island was literally holding its breath.

  The good part is that I barely had to keep the sidewalk clean. That’s my chore, sweeping up the plumeria petals that blow in from behind us, the ferns that dry and curl, the palm fronds that drop, the hibiscus leaves that usually blow all over all afternoon. This summer, everything was still—even the fire ant scouts that come one at a time to see if it’s safe for the rest to follow.

  But other than that, it was like every other summer. Just like fall and winter, even. It’s palm trees and pineapples and nothing to do.

  Any second, though, the trade winds will come, and they’ll change everything. At the end of this notebook, after three hundred pages, my life will be completely different.

  WINTER

  Prompt: Time.

  Macario says in Hawaii the wind is time. It is immeasurable. Unstoppable. How can wind be time? It doesn’t make sense.

  Time.

  It’s too long.

  Two weeks off right in the middle of the school year is too much.

  There’s nothing to do.

  Write words.

  * * *

  “Where’s Eli’s plate?” Mom asked last night. Her eyes are clouds now. The skin sags down at the corners of her mouth, and her hair has turned into strings.

  Dad was staying late at work. Catching up on some grading or something.

  “Remember, Mom,” I told her, “Eli is…” I couldn’t get out the rest. I wanted to say the right thing. But I didn’t know what it was. And I didn’t want to make everything worse.

  Mom got a plate. She set it on the table, added silverware and a glass of water. “He’ll be hungry,” she said. “Eli will, when he comes home.”

  Does she really think he’s coming back and sitting down and eating with us?

  At first, I told myself I wouldn’t go to the paddle-out. I didn’t have the right to, I knew that’s what people would think.

  But I wanted to see for myself.

  So I put on a floppy hat and big glasses and sat under the pink umbrellas at the Royal Hawaiian and watched them—the whites, the pinks, the greens, the Channel Islands, the Firewires and Rustys. At first they were scattered all around, but they came closer and closer together. Girls and guys, kama‘āina and haole, long-stem daisies between their teeth. Babies draped in maile riding the noses of Billabongs.

  Why did they have it on Waikiki? Koa and Tate would’ve hated that. When the waves came, they didn’t even break. “Ankle biters,” that’s what they would have called them. Instead, the water rolled softly under the circle of paddlers, raising it up and letting it down gently, one family. One living, beating heart.

  The splashing started—one, then two, then ten, then twenty paddlers showered the center with spray. They tossed in orchids, ti strands, kukunaokalā leis. The sisters and brahs all rose up and down together, whistling, hugging, holding hands. They beat at their boards—the people who had known Koa and Tate forever, the ones who had met them just before, probably a few who had never met them at all. Pros, keikis, brown skin, white … One heart of color, of flowers, of everything happy.

  I didn’t expect it to be happy. I didn’t think everyone would be smiling and splashing. And while the chanting of their names didn’t surprise me—KOA, KOA, then TATE, TATE, TATE—the one voice that called out ELI trapped my breath inside my chest. I pulled my hat down, had no idea what everyone would do. They had to all hate him, like Brielle does.

  But the other voices joined the one—ELI, ELI—and the heart beat for Eli. Even though he didn’t deserve that at all.

  The people out there—Eli’s other family—they left what they were going through on the beach with their backpacks and bags.

  And I don’t get it at all, how they were just moving forward like that. I watched from shore where the cabana boys dug like crabs, stabbing umbrellas into the sand, and I thought about Mom and Dad and me, how we—Eli’s real family—will never, ever, ever move past this.

  WINTER

  Prompt: Collective action.

  Art. Outlet. Podium. Projector.

  Collective action.

  Those people at the paddle-out, the ones chanting Eli’s name, do they visit him now, in there? Do they write him letters? Or email? Does he have that?

  Today, the tern isn’t in the plumeria.

  Sixty thousand.

  That’s how many people have died so far in the Middle East. It came on the Nightly News after a sex scandal thing and a clip on the Windows upgrade.

  Sixty thousand.

  Everyone everywhere is just … gone.

  It’s pouring—it hasn’t stopped—and the avocado path will be all washed out.

  I’ll have to take the #5 bus home.

  Home.

  I haven’t taken the bus since it happened. I can barely even drive with Dad.

  We had stopped at the Aloha, Dad and me, on the way to school. We pulled up to the pump, and when Dad opened his door, it hit me, the smell of gasoline.

  Dad! I tried to cry out to him, to tell him we were going off the road.

  Dad! The word just wouldn’t come out.

  My arms were straight out in front of me, elbows locked, so when the car spun out, I wouldn’t jerk forward and slam my head into the headrest again.

  “Help!” I cried out.

  Dad was prying my hands off the dash. He was telling me it was okay.

  It wasn’t okay! The gas … the glass … the window …

  My eye, my eye, it was warm and … wet?

  Dad was trying to hold me. Telling me it was okay. Telling me to take a deep breath. But couldn’t he see? I couldn’t breathe. The seat belt was crushing my chest, and the warm wet trickled down from my eyebrow.

  Suddenly, though, there was a loud honk from behind. And I gasped. I remembered. Dad and me, we were at the Aloha. I could breathe. I wasn’t bleeding. But I wasn’t okay, either.

  Dad let go.

  “Do we need to get you some help?” he asked carefully.

  He was asking about counseling. “No, I’m okay,” I told him. I didn’t want him to worry about me. He had so much to worry about already.

  I looked at myself in the mirror, pushed up my eyelid that droops down from the rough brow. What Eli did will follow me forever. It’s written on my face. Brielle is right.

  This is who I am now.

  FALL

  Prompt: Introduce yourself.

  Aloha!! Taylor Harper, coming to you live from Our Lady of Obsession here on O‘ahu, and today is the second day of All of My Purple Life. Just enough for the right people (Brielle) to notice, but not enough for the wrong person (Sister Anne) to. Besides that, I’m the same as everyone else: polo shirt, khaki shorts.

  Last year, to mix things up, I put on the tie, or the skirt, but this year’s been way too hot.

  Eli’s thing is surfing. He’s all about Sunset. Everybody has their wave. Koa’s is Pipeline. Macario’s is Bowls. Tate’s is Sandys. Eli’s is Sunset—classic, moody, big. Eli’s other thing is Koa and Tate and Macario. And his other other thing is Stacy.

  Mom’s things are us and gardening and taking care of sick people, and Dad’s thing is the university. Once we had a bunny named Hopper, who was Eli’s thing and my t
hing together, but mostly Hopper was Eli’s.

  My thing is fashion, putting looks together. On weekends/Free Dress Days, I put hoop earrings and skinny belts with ruffly skirts and strappy sandals. Because it’s Hawaii, we can’t wear any of the big fall trends—velvet, turtlenecks, and boots. We wear the same thing in fall that we do in winter. And spring. And summer. (Side note: In Vogue’s new September issue, there’s a next-level pair of Stuart Weitzman strappy sandal-boots that would totally work. $750. I wish.) But when I get off the island, I’ll wear each season. That’s definitely going to happen.

  Dad and Mom and Eli and me, we live under the monkeypod trees, at the bottom of the Mānoa mountains. People say the trail to the falls is haunted by Huaka’i Pō—old Hawaiian warriors. If you go, wear your Mānoa Falls shoes. And watch out for wild pigs. They eat everything.

  Sandy Beach (Sandys) is just three miles away. Also, the Ala Moana mall is pretty great. Li Lu Wen and me, we’ve been friends since I came here—and we go to Ala Moana all the time. The day we graduate from eighth grade, Li Lu and I are going to Buzz’s—the Lanikai one—for steak or maybe scampi, but definitely for the coconut pie. They put little limes on the side, and you squeeze them on yourself! (Side note: Dessert is the.Best.Ever.) At the end of this year, we get to go to Camp Mokule‘ia! For two nights! It’s up on the North Shore. Li Lu and me, we’re going to sign up for the same horseback-riding session.

  Other than going to the mall, there’s not a ton to do here, pretty much just surfing, if you’re into that.

  So, I never thought this would happen, but I’m also getting to be really good friends with Brielle Branson. I guess I always thought she had her group. But two days in a row, she’s invited me to sit at her lunch table with Noelani and Soo, now that Isabelle’s out of the picture.

  Last year Isabelle went to Brielle and Sophia Branson’s super-exclusive New Year’s Eve party. It was all over Instagram—Isabelle and Hailey, who had their own spin on Greek goddess costumes. It was genius.

  The theme was “Heaven and Hell,” and apparently the caterers and bartenders and DJ were all dressed up like angels. Supposedly, there was a blue room with just one white couch where couples could hook up, and the pool had blue water, and Hayden Jones jumped into it from the roof completely naked, and Brielle and Sophia were the only ones who wore devil costumes. The whole thing ended up costing their parents $17,000, people said, for the fine they got from the Five-0 for violating the noise ordinance and providing alcohol to minors. No one even would have known about any of it if Komo Kalikoma didn’t get a dart stuck in his leg and almost bleed to death, so they had to call the ambulance.

  Even though it’s only September, everyone’s already talking about this year’s parties, which are pretty much the ONLY thing happening around here. They’re mostly talking about THE party, the one at the Bransons’ on New Year’s Eve. To get into that one, you have to get on the list. And to get on the list, you have to be friends with Brielle or Sophia. Brielle was trying to tell Elau that this New Year’s, they’re having a Carnivale theme—with aerial dancers, a fortune-teller, and a tattoo artist. I don’t know why she was telling Elau. She’s never talked to him before.

  But this New Year’s, I have to go. I have to see it all for myself, exactly what everyone’s still talking about till the next time. I’m already planning out my look—feathers and sequins—that’s totally my thing.

  Amaretto sours. I heard Brielle telling Elau they are going to have those. She said they’re way more sophisticated than the cosmos they had at Heaven and Hell.

  What in the world are amaretto sours???

  WINTER

  Prompt: Which celebrity would you like to meet?

  Celebrities.

  Once, this answer would have been easy: Anna Wintour, Nina García, Marc Jacobs, Angelina Jolie.

  But now I don’t know. There’s vog inside my head, the dark, heavy ash carried over from Kīlauea Volcano on the Big Island. It’s darker, heavier than the fog that rolled into Oregon just before winter came. Nothing can clear it away. We have to wait it out.

  Dad’s yelling won’t fix it.

  “Come on, Julia! Pull yourself together here!” Dad yelled. He’s “been back at the college for two weeks!” What would happen if he just stayed in bed? He “can’t just cancel classes!” “Someone around here needs to keep the roof over our heads!” “We all just have to get through this!”

  What if we can’t, though? What if we don’t get through it? What if Dad gives up and leaves us? Would I leave with him? Would he make me? What would happen to Mom?

  On weekends, Mom and I used to go to the library or to Foodland or Curry House. We used to buy stalks of birds of paradise from Watanabe Floral, and do laundry, and read the Honolulu Star-Advertiser, but the paper hasn’t been around since Eli’s face was plastered all over the front page. Someone must’ve canceled the subscription.

  There’s a little statue on Miss Wilson’s desk, the serious kind of Buddha, not the one who’s laughing. It is frozen midstep, one arm by its side, the other reaching out, palm forward, like when he’s telling someone to stop. That statue wasn’t there before. I wonder if Sister Anne knows about it.

  Buddha. There’s someone I’d like to meet. He would know how I could survive my life.

  Does Buddha count as a celebrity?

  * * *

  “Hey, Grom!” Eli was smiling.

  I was in seventh grade, and we were waiting by the gate for Dad to pick us up.

  Eli punched my leg. I said, “Ow,” and punched him back.

  “What did the Buddhist say to the hot dog vendor?” he said.

  “I don’t know. I don’t care. What?” I rubbed my leg where Eli punched it.

  “Make me one with everything!” Eli was laughing. He was laughing and laughing into the sky.

  FALL

  Prompt: Looking forward.

  Besides the Bransons’ party, there are also the ones up North—the famous Volcom House parties, the ones at Ehukai Beach. You can’t get into those exactly. They’re for the masters—pros and semipros like Koa—the best on all of earth who can charge the deathwish drop. Those parties aren’t for regular people. They’re for people who aren’t afraid of anything. They’re for winter fling girls and cool kids like Eli who know people like Koa.

  But. The Volcom House parties—the winter ones—they spill out of the three stories, right into the streets and onto the beach, where the regular people can dance around the fire to actual live bands. That’s what Eli says. He loves hanging out at those.

  Brielle asked me if Eli was going this winter, and I told her for sure, because he’s best friends with Koa, and he’s always at Sunset—he basically lives there.

  And then Brielle asked if I was going. Which I totally am! Mom said I can go IF I go with Eli.

  I asked her, not Dad, because Dad always tells Eli he doesn’t want him going to the North Shore, that Kamehameha is windy and narrow. “It’s not a good road,” Dad always says. “People drive too fast” and “There are potholes and chickens all over.”

  Once, Eli’s truck got stuck in the sand. He’s gotten tickets, even towed. His truck’s been backed into and broken into and even stolen completely when he left the keys inside and the windows down. That’s all happened there.

  Dad thinks the North Shore is too dangerous, too far, that the current is strong, that the waves are too big, that the water’s moody.

  Those are the reasons Eli LOVES Sunset.

  He tells Dad he’s going to Bowls, which is closer, safer. Boring. Mush. But really, Eli goes to Sunset, where the waves are big and blue, green, then white. They rise and fold, Eli rising and folding with them.

  He says, “Come on, Grom, stop burping the worm.” He tells me he’ll take me to Ted’s after for donuts. And I say I’ll do it for a breakfast burrito AND a mocha, and if we don’t leave before ten. And Eli takes me up on it. He’s that desperate for an audience.

  “Come on, Grom!” he calls o
ut from the water when we get there. “Next wave has your name on it!”

  He never gives up.

  “No, thanks!” I yell back from shore, my red-nailed toes in the warm white sand, a Glamour beside me.

  This winter, now that I’m in eighth grade, I am absolutely, definitely, for sure going to the party at Ehukai. That’s what I told Brielle.

  The part I didn’t say is that Stacy better not ruin my chances. She’s causing all this drama about Eli not spending time with her, she wants him to work all the time like she does, and she’s been completely PARANOID he’s going to have a winter fling with some surfer girl from Ecuador or Australia or something.

  Stacy’s the worst. If she knew one thing about Eli, it’s that he’s as loyal as it gets.

  FALL

  Prompt: What does “home” mean to you?

  To Mom, “home” means good dirt. To me, “home” means Mom and Dad and Eli.

  Before we moved to O‘ahu, we lived in Oregon. And before Oregon, we lived in Arizona. We’ve had a few homes: a little yellow one with a white porch, another one that was near a burrito place, and a cream-colored one with big windows and a cactus in the front.

  Dad tells Eli if he would mow the front like he asks him to do, he wouldn’t have to pay Lono Lawn Care. But Eli never gets around to it.

  Me, I was up for moving to O‘ahu. I was in fifth grade when Dad brought up the whole thing, and I mean, who wouldn’t want to live in Hawaii? Dad said we’d snorkel all the time—we’d see turtles and trumpet fish. (Side note: He did not say anything about eels.) And we’d go to luaus and eat pulled pork. It sounded delicious. He told me I’d love watching the dancers in their skirts made of grass. That there was a real royal palace on O‘ahu, and that pineapples grew up right out of the ground! He said there were submarine rides, too, and whale watching, and island-hopping to black sand beaches.