2008

Nobody ever warned me how turning a passion into a dedication could make it feel like a chore.

It wasn't like I suddenly didn't enjoy playing the oboe anymore. Music would always be my saving grace time and time again. What felt like a sudden and unwanted change was just how draining it was now.

My love for music started at home. Dad always played it while he cooked dinner, so every night was like a party, and I rarely went without dancing with him as the kitchen filled with the smell of his aromatic cooking. Even if we had no destination in mind, driving with him was fun because we would roll the windows down and blast the radio as if inviting the entire island to dance with us. Whether we were cruising down the highway or stopped at a red light, our moves couldn't be contained, even when strangers in cars next to us gave us funny looks.

This love only grew when I learned how to play music for the first time in middle school. My family tailgated at UH football games on the weekends, and I would always show off that I could read sheet music like some special gift. I felt special. I wasn't someone else's shadow yet.

In middle school, band was something I did during my final period of the day. Occasionally, we had a recital or end-of-the-year performance that required some after-school rehearsals, but they were few and far between. While music was my life, band was just part of it.

High school band was completely different.

After-school practices were a weekly occurrence, and often multiple times a week. And they weren't just an hour anymore but two, sometimes three. The love had been removed from the equation and replaced with a problem that needed to be solved, except the answer we were striving to arrive at was perfection, so it was doomed from the start.

It had become such a love/hate relationship that I almost requested to transfer to a fashion design class just to get out of it. The only reason I hadn't was because Kaipo convinced me that I would be even more miserable if I went down that route.

Band wasn't quite like a sport. Not that I would know, exactly, since I had never been part of an organized sport. Surfing was the closest thing, but that was wholly a hobby and nothing more, and I wouldn't say I was particularly good at it either. But I imagined most team sports relied on the same understanding of interpersonal relationships, including how to operate as one group while pulling your own weight.

For a long time, I never felt like I was part of a team, even though that was the impression I got as to how our class was meant to operate. The word "family" was thrown around a lot during practice, so much so that it lost its meaning. I was one face amongst a sea of people—assigned to play a part while contributing to the overall living, breathing outcome that was the band's sound—and yet, I had never felt more alone. I imagined my overall negative experiences with high school life had something to do with it, but I couldn't help but place all of the blame on the class itself for making me feel like the singular flat note in a pitch-perfect chorus.

It wasn't their fault. I knew it wasn't. The two chairs next to me always greeted me in the morning, shared their sheet music when I repeatedly forgot mine at home or in one of my earlier classes, and said goodbye after each practice.

"Hoku?"

I looked up, not realizing everyone else had already left for the day and I was now the only one in the band room, aside from our teacher, Mr. Murray.

He stared at me—brown skin with sun spots, crinkles around the eyes, the same wrinkled aloha shirt he wore every other Friday. Everyone made fun of his receding hairline behind his back as if they would never deal with the same symptoms of old age. Mr. Murray had a strange kindness to his eyes that made me feel bad whenever he scolded us for not playing a piece correctly. His voice seemed to carry so far in that big room it only aided in making it feel like he was more of a coach than a band instructor.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah." I shook my head and start taking my instrument apart so I could pack everything up. While I placed the dismembered pieces inside the case, I held my reed in my mouth which muffled my voice. "Sorry, I lost track of time."

"It's fine." Crinkled papers dusted together as he gathered his supplies from earlier in the day. "Is your sister picking you up later?"

I hadn't confirmed it before we left for school today, but she hadn't been late since that last time a couple of months ago. "Yeah, I should call her. But she should be here soon." At most, I would have to wait at the front of the school for ten minutes once I texted her.

"You can wait here if you need to," he offered. A quick glance at the clock made me realize how much time I had passed. Shit. "It's probably dark out. I don't want you waiting outside by yourself for long."

"Really, it's fine," I insisted before placing my reed into its case. The double reed I was using was so worn down I should have gotten a new one already, but oboe reeds were notoriously expensive—the good ones, at least—and I wasn't sure if it was a good time to ask my parents for more money.

I quickly tucked it into a pocket on the outside of my case. A problem for another day. (Or week.)

"If you're sure—"

"I'm sure."

Mr. Murray nodded once and stepped back toward his office. A lot of the guys liked to play board games in there during lunch since he had an old, blue couch in there from when he saved it from being tossed out by the drama department. I secretly thought he slept there whenever he had bad arguments with his wife.

"Keep your phone on you just in case," he instructed.

After promising I would, he left me alone to clean up. My lone chair was stacked with the rest in the back and I carried the music stand off to the side. While I opted to take my oboe home most days so I could practice if I wanted to, I opted to leave it in the designated closet instead today. After a week of feeling rejected by my own instrument, a break would be nice.

Before I walked out, Mr. Murray waved at me through the window in his office and he jogged out to meet me. I held my phone up to show him I was being cautious, but he just held his hand out instead, fist closed over something.

When I stuck out mine, a brand new reed in its plastic case was dropped onto it.

"You don't have to—" I started.

"Don't worry about it. I had extra," he said, which I knew was a lie.

My parents would probably be mad if I accepted it since they knew it cost money, but I was a fourteen-year-old who had seen her parents worry too many times about being able to pay our electric bill, so I convinced myself Mr. Murray used school funds to buy it so I would feel less guilty.

"Thank you," I muttered quietly.

"Music works best when you don't think about it too much," he said as he stepped away. "Just let everything come naturally. You'll remember why you fell in love with it in the first place. Yeah?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

"Have a nice weekend, Hoku."

Tucking the reed container into my jacket pocket, I waved and walked outside.

...

Kanani sat in the car idling by the curb. Wordlessly, I opened the passenger door and dropped my bag on the floor before sitting. It wasn't until I buckled in that I realized she had been crying.

The thing about Kanani was that she looked terrible when she cried. Not because she wasn't beautiful or anything, but because it just looked unnatural. She was an unstoppable force of nature who wouldn't dare let anyone else make her cry. Who would dare attempt to do so? Only the most foolish kind of person, I was sure.

Except she wasn't a construct. She was a girl and as human as the rest of us, and that was why there was realistically nothing unnatural about the scene in front of me. I knew better than to assign her to some fallacy of invincibility, even if that was how she seemed to me most days. The realization that I had failed bruised me as I watched her helplessly for those first few seconds, unsure of how I should react.

Once the moment passed, anger flared inside me.

"What's wrong?" I demand through my teeth. "Who did this?"

Her face was blotchy, and her eyes rimmed with red. Red was her favorite color, but I hated seeing her wear it like this.

She lifted the bottom of her t-shirt up to wipe her eyes, and, afterward, placed her hands on the steering wheel. Even though she shifted back around, facing the front of the car, I could still read every minute expression on her face. I knew that face better than I knew my own—afraid of looking at myself too long in the mirror—just as she would say about mine. We could never truly hide from each other, which often felt like the biggest issue in our relationship.

"Nothing. I'm being overdramatic. I'll get over it."

Before she shifted into drive, I turned the engine off and ripped the keys out of the ignition. Kanani stared at me, mouth open and eyes wide, as I held my hips up and promptly sat on them. It didn't feel good in the slightest, and I probably should have thrown them out onto the grass instead to save myself from the likely future bruise, but it did the trick.

"Kanani. What happened?"

It took her a second to respond. "You know Lake? The guy that plays football?" I nodded and kept my uninformed opinions of him to myself. "He asked me out to the movies last weekend but made it sound like it was supposed to be a group thing, which was the only reason I said yes in the first place. So, I show up and he's the only one there and tries to play it off like oh, everyone said something came up blah blah. And I obviously didn't believe it but I was already there, right? Anyway, we go to see the movie and he tries to put a move on me the entire time until I eventually had to dump the popcorn bucket on him because he tried to force himself on me."

While Kanani's knuckles had gone white wrapped around the steering wheel, I didn't want to know how deep my nails were digging into the palm of my hand, and the pressure only grew as she continued.

"I ignored his texts this entire week and I thought that was the end of it. But I just found out he's been spreading some rumor about us..." Her eyes shut like she wanted to flip the switch on the entire world and watch it flicker off. If I could, I would have done it for her.

She didn't need to finish her sentence. While I hadn't heard of anything myself, I could imagine what kind of rumors someone like him would spread and the damage it could do to someone like Kanani. Anyone, really. Boys were rarely held accountable for their actions, which emboldened them to continue escalating their abhorrent behaviors.

As droplets fell upon the windshield, her sobs were thunderous against my heart, and I watched her lean her head against the steering wheel. She exhaled a shaky breath as I relaxed my fist.

"I shouldn't have gone," she cried. "He's such a sleazy tool and I should have known better. If I hadn't gone, this wouldn't even be an issue."

"Stop." My voice shook, and I willed myself to calm down. Getting worked up would only allow her to feed off my frenzied energy, and that was the last thing she needed. "Him being a complete piece of shit doesn't make any of this your fault. Ever. He's spreading lies because of a bruised ego and that will only ever be his fault. Do you hear me?"

Her eyes were still shut and she continued breathing—deeply, slowly—but, eventually, she nodded.

Gently, I rested my hand on her shoulder. The earthquake slowly but surely settled beneath my touch.

"I'm sorry this is happening," I murmured. "Everyone will see through his lies. He'll get what's coming to him."

Kanani wiped her nose. "Do they ever?"

No, I thought to myself. They really don't.

...

The Kaiser High School varsity football team was advancing through the playoffs, which meant I had more football games to attend as a member of the marching band.

It was already bad enough that I had to teach myself how to play the clarinet since oboes weren't part of the marching band. Being subjected to every single football game was pure torture, even without the British transfer student next to me who kept calling it hand egg. (We got it. It's not called soccer. Please, touch some grass and get over yourself.) And the shirts they had us wear to these games were hideous and unflattering to the nth degree.

The only thing that could possibly make it worst was listening to the crowds cheer for Lake Williams.

What kind of name was Lake, anyway?

During school hours, he roamed the campus with his letterman jacket woven with poison ivy, a shield to guard him against any incoming attacks. When he was on the field, his helmet was a gold crown, and the crowds rose to their feet just to catch a glimpse of him before he carried the prize home.

It wasn't that I had a problem with athletes. I just hated the way they were worshipped as if physical strength was the only value a student could have. I wasn't smart enough to aspire to attend an ivy league school, and I wasn't disciplined enough, nor athletic enough, to get a full scholarship scoring points against the pressure of a buzzer. But, I was creative enough to do something that—maybe, possibly—could inspire someone else. I wished that mattered just as much as this.

"Everyone! Crazy in Love next!" Mr. Murray yelled loudly enough so the entire band could hear him.

We all rushed to flip to the correct card, though we could probably all play it by heart by now. The Beyoncé tune was a fan favorite at all of our games, and we rarely went without playing it at least two or three times. It only took a few seconds as Mr. Murray kept his head turned to watch the field, hand raised and poised to conduct. Once a timeout was called by the other team, we played the song, rousing the student body watching the game.

There was less than a minute left in the fourth quarter, so it would only be so long until I could finally go home, which was a relief. The long for food was so long during halftime that I couldn't grab something to eat, which meant my stomach was about five minutes away from caving in on itself. Pair that with my inability to form a single morsel of interest in football—hand egg!—and I was not having a good time.

Watching Kaipo drop into formation with the rest of the offensive line-up, I imagined him smirking and saying when do you ever have a good time? And he'd be right. But I could definitively say I was less miserable when Lake Williams and football weren't involved.

Since I had zero interest in anyone else, I kept my eyes latched onto Kaipo as he lowered himself into his starting position. Lake Williams stood off to the side behind him, waiting to make the call for the play to start. I could only hear the faintest sound of them on the field before all hell broke loose.

Funnily enough, Kaipo forced me to watch The Blind Side when it came out a couple of years ago. It was the only reason I knew what a left tackle was and that it was the position Kaipo played. His job was to protect the quarterback's blind side. The bitter part of me wished Kaipo would slip on his own feet or something to give the other team's defense the chance to slip through and take Williams out. What bittersweet justice that would be, even if it didn't compare to the pain he caused Kanani. I selfishly wanted to be able to laugh at him because laughing was easier than bottling up this anger over someone I hadn't said a single word to in my life.

Of course, that would have still been bad because I didn't want my friend put in a position where he would be blamed for losing out on a final touchdown, even if we were still ahead in the points, with or without this additional goal.

It didn't matter what I wanted, though, because Kaiser High School drove the ball down the field and scored the last touchdown of the game with only a few seconds left to spare, and the band played our final song of the night.

Good riddance.

Once the games ended, we were free to leave immediately and I didn't waste any time in making my getaway. Not that it mattered because I had to wait for my dad to pick me up—something he agreed to since Kanani desperately wanted to stay away from the game tonight and we were all understanding about that. Dad didn't know why since she felt mortified about telling him and neither of us was convinced he wouldn't hunt down Lake Williams' address immediately after. As satisfying as that might have been, he didn't need that kind of record hanging over his head.

I settled for sitting on the ground near the front office so I could easily see any cars driving into the parking lot. With my earphones in and my clarinet case tucked against my side, I waited for about twenty minutes. Since my dad had warned me he would probably be a little late, depending on how long the game ran, I didn't mind, and it wasn't like I was in a position to complain about a ride home from my father.

The loud music was why I didn't notice a group of them walking over.

Cloaked by nighttime, a handful of football players strutted down the walkway, probably on the way to their cars. It was a little early for them to have already showered and changed, but it made sense that some of them wouldn't care to stay late.

Unfortunately for me, that demographic included Lake Williams himself.

It wasn't until they were in front of me that I even realized. They blocked what little light came from the street lights above, and when it didn't keep moving, I looked up at them.

His lips moved like he was asking me a question.

I took out my earphones. "What?"

"Aren't you Kanani's sister?"

My shoulders tensed up. I didn't answer him.

"Ah. You are." He turned to one of the other players and slapped their chest. "Look, it's Kanani 2.0."

The group laughed. A real fucking comedian he was.

"You want to come hang out with us?" he continued, tapping his shoe against my clarinet case. "Dump the junk. There's an afterparty."

"No."

He held his hand up by his ear. "Come again?"

"I said no. Do you need me to write it down?"

We both knew that I knew what was happening with him and Kanani, which was why I should have known he was just trying to bait me. And like a clueless loser, I fell for it.

He stepped closer, and I hated to admit it but I was intimidated. Even standing, he still towered over me, but we weren't even on equal footing right now. "Kanani 2.0 doesn't put out like her sister? Bummer. Would've been nice to get between those long legs."

Word vomit threatened to pour out of me. I should have immediately defended my sister and explained to everyone there that not did she not fool around with him, but she would never touch him with a ten-foot pole. I should have drilled into him that he was a scumbag who would peak in high school and live a miserable life for the rest of his days because all he would end up doing is search for that high that being a high school football god gave him and fail miserably.

But I didn't need to say any of those things. These guys probably all knew it, just as they knew it would happen to them. Even if they didn't start nasty rumors like he did, they spread them and were complicit in how they enabled him.

I didn't trust a single one of them as far as I could throw them.

Deciding my ego could take the hit by letting him get the last word, I stood up, grabbed my things, and tried to walk back toward the field. But before I could make it three feet, one of them shot out to block me from leaving. I tried to go past, but each move was met with his countermove, and I was eventually boxed into where I had been previously standing.

After that, my mind went blank.

Anything Lake Williams said about my sister wasn't worth repeating. I tried to drown it out in my head. but being stuck in a quiet area of the school with only his voice meant my plan wasn't successful. I was forced to listen to his lies, his disgusting display of misogyny, and hope he didn't try to take out his frustrations of getting rejected onto me.

Defend her, I told myself. Say something to defend her. No, don't upset him. Don't give him a reason to try something with you. She'll understand. She'll understand you couldn't say anything, right? Right?

It all got too much, though. I didn't recognize what I had done until he ricocheted back and I felt the pulsing pain in my hand. Blood trickled down his nose, his eyes went blood red with rage, and I gasped at the realization of what I had done.

"You fucking bitch—"

At once, my body was pulled to the side until I was shielded by Kaipo. I had never been more relieved to see him in my life.

"Get out of the way, Kaips," Lake ordered like the strong quarterback that he was. He never had to deal with his offensive linemen defending someone other than him. "She not getting away with this. Muthafucka better watch what she says to me. I'll bitch slap her and her stank ass sister."

"Brah, back the fuck up." Kaipo pushed him away with more force than Lake anticipated, and the latter was almost knocked off his feet. "You ever touch her or Kanani and me and all the cousins are coming over. You ain't getting another warning."

Angry tears pooled in my eyes. I was grateful to have him here, but I hated that this was going to place a target on his back. Lake Williams was a senior like Kanani, but not all of the other guys here were, and Kaipo was only a freshman like me. There was no way to guarantee an incident like this wasn't going to have lasting effects. He was threatening the one who sat on the throne, and treason wasn't an offense taken lightly by people like them.

Lake made some parting remark I didn't hear. Instead, I tucked my head against the back of Kaipo's jacket and waited until I couldn't hear their footsteps anymore. Once they were gone and Kaipo had wrapped his arms around my shoulders, that was when I let them all fall.