Strong Like the Sea, стр. 46
Well, technically, a hammer and a screwdriver.
With the tin on its side, I slide the tip of a flat-edge screwdriver against the rim and raise Dad’s hammer overhead. “Please don’t break, don’t break, don’t break!”
The hammer swings down and, bam!
The tin cracks open, each half falling to the table with a clink! Inside, a folded gold paper sticks to the sides of the box, a jagged tear down the center.
“Oh, man.” With tweezers and Q-tips I tease the damp paper out of the tin and spread it out on the desk.
Dark smudges have ruined most of the message, but a metallic shimmer still glistens across the words: Chocolate Factory. And centered over the rip is some kind of symbol with three bumps.
I smack the desk. “Ha! Even with the other words lost to salt and sea, I’m positive there’s only one chocolate factory on Oahu that Mom could be talking about: Mānoa Chocolate in Kailua. The three cacao leaves on their logo must be what the three melty bumps used to be before all the water damage. That proves the next clue must be inside the chocolate factory in Kailua, doesn’t it?
I lick my lips just thinking about the chocolate tasting table. “Thank you, Mom!” Maybe her next clue can lead to the macadamia nut farm in Kaneohe—or to a sushi restaurant!
After printing out the bus schedule from Laie to Kailua, I circle bus number 60 at 9:30 a.m., and grab my phone to text Malia and the rest of the crew . . . but I promised Dad I wouldn’t run off again. Better ask permission for this one.
Knock, knock! My knuckles rap against Dad’s door.
“Just a minute!” Dad opens the door while still buttoning up his favorite Hawaiian shirt patterned after bamboo canes topped with green leaves. Like always, a carved nautilus shell hangs from the leather tie around his neck, his golden ratio always close at heart. Button finished, he twirls a hand over the outfit and quirks an eyebrow. “How do I look?”
I smirk. Before Mom was gone for work all the time, back when there was no schedule on the wall, he used to joke like this with me every day. “You look like my dad.”
“Ah, yes. That is the look I was going for. The prestige of a handsome, brilliant, amazing father figure. I do give autographs, you know. Need anything signed?” He reaches an imaginary pen toward my forehead. “Right here, maybe? My dad is the best—”
“—nose-picker on the island!” The words rush out louder than I meant, and I giggle. Best sentence ever!
“What! I am not.” He ribs me gently and then whispers, “At least, not in public. In private though . . . I make no promises.”
As he sorts his things, I bite my lip and gather courage. How hard can it be? I ride the bus to see him at Kahuku High all the time. It can’t be that much harder to go to Mānoa Chocolate Factory in Kailua, can it? I clear my throat.
“Dad, remember how I said I found a tin in the cave at Clissolds Beach?”
“Mm-hmm. Corroded, wasn’t it? You need some help getting it open?”
“No. I got it.”
“That’s my girl.” His words overlap inside my head with Mom’s voice, her messages in the cave: My girl.
A sharp, sudden ache squeezes my throat, and my breath catches. A few quick steps, and I slip my arms around Dad’s waist, my face pressed against his ribs. As his arms settle around me, he wraps me in his strength, and it’s enough . . . for now.
“You okay?” The teasing gone from his voice, I know he knows what’s wrong without ever having to say a word; we share the same wound. It just took me by surprise is all.
I wipe my face with the back of my arm and nod. I’m fine. I can do this. “The clue inside the tin leads to Mānoa Chocolate Factory in Kailua. I need to go there.”
Dad checks his diver’s watch. “The place with chocolate from all over the world, right?”
“Yeah, with all the cacao fruit.”
He frowns and checks the schedule on the wall against another one on his phone. “I have work in Kahuku this morning and clients all evening. I can’t cancel. It’s been set up for months.”
“I know you’re too busy to come, but I have to go or I’ll never find the next clue—and you said I was running out of time.” So let me go do it on my own. Problem solved. But Dad’s already rolling down the schedule train, and there’s no derailing him.
“Honey, we filled in the schedule together, remember? All my appointments are marked there by date and time. I’ve got no wiggle room this week. We have some expenses coming up—nothing you need to worry about—but we do need every one of these clients. There’s no way I can cancel a dive class for a road trip to Kailua.”
“Right. You’ve got no wiggle room, but I do. I could go.”
He rubs a thumb across his pendant. “No, it’s more than the timing. This doesn’t feel right. Are you sure you’re reading it correctly? Your mom never mentioned adding the factory to the challenge.”
“The clue has the three leaves for Mānoa Chocolates. And it says chocolate factory. You know how Mom loves their stuff; we got chocolate nibs and tea in the cupboard right now.” I hold up the bus schedule paper. “Look, I already got it figured out. I can ride the bus there and back. Easy. I ride the bus all the time to visit you. It’s like our family motto, right? Rise where we stand. I can stand on a bus just fine.”
Dad shakes his head. “Kahuku is only the next town up. This schedule says you’d have to change busses in another town, and the trip takes over an hour. No. This is too