Strong Like the Sea, стр. 47

“The bus schedule is just another code, Dad. It’s easy for me. Like math and spirals for you. You don’t have to worry—”

Dad rounds on me and holds both my shoulders. “Promise me, Alexis. Promise you won’t make that trip alone. I don’t care how grown-up you think you are. It’s not safe, and I don’t want you getting lost.” The hard lines of Dad’s mouth soften. “I need you to be safe, hon. Give me that much.”

How does he expect me to rise to a challenge if I can’t even try? “I promise I won’t go alone. I’ll ask Auntie or Uncle, or somebody . . .” My friends count as “somebody,” don’t they?

“Good.” He lets me go and stuffs a binder into his bag, all business again. “Are you keeping up on your history report? We can’t get behind. School’s important too.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Excellent.” He taps today’s square on the schedule and checks his watch again. “Time to go.”

I barely feel his kiss on the top of my head as he sweeps his case and duffle bag with him out the door.

“See you tonight. Don’t forget to text.”

“I’ll text,” I mumble as he disappears out the door.

As soon as the door swings shut, I’m on my phone messaging everybody: Malia, Jack, Ekolu, Naya, Tehani, and Kase.

Who wants to go with me to Mānoa Chocolates? We leave in an hour. My treat! Any chocolate U want

If that doesn’t get Jack here in the next five minutes, I don’t know what will. He’ll be all over that free chocolate for sure!

He answers: Sorry. Working.

I scowl at the phone. That’s it. He’s been abducted by aliens or something. I don’t know who this kid is, but he’s not the Jack I know. Little green men must’ve sucked out Jack’s brain and replaced him with a responsible, hardworking mutant. Not really a way to take over the world, but they gotta start somewhere, right?

Maybe they’re all still in bed? I check the time.

Malia texts: When and where?

My thumbs tap fast. Bus stop. By Temple Beach. 9:30. Don’t be late.

K—hope it’s as fun as you want.

What! Why say “hope”? Of course we’ll have fun. The perfect Malia-style response pops into my head and I grin as I type it in: I find your lack of faith disturbing.

. . .

Three little dots flicker on the screen and I wait for her snarky response—but she never finishes what she was saying. The dots disappear. So I wasted a perfectly good line on a no-response? Maybe she’s waiting to say it in person. That’s okay too, I guess. Because today’s gonna be awesome. With Malia, I won’t be alone. Promise fulfilled. I stuff the phone in my pocket. “Another couple hours and then Kailua, here we come. Oh yeah!”

The long bus ride means bonus study time for me if I bring my Mavis Batey report. Way efficient, right? I sort my notes, rough draft, bibliography, and notecards into my favorite backpack. A bus ride to town seems like a bowler hat kind of day, so I snatch my black one with the red band off the hook, smooth my hair back, and tug it on to keep leftover storm winds from stealing it away.

Turns out I didn’t need to worry because there’s hardly any wind outside at all. The storm must’ve used it all up last night. The buildings seem okay, but palm fronds taller than me litter the sides of the road all the way to the bus stop. I hop from open space to open space like it’s the world’s biggest game of hopscotch.

Even with all the hopping, I get to the bus stop fifteen minutes early and beat Malia here, but I’m not worried. Her schedule is tight, but she’s dependable as the tides.

Last time Mom took us to Mānoa Chocolates, Jack came with us and spent forever tasting the chocolate from cacao trees in different countries. Real chocolate tastes different depending on where it was grown, so it’s all packaged separately.

I smile, remembering how hard it was for him to pick just one bar. I think Mom ended up getting him three just so we could go home. My favorite is the Tanzania bar ’cause it tastes like raisins, but Mom likes the Waiahole blackberry one. Dad’s fav is a little nutty, which fits him when he’s in a teasing mood . . . but I can’t remember what country that one’s from.

A horn honks and I check the street again. Malia’s cutting this one pretty close.

9:20 a.m. I send Malia a text: At bus stop. Where R U?

9:25 a.m. Malia!!! ?? Where are you?

I watch her street. Is there enough time to run get her? What if her sisters give her a ride in the car and we miss each other? Then I would be the late one.

9:28 a.m. Hey! PLEASE ANSWER!??

A minute later, bus number 60 pulls up and the double doors swing open right in front of me.

With shoulders wide enough to carry a canoe and intricate black tattoos covering his strong brown arms, the bus driver gives me a warm smile and waves me up. “Howzit! Where you headed?”

“I, um . . .” I scan for Malia again.

Where is she?

“You here for the bus?”

My ears burn. “I am, but—my friend isn’t here yet.”

“Were you tryin’ to catch the 9:30 bus?”

“Yes, this one. For sure. She said she’d be here. Can you wait just one minute? My friend is coming with me to Kailua.”

“I see. Your friend’s running late, hah?”

“Yeah, but she’ll be here. She said so. She’s probably coming around that corner right now.” We both watch the empty corner for a heartbeat.

No Malia.

He glances at the half-full bus and checks his watch. “I’m sorry, but I can’t make all these nice people late. I only have one more minute before I have to go.”

Come on!

I text: Malia where are you? Bus is HERE!! You leave your house yet?

Faces watch me through the window. Some curious. Some annoyed by the useless