Page 34 of The Wrong Sister

“Ah. Gotcha. What's changed? Or what makes you want to bring me into your confidence now?”

“There’s a chance I could help her with something and, in that setting, maybe she could see me asmore. But I’m not sure if it’s brilliant and I should jump at the chance, or if it’s underhanded and I’d be an asshole for trying.”

“Will helping her take advantage of her? Did she ask you, or are you trying to insert yourself in the situation?”

“She asked. And I think it will help her, although I also don’t think it’s strictly necessary. That’s why I’m torn. I think she can handle it alone and I want her to feel strong enough to stand on her own two feet. But if she does that, I lose my chance.”

“That’s very noble, Raff, but think about what she asked of you. I like that you want her to see herself the way you do, but maybe this isn’t the time for that to happen. Maybe you should give her what she wants and be happy that you get the opportunity to show yourself in a new light at the same time.”

“That’s true. See? This is why I was anxious to talk to you. Sorry I ruined your sexy morning with Griffin.”

“No worries. You probably did me a favor. Him freezing and showing me he’s not ready to be honest about how he feels about me was less mortifying in front of you than it would have been somewhere else.” I sigh, sitting up. “I think I can move enough to make it back up to my apartment to shower. You gonna clean up at mine?”

“If that’s cool with you. A shower would be nice. I don’t have clients until this afternoon but don’t relish stinking until then.”

“Sweet. Showers and moreDarkwith gallons of ice water?”

He stands up, giving me his hand and pulling me up. “I like your thinking, Brookner.” Raff is the wrong brother, but I’m really fucking glad he’s with me today.

22

mina

7 years ago

I trudge up the hill from the bus stop, trying not to cry. I’m failing and that makes it worse. Stupid tears are streaming down my face. I scrub my hands across my cheeks and they come away with wet streaks of black. So not only am I crying, but I probably look like a deranged clown with all my eye makeup dripping down my cheeks. I turn onto my street and jump when a warm hand closes around my bicep.

“Huhu, my hale. Now.”

My bleary eyes see kindness and fire in Auntie Lolo’s eyes. She’s not playing. I follow her dutifully into her house which has come to feel like another home to me. She gets a glass of water and pushes a box of tissues toward me. I hate crying. I hate feeling like this. I hate everyone and everything. Mostly I just hate myself. Auntie Lolo settles herself into her chair, sighing loudly.

“Talk.”

“I don’t know where to start.” My voice sounds whiny and Auntie narrows her eyes at me.

“No excuses. Talk.”

I exhale loudly, stalling by blowing my nose, but she’s not known for her patience so I give up and speak.

“I messed up.” I lift my head to meet her large, dark eyes. I hate disappointing her. She trusts me and expects more of me than anyone. I get one curt nod as a signal to continue. “My senior year has sucked. So much. Catherine’s at UH. Griffin’s at Berkley. Now Raff is gone too. I don’t have anyone else. I never made other friends. I didn’t need to! But now I’m alone. Really, really alone.” I’ve been tearing up a tissue into small pieces and I sweep them into a mound with my hand.

“You’re lonely, ya? I’m familiar. Where does the mistake come in?”

“Ikaika,” I whisper.

“Kapule?” she asks. I knew she’d recognize the name.

“Ikaika Kapule, ya.”

“You gonna explain what Mr. Big Man on Campus has to do with you?”

“Auntie, I don’t want to.” I bury my head in my arms. I wish I could literally bury my head—burrow into the red Hawaiian dirt until I suffocate. Better that than this humiliation. Better death than telling her how pathetic I am.

“Huhu.” Her voice is steely, more than a hint of warning ringing out. I take a steadying breath and tell her.

* * *

Freaking Ikaika Kapule. He’s gorgeous—quarterback of the Red Raiders with a body and ego to match. Our school, though Hawaiian and not Maori, has its own haka. It was created for and gifted to our school to evoke who we are, represent our legacy, and remind the boys how they want to play. It’s ours alone and its creator wanted it to honor his culture and allow us (and his son who played at the time) to do it without appropriating the haka or dishonoring its intentions. It’s powerful and intimidating and gives me goosebumps every time I see it. It makes me wish I was a guy. I'd love to be down there, strong and fierce, intimidating our opponents.

---