Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,44
of the island?”
I nod and glance up at him. He’s staring at me intently, like I’m telling a suspenseful campfire story.
“Magic Sands and Hapuna are my favorite. They’re on the west side.”
“What else?”
“The waves of the water are crystal blue. There are sea turtles everywhere, on almost every beach. The farmers markets are the greatest. You can get so much fresh tropical fruit for cheap.” My mouth waters at the thought of strawberry papayas and ice cream bananas. This is the first time I’ve felt hungry in days.
“What’s your favorite fruit?”
“Papayas. Actually, mangoes. Mangoes from the Big Island are the best. You’ll fall on the floor crying after one bite.”
“Did you ever see a lava flow?”
“No. We went to Volcanoes National Park once. I was maybe seven, and we only stayed for a few hours. The most we ever saw was steam coming out of the lava fields.”
“Still pretty cool though,” he says.
“Standing near them felt like being in a steam shower. My sister and I shredded our flip-flops walking all over the lava rock. They were ruined. Our mom was pissed.”
He lets out a quiet chuckle, and I try to memorize the joyful shape his face takes.
“Did your family have a house near the beach?”
“Nope. Too expensive. My dad never had a steady job, so we basically shuffled from crappy apartment to crappy apartment, miles away from any beach. Sometimes we couldn’t even finish out a lease because my parents wouldn’t have enough money for the rent, and we’d get evicted.”
My chest squeezes at the memory.
“I’m sorry,” Tate says.
“It’s fine. First-world problem.”
“It’s not. That’s a terrible thing to have to go through as a little kid.”
“I survived.”
“Just like you are surviving now.” He reaches for me, his hand landing on my arm. With his index finger, he rubs the underside of my wrist. My eyes focus on the tiny patch of skin-to-skin contact.
“We’ll see if I make it out of surgery,” I say, closing my eyes.
“Don’t say that. It’s a simple operation. You heard what Dr. Tran said.” His finger glides all the way down to my fingertips. He touches them one by one, and I nearly stop breathing. It’s weirdly intimate telling him about my childhood while he touches me.
“You’ll survive.” He gifts me a half smile. “And when you come out of surgery, maybe I’ll tell you a bit about my life here in the Great Plains, pretty much the opposite of the beach.” His eyes fall to his shoes. “As a kid you must have hated it at first, leaving a tropical paradise for boring flatlands.”
“I did hate it, but not because of the scenery. When we moved, I was in junior high and had to transfer schools in the middle of the school year. Kids were mean. I was one of a handful of minority students in the entire school. In the entire town, actually. They called me names.”
“What kind of names? Like racial slurs?” He sounds concerned. It’s sweet.
“No, not that. Things like Pocahontas because some kids thought I looked Native American. Then when they realized I was from Hawaii, they called me Lilo, like from Lilo and Stitch.”
“Fucking jerkoffs.” He pushes a chunk of hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
“I know. Not even the right race.” I twist my fist into the bedsheet as more memories surface.
Once I can trust my voice to sound normal, I speak. “You’d burn the second you step off the plane if you ever go to Hawaii.”
He makes an amused scoffing noise. “You’re probably right. I’m a haole after all. It sounds incredible, though. I’d like to go some day.”
“You know the word ‘haole’? I’m impressed.” I let myself laugh.
“One of my college roommates was Hawaiian. It was his favorite nickname for me when he spotted me doing ‘white boy things,’ as he put it.”
“What are ‘white boy things’?”
“Watching or playing lacrosse. Eating Jell-O. Drinking Red Bull and vodka. Driving an Acura.”
He chuckles, and I laugh even harder.
My eyes settle back on him. “You are very fair, though. If you ever go, shellac yourself in sunscreen, put on a hat and sunglasses, and you’ll be fine.”
“You sound like my sister. Sunscreen is serious business for her, and she never lets me hear the end of it when I forget to put it on.”
“Smart woman. Protecting fair skin from the sun is no joke.”
That tidbit of personal info is like catnip. I want to hear more from him, to learn as much as I can.
He