Blooming in the Wild Page 0,20

eyes, she remembered something else she must do, or she visualized last night’s dream and worried she would wake to find herself screaming rousing the whole camp. How humiliating would that be?

Then she remembered her “conversation” with the guava tree and was even wider awake. Apparently, she had at least a little of the Ho’omalu gift. She didn’t want to sleep and wake up to work; she wanted to go into the forest and explore it and her strange ability. How much could she do? Was this gift limited to survival, or was there more to it? And would it continue once she left Hawaii?

This thought filled her with such darkness that she shied away. She’d only just gotten here. Time enough later to remember that her home was on the mainland.

Kicking back the light cover of her sleeping bag, she pushed her tousled hair off her face. Maybe watching a video would help her relax. Feeling under her pillow for her flashlight and finding it, she snapped it on. She played the narrow beam around to find her notebook case, unzipped it and powered up the little computer.

She searched through the short list of videos she’d saved. A new romantic comedy, a segment of a Hawaiian nature program, and a few old favorites. Bella hesitated and then, feeling equal parts curious and resentful, plugged in her headphones and clicked on the last title in the list. “The Wild Zone: Cliff-Diving at Panadama”. She wanted to learn more about their star, that was all. Better to know the enemy.

The show’s title filled the screen, followed by a close-up shot of a lean man in a form-fitting bodysuit belting himself into a complicated harness. As the camera panned up over capable, tanned hands working buckles and carabiners, then over washboard abs and a broad, hard chest, Bella twirled a strand of hair between her fingers, watching avidly.

The camera reached his face, framed with the straps of a snug helmet and a pair of colored safety glasses. Joel Girand looked into the camera and smiled, his cheeks creasing. His teeth weren’t perfectly straight—his eyeteeth overlapped the next teeth slightly. Along with the bump on his nose, it gave him the look of a roguish vagabond. Of course, maybe that was partly the glint in those eyes, as if he couldn’t wait to lead her—that was, the viewer—straight into trouble with him.

“Hello,” his deep voice said in her ears. “I’m Joel Girand. As you can see, I’m standing on top of a cliff.” The camera angle dropped down his body to his feet, encased in black boots and nearly protruding over the edge of a rock ledge. Bella’s stomach plummeted as the camera moved out over the edge. Far below, white surf licked at a sandy beach.

The camera flicked back to Joel’s face. “I’ve got to get down to that beach. Now I could go around by the path. That would get me there in a couple of hours, give or take. But you’re in The Wild Zone, so we’re going down…the fast way.”

He smiled, and then he stepped out over the edge.

Bella nearly dropped the tablet. She gasped and pressed her hand to her bare chest over her skimpy tank. Her heart was beating like the wings of a trapped bird. His move mirrored her own in the dream—that was all. It wasn’t that she’d been worried about him. Why should she be?

But not until he stood safe on the beach, unhooking the ropes that had supported his plummeting descent, did her gaze leave the screen.

Joel jerked awake, his eyes flying open. Something had awakened him. He was comfortable, sprawled on a new mattress and sleeping bag with a cool breeze playing over him and the slow surge of the surf playing a lullaby, so that wasn’t it.

He squinted. Yes, there it was again: a flicker of red light. That didn’t make sense until he remembered Bella Moran’s red tent next to his.

He stared at her tent, yawning deeply and stretching. She shouldn’t be awake at—he peered at his phone, set handily on top of his bag—after midnight. And a beautiful night it was. The stars were out, diamonds twinkling in the black velvet of the tropical sky. As he sat up, he could see the faint silver foam line of the surf, surging rhythmically against the shore.

He wasn’t sure why he was awake, other than that he was surrounded by strangers, not his usual crew. Despite their photographer’s lurid imaginings, this