Breathe me Home | NaNoWriMo 2016

Chapter 1

Where am I supposed to find a native Hawaiian?
Yeah, I know. Hawaii. Already there. Thing is, I'm a Navy brat. We're not exactly invited to the luaus, if you get my drift. I sense this is the time to voice my concern. Up goes my hand.
Mrs. Ashe nods to me. "Yes, Stacy?"
"What if we don't know any native Hawaiians?"
A burst of giggles and snickers flow across the room. Even from my back corner, where I always sit if given the choice, I can hear their comments.
"Stuck up."
"Brat."
"Too good..."
Mrs. Ashe glares in the direction of the offending boys and turns back to me. "That's the point, Stacy. Many of us live on the island our whole lives without ever really getting to know the culture of the natives islanders. You'll only be here a short time, but you should get to know the people around you."
That would be the problem. I've made it my life goal to avoid getting to know anyone outside my family. I'm a brat. Brat's move every few years. So what's the point in getting close to anyone? Oh sure, I hang out with the other Navy kids, but we understand the rules. Nothing is permanent. We're temporary friends. No hugging. No sharing.
"Now," Mrs. Ashe says, "after you interview a native islander, I want you to learn about one of their customs."
Oh great. So much for a quick ten-minute interview.
"...and demonstrate what you've learned to the class."
Well so much for Hula dancing. What in the world can I demonstrate to the class? Maybe I can weave a grass matt or something.
"...a partner."
What was that? Up goes my hand again. "Can you repeat that last part, please?"
"Of course." Mrs. Ashe waits until she has everyone's attention. "You may work alone or with a partner."
Phew! The partner is optional. Thank goodness. One less person to deal with. I shrink down in my desk to make it clear that I'm going solo on this, but I catch Jonas looking back at me out of the corner of my eye.
Not Jonas.
I slowly shake my head. Just. Go. Away.
Not that I hate him. What girl would? With that dark hair and deep brown eyes. And he's always been nice to me.
And that's the problem. Avoiding people had been easy right up until the great tragedy of my 13th year: I discovered boys are kind of interesting. Very interesting.
I must make it go away. Make him go away.
Beyond Jonas, in the next row, Lana turns and issues the same invitational stare. She's clearly not happy to have her stare fall upon the back of Jonas' head. The stare morphs into a glare. I pretend not to notice.
Jonas gets my hint and returns his attention to Mrs. Ashe, who, I realize, is half native Hawaiian. An idea forms...
"Your native Hawaiian interviewee must be someone outside the school."
How does she do that? Drat. Now I have to venture out into the world and find a complete stranger to talk to.
"And this assignment will count for twenty-five percent of your final grade."
Double drat. My perfect record is at risk here. I knew junior high school would be tougher than elementary school, but I had no idea I'd have to talk to people. That seems extreme, if you ask me.
But what choice do I have?
The bell rings. Yes, we have school bells in paradise. I gather my books and meander behind as the class files out. Last out and all alone, I make my way to the cafeteria. I don't get far before Lana is in my face.
"Heyyy, Stacy." Her long blonde hair practically funnels in sunshine. Sunshine does not, however, funnel out.
"Hi Lana." I believe those are the second and third words I've ever spoken to her.
"You have a partner for the project?"
She knows we just walked out of the room, having heard about the assignment five minutes ago. "Umm...no." Oh, I get it. She wants to make sure Jonas is free for her to to snare. Best wishes to both of them. "I prefer to work alone."
"Oh." She glances around the cafeteria, her eyes settling on where Jonas is sitting with a group of other seventh grade boys. "Well...good."
I knew it. At least that'll keep Jonas busy. Lana's pretty. He'll leave me alone. Unless he has a thing for pasty-skinned redheads. Another reason to hate Hawaii. This island was not designed for those of the easily burned variety. Five minutes in the tropical sun and I'm toast.
Lana hovers in front of me. "Well, then. Have a nice lunch." She scurries away to find her crowd, a table of local girls like her. Not natives, but locals.
I wonder how that happens. Do people on the mainland up and decide to live in Hawaii? I wouldn't. Montana is more my speed. Nice, cloudy, cold, unpopulated Montana. And it's where my parents are from. A long way from the ocean. How my dad decided to join the Navy, I'll never understand.
Once I join my fellow brats at our corner table, I settle into a plan. Get mom to drive me to one of those touristy areas, find a native Hawaiian, and make nice.
How hard can it be?