Caleb + Kate (6 page)

“That was fast,” she says.

“Problem with one of the pumps in the men's steam room?”

Maggie leans forward and talks as if telling a juicy bit of gossip. “This old guy came out in his towel, shivering, saying that he couldn't get anything but cold air to come out.”

“Guess I'll have to save the day. He still in there?”

“He said he'd wait in the hot tub.”

“How's the women's?” If I remember right, the two spas are back-to-back, running the same plumbing lines. If there's a problem with one, there's probably a problem with both.

“No complaints so far,” she says cheerily. “I'd send you in, but you'd get quite an eyeful.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Boss's daughter and her friend. Toes, waxings, body wraps . . .” She looks at the schedule book. “And hair and makeup.”

“Don't they do anything themselves?” I ask.

Maggie laughs. “Not on prom day, I guess.”

For some reason, this irritates me.

Maggie sighs dramatically. “They're staying in the Orchid Suite, and I heard that Mr. Monrovi turned down several requests for the room. It rents for a thousand dollars—that's one thousand a
night
.”

The phone beeps on the desk, but Maggie keeps talking, shaking her head. “Rich girls, can you believe the nerve, they actually asked me—oh, wait a second.” She holds up one finger. “Monrovi Spa.”

I'm strangely curious to know what they wanted. My father may speak well of the Monrovis, but I've heard from other staff about how spoiled Kate is. The inn isn't even rightfully her family's, at least according to Grandfather.

“Caleb, go on in,” Maggie whispers with her hand over the phone. “I'll be on forever with this lady.”

I pick up my tool bag and walk down the stone hallway toward the men's room. Why am I so interested in Kate Monrovi? People talk about her, I saw her in the parking lot the other day, even Dad brings her up. It's like being haunted—and not in an interesting way. Since I've been here, she's been like a nagging thought in the back of my head, a word on the tip of my tongue . . . More like a bad taste in my mouth.

Maybe I need to see this girl, up close and personal–like, and then I'll be over this ludicrous whatever-it-is. It's time to be over it.

Chapter Four

Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft
might win, by fearing to attempt.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Measure for Measure
(Act 1, Scene 4)

KATE

The music moves through my body as we dance. The band has called everyone to the dance floor, and we're crammed together, swaying, laughing, singing the old familiar rock song. All animosity, broken hearts, or clique distinctions are gone, at least during this song. The guys wear tuxes and the girls wear the best labels in fashion. Even love-is-death Elaine now smiles and laughs, her hands raised with everyone else's. Some people hold up their iPhones and BlackBerrys, trying to record the occasion. The photos will be online before the night is done.

It's a moment. One of those special high school times I'm sure we'll remember into old age and wish we'd savored more. I take it in, surprised by the joy pulsing through me.

High school prom. While so many things don't live up to expectations, this actually does. The evening sky is a vivid kaleidoscope growing brighter toward the sunset over the sea.

Monica, Oliver, and I dance close to each other, twisting our arms together, laughing and singing with the band. There are years of memories between us, and I swear, I love these two people more than almost anyone in the world. Even as I dance, the music pounding through my chest, I want to capture this night, stretch it out, iron it onto our memories, keep it from ending.

The next song winds down. My mouth is parched and I gasp to catch my breath.

“We're going to take a quick little break,” the lead singer announces, followed by dissenting moans from the crowd.

“Need drink,” I call to Oliver, motioning with my head toward our table.

“I'll get them!” he says, and I smile at how utterly handsome my best guy friend looks in his Armani tux. His hair is grown out a bit, and he looks like some model from Europe, maybe someone from the British aristocracy. In my opinion, Oliver was born in the wrong era. He dresses to perfection, plays poker and rugby, is already involved in the family business, and has a collection of cigars from around the world—though he never actually smokes them. He tends to like older women, and I tease him mercilessly about that. He absolutely hates being called a metrosexual.

“This is the perfect place to have prom. It's fabulous,” Monica says with one of her rare exuberant smiles.

“If you say it's perfect, then I know that's the truth.”

Monica and I move toward our table. Emily drops to a chair, fanning her face as Trevor leans down and kisses her shoulder. Half of the seniors at the table next to us appear to be at least slightly intoxicated as they snap picture after picture, nearly falling over several times. Ted and his date, Talia—a senior—are at another table near ours. Monica is convinced he's trying to make me jealous. I don't think anything could spoil tonight. For weeks, I've dreaded the idea of prom. I'm burned out on social events, small talk, fake people. But this night could almost make those of us who are jaded about love believe in it again.

White lights are strung in lines over the entire event area. The lawn is covered with a temporary wooden floor. The tables are covered and hold centerpieces themed after different works of Shakespeare. We have the Romeo and Juliet table.

Some of the band members begin to mingle. Even Oliver, who is a music junkie, is impressed with this local group; talk is they're supposed to break out this year. Now that the music has paused, a lot of people are moving around. Lanterns light all the pathways; I see people walking down the steep stairway from the main grounds of the hotel and others down the pathway to the small beach at Aloha Cove. More lanterns decorate the massive rocks that rise from the sea floor.

Jessica waves and jumps up and down from her post at the beverage counter.

“I can't even be annoyed by Jessica,” Monica says, sitting in a chair.

“You do realize this is the first time you haven't called her ‘freshman.' You must be in a good mood.”

Monica laughs and folds her thin, tanned legs gently one over the other. Our dresses, though completely different in style, are both silver and both from a new SoHo designer. Monica thought we should somewhat coordinate our dresses since we're dates. Hers is a tight dress with a long slit up one leg. My strapless bodice is white, with a full silver princess skirt. Monica's silky brown hair has already lost most of its curl, despite the foam rollers, and my blonde chignon has a few tendrils falling loose down my back. “Ah my dates! I have the sexy vixen and the virgin maiden,” Oliver said when he saw us.

I nudge Monica with my elbow and motion toward Katherine. She's leaning close to Blake, having one of those intense conversations best reserved for places other than prom. A girl I don't know sits staring off on the other side of Blake.

“That could be trouble,” Monica says. “I think she was already three sheets to the wind before prom started.”

“I told her she could come with us tonight.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot.”

“Well, she was still pretty upset that Blake brought someone else. It's the classic she-doesn't-want-him-but-doesn't-want-anyone-else-to-have-him scenario.”

“Ladies, you two are the perfect combination,” Jase yells as he jogs by. “I'd marry either one of you, or both!”

Monica gives him a wry smile but keeps studying the Katherine–Blake conversation. “If I were Blake, I would've done the same thing.”

“You would've done worse than find some random date to replace yours. You would've gotten true revenge—brought the guy's brother or best friend or arch enemy. Something like that.” “True.

Revenge is more fun than love.”

Suddenly I remember to search around for the new guy— Caleb. He's a no-show to the prom, and I find this both a relief and vaguely disappointing. For a while I watched for him, catching myself looking up the stairway again and again.

“One for each of us,” Oliver says, setting three drinks on the table. “Do you think I should get one for Katherine?”

“No, this is perfect,” Monica says, drinking hers down in one shot. “I'll be back.”

Oliver sets down my virgin cosmopolitan with a raise of his eyebrows.

“You better not have added something to that,” I say, glancing around and spotting Ms. Liberty in her Lady Macbeth costume at a table with several other teachers including Hamlet, Ophelia, and three teachers dressed as the three witches.

“You'll have to trust me,” he says, again with the Oliver grin. “They brought the Breathalyzer for real. Any suspicious students are going to be tested, including every driver leaving the grounds.”

“Well, why would
you
be suspicious? Your dad owns the hotel and you're spending the night here.”

“Ms. Liberty has it out for me.”

“Yes, she does,” says Oliver, looking at someone behind me. I narrow my eyes at Oliver and tap his shoulder. “Listen buddy. You may be making me dance with you to make someone else jealous; I'm fine with that. But when I talk, you listen and look at me.”

Oliver leans in and kisses my cheek before turning around a chair and sitting with his legs straddling the back. “You know, this is mutually beneficial. You help me look attractive to Ursula, and I keep Ted from mauling you on the dance floor. So stop complaining if I check on Ursula's coordinates. After all, you keep checking to see if Ted is in the vicinity. And you keep looking for Mr. Hawaii.”

“Am not,” I say, then I put my finger over my lips and look for Monica. She's talking to the bass guitarist. “Monica has a thing against Mr. Hawaii. I should have never told you about him.”

“You might be able to keep things from Monica, but never from me.”

I roll my eyes, but he's pretty much right. At least Oliver is trustworthy in this area. “By the way, Ursula doesn't seem old enough for your taste; what about Ms. Liberty?”

He shakes his head. “I suppose you meant that in a humorous sense?”

I glance up and see Ted studying us. Ted hangs on the periphery of everything I do. He watches me when he thinks I'm not looking. When he thinks I'm looking at him, he laughs, leans in to some girl. When we were dancing, he kept moving toward me. Guys like him should be awkward at dancing— it might knock them down a few notches. But Ted is a good dancer, though not as much as he thinks.

My feet ache already. I slip off my shoes and plop my ankles on Oliver's thigh. He rubs them for a moment and then drops them as he rises quickly.

“It looks like you ladies need another drink,” Oliver says with a slight motion of his head toward the beverage counter. Ursula is walking that direction.

I'm alone for a moment at our table. I see Elaine sitting at a table talking with her hands. Brian Beater is sitting beside her—a guy who still picks his nose in class. I wonder if she's debating the pain of love with him.

“Hey Kate, I hear it's a party in the Daisy Room afterwards?” Emily says as she weaves her way through the tables.

I almost correct her and say Orchid Suite, but stop myself. “Who told you that? There's no party. The seniors have a few rooms, but they're supposed to be calm or they'll be kicked out.”

Emily shrugs her shoulders. “I don't know. But I'll pass that around. Back to plan A.”

Plan A is a party at Oliver's house. Oliver's parties tend to get out of control, and I've avoided them ever since “the incident.” But I'm beginning to think most of the partygoers will need rides from parents or taxis. My father set the condition that every driver must pass the Breathalyzer test before leaving the hotel grounds. That might ruin a few postprom plans.

I reach for my clutch on the table to retrieve my phone; I want to send a global text to everyone cutting off that rumor about the “Daisy Room” party. Are these people insane—like this is any random hotel that we could get away with something like that? Unlike most of my friends, my parents care about such things.

Just then, I glance up the stairway and my fingers stop typing the message.

A dark-haired guy leans on the railing, looking down at the prom. He has wide shoulders, and his deep tan-colored skin contrasts with the white of his T-shirt.

This must be Caleb Kalani.

CALEB

My cousin Finn leaves me a text to meet him at the pool area of the inn. He came to pick me up before we head into Portland to see a movie—my choice—and to stop by some friend's house— his choice. I shower and change in the maintenance building so we can go straight into town.

Approaching the pool area, music rises from the lower events area. I'm surprised at how good the band sounds—a mixture of alternative rock and punk that reminds me of Nirvana or Coldplay, but with a sound of their own. I'd imagined some lame knock-off group; I suppose it's my predisposition toward the snide when it comes to rich-people events.

“You're missing your prom,” Finn says when we meet, enjoying the fact that our previous sarcasms can now include me. Finn has a chip on his shoulder deeper than mine. Back in Hawaii, he hated
hales
more than my grandfather. Now that he's in the States, his dislike for white people, especially rich ones, hasn't waned. And he's on his own here. Cut off from our Hawaii ties and the Kalani family almost exclusively, he'd do most anything to get back into Grandfather's good graces. It was his own doing. And I can't blame him for his contempt. But it's still not easy to be around.

“Let's check it out.” Finn motions toward the stairway that leads down to the lower level, where I know the prom is happening. His pockmarked face and narrow eyes make him look even crueler than he is.