Clairboyance: Chapters 13–17

The ‘ōhi‘a trees are filled with exploding red blossoms, and the ‘ōhelo bushes are laden with juicy berries.

“Maybe you went guess, but the ‘umeke can help its caretaker hear things others cannot. Its name means for listen carefully, attentively.”

“He can hear fish. So in our hanabata days, he helped ’em proliferate and he always had the best catch, but he not think beyond those kine fish. He not realize he no can hear mollusks, like octopus, or other kine sea creatures.”

“Serenade him,” I say, the words leaving my mouth before I’ve fully thought through them. But once I’ve said them, a plan starts forming. “Sing as loud as you can. He can’t ignore you then.”

Then, softly at first, a voice warbles. “Somewhere over the rainbow...”

“Michelle,” I say, exasperated, “if you need his attention so badly, then do something he can’t ignore. Like this.”

Kumu Maka announces, “Listen up, everyone. Never throw anything out the window. Not only is it against the law, it’s really dangerous. If a car swerved or the item hit their windshield, it could cause an accident. You got me?”
A few kids murmur their assent.

They pick up the shirt and shake it gently. The wings undulate, as if they’re flapping. “‘Iwa,” they say.

“I’m having my photograph taken this afternoon for an interview with the paper. My artwork has been chosen for the Honolulu Biennial. This big art exhibition.”

“The books on this wall are all about education. They help me think about how I want to teach and mentor and discipline.” She pauses to give me a look. I get it, the discipline is coming soon enough. “The ones back there are children’s and young adult books. Fiction, nonfiction, novels and poetry, comics and graphic novels. Anything that I think you folks might enjoy.”

“Maybe, all alone, your story is on the small side. Most stories, taken by themselves, can feel that way. Like how an island that stands alone in a huge sea can look small. But if you stop looking at that one island and instead see how it’s part of a whole archipelago, how the Pacific is filled with islands, then you might start to notice how big your story actually is. How much space and time and how many connections it covers.”

“We might also think about the connections we have with other people,” she says. “You’re not an island, or a story, unto yourself. Your actions have repercussions.”

“One more thing,” Kumu Apo says. “I want you to write apology notes to both Kumu Maka and Leo. You can do it before you head to first period.”
I grimace.
“Is there a problem?”
“No, no,” I say.

“It’s not going to be the same around here without you.” I wait to hear some sarcastic thought from Denny, but instead I get something else. Not a thought really. More a feeling. A tinge of sadness.

“What do you mean you can’t go?” Hold up! I’ve made a foolproof plan. There’s no way Nalu can be busy all weekend.