Rabbit Ears Read Free

them.
    Feet back on dry sand, you look up the beach toward the last in the long line of fires. It lights a wooden shelter, massive and intricate—a shelter you recognize. You sat there this afternoon, talking to a bunch of hippies while your bikini dried. The sight of the familiar driftwood construction lit by an enormous blaze sends that wild, free feeling through you again, much stronger now. Your whole body tingles.
    You walk closer. “Adam?” you call.
    A man steps away from the group, backlit by the fire, frontlit by the moon.
    “You’re wet,” he says.
    “I went for a swim.”
    “Hey, guys,” he calls over his shoulder, “uh …”
    “Kaya,” you say.
    “Kaya is back.”
    Another guy jumps up and offers you a spot on a log near the fire. Adam puts a beer into your hand and a girl with dreadlocks passes you a fat joint. You take a swig and a toke and hold out your legs toward the flames. Energy courses around the fire, bottles clank and a log collapses, sending a whoosh of flames and sparks into the dark. You breathe the smell of woodsmoke and soak in the warmth. Your face and your shoulders relax.
    Adam sits down beside you and puts his hand on your knee. He lives on the big island and comes over here as much as he can in the summer. He doesn’t really work or go to school; he was a bit vague this afternoon on what he actually does, but so were you. He’s tall and slim but not skinny. His skin is so smooth and kind of gleaming that in the heat of the afternoon, you wanted to run your finger down the centreof his bare chest. He’s clean-shaven and his thick, dark hair is pulled back into a stubby ponytail.
    “You came a long way to find us tonight,” he says, “all by yourself.”
    You let your shoulder rise and fall against his. “I was bored at home,” you say.
    Beth
    A gasp wakes me, followed by a single word—“Beth?”—and a soft bark shushed.
    I sit up, confused, and stare into the black. I smell woodsmoke.
    “What are you doing in my bed?” Kaya says.
    “What were you doing
out
of it?” I hiss. I’m in Kaya’s bed, that’s where I am.
    “It’s none of your business,” Kaya says. “Get out of here.”
    Not so fast, I think, as I reach out and flip on the lamp. It takes her only a second to flip it off again, but a second is long enough. Her hair hangs in heavy damp clumps around her face and a big black sooty smear runs up one side of her dress. Her legs and arms are covered in long red scratches. She doesn’t look like someone who was just partying with other kids. Sybilla is weaving back and forth against those marked-up legs, whining with delight.
    “You’re hurt,” I say, reaching again for the switch.
    Kaya blinks hard at the bright light, closes her eyes and leans against the wall.
    “I’m not hurt, Beth. I just need to sleep,” she says.“Please, can you leave me alone?” Then she surprises me. She straightens and stands by the bed, does a little twirl, tops it with a curtsy. “See? It’s all good. Now. Go. Back. To. Bed.”
    And I do. I climb the stairs, collapse on my bed and pull the thin sheet over my head to keep the mosquitoes at bay. I fall asleep quickly in the gentle breeze, relieved that my sister, whatever she may have got into tonight, is tucked away now in her own bed.
    Kaya
    “How old did you say you were?” Adam asks after a while.
    You tilt your head and grin. “Sixteen.” You don’t need to ask him his age. He told you back in the afternoon. He’s nineteen. All grown up.
    “And where are you from?”
    “Vancouver,” you say, puzzled. He ought to remember that.
    “No, I mean where are you really from?”
    It takes you a minute to understand what he means. Then you see him looking at your brown skin and you get it. Annoying, but you decide to let it go.
    “I was actually born right in Vancouver,” you say. “I was adopted. My family is white.”
    “Oh,” he says. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulls you close and kisses your