Surf pounded softly at her ankles and the sun beat warmly against her back, but it did nothing to improve her mood. Hot sand squished between her toes and left deep footprints behind her in the sand. She stared intently at the boardwalk a little bit in front of her and hoisted her surfboard up a little so she’d have a better grip. For a whole day surfing in Oahu she was none the happier; her face was shadowed and her eyes fell down to the ground, studying the various sandcastles and beach towels.

"’Leu!"

She heard her name and swung around to see who had called, bleached, white-blonde hair flipped out behind her in a wet and sloppy ponytail. She noticed one of her friends, Kei, still in the water and waving.

"’Leu! Come back in! Where ya goin’?"

She raised a hand to block the sun out of her eyes and smiled. She’d already been out surfing all day and she knew her brother wouldn’t be happy. She waved back to him and, regretfully, told him she couldn’t stay.

"Sorry, Kei! Kekipi’s got work today, you know he’s going to blow it already!"

Kei nodded and dove into the surf again, his carefree laugh disappearing among the chatter of the other beachgoers. ‘Eleu’s smile melted into her subconscious grimace, something she didn’t even know she did. She watched as he swam off to join his other friends and then turned back and hurried up the rough wooden slabs that served as stairs to their little beach complex, Pauo'le, meaning Never Ending.

And it was true. Shack-like little shanties scattered the boardwalk, and her home was one among the many. But, home it was, and she set off, wet, dripping and barefoot across the endless black cement, her feet tingling slightly. It wasn’t something she wasn’t used to.

When she got to 4807a and b, her own modest, not half bad apartment building she stumbled up the outdoor concrete stairs and onto the small porch like platform and set her still-wet surfboard on the rack made cleverly out of driftwood. She pushed a few wet, cropped bangs out of her eyes and shoved her key into the lock. It got stuck and she cursed, slamming her weight against the door so that it’d open.

Through the blinds she saw Kekipi, her the youngest and more easygoing of her older brothers. He thumped down from the attic, their second floor, as the one below was rented to someone else, and opened the door with a small click.

"Whoa! Don’t have a field day, I got you!"

He ruffled the hair on the top of her head and pulled her ponytail.

"I got to go to work at the Drive-In, Ku'uaki’s got somewhere to go too, watch out for yourself, okay?"

She nodded and waved him off, halfway inside the door. But he stopped halfway down, only his head still in sight.

"Oh, and watch out for Ku'uaki, okay? He’s a little grumpy…"

She groaned and slammed her head against the doorframe.

"…But don’t be too hard on yourself, you know he wouldn’t KILL you, just injure you badly. Don’t get on his nerves, whatever you do. He’s been real touchy lately."

She sighed and waved him out of sight again. Then, pulling up her halter top bikini, she walked inside, her eyes immediately having to adjust to the dark apartment. It was modest, sure, but it suited them all fine. Looking around for Ku'uaki, she ignored the spilled food, blankets folded sloppily on the couch, the broken shade on one of the windows. Even with three other guys, it was hers.

The third guy was, of course, her dad, Michael Donahue. He was a true, continental American, he’d grown up in New York with rich parents. But what had he run away for? A sloppy beach shack, three less than sophisticated kids? A drippy faucet? She knew the answer, and she told herself over and over that he still stayed for it. Her mother.

‘But she’s dead’, she told herself as she looked around warily. There wasn’t much to hide in. She wiped her wet hands on her butt, rolling back down her nylon Nike shorts because she knew her brother would care. Unlike her father, he cared if she turned out to be something or not.

Her father, of course, was asleep on the sofa, clutching the beer bottle to his chest, as if it were the Bible of his life. And truly, it was. Ever since her mother’s death in a car crash, her dad had never really been there. But she knew some day he’d wake up. Someday.

He’d come for her mother and he’d stayed for the beer. And the waves. Not the children.

Like many in Hawaii, she was not really Hawaiian, just the offspring of a tourist raptured by the local scenery. And now that the scenery for her father was the tv and the label on a beer bottle, there wasn’t much left for any of them. Except for her.

Despite it all, she’d made friends, taken up surfing, gotten a tan. Her life was finally beginning to make sense. Kekiki had gotten a job, so had Ku'uaki. There was income again. She did well in school -- most of the time -- and she was fairly happy. A promising surfer, smart kid, alone in Oahu. What else in the world could matter? But she was so wrong.

"Ku'uaki?"

Emerging into their attic, which was not much like an attic, actually, she looked around her and her brother’s large bedroom for Ku'uaki. It was square, with beaten hardwood floors and a ceiling sloped towards the center. But windows were plentiful, they were the kind right against the floor, where the walls were still flat. Most attics in the complex weren’t this nice, but they’d been fixing it up over time. Sure, there were air conditioning units in the corner, and part of it wasn’t even floored, but it was still bright and scattered with teenage belongings.

"Ku'uaki? You there?"

He was there. He came out of the small room they’d built, the bathroom/dressing room, tightening his tie. He cast a disgruntled look into the mirror and walked over to her, still paused at the top of the stairs.

"Hey bud, you look good. Where you goin’?"

"None of your business, ‘Leu."

Her eyes widened with curiosity. "Really?"

"You should’ve been home earlier. You have to look after dad."

She looked down at her feet.

"Move," he grunted, finally satisfied with his tie.

She smiled and replied playfully, "Not until you tell me."

But he wasn’t intending to tell her. "I said MOVE!"

He shoved her in the chest and she tumbled down the stairs, her head hitting painfully on each step. She finally crumpled at the bottom, her legs still sprawled across the lower steps. There was a shallow cut on one side of her forehead, and blood trickled from it. At the top of the stairs, Ku'uaki did not even look twice. As ‘Eleu rose weakly, her weight on her elbows, he walked down and past her.

"I told you to move."

He slammed the door after him and a picture frame of their family, their mother included, fell off the wall. And ever since her death, this was what it had been like. Ku'uaki, conservative and guardian-like, yet seldom moody, arrogant and violent. Kekipi, Hawaiian for rebel, funny, clever, and happy. Her father, drunk and murmoring. ‘Eleu, she didn’t know what she was like. She had a private family life and a public life, and she definitely preferred her public life.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead, checking for sore spots. When she withdrew her hand, she saw blood, and it startled her. As if responding to her, her father grunted and repositioned himself.

With another deep breath, she pulled herself to her feet and grabbed a paper towel. She turned on the water and set the paper towel under it to soak. She wiped the wet hand on her butt again and turned around to get an icepack from the freezer. But something happened, and with a flash off blue light, she disappeared.