Ethan: Stop complaining. I’ll be spending my summer with my cranky grandma.

    I smile at my cell phone. I was lucky. I mean… Hawaii? Most people don’t go their in their entire lifetime, and I’ll be spending my summer there. It was… kind of incredible, actually.

Me: Okay, so yea. I shouldn’t complain. But you’re not the one that has to spend hours packing clothes for the whole summer.

Ethan: It would really suck if you forgot something. Lol… you’re in the middle of the plane ride and you realize you forgot your toothbrush.

Me: Well, that’s not a huge deal. I could always just get one there.

Ethan: What if you forgot your phone?

Me: That wouldn’t happen.

Ethan: It could???

Me: I’m going to bring it on the plane, so, no, it couldn’t happen.

Ethan: You know you’re not supposed to text on plane rides…

Me: I know. I mean like playing games n stuff.

Ethan: You sound like you’re eleven.

Me: Okay, can you think of anything that’s NOT a game that doesn’t require wifi?

Ethan: There’s this thing called data…

Me: I have an old phone.

    The little bubble in the corner pops up when someone is texting. I eagerly await his response. I still remember when we were little, just in third grade, and we first met. I hated him, but he went starry-eyed for me. Somewhere along the line there we became friends, and he overcame his crush on me.

    Fwoop, alerts my phone, and I scurry over to it.

Ethan: You remember your bucket list?

Me: You’re a lifesaver.

    The summer bucket list. The moment after I learned we were going to be spending the summer in Hawaii, the place I had been wanting to go ever since I was a little girl, I made a bucket list, specifically for Hawaii.

    I dig through my closet, throwing aside old clothes and spare papers, until I place my hands on the single-most thing I would be looking forward to this Summer. It’s not like I get much freedom, anyways, with a mom that doesn’t really seem to care about anyone but dumb Carson.

The Bucket List:

1. Go snorkeling.

2. Host a luau.

3. Go swimming in the Pacific.

4. Go swimming with a dolphin.

5. Eat a mountain apple.

    I read it over once more. Holding the sheet of crumpled paper with a tear split down the middle feels like home in a weird way. It’s not much, but it’s a lot.

    “Holls?” calls a familiar voice from downstairs. It doesn’t sound sweet, like chewing on a sugar-coated rock. I text Ethan goodbye and leave for downstairs, shoving the paper into my suitcase.

    The table is set spectacularly. Candles, giving off a low level of light, flit up and down, catching the light off the corners of cabinets and mom’s sequined shirt. A gravy-covered turkey, golden-colored skin bumpy and shiny, sits in the center of the table, steamed broccoli and carrots surrounding the meat. It’s my favorite food.

    Something must be wrong.

    I try not to sweat it. It’s a nice dinner. Like people can’t do that every once in a while?

    I feel the fabric around near my armpits stick to my skin.

    A nice dinner, Holly. That’s all it is.

    “Hey, sweety. We made your favorite dinner for you!” mom says, grin splitting open her face. Yep, something was definitely off.

    I squeeze my lips tight together and sit down, hesitating before speaking. “Er… thank you.” My voice is strained.

    My father sits down across from my mom, giving her a nervous grin. Carson has an evil smirk on his face. Oh, what did he do this time?

    The candles flicker once more as dad tears a leg off the turkey, handing it to me first. Mom’s mouth opens in protest but quickly shuts it. My stomach starts to twist itself in knots.

    “Sweetie… er… what’s wrong?” Mom’s voice is obviously forced with a death glare from dad.

    I don’t answer but instead push the carrots and broccoli around on my plate. They leave a watery brown train.

    Suddenly, a different voice cuts into the silence. “Oh, don’t cut around the corner. Do you already know we’re not going to Hawaii?”

    I stop chewing the bite in my mouth. “WHAT?”

    Okay, so I don’t know what exactly I expected. But it wasn’t this. Even though mom gives up so much for Carson, I never expected her to get rid of plane tickets to Hawaii.

    Reading my expression, Mom says, “Oh, don’t worry. We sold them to a coworker to help pay for tickets to… South Africa!” She throws her arms in the air as if having a party. I scowl at her. This was the farthest thing from it.

    “I don’t care about South Africa, I care about… why would you guys lie to me?”

    “We only learned about it a few nights ago,” Dad’s voice comforts. He pats me on the shoulder. I swat his hand away.

    “Learned about what? That you like ruining summer vacations?”

    Mom sighs deeply, putting her face in her hands.

    Dad sets down his fork, with a loaded chunk of chicken breast on it, to speak. “Carson is afraid of flying overseas.”

    “Your point is? We’re flying overseas to go to South Africa!”

    “But… he’s afraid of flying over the… Pacific Sea?” Dad gives me an apologetic look. He’s always been a bit more on my side, but it does no good. Mom’s intimidating, and she’ll get her way even if she had three people against her, let alone one.

    Mom takes her face out of her hands. “It makes sense, alright?”

    I shake my head. “No, it doesn’t. Is this why I get a nice dinner? To cushion the blow?”

    Mom sighs out. “Can’t we do something nice every once in a while without-”

    “Is this to cushion the blow?!”

    Mom locks eye contact with me, chewing once, then answers. “Yes, it is. Alright? Happy?”

    “You’re asking me this?!” I stand up at the table. “You’re putting the blame on me for being - what - being angry that you canceled the trip I’ve been looking forward to since January?”

    “It’ll make sense when you’re a mother.”

    I sit down, mimicking mom’s haphazardly stance. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s a lost cause.”

    “Look sweet, I’m so-”

    “I don’t want to hear it.” I  breath out and forcefully shove a carrot into my mouth. It has way too much salt, but I force it down my throat anyway.

    I don’t even know why I try to fight it anymore. Mom will always love my little brother more than me - for whatever reasoning that is. Dad says it’s because Mom thinks that Carson looks like her, which he certainly doesn’t. Mom has curly, golden hair that goes down far enough that it just touches her shoulders and caramel-colored skin that gives her a summer-like glow and peachy lips that always seemed to be curved in a smile, except when she’s looking at me, that is. And Carson, well, Carson is pale, has straight, neatly-trimmed dirty blonde hair and brown eyes with slender, pink lips.

    The only resemblance I see are the way their eyes are shaped and positioned, which is slanted inward and too far apart.

    I swallow another bite. “So when are we leaving?” I ask in monotone.

    “Next week,” Mom answers sweetly. But it’s the kind of sugar that attracts ants.

    “Will we be back in time for the music festival?” asks Carson. I roll my eyes. He knows he will. Knowing him, he probably checked the flight schedules before he set the plan in motion. Plan: ruin Holly’s vacation.

    “You will, don’t worry Sweetcheeks,” Mom answers, putting her hand on Carson’s shoulder.

    I gag. Mom doesn’t pick up on it, but Dad does, and he shoots me a milk-curdling look. I shrink into my seat. Sometimes I feel like all I am is a nuisance here.

    Mom folds her napkin up. I want to rip it out of her hands and shove it in her face, chicken juice and oil rubbing all over her skin. “So on a brighter note,” says Mom, grinning brightly. “I got my promotion!”

    I scowl. I wonder how her coworkers stand her.

    “Really Cleo? That’s great!” Dad leans across the table to give mom a kiss. I doubt he’s actually happy, though. Well, he probably is. But Dad’s worked crazy hard - hard enough that he tends to forget about looking after us - at his job at a lawfirm, and he hasn’t gotten a promotion in years. However, he also hasn’t asked for one. But that’s just the way my dad rolls.

    I guess I should also be happy for my mom. But that’s kind of hard to do when you realize your mom’s thrown a ton of stuff to the side just to please her son - which in reality is displeasing her daughter. But I guess that kind of stuff doesn’t really matter when you’re someone like my mom.

    Now the question is: what’s going to happen with my bucket list? It’s not like I can eat a mountain apple in South Africa. I researched it. Mountain apples are specific to Hawaii. And now…

    Four words. My. Summer. Is. Ruined.

    I simply can’t believe it. I just… for weeks, weeks, I’ve been going to sleep with a knot in my stomach. But for good reasons. Reasons like: We’re getting closer! Reasons like: I’m so excited!

    Now I’ll be going to sleep with a knot in my stomach for reasons like I’m such an idiot. How did I expect this was going to turn out the way I wanted to, anyways?

    “Holly, are you even listening?” I look up. Mom points to the untouched food on my plate. “Carson’s already finished. And look at you… just… finish your food, alright? I worked hard to make that just for you.”

    “Give her a brake, Clee,” my Dad says. “She just learned she won’t be going to Hawaii.”

    Mom throws her fork down onto her plate with a clatter. “I made this meal just for her. She will eat it.” Mom claps her hands together in success. Mom, when angry, is not a pretty site. “Well. Now that that’s settled, eat your food.”

    I shove a piece of turkey into my mouth. It’s dry and tasteless, and the skin sticks to the roof of my mouth.

    Dad looks restless. His eyes dart between me and mom in quick successions, his jaw working overtime. I turn my gaze back down to my plate.

    This wasn’t right. And it wasn’t going to last much longer.

    I’d make sure of it.

I never thought I would find a depressing moment in my life that could top when farted in front of my crush. But I think I’ve found it.

    Unpacking is the worst. Taking out the clothes I packed just for Hawaii, the books on the life there, the travel notebooks I hopefully awaited to use… gone. I remove a shirt with the text Hawaii splattered on the front from my suitcase, staring at it for a minute, then finally setting it down next to my bed. I could put it in my closet later.

    Underneath the shirt is the bucket list. I lay my hand on it. I get that I overreacted - big time - about this dumb list. It’s just a bucket list and I could probably complete it some other time. Later.

    Maybe I should just toss it out. It’s not like I’m going to complete it in South Africa. Most of the stuff on it is specific to Hawaii.

    I lift it out of the suitcase, staring at it for a moment, then more moments, and then a few minutes. So long my eyes sting with water and so long my vision blurs into a mish-mash of color.

    I knock startles me at the door, so I wipe my watery eyes and set the bucket list back down in my suitcase.

    “Hey Holls,” says Dad, studying my eyes. He can probably tell how red they are. I self-consciously turn away from him.

    “What d’you need,” I mumble, lifting a shirt out of my suitcase and tossing it on the ground.

    “I just wanted to say I agree with you on how… dumb this is,” Dad says. I roll my eyes. Of course I believe him. Dad’s always sided with me on these types of things.

    “It’s not like it helps much if you don’t say anything. You’re like a doormat.”

    “I know that.”

    “Then why don’t you do anything?” I turn around to face my father.

    “Well…” Dad fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “I… I think it’s for the best.” I’ve already heard enough, but I don’t interrupt. “You’re mother, as you know, sides with Carson a lot.”

    “You don’t need to tell me that. She practically writes it on her forehead.”

    Dad ignores my comment. “Once we land in South Africa she might realize she’s made a mistake. She wanted to go to Hawaii just as much as you did, you know.”

    I laugh, but it’s more like a mocking cackle. “You’re kidding me, right?”

    “No. She… she was really looking forward to it and I know she was super crushed when Carson told her his reason.”

    Sometimes I think Dad is like a mindless drone. “Okay, whatever. Does she have a snowglobe of Hawaii? Tell me that.”

    Dad sighs. “Also, Johannesburg costs a lot less than going to Hawaii would.”

    “You still lost money off selling the tickets.”

    “Not really. Well, we sold them for less than we bought them, but even with that, we had enough money to buy tickets to South Africa.”

    I turn back around and fold a disheveled shirt. “What’s you’re point?”

    “I’m saying that yes, it’s ridiculous that we canceled our trip to Hawaii. I agree with that. But it might help fix some things. Plus, it’s still a vacation. It’ll still be fun.”

    I scowl, chucking the newly folded shirt back into my bag. “I highly doubt that.”

    “Can you stop staring at that peanut butter sandwich and eat it already?” Ethan laughs, nudging my shoulder with his elbow.

    I roll my eyes, looking around at my table. All eyes are on me. “What? I’m sorry. I’m just kind of distracted.”

    Syla rolls her eyes. “We know. Trust me. Did you see yourself? You were staring at that for like… a whole five minutes.” She’s absolutely gorgeous. Syla’s the most popular girl at our school, and she certainly looks like it. With soft, long brown hair and deep, coffee bean eyes, any girl would give anything to look like her. Her pale face radiates a light pink blush on her soft cheekbones.

    I don’t laugh, but turn down to stare at the sandwich I hold between two hands. They press down hard on the doughy bread, leaving a thumbprint in the flesh. “How much time is left?” I ask, voice dull.

    Ollie shakes her head. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

    “Seriously, how much time is left of lunch? I’m fine. Trust me.”

    Ethan shakes his head. “Okay, you’re not even laughing. Tell me or I’ll eat that sandwich for you.”

    Syla’s lips curve to a smile. “I wouldn’t eat it if I were you. Do you see that thing? It’s practically flat!” I squeeze the sandwich harder. “Stop killing it!” Syla squeals, jumping up. The whole lunchroom turns around to face us, except for the table in the back who couldn’t really give a crap.

    Syla sits down, blushing. “Oops,” she whispers to our table. I reluctantly crack a smile.

    “Aha! We got ‘er!” Yells Ollie, jumping up. Her short black hair flops with her.

    I roll my eyes and set the sandwich down. “Fine. You guys win. I - I won’t be going to Hawaii.”

    My table is silent, and it feels like the lunchroom is as well.

    “You - you what?” Ethan says, stammering. He puts a hand on my forearm in comfort.

    “That’s terrible!” squeals Syla. “Who did it? My bets on Cleo.”

    “Close.” I shrug. “Carson convinced her. Some dumb complaint that ‘he doesn’t like flying across the Pacific Ocean.’”

    “What? That makes no sense. Like whatsoever,” says Ollie, flicking her wrist.

    I nod. “I know. It’s like Carson could tell her that he doesn’t like flying because he heard a rumor that unicorns have been found on the planes and mom would still cancel it.”

    “So does that mean I’m not getting my souvenir?” asks Syla, pouting a lower lip. After I told her where I would be spending my summer a few weeks ago, the first thing she asked for was a souvenir.

    I roll my eyes. “Yes, no souvenir, Syls.”

    “That’s… ugh, I feels so bad. When’d you find out?”

    Syla playfully slaps Ethan’s shoulder. “Did she act like this yesterday, you dumbass? When do you think she found out?”

    I shoot Syla a warning glare. She shrinks in her seat. “Sorry.”

    “Yes,” I raise my voice above the lunchroom buzz. “I found out yesterday. Dinner. They set this exuberant meal for me so I just knew something was off.”

    Syla laughs. “If my family was like that I’d think something was off, too.”

    I shrug my shoulders. The peanut butter sandwich is slowly inflating back again. Ethan touches the sandwich with his pointer finger. “So… you still gonna eat that?”

    I push it towards him. “Whatever. You can have it.”

    “Sweet.” He indulges in a big bite of the dry, sticky lunch.

    Ollie laughs. “You’ll have fun. I promise.”

    “And I promise to text you!” Syla peeps up.

    I shrug. “Thanks… I guess,” I say, snapping a carrot in half on putting one of the halves in my mouth. It’s from last night, and I can still taste the watery broth and the over-salted root.

    “You should still get me a souvenir anyway,” says Syla, leaning across the table to pluck a carrot from my bag. She inspects it for a second before shoving it - whole - in her mouth. “I must say, I do love me a good souvenir. And so do my two thousand instagram followers.”

    I’ve been staring at my phone for a few minutes now.

    It’s at nothing in particular. Just a picture of some Teenager Post that I saved when I was twelve or eleven and thought it was ‘relatable’. It’s pink background and black text blurs together into a soup of neon. I can make out the individual pixels on the screen if I focus hard enough.

    “Ow!” I shriek as one of my ears pop. Passenger to my right give me a cold look and I turn away. Carson elbows me in the side. “What was that for?”

    “For saying ow really loudly. You do realize it’s one in the morning and people are trying to sleep, right?”

    I nod. “Of course I realize that.” When I look out the plane window, white, spidery clouds float like dog dandruff in the night. The moon’s glow is orange and hazelnutty.

    “Then why aren’t you sleeping?” Carson questions, narrowing his blue eyes.

    “Because I don’t want to. That enough of an excuse for you?” My voice sharpens. A lady a couple aisles back whispers shh!

    “Just… be quiet, alright?” Carson says, shutting his eyes.

    “Fine.” But Carson’s breathing has already slowed and evened and I know he’s asleep. I turn off my phone and set it in my back pocket, shutting my eyes as well. But every once in a while I feel a familiar pop! in my ear and have to force my mouth shut. Even when I try to sleep my mind wanders to thinking I’m going to Hawaii, and I have to remind myself I’m not, which, might I say, is the worst.

    I shift to my side. Count sheep. Count sheep. I imagine bunches of sheep appearing in the aisles of the plane, but my brain goes off track and all of a sudden the number of sheep are suffocating, their curly, transparent hairs invading my nose and mouth, their damp lips and yellow teeth gnawing on my shirt - the shirt I thought I would be wearing to Hawaii - and I force my eyes open, breathing heavily.

    Goddamnit brain.

    Okay, something different. Puppies. Puppies are cute.

    So are sheep.

    Okay, I’m picking out a puppy. Spots or no spots. Spots. Okay, never mind, this is boring.

    I open my eyes in resignation and pull my phone out of my back pocket, flipping it on again and entering in the passcode to see a familiar blur of pink and black.

    “Holly, wake up.” A set of cold hands is on my forearm, and my eyes flicker open to see Carson standing by my side, my parents watching me with worried eyes.

    “What? I’m fine. What’s going on?”

    “We’ve landed,” says mom. I can barely see her through the wall of bodies leaving down the plane aisle.

    I nod absentmindedly. My phone sits blank in my lap. When I press the on button, it flashes an out of battery screen and then blinks out. When I press it again, mom snaps.

    “C’mon, let’s go. We don’t have all day, here.”

    We don’t have all day. But we do have all summer.

Ethan: So how are things going in the South? ;)

    I giggle, my thumbs flying across the screen. I sit in my room in the apartment, Carson sitting on his double bed across from me as I sit in my twin. After we unpacked, I realized I’d be sharing my room with Carson, which, as you can imagine, I was not too thrilled about. And then Carson practically took over the room with his posters of famous cello artists and lego sets and left me a tiny space in the corner. This is the first time in three days I’ve actually had some downtime apart from when me and Carson are bickering.

    “What’s so funny?” questions Carson, sitting on the bed. He’s paused his gameboy for the short moments he’s looked up at me.

    “Nothing, just a text,” I respond nonchalantly and turn back to my phone.

    “Is it perhaps from Ethan?” Carson asks, a smirk set on his face.

    “Why do you ask?”

    “That’s not important. Is it?”

    I nod, amazed at how he figured it out. I turn back to my phone, continuing to type my message.

    “Aren’t you going to ask me how I knew?” asks Carson.

    “No, because it’s most likely a trap.”

    “You know me too well.”

    “I really do.”

Me: Fine. What’s the winky face for, haha? Somehow Carson knew that you were texting me. Have anything you’d like to tell me about? ;)

    I smile at the text, taking cautions not to giggle like last time. The bubble in the corner that implicates he is typing goes on for a few minutes.

Me: Er… you still there?

Ethan: Never mind your brother that’s really weird I don’t know anything at all. Why’d he ask. What’d you tell him? And yes, I am still here, hence this message.

    I cock an eyebrow.

Me: Alright then… that was actually supposed to be a joke haha

Ethan: Oh. Er…

Me: Haha it’s fine. Carson has to share a room with me. Wanna trade now?

Ethan: Haha no I think I’d rather be here with my cranky grandma. Speaking of, the other day she yelled at me for checking my facebook twice is one day. “One time is one thing, but two times? What’s even the point? Get off the computer you lousy youngster!”

Me: You’re grandma is awesome. And did you add that last segment there ‘you lousy youngster’.

Ethan: You have figured out my deepest secret.

Me: Hmm… should I resort to blackmail of this secret of yours so we can trade places?

Ethan: Hmm… I don’t think so. I gotta go. Gram wants me to get off my phone, ‘you lousy youngster’.

Me: Alright then, lousy youngster.

    I flip off my phone, grin on my face. With Ethan texting me, and hopefully Syla and Ollie and some of my other friends, this vacation might not be too bad. As long as I’m not spending it alone, I think I’ll be fine.

    But these walls are yellowing and cracking and the paintings that are pinned to them have punctures, so I might need more than some texting company to keep my mind off this creepy house.

    Carson’s phone makes a fwoop sound next to him, and he reads it for a second, grinning. Then he turns over to me and with a solid expression says, “You’re quite the lousy youngster, aren’t you?” I open my mouth to speak, but before I can, he leaves the room, taking his phone with him.

    I stare at the place he sat before. Something was definitely off.