Anywhere but Paradise Read Online Free

“Sorry,” I whisper.
    “Remember to smile,” says Mrs. Halani.
    I picture myself onstage at the Gladiola Rec Center. I am the wind.
    My elbow pokes the girl’s ear. “Sorry, again.”
    The song ends and the girl rubs her shoulder. “Make that sorry times three,” I say.
    “You’ll catch on,” she says.
    “Peggy Sue,” says Mrs. Halani. “Let’s focus on your footwork the next time through. We’ll get to the hands later.”
    Practice. All I need to do is practice.
    All day every day.
    Like an Olympian.
    After class, Mrs. Halani lets me post one of my flyers in her studio. “Saving for something special?” she asks.
    “Just summer extras,” I say. I keep it short, hoping she won’t ask me anything else.
    “You’re very smart,” she says. “It’s always good to put a little aside.”
    Older girls prance in for the next class and I scoot out. I plaster the neighborhood with a dozen ads. The sky is still dark up by the mountain range, but here by the water, it’s only partly cloudy.

Washed Out
    “I MIGHT NOT BE UP for a trip to the store for your sewing supplies after all,” says Mama when I return from posting my window-washing ads. She’s still on the couch. Her sunglasses perch atop her head and her eyes read tired.
    “I can go by myself,” I say. The store is a fifteen-minute walk away. “Mrs. Barsdale recommended Fujimoto’s Five-and-Dime, and I know exactly where it is.”
    “That might be for the best,” says Mama. “Take my wallet and an umbrella. It’s been threatening all day.”
    I risk it and leave the umbrella. The sun flickers behind clouds as I retrace my route to school, cut across the practice fields, and skip over to Kealoha Drive. The main business section is one long block with a few side streets. Fujimoto’s Five-and-Dime is at the end. The sky grows darker and heavier.
    On this side of the street, the stores stand alone. I walk close in, avoiding cars parked almost to their doors. Seascapes on easels front the art gallery window. Pink coral earrings, strands of pearls, and bracelets of jade rest on black velvet at the jewelry store. A fat drop of water lands on my shoulder, another on my shoe. The five-and-dime closes soon and I want to get back in case it pours.
    I’m in and out in fifteen.
    I stand under the store’s entryway and watch the raindrops fall closer together. I stuff my bag of purchases under my blouse and lunge into the drippy wet. By the time I charge across the fields at school, the rain is steady. Mud splatters up the back of my legs with each step. My shoes are in soggy ruin.
    I bet it’s raining at the quarantine station, too. Howdy doesn’t take to stormy weather. As soon as rain comes, he slinks under a bed or behind a chair. I hope his kennel doesn’t leak. I hope tonight his bench will do.

    We eat supper as soon as I finish showering.
    And I tell my parents all about my new business.
    “You’ll be flooded with calls,” says Daddy.
    I hope. But the phone hasn’t rung yet.
    “Mama, did I miss any while I was out?”
    “No,” she says, rubbing her temples. “Not a one.”
    After dessert, I stack the plates on the counter and reach for the receiver on the wall phone across the teeny kitchen. Maybe the line is dead. But before the phone reaches my ear, I hear the monotone. Quicker than quick, I return it to its cradle so callers won’t get a busy signal and give up.
    Of course. The rain. The rain washed all of my words away.

Ocean or Train?
    IT’S STILL DARK.
    Dawn won’t come for hours.
    Slowly, I stretch my legs so as not to disturb my cat.
    Then I remember: Howdy’s not there.
    I shiver in the coolness, pull up my covers, hug my pillow, and listen.
    In the stillness, I hear shushing sounds like the soft inhale and the louder, stronger exhale of the trains that pass through Gladiola while we sleep.
    But this isn’t Gladiola. This isn’t a train.
    It’s the ocean.
    If it weren’t for other houses and trees, I could see the big