I close the door on my way out of the house at the same time Briar backs into our driveway, her jeep gleaming in the summer sun.
"You guys ready?" She asks cheerfully, leaning out of the driver's seat window.
"Where's Mom and Lily?" I inquire, scanning the empty driveway.
"They're not coming, so we've got the house to ourselves this summer," Ira chimes in as she's about to slide in the front seat but Aki grabs her by the waist and puts her in the back. She protests, but he kisses her and whispers something in her ear that causes her to settle in. Just like we talked about.
So, it really was just me and Briar this summer. Sweet.
"You're not gonna help us with these bags?" I ask Ira, gesturing to the luggage still sitting in the doorway.
"Toughen up, Romeo. Do it yourself," my bully retorts.
"Romeo's very tough," Briar defends, her voice playful as she looks over at me. "Isn't that right, O'Brian?"
"Right," I nod, grinning back at her.
"Love the fit, by the way," she adds, giving me a nod of
approval.
I smile to myself, slinging my Spiderman duffel bag over my shoulder before lifting two heavy suitcases to the car. Aki worked hard to pick the best outfits out of my wardrobe. I'm wearing a baby blue dress shirt, 'with the top buttons loose' as emphasised by Aki, paired with navy blue cotton shorts and white sneakers. It's odd, they're my clothes but I've never felt so cool rocking them until now.
Aki joins me, grabbing the remaining bags. Together, we manage to fit them all into the trunk. As I move to shut it, Aki stops me and opens one of my suitcases.
"I thought I told you to ditch the books?" He raises an eyebrow at my packed collection.
"I'll ditch my books when you ditch those worn-out sneakers."
He chuckles, "Fair enough, little man."
I glare at him and walk around the car, sliding into the front seat beside Briar. I glance over at her, and as if she felt me looking, she meets my eyes. Here between us lies a connection that, to me, has always felt deeper than words could ever describe.
"What?" She asks, her smile warm and inviting.
"Nothing."
"Don't worry, Ro. You're in safe hands," she reassures me, her voice carrying a hint of playfulness and sincerity.
With that, Briar turns the radio dial and pulls out onto the street. The drive to the beach house typically takes about 90 minutes and even though we're running late, we still could've easily made it there before sunset, had it not been tradition for us to stop at Pizza Man Doc on the way.
It's not long before we're on the highway, passing coconut vendors lined up along the side of the road in battered pickup trucks. The beds are piled high with green
coconuts, and the ground around them is a mess. Husks, shells, sticky puddles
of coconut water, flies buzzing around as if they're waiting in line. The men selling them are dressed in whatever they could find—faded T-shirts, flipflops, some bareback and barefooted—looking more like drifters than businessmen. No uniforms, no signs, no menus. Just machetes, coolers, and a hustle.
I've never quite understood it. They're not allowed to sell on the beach—too messy, to wild—but somehow, they've claimed this stretch of road, right in front of the city's busiest mall, like it's theirs. And no one really stops them. Tourists love it.
They hang around in sandals and tank tops, drinking straight from coconuts with
plastic straws, grinning like they've discovered something real. I think of New York. People would lose it. Sidewalks blocked, traffic at a standstill, strange men swinging machetes in broad daylight. But here? It works.
This is the island. Loud, raw, unfiltered. Vendors shouting over each other, blades
cracking through shell after shell, music blasting from the windows of cars pulling over to make a purchase. It's chaos. It's ridiculous. But it's alive. I don't live everywhere on the island, but the whole place feels like a home. Nothing ever feels out of place.
As the busy city fades behind us, the world starts to quiet down. I hum along to Dark Paradise playing through the speakers, the soft beat filling the silence. Briar glances over at me, a smile playing on her lips.
"You know Lana?" she asks, genuine surprise in her voice.
"Of course," I say with a grin. "Who doesn't?"
Not like I had a choice. Her and my sister play Lana all day, and our walls are basically paper. I hear everything.
"Maybe there's hope for men after all." Her smile widens as she shifts her attention
back to the road.
"If you were a Lana song," she says suddenly, glancing at me, "you'd be Cinnamon Girl."
I was already smiling before she even finished speaking—just because she was talking to me. It's kind of embarrassing, honestly. I try to hide it, but whenever she walks into a room, looks at me, says anything at all... the smile just shows up on its own. Like my face doesn't get a say. sometimes.
Then her words actually sink in, and I laugh—genuinely. It's so random, but then again, so is Briar. You never quite know what she's going to do or say.
I consider her choice for a moment, the lyrics floating through my mind. "I don't know how I should take that," I say with a crooked smile. "Isn't that song about someone begging their love not to hurt them? Kinda sad, no?"
"That's true," she nods, thoughtful. "The lyrics tell one story. I don't care about the story. The melody—that's what matters. The feeling. The vibe of the song is just... you."
"Oh, so you're a melody person."
"Yes, proudly," she says without hesitation. "And I'm guessing you're a lyrics man?"
I nod.
"So American of you," she teases.
"Ha Ha," I chuckle dryly, her words a reminder that yeah—I am American. It's easy to forget sometimes. I feel like someone else here. Like I've been given a second draft of myself.
I wasn't a little kid when we moved, not really, but I was quiet. Shy. Fresh off a diagnosis I didn't fully understand yet. Everything back then felt overwhelming. Too loud, too fast, too unfamiliar. I kept to myself. Watched more than I spoke.
But over time, this island pulled me out of that. Slowly. The water helped—first swimming, then surfing, sailing. All of it teaching me things I never thought I could learn. Strength. Focus. Rhythm. How to move through the world with just a little more confidence.
I'm still learning, still figuring things out like how to be cool. But I try now. I speak up. I take chances. I'm not the same person I was when I got here.
"So," I ask, curious now, "what exactly is the vibe of Cinnamon Girl?"
"Gentle," she says, thinking out loud. "Sweet. Sensitive. Soft. Comforting and inviting." She pauses, then adds with a quiet smile, "It's my favorite Lana song."
I nod, listening closely, letting her words paint the feeling in my mind. "That's a beautiful way to put it."
Her gaze flicks to mine, just for a second, then back to the road. "Okay, your turn," she says. "What Lana song am I?"
I don't hesitate. "'Wild One was written about you."
Her eyebrows rise, interest instantly caught. "Okay, I'm
intrigued. And not just at the fact that you know her unreleased songs," She teases, her voice playful. "Why that one?"
I lean back in my seat, eyes on the horizon. "I'm wild, I'm free. No man can handle me. I write, I sing. Freedom's my love, God is my king. I'm a wild one, I'm a wild one."
My voice is soft, almost reverent. When I turn my head, she's already looking at me—with a quiet kind of wonder. Her expression is somewhere between surprise and admiration.
For a moment, I forget where we are. I forget my sister and her boyfriend are in the backseat, probably listening in. But it doesn't matter to me. Right now, nothing matters but her.
"You're a really special guy, Romeo. Somehow, you've grown up on me," she says, ruffling my hair before settling her eyes back on the road.
Warmth rises in my chest, but it's quickly followed by a disappointment. She says it like I'm a little brother—someone she's proud of, someone she cares about, but not that way. Not like I want her to. Her words me that trying to get on level playground with her won't be easy.
Apart from Lana's voice filling the car, we drive in comfortable silence all the way to the pizza place. Usually we'd eat inside, bonding over greasy slices and cheap soda, but ever since the accident but ever since the accident four months ago, Briar hasn't been the same at night. Driving after darks makes her nervous—it's unspoken, but we all know. It's one of those silent agreements. Since Briar's in the car and the sun is low, we're taking the pizza to go.
"Let's go get the pizza," Aki says, leaning over my seat.
I give him a sceptical look. I'd been hoping he and Ira would go so I could have a few minutes alone with Briar.
Before I can protest, he's already opening the door. "Come on," he says over his shoulder.
I sigh under my breath and step out of the jeep. Aki's has that look, like he's about to lecture me on something.
"Don't forget the breadsticks," Ira calls after us, already sliding into the front seat like she's been dying to all along. My annoyance grows.
"We got it," Aki and I say in unison. It's a ritual, automatic by now.
I walk next to Aki as we head inside the pizza joint. I follow him into the line, but before I can settle in, he slaps the back of my head and tells me to go wait in the booth.
I don't argue. I drift toward the back, finding an empty booth in the corner. The air inside is warm and so thick with the smell of melted cheese, it almost makes me nauseous. I sink into the seat, and without meaning to, my eyes start tracing the walls, tables, and floor.
Memories hit me all at once. My mom and dad sitting across from each other, actually together. Will and I standing at the counter, fumbling through the order, trying to sound grown up. Trying to be brave.
I don't feel very brave lately.
As I wait for Aki, my thoughts drift to the sailing trip. The one everyone keeps congratulating me on. The one I thought I was ready for but the closer it gets, the more it scares the hell out of me.
I don't have much longer to sit with the feeling. Aki returns, wearing a too-serious expression that's almost comical, like a kid trying to play adult. He slides into the booth across from me.
"Bro, let me ask you a question," he says, folding his arms. A father scolding his son.
I brace myself. "Go for it. I'm open to constructive criticism."
He drops his head onto the table with a dramatic groan. "Kill me now."
"What?" I ask, confused and slightly amused.
He lifts his head and shoots me a flat look. "Stop talking like that, smart ass. You want her to think you're cool, right?"
"That would be correct."
He stares at me in disbelief. "Just say yes, bro. Say yes like a normal human being."
I fold my arms. "Get to the point."
"On a scale of one to ten—one being the absolute lowest—how would you rank reciting Lana Del Rey lyrics to the girl you like on the list of 'cool things you can say to a girl'?" Aki asks, dead serious.
I take a second to think. "Probably a solid eight?"
He blinks at me, stunned. "An eight? Do you want to rethink that?"
"Eight point five?"
"No!" He sighs, "Bro, listen. You want her to think you're fun, right? Like capable of handling casual. She won't go for a guy who acts like a 'Cinnamon Girl'," he says it in this mocking, delicate tone that makes me want to disappear. They were listening.
"Okay, I get your point. So, what do you suggest?"
"Just do what I say from now on, okay?" Aki says firmly. "Follow my lead."
"Sir, yes sir."
"Order two-eighty-seven!" the pizza guy calls.
We grab our food and head out. Aki wedges the door open with his foot and gestures for me to go first. We stride across the lot toward the jeep.
"So, what's the first order of business, commander?" I ask, taking a bite out of a breadstick.
"We have to show her that you're not a little kid anymore," Aki says.
"Uh huh, I'm listening."
"We have to portray you in a way that no one would ever portray a little kid. I'm saying we completely destroy the old image she has of you, so that she'll have no other choice but to see you as one of the guys now."
"Alright," I say slowly. "And how exactly do we do that?"
He turns to me. "Sex."
I double over, choking on a breadstick. I cough and cough
until finally the word I've been trying to say falls out of my mouth, "What?"
Aki claps me on the back, completely unfazed by me almost
dying. "We are going to sexualize you, O'Brian."