Give It a Week and You Won't Recognize Us
May 21, 2016.
Hawaii, Oahu — Honolulu, Kahuku CDP — Kahuku High School.
Yesterday had been graduation day at Kahuku High.
And before that, the semester had already ended.
American high schools typically take a long summer break from May through August, which meant the campus was nearly deserted right now.
I took a slow look around the quiet schoolyard.
Mom had come with me to my new place.
"You're seriously staying here?"
"Yep."
The truth was, Kahuku High had no dormitories. Students who lived far away boarded in share houses around the area.
But I'd wanted a place on school grounds.
The reason, as I'd said, was to save time. To me, even ten minutes was too precious to waste.
So the school had put up temporary housing just for me — a small prefab cabin known as the Hei Kilo.
I was satisfied with it. Mom, not so much. She looked a little shaken, honestly.
"Are you really going to be okay here?"
"It's plenty clean, Mom."
"Hoo–"
I wrapped my sighing mother in a hug and told her not to worry.
Of course, I knew she wasn't going to listen.
"There's a bed, and a place to shower."
"There's no bathroom, and there's no couch."
"The bathroom's right outside. Well, okay, no couch."
"I wasn't expecting much, but this is still too much to ask of you."
"I'm telling you, it's really fine, Mom. I'll be just fine."
The bathroom had been installed separately, outside the cabin — you just stepped out the door and walked around to the back.
As for the couch, I would've loved one, but there was simply no room for it. A bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a chest of drawers — those four pieces alone nearly filled the whole cabin.
So my plan was to lay a rug across the floor and set a modest table on top of it.
"We're going shopping right now. I'm not leaving until it's done."
"I can buy it myself, Mom."
"No. Let your mother handle at least this much."
When Mom got like this, there was no beating her. Looked like we'd be going shopping together later.
Just then, Dad arrived, having finished the enrollment paperwork.
"Not bad at all."
"Are you serious right now? You call this not bad?"
"Looks about perfect for a boy living on his own, doesn't it?"
"Oh, my word."
I bumped fists with my grinning father, while Mom shook her head like she had a headache coming on.
I told them both to stop sulking already.
Before long, we stepped outside the cabin. The head coach was waiting nearby, and he seemed just as concerned about Mom's expression as she was.
"I know it may not be to your liking, but we did our absolute best. We'll keep a close eye on things to make sure Moi is comfortable. All the way through graduation, I promise you."
Then the coach asked about our plans for the day, and said that if we were free, he'd love to have us over to his house.
So I asked him right back:
"Would you really be okay with that, Coach?"
"Hm? What do you mean?"
"Well, actually… my whole family came."
"I'm sorry — what?"
For the first time in twenty years since starting his business, my father had taken two full days off. He'd told the rest of the family to relax and enjoy themselves, but everyone insisted on coming to Kahuku with us.
They were all standing right where I was pointing now.
The coach turned to look — and visibly flinched.
"Oh, dear. I'd better warn my wife."
"Really? You don't have to push yourselves."
"Nonsense. We'll manage. Fortunately, we can host a crowd or two."
At the coach's words, I glanced back toward my parents. Dad gave a smiling nod.
"Then we'll gladly take you up on that, Coach."
"Gladly is right. I'll text you our address later. If we're feeding this many guests, I'll need an extra pair of hands in the kitchen."
"See you later, Coach."
"You bet. See you this evening."
The coach headed off first, and we started walking toward the rest of the family.
Aunt Mel sidled up beside me and promptly crossed her arms.
I knew this routine well by now.
"You're sure this is okay? It looked cramped."
"Yeah. I mean, staying at Grandma's and commuting with you would've been fun, no question — but once football starts, I won't always be able to keep to a schedule."
"I see. Well… you'll still come by on weekends, right?"
"Of course. I promise."
"Good. I'll let it slide this time."
Aunt Mel would be starting work here next semester, too.
Mark my words — she was going to make a wonderful teacher.
We headed to the nearest furniture store and picked out everything I needed. Once we'd settled on a delivery date, we waited at a nearby café for word from my homeroom teacher.
Big Uncle posed a question.
"When does training start?"
"Next Monday."
"So you're jumping right in."
"Yep. The freshmen are coming in too, and rebuilding a team takes time."
"…Moi."
"Yeah?"
"How do you know all that?"
Brandon — my cousin, a year younger — had me stumped for a second.
Because I'd gone and shown off for nothing, that's why.
But come to think of it, there was nothing to panic over. So I just smiled and told him the coach had filled me in. Brandon nodded, satisfied.
Then it was Mom's turn.
"Moi?"
"Yes, Mom."
"Never forget this. Wherever you are, you are our proud son, and family. Live honestly, and never compromise with what's wrong."
Honesty and courage. Those were the lessons I'd been raised on since I was small.
And they were the lessons I intended to live by from here on out, too.
Looking at my mother, who couldn't quite hide the worry in her eyes, I nodded back with the brightest smile I could manage.
"You're going to be proud of me, Mom. I guarantee it."
"Now that's a perfect answer."
"Yes. Trust me."
"I already do."
It was only in this second life that I'd finally gotten a real family.
From them, I'd learned what love was.
How to give it. How to receive it. How to share it.
And now, I was about to leave that family behind and stand on my own two feet.
Not entirely on my own, granted. Truthfully, I wasn't even asking for that much yet.
Before long, the phone sitting on the table buzzed.
"That'll be him."
"The teacher?"
"Yep. He's not far. Let's go."
"Yes, sir!"
We headed out to the parking lot, and just before climbing into the car, I tilted my head back and looked up at the sky.
A gorgeous sunset.
But it was undeniably different from Maui's.
Still, this was the sky I'd be looking at from now on. Better get used to it fast.
Strange — in my previous life, I'd hated looking at the sky. Why was that, again? For the life of me, I couldn't remember the reason.
"Moi? Come on, get in."
"Coming, Mom!"
Tap.
These happy, precious days.
Here too, I intended to keep building them, one after another.
May 23, 2016.
Hawaii, Oahu — Honolulu, Kahuku CDP — Kahuku High School — Football Field.
Last year, the Kahuku High football team had counted 67 players.
This year, the entire roster was 51.
Considering that a team needs at least 60 just to get through a season without falling apart, the numbers were badly short.
The reason: a thin freshman class. A fair number of promising local prospects had left for the mainland.
Which meant this year's Kahuku freshman class was exactly four players strong. "Historic famine" would've been an understatement.
Thanks to that, we were going to get plenty of attention.
"I've heard plenty about you. Word is you killed it two months ago."
"Hey. I'm—"
"Dwayne Moi Stone. Like there's anyone who doesn't know you?"
The kid who'd come up to introduce himself just now called himself Marcus Lombard.
He was from Laie, a community just down the road from Kahuku.
"What position are you going out for?"
"Signed up for OL, for now."
"Guess you'll be protecting me, then."
"Judging by your build, I can't tell which of us is supposed to protect who."
"Haha. Good to meet you, man."
OL stands for Offensive Line — in other words, the offense.
In football, the players on offense and defense are completely different sets of people. Positions are divided that way, too. For linemen, OL means offense and DL means defense — the D standing, naturally, for Defensive.
And I, the quarterback, play with the offense.
Within that unit, the OL exists to protect me. Bodyguards, put simply.
Definitely worth getting close to.
After the introductions, Marcus pointed out the other freshmen to me. Well-connected type, apparently. Not a bad thing.
"See that guy over there?"
"Yeah."
"That's Sol-Jay. Sol-Jay Maiava."
"You two know each other?"
"He was kind of a big deal on Oahu. He's a quarterback too — same as you. His luck's rotten, honestly. Had to land in the same class as you. That's why he's acting all frosty right now. He wants to get chummy, but being the same position, he figures it'd look like he's weighing himself against you. Get to know him later. He's a fun guy."
"Thanks for the briefing."
Marcus. Sol-Jay Maiava. And the last remaining freshman was—
"Whoa. You're even bigger up close."
"Haha."
This guy. Kaonohi Kaniho.
Hmm. He looked like… a wrestler.
"John Cena?"
"Oh! That's the one!"
"You can't see me, dude."
"Sick. What's your position?"
"Call me a universal talent."
"Tight end?"
"…No."
"Ah. Utility, then. Right?"
"…"
In American football, utility (UTL) refers to a player who hasn't been pinned to a specific position yet. Sometimes it's because their track record is too short; sometimes it's because their skill set is too ambiguous to slot anywhere in particular.
"People just haven't recognized my talent yet, that's all!"
"Is that so?"
"I'm telling you, it's true!"
"Kukukuku. Sure, sure. Got it."
"FUCK!"
We were standing on the field, shooting the breeze while we waited, when a figure appeared off in the distance. Not a coach, by the look of him. A student, most likely.
Then a bellow rolled across the field.
"Freshmen—! Fall in—!!"
"Damn. Let's run."
"Yeah."
The one calling us over right now wasn't a Huamatu. It was a touch too early for them to show up.
This man was probably what you'd call the discipline captain.
Why does a high school team have a discipline captain, you ask?
Simple. American high school and college sports teams — along with band, cheerleading, and other athletics-adjacent clubs — run on discipline about as strict as the military's. Think of it as a kind of tradition.
In my past life, too, I'd lived under rigid rules.
Side note: this is exactly why athletic team experience looks good on a résumé. Hiring managers score candidates with sports team backgrounds high on diligence and sense of responsibility.
Anyway.
The man waiting where we'd run to was even bigger than I was. For reference, I currently stand 187 centimeters and 97 kilograms. And he was still bigger.
"Everyone—! ATTENTION!!"
"!"
Having lined us freshmen up in a row, he came down the steps and planted himself in front of us. Then, hands clasped behind his back, he paced slowly past our line, drilling a fierce stare into each of us, one by one.
I kept my gaze fixed somewhere in the distance.
Not because I was avoiding his eyes — because I knew this was the correct posture.
"You!!"
"Y-yes?"
"Name!!"
"Kaonohi Kaniho?"
"What kind of voice is that!! Twenty push-ups, NOW!!"
"What?"
"Was I mumbling!! Twenty push-ups, NOW!! Or should I make it thirty?! Fine! Thirty push-ups!!"
You might think Kaonohi was just unlucky to get picked — but no, this man would've known from the start. He knew exactly who the easiest prey on the field was.
A thrill shot through my entire body in an instant.
God, it had been ages since I'd felt an atmosphere like this.
I'd missed it. Truly.
"And you!!"
"Sol-Jay Maiava!!"
"Did anyone ask for your name?! Huh?!"
"…"
"Thirty push-ups for you too!!"
Oh—
That's the stuff.
There was no escaping the push-ups, no matter what any of us did. Sure enough, Marcus got hit with them next for some absurd reason, and then the upperclassman planted himself in front of me.
He growled, low and dangerous.
"You think you're somebody special."
"…"
"Dwayne Moi Stone. The celebrity."
"…"
"I don't need you. Fifty push-ups. Go."
Without a word, I dropped straight into a push-up position and started pumping my arms like a machine. Fifty came quickly, and I rose back to my feet.
I could see the faintest flicker in the senior's eyes.
But to his credit as discipline captain, he kept his composure.
Oh, come on. What am I supposed to do with this.
He's adorable.
Yes, I remembered my past life like a novel — but for some reason, the sight of this upperclassman right now just struck me as endlessly endearing.
No. Stop it. Composure. Composure.
I clamped down on the corners of my mouth for dear life.
Before long, the senior introduced himself.
"I am Enock Vimahi! A proud Samoan of Kahuku!"
"…"
"…"
"This is my home, the land of my ancestors, and the house I love most in this world!! Which is why I will NOT stand by and let stray mutts who don't even know where they crawled in from wreck our proud Kahuku!! Do you understand me?!"
"…"
"Answer me! From now on, you answer like this! Oorah!!"
"Oorah!!!"
Only I had answered. So the senior made the other three drop for push-ups again, then came back around to me.
"Good. Cocky. I like it."
"Oorah."
"Which is why you get fifty extra push-ups."
"Oorah!"
I knew perfectly well what this was. Hazing, plain and simple. Cruelty dressed up as tradition.
But in certain cases, it was absolutely necessary.
Focus. Discipline.
No stage fits the saying that the football field is a battlefield without gunfire better than this one — and if you wanted to protect yourself out here, you had to be harder on yourself than anyone.
Physically. And mentally.
Both sets of fifty push-ups done, I could see my classmates sweating buckets beside me.
By comparison, I felt remarkably fresh.
Sure, I'd sweated. But my breathing hadn't wavered one bit.
"Grab your bags and follow me!!"
"Oorah!"
"Oorah."
"Oorah…"
Four different voices, four different levels of conviction — for now.
Give it a week, and you won't recognize a single one of us.
Taking point for my classmates, who were equal parts exhausted and terrified, I strode forward with everything I had.
High school life had finally begun.
And my heart was pounding like a drum.