Teacher's Pet

There was no air-conditioning, but a few fans did the trick when the air got too heavy. I had lived in Texas before coming here, so a little heat didn’t bother me. I loved my place; it was everything I needed. It was minimal, and it wasn't an ultramodern condo, but it was comfortable, and I literally only had to take two steps out the back door to be on the beach.

I was thinking about taking a dip in the ocean when I heard a knock at the door. I pulled it open excitedly, already knowing who it was. There was only one person who it could have been at my house that early. Makani, my best friend, was standing there in a tank top and shorts, a brown paper bag and two coffees in her hands.

"Oh my God, really?" she said, looking me up and down. She looked at me with a mock-shocked face. "What if I was some weird guy? What if I was the police? You'd still come to the door in your panties?" I smiled and pulled her inside. "Jesus Christ, Abby. I know we're close, but I think I'm starting to see too much of you." I laughed, closing the door behind her. It was okay. She'd seen me in a lot less.

"What are you talking about? This is just for you," I teased. She pulled a face that made me laugh.

I'd lucked out in finding Makani. I couldn't complain about living here on my own, independent and supporting myself, but Makani? She was my sister. Nobody would ever think we came from the same two parents looking at us, but she was at the top of the list of people I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

"Maybe when I'm forty and nobody else has tried to marry me yet," she said. "Actually, I might do you a favor and lock it down now. How many of the guys you've dated have ever brought you breakfast in bed?" she asked, holding up the brown paper bag that smelled like it had something delicious in it.

There was a perfect half watermelon in my refrigerator, but I was certain what she'd brought was full of butter and sugar, and honestly, which would you pick?

"I don't know what's taking you this long to finally ask me," I said, taking the bag from her and peering inside. The smell made my stomach growl: ham and cheese croissants. She popped our coffees out of the carrying tray.

"Too young and hot to get tied down," sh

e joked. "You're terribly high maintenance; you'd drive me crazy," she said fondly.

I smiled. If our personalities were things on the island, I'd be the sun, and she'd be the mountains. She acted like she was so long suffering and weary of me, but she was probably the only person in my life who didn't have to be around me if she didn't want to be but still was.

We'd become friends the first summer that I had worked at the Four Seasons. She was only a year older than I was, but I just remember being so impressed by how mature and grounded she seemed. She was smart, she was beautiful, and she didn't mind letting me — new and scared — shadow her at work.

You could say our summer romance had blossomed into a beautiful friendship, but it was more than that. I had never had any siblings, but I didn't even feel bad about it because she was my family. I laughed my hardest when I was with her.

"What would you do without me?" I challenged.

"Get a lot more sleep?" Makani smirked. I knew it took her at least three alarms to get up in the morning. When we weren't working, she would be in bed most of the morning if I didn't get her up.

"What were you doing last night?" she asked, walking into the kitchen to grab a couple plates. The house was so small, it didn't have a proper dining room. What it did have was a table and two patio chairs out on the porch where I tended to eat when I was home.

"Nothing, just stayed in," I said, walking to the door. There was always a nice wind coming off the ocean, so it was never too stuffy in the house. Makani followed me out, putting the plates on the table and taking the bag from me to slide the warm croissants out.

"Are you going to be taking classes this summer?" she asked, sitting in one of the chairs and curling her long legs underneath her.

If she ever got tired of the hospitality business, a good next career for her would be pageant queen or model of any type. She was beautiful. HR had probably given her a job at the front desk because she looked like Miss Hawai'i. Her hair was naturally wavy and dark brown, the same color of strong coffee. She had light brown almond-shaped eyes and flawless, rich, coppery skin. She was the sort of exotic Hawai'ian beauty the tourism board used in ads to sell the islands to visitors.

She took a sip from her coffee cup, grimaced, and held it out to me. She’d gotten mine by accident. She drank her coffee black, no sugar or cream. I didn't know how she did it; I thought it tasted like engine oil. I liked my coffee sweeter than was reasonable, with plenty of cream.

"No, I'll start in the fall. I can't study through the peak season."

"Don't remind me. The bookings are crazy."

"Aren't you excited?" I asked her. "There's so many parties and luaus."

She looked at me, furrowing her brow. "It's also when we have Joseph breathing down our necks. Crazy guests asking for room service. Ugh, and the weddings," she said dramatically.

I giggled, biting into my croissant. The filling was warm, and the pastry was flaky; little crumbs showered over my thighs. Joseph was our manager. He was a little frantic, but nice if you stayed on his good side.

"Everything blows up when the tourists come. The island's fast asleep whenever it isn't peak season. Think about it, Makani; the people who come here are relying on us to make their trip unforgettable. People don't forget things like that. You don't forget experiences. That young couple from Arkansas, here for their island wedding. They'll remember you organized their first horseback ride as a married couple on the beach."

"Uh-huh. They'll also remember their awesome island wedding when they're getting a divorce five years down the line because the guy hasn't been able to forget the pretty blonde who lei-ed him," she joked. I narrowed my eyes as she laughed.

"You're too young to be this jaded," I said shaking my head.

"I'm just being realistic. They're here on vacation. It isn't real life for them. Once they leave, they leave all this behind. They take their memories, but memories fade."

"You don't want to be responsible for making one person's day better? Be the one behind that one memory that makes them smile when they’re feeling down?" I urged.