Pineapples in Peril

Pineapples in Peril
by Cheryl Linn Martin

Ekahi (One)

I leapt off the porch, dodged between two palms, and powered through the rows of pineapples. The perfect getaway. But a quick peek over my shoulder proved I was not in the safety zone yet. My brother, Kimo, bounded out of the house and across the sand, sprays of the grit billowing up behind him.

Oh man, he’d seen me! I’d been so careful, but the little twit must have been hiding somewhere, watching. I used the anger to propel me faster.

The Hawaiian sun blazed down on my bare arms and legs. Trying to ignore the heat, I blasted through the spiky leaves, eyes set on the road just beyond the pineapple field.

Strands of hair escaped my flopping, dark brown ponytail and stuck to my glossed lips. The small backpack, strung loosely on my shoulders, slapped with each pounding step. Sucking in a major breath of fruity air, I stretched each stride further and increased my lead. But how long would I have to run before my little brother would give up the chase? He seemed to have made it his life’s mission to irritate and frustrate me. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? This was my stuff—my life—not his.

Determined to leave him far behind, I pushed harder, ignoring the pain in my chest and the burning in my throat.

“You’re in big trouble, Leilani!” Kimo’s ten-year-old, high-pitched squeal barely reached my ears. He always told Mom I was mean to him. Why did he want to tag along with me and my friends anyway?

I wanted to yell back, to tell him Mom would side with me, but was too busy trying to breathe. I hoped I could continue at this pace and not pass out. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Kimo retreating. I smiled and faced forward, pleased I had won the battle.

Suddenly I spotted a rock resting in the middle of my path. Jump, Leilani!

Too late. My flip-flop caught on the stone, bulleting me forward. I face-planted between rows of prickly fruit and into dirt mixed with remains of molding, smashed pineapples. I groaned and rolled to the side. “Ouuuuch!” Everything hurt, especially my face and arms.

I opened one eye and wiped a hand across my cheeks. Bits of sandy soil and squished pineapple fell to the ground. The taste of fruit and dirt hung on my lips. Spitting, I tried to rid my mouth of the foul gunk. Great. I probably looked like a zombie, fresh from the grave. I moved, but pain shot through my left arm. “Owie, owie, owie!” Grabbing my wrist, I prayed the horrible aching would stop. Oh, no! Maybe I broke the stupid thing. Perfect way to start eighth grade. Leilani Akamai in a cast—no surfing, no snorkeling, no wakeboarding.

I winced and held my left wrist against my body. Hoisting myself into a sitting position with my good arm, I noticed my flip-flops. One rested upside down under a pineapple plant, the other hung on the edge of the evil rock. I scooted on my behind and reached for them. The flip-flops were still out of range, so I inched a little more until I could grab them and slip my toes in.

This was all Kimo’s fault. I pushed against the ground with my good arm and leveraged myself into a standing position. Sorry, God. But my little brother is super annoying. Mom always reminded me Kimo was a special blessing. Ha! I’d never seen any proof.

Okay, so I was standing—covered with grit and streaks of blood, and protecting an injured arm. At least both legs seemed to work. I thought about calling Maile or my mom, but remembered my cell was at home, charging.

I hobbled the rest of the way through the field. It seemed the pineapples stretched
ahead forever. After endless steps, I finally reached the road, turned, and inched along toward Maile’s special place. I had no idea how long I’d been shuffling along. My best friend was going to be ticked. Had she waited for me or given up and gone home?

As soon as the cluster of palms near the beach came into view, I hollered. No use trudging any further if she had already given up. “Hey, Maile! You there?”

My friend edged out from the shadows. Her long, dark hair flittered in the tropical breeze. Even from a distance I saw the sun sparkling off the auburn strands that danced among the dark ones.

“Leilani?” She trotted toward me. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I moved my left arm and cringed. “Uh, maybe not.”

“Oh man! What happened to you? You’re a mess.”

“Thanks.”

Maile chuckled. “Sorry. But I was beginning to think you were a real flake, calling me to meet you, and then bailing.”

I sucked in a deep breath and reposition my arm. “Figured you would.”

“I called your cell, but you didn’t answer.”

“Yeah. It’s at the house.”

Maile grabbed my right elbow. “Let’s go. You need to get home and to the doctor.”

I shook my head. “No, not yet. You have to see what I found.” I nodded toward our spot in the palms. “Let’s get out of the sun and sit down.”

“You got it.” She dragged me along. “You sure you don’t want to head to my house? My mom can drive you home.”

I shook my head. “I’ll live.”

“You never told me what happened. Run into an erupting volcano or something?”

Even grinning at my best friend hurt. Maile Onakea always had something to say to make me laugh. “Just being a klutz.”

We made it to the shade. “You lie. You couldn’t be a klutz if you tried.”

Maile was right. All the surfing and my sturdy Hawaiian build had made me pretty tough and coordinated. “Yeah, well, actually, it was Kimo.”

“Kimo? How could this possibly be your dorky little brother’s fault?”

I wiggled my shoulders, trying to get the backpack straps to fall to the sides. “Can you help me get this off?”

“Sure.” She reached for the pack and slid it down.

I cringed as I adjusted my arm. Pain shot from my wrist to my shoulder. “He was chasing me. Then I tripped on some stupid rock.”

“Ouch!” Maile winced. “Okay, Leilani, what’s so important that you would hurt yourself trying to get here?”

I wondered the same thing. Maybe I was totally lame. Would she see the importance in the news story?

I tried to unzip my bag. Hard to do with one hand. I sighed and gave up the mission.

“Let me get it.” Maile grabbed the backpack, opened it, and pulled out several things.
“I see you’re traveling with all the essentials.” She waved each item and snickered. “Brush . . . lip gloss . . . mirror . . . mascara.”

Snatching the thin black tube, I sneered at my friend. “Okay, very funny.” It wasn’t fair. Maile could go totally natural and look so cute. Not me. I needed a lot of help, and then I might be okay, but never cute.

“Sorry!” My friend raised her hands in mock surrender and chuckled. She peered into the backpack. “So, what exactly am I looking for?”

“A newspaper article.”

She rummaged through my essentials. “I don’t . . . Wait, I think I’ve got it.” She pulled out the crumpled newsprint and waved it in front of me.

“Yup. You found it. Now read it.”

“Sure.” Maile smoothed the rumples and cleared her throat. Stretching up as tall as she could—which wasn’t much—she cocked her head and read.

Pineapple Vandals Strike Again

On Friday night, June 25th, the Tong Pineapple Plantation suffered damage at the hands of unidentified vandals for the second time this summer. Hundreds of immature fruit were found cut from plants, ripe ones smashed between rows. Officer Matthew Emerson of the local police force stated, “The damage could be the result of teenagers seeking thrills. They may not understand the financial implications of their destructive behavior.”
Plantation owner, William Tong, is offering a reward for details leading to the identity of the culprits. Contact the police if you have any information regarding this crime. Maile stared at me. “This is what you almost killed yourself over?”

“Don’t you get it?” Trying to ignore the throbbing in my arm, I shifted my position.

“This is what we’ve been waiting for—a chance to do a real investigation.” Maile grimaced. “Yeah, for you maybe. You’re the mystery nut, not me. Besides, we’ve outgrown the Detective Club thing.”

“Yeah, for sure. But this isn’t like when we read all those books and pretended. This is a real crime.”

She giggled. “You dork.”

I bulleted a fiery stare at my friend. Didn’t she get it? This was our chance to prove we were real detectives with skills to investigate, evaluate, and solve. “The police don’t care about this vandalism. They think it’s just teenagers and it’ll all go away once the thrill is gone.” Sighing, I loaded my stuff into my bag. “Fine. You don’t want to help. But I’m solving this case.”

I stole a sideways glance at Maile. Maybe I could convince her if I mentioned the money thing. I totally wanted to take horseback riding lessons. And get a second surfboard—a soft top—so I didn’t always have to use my seven foot longboard when I was tackling more difficult waves. I crashed and burned a lot. “And just think of all the reward money. You could get the new wakeboard you’ve been wanting”

She stared at me, then grinned. “I was also kinda liking a swimsuit and matching sundress I saw the other day . . .” She sighed. “Okay. I’m in. But only if we get Sam to help us.”

Beaming, I bounced up and down, but then winced in pain. Oh, man, this stupid arm! “Of course we’ll get Sam in on it. I tried to call her, but she was babysitting.”

Maile zipped my backpack. “I’ll carry this thing for you. We need to get you to my house.”

“I can make it home. I’m good.”

“Yeah, but your house is too far away.” She helped me up.

Everything had gone stiff. Groaning, I held my injured arm across my stomach.

Maile giggled, and I couldn’t help but join her as I pictured what I must look like. She grabbed my right wrist and we rounded the palm.

I froze.
We stood face to face with our dreaded enemy, Carly Rivers. My stomach churned, but not because of physical pain. She was hanging on the arm of Maile’s older brother, Kainoa.

Dark skin, streaky sun-bleached hair, and amazing muscles. The hunkiest surfer on the Hawaiian Islands.

And the love of my life.