Page 5

Chapter Five

LIE

March

“Got it,” Cash says as he walks into the door. He kicks it behind him and it closes loudly. He climbs onto his bed beside me so we’re both on our stomachs and sets the newsletter between us.

There is no official newspaper on Kala. There is only the weekly resident newsletter, which might as well be a newspaper at this point. It combines all the good things—everything happening around the islands, some fun, and a single page of world headlines at the very end.

As residents, we have access to the internet, so we can see what’s happening around the world if we choose. I don’t usually care what’s happening around the world. Call me na?ve or stupid, but I choose to be hidden away in the bubble that is the Isle of Kala.

I hand Cash a dick cookie and we settle in to read the newsletter. Generally speaking, we take turns reading each section out loud. Since he just bit the head of his sugar cock off, I take the first section.

“Welcome new resident, Ian Stillwater. Ian hails from Amsterdam and joins Kala as a new member of the Hospitality Team. He has some exciting new ideas and is enthusiastic about sharing his expertise with us. Ian has moved to Keone Reef with his cat, Felix. If you see him, say hello and make him feel welcome.”

“Amsterdam grows hot men,” Cash comments. “Look at that jawline. Mm.”

I grin and take a bite of my cookie while Cash reads the next one.

“Sections of Buggy Boulevard will be closed on March 3 and 4 while damage is repaired. Please seek an alternate route or bring the workers a cold beverage on your way by. It’s hot. Let’s take care of our residents and guests.”

“Damaged,” I repeat as I look at the pothole in the picture. “From what? Did I sleep through a storm?”

Cash shrugs. “They had some trucks on that road a while ago to fix something in the ground, remember? I’m guessing it’s damage from the big trucks.”

There aren’t vehicles on the islands to speak of. They’re just not big enough to warrant them. Not to mention, we’re rather conscious of our environment at Kala and strive to keep our carbon footprint as small as possible. So there are only vehicles when absolutely necessary.

Like building new structures or moving large loads of lumber, furniture, or the like.

I remember when I was a kid, everyone on our street sat outside to watch the trucks go back and forth down our road as they fixed a house that had been damaged by a rogue storm.

It happens so infrequently that it’s like watching a parade.

We get around by bikes or electric golf carts and the like. There are trailers and shit for everything, too. Mostly, everyone walks, though.

I turn the page and fold it so we can see the next mini article.

“Sammi Samuallson’s cat has escaped again. Please keep your eyes out for Fluffy. Fluffy enjoys a nice warm bowl of milk or some flaky fish. Don’t chase her (it’s her favorite game and you won’t catch her). Call Sammi when found.”

“I don’t understand why Sammi doesn’t just invest in an outdoor cage or something. Clearly Fluffy needs some air,” Cash says.

“I bet Sammi has a secret life. She probably has a second home and is named Cloudy or some shit.”

He laughs.

“Oh, this part is my favorite. King Arthur’s Camelot.” I skim the short section before reading it out loud.

King Arthur’s Camelot is a small column of rewritten King Arthur adventures with a gay twist. Every week is about a hundred words, just a tiny snippet of the next installment.

Because the newsletters are for all ages, it’s never spicy.

There are some steamy kisses from time to time, but those sections are noted with a little pepper so parents can determine if their kid can read it or not.

It doesn’t just follow King Arthur, but all his knights and their affairs. Not going to lie, it’s addicting. And it’s also frustrating that there are only tiny freaking snippets and then we need to wait an entire week for another little snippet.

The column has been going for a decade now and residents are still obsessed. It’s also written by an anonymous person under the pen name LIHW.

“When Morgana returned to Avalon, she was furious to see what King Arthur had done to her home.

The longer she moved around her once grand and envied homestead, the more furious she became.

It was time to punish King Arthur. To do so, she must beguile Merlin first, lest he get in the way. How to. How to.

“The answer came to her in the form of a beautiful damsel, Lady Vivien, for Lady Vivien was a shapeshifter and could become that of which a heart most desires. Morgana knew what Merlin most desired. It wasn’t a pretty lady, but a beast to tame him.

“The two began to plot in secret right under the noses of the Round Table.”

“Ugh,” Cash complains. “Can’t we bump it up to two hundred words a week?”

“Do you ever think that maybe LIHW has the entire thing written already? Think about it—let’s say this story is, what, 100,000 words in length.

We get 100 words a week. Fifty-two weeks in a year.

That’s almost two hundred years that this story could go on.

” He tilts his head. “Did I math that correctly?”

I laugh. “No idea. But I hate that idea. First of all, all the sexy bits are left up to the imagination. So that’s a four-hundred-ish page book with only my feeble imaginings filling in the sexy times.

And also, there are like a million characters!

I want to see it all. I want to read it in one continuous stream when the story is all done.

The author isn’t even going to live long enough to see the whole of his creation shared with Kala! ”

Cash huffs. “Maybe we need an investigation to figure out who this mystery person is. Then we can go to the source and see if they have sexy scenes. And also if they’ll let us read it in whole.”

“Do you really think it’s all written, though? Maybe they write a hundred words a week and that’s it.”

“Huh.”

I hand Cash another cookie as I suck the frosting off the balls of the one in my hand. I’ve been on a sugar cookie kick these last few weeks. Ever since the day I baked them at Laiken’s house over two weeks ago.

My stomach flips when I think about it. Because thinking about the way he watched my ass and then kissed me like a starving man days later at the bar before telling me ‘ We can’t do this ’ has me all twisted inside.

He kissed me. He actually kissed me. I think that proves he’s as attracted to me as I am to him. He. Kissed. Me!

But then he up and ruined it by practically running away. Who does that?

I’m ignoring the reason why, of course. I know why he said we can’t do that again. My father. His best friend for thirty years. I get it.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, though.

“Miss Portia’s class is looking for cardboard boxes and egg cartons. If you have any, please drop them off at the school whenever you’re able,” Cash reads. There’s a picture of a small group of five- and six-year-olds.

“Mr. Betty would appreciate it if everyone would stop spreading rumors about Mr. Tilly and Mr. Gray. He says that we’re not teenagers and that we, as adult residents, should have better things to do than advertise a supposed affair.”

“Mr. Betty is either jealous that he’s not the one fucking one of them or he has something to hide as well,” Cash comments. “Or else, why would you put that in the newsletter?”

“Since he’s just addressing the adults of Kala, everyone under eighteen is allowed to gossip about it. He really should work on being more inclusive.”

Cash laughs and then flips the paper over.

“The town hall is in need of a ‘ spruce up .’ There are damaged chairs and peeling paint. We’re looking for volunteers.

Mr. Williams is going to be adding more timeline art to the walls once the repairs have been completed, though he voices his concern that Luke’s Hardware across the road hasn’t been spruced up in years, and the owner refuses to do any updates, preferring rustic.

It’s bringing down the entire island. Someone needs to speak to Luke and make him see reason. ”

I grin. “Luke is a trip. If he wants to live rustic, then let him. It’s not like we have market value that we need to worry about. Houses don’t last long on the market.”

“Which brings us to the next article,” Cash says, nudging his shoulder into mine so I read it.

“The housing issues on Kala grow. There’s talk of discontinuing rentals of the small bungalows on the western side of Bane and the southern beach of Keone Reef to allow for more residential living.

The two islands have run out of real estate to expand as the growth of the resort continues.

The island chain expansion is still in the earliest stages and will not see completion for many years.

In the meantime, the team is looking for some creative solution ideas for housing.

We want to allow our young people to stay on Kala or return home after school, but if there aren’t any places for them except their childhood bedrooms, we’re quickly going to lose an entire generation.

“Do not misunderstand. We’re not in a housing crisis. We’re trying to stay ahead of that eventuality. Let’s begin planning now. Any ideas, please submit them to the Guardian Archives for consideration, and we’ll discuss them at the next Resident Meeting on the eighth.”

“I need to mark my calendar for the eighth,” Cash says as he pulls his phone out to do so. “Want me to share?”

“Yes, please.” A minute later, my phone dings that he’s added me to his calendar event. “I agree with this. I’d love to move out. I feel like I’m still a kid.”

“Tell me about it. I’d love to get away from Ben and let him be a dick to someone else for a change.”

“We could totally be roommates,” I say, grinning.

“Obviously. That’s always been the plan.”

“At least you have the extra space the garage offers. He’s not inside making all that noise where you can’t get away from him.”