Page 9

Chapter nine

Keala

K eala had already lost a patient to a heart attack, had diagnosed and set the broken arm of a woman with fading bruises while her overbearing husband watched, barely letting her talk, and yet she knew this patient was the one who was going to haunt her two hours of sleep tonight.

There had been a soft lull before her—this little comatose girl with blonde ringlets, pale cheeks, and blue lips—and the emergency department nurses had been taking a much-deserved rest for the half hour when things were quiet. Then, out of nowhere, people had started running around, and Annie, a triage nurse and Keala’s closest friend at Westfield Methodist, had radioed her with the exam room number.

She’d learned from the social worker, Trish, that Ella had been forced to drink milk that contained a significant amount of her mother’s benzodiazepines. The mother had lost custody of Ella, and rather than allow her to live with her ex out of state, she’d decided it was a good idea to kill them both so they could be together. Permanently. Only, the mother hadn’t taken enough to keep herself out long. After regaining consciousness, she had recognized what she’d done and called the police.

After fully assessing the situation, Keala prescribed Flumazenil to reverse the effects of the benzodiazepines. Normally, one of the nurses would administer it, but Keala couldn’t bring herself to leave Ella’s side. She wanted to monitor her vital signs and ensure she had adequate hydration as long as she could.

Her breathing had evened out after the last dose and her lips were no longer a bright blue, only tinged now that the medication was being flushed out of her system, but Keala knew she wouldn’t be able to get the image of Ella struggling to breathe out of her head. No matter how many years Keala spent in the emergency department, she was sure she’d never get over these kinds of cases.

A knock sounded, and Keala looked to the doorway, where Annie glanced between Ella, Trish, and Keala, who was seated for the first time this shift. Annie’s light brows were pinched, and Keala knew Annie was taking this as hard as she was. Keala walked over and stepped outside the room.

“I thought you’d want to know that it’s seven so you can head to practice. I can monitor her and check with Melissa about further treatment,” Annie said, referring to one of the NPs working the overnight shift.

Keala had forgotten about practice. Deirdre, one of the other NPs, had called her early this morning asking if she could take over her morning shift since her son had gotten sick. Keala had been up since five working on social media for the team, so when she’d gotten the call at six, she’d grabbed a protein shake from her fridge, changed into her scrubs, and rushed over to the hospital.

She nodded, taking another long look at Ella. “Thanks. I talked to Trish. The father is driving here as we speak. Hopefully he gets here before she wakes up,” she whispered back, exchanging a hand squeeze with Annie before grabbing her stuff and heading to the employee lot.

It was days like today that forced Keala to confront her career choice. Her mental health was constantly at risk of shattering. Her body felt like it was falling apart from the physical toll of being on her feet for twelve hours a day, her back, neck, and calves aching. Her mind raced no matter how exhausted she was—to the point that she could never turn her brain off long enough to rest . Some days were easier, seeing patients with panic attacks, pneumonia, and other things she felt comfortable treating, but days like today…

If she was being honest with herself, she hated it. She hated the job, she hated working in healthcare, but it was what she’d struggled toward her whole life so her parents would love and respect her. Now that she was in medicine, with parents who were vaguely proud of her for it—though they would, of course, have preferred it if she were a doctor —Keala couldn’t abandon it. She would fall right out of their good graces and become just like Nohea.

Plus, she’d dug herself a hole of debt to become an NP and she had no other marketable skills besides dance, which would never be accepted as her full-time job. No one would view her as successful if she left something meaningful like saving lives in order to teach people how to move to a beat.

So she’d put her degrees to good use, throw on a winning smile, and keep pretending this was what she wanted for herself.

Later that evening, after a grueling practice, Angelica allowed the girls to leave early. They wouldn’t have any home games for nearly two weeks, but it was still a shock to learn Angelica was vaguely human.

The woman in question called her over as most of her teammates headed out, and Keala complied quickly. Len grimaced in her direction as she left, and Zoe stayed behind for choreography.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I need you to clean up the locker room. Make sure everything is picked up. We’re allowed to have photos pinned, but the tours are starting back up again, so it needs to be neat.”

Keala thought about how that was usually a rookie’s job, a twenty-one- or twenty-two-year-old just getting their bearings. All it involved was collecting trash and making sure all the girls had taken their travel vanities with them. If they hadn’t, she would have to lug the vanities to the lot, keep them in her car, and make sure they got to their owners before their next appearance.

It was hardly a job for a fifth year, even if that fifth year was new to the team. Keala was beat, her mental health had taken a few hard punches today, but fine.

“I can absolutely do that. Would you like for me to clean before or after Cora’s choreography session?”

Angelica’s frown deepened, as if any questions indicated Keala was talking back. “The tours aren’t happening this evening, are they? But since you won’t be here tomorrow before they start, get it done before you leave tonight.” She turned on her heel before Keala could respond, the short, thinning hair she kept dying brown bouncing as she walked away to do more important things.

Keala let out a sigh but added it to the list of things she needed to do that evening. She should be thankful she was still on the team, she reminded herself.

Cora, Brooklyn, and the four line captains had begun the choreography session, and Keala jogged back over to join. There were a couple of new songs Cora wanted them to work through. Ever the innovator, she always wanted them to do something fresh to wow the crowd, and Keala loved it.

Keala couldn’t remember when it was that she had fallen in love with choreography. Her parents had home videos of her at three dancing to any song that came on, from movies to commercials. But it wasn’t just dancing that she loved—it was the creation . The act of choosing the right move to hit the beat perfectly, of telling stories through movement, making nothing into something. It wasn’t a hobby but the thing that made sense, the space that felt like it was hers .

As much as her parents enjoyed her dancing, they valued academics above all else. For them, being successful meant getting good grades, earning degrees, going to medical school. Education was what opened doors, something that could easily be measured and celebrated.

Dance recitals and competitions were measured as well—she’d always pushed herself to be accomplished in that way too—but those were like grades on a report card, and while she loved dance, choreography was euphoric. It was a language she spoke fluently that no one in her family understood. It thrummed through Keala’s veins more than anything else.

“Okay.” Cora clapped her hands. “For this part, what do we think works best?” She played one and a half eight counts from a song that was topping charts. Keala closed her eyes, imagining what she might do with every beat.

When Cora played it a second time, Keala marked some new steps without the usual energy required of them, just to solidify what movements worked best with the music. When she opened her eyes, Cora was watching her with a smile on her face, and Zoe yelled, “Heck yeah, Kay!”

Cora nodded like she agreed with the sentiment. “Keala, why don’t you do that again full out, and captains, please join her as you can.”

Scuff right foot to jump out, feet shoulder-width apart into a demi-plié. Punch poms at an upward angle. Bring to chest. Punch at downward angle. Step to right foot, circle poms, bring left foot to meet the right. Right foot step back as poms break across chest, then slide down the sides of body. Feet back together, wrists cross over each other in a small X.

Everyone caught up, and the session continued like that, with someone coming up with an idea for the next eight count of the song and then all of them implementing it into the routine until a new song was completely choreographed.

Cora pointed to Brooklyn. “Let’s do one full run-through now that that’s done. Brooklyn can video it, and then you all can head home.”

Keala lined up beside Zoe, poms ready, and when the song began, she sprang into motion. Every step, kick, twist, and turn was perfectly timed, focus unwavering as she kept her smile bright, loving the feeling that simmered through her as she felt more than saw how synchronized the five of them were. Like a well-oiled machine.

By the end, Cora clapped excitedly. “Great job, girls. When we have the whole squad here, we can figure out field formation, but this is great for tonight. We’ll see you next Tuesday for practice, and Jordy, you’ll be at the zoo appearance this weekend with your group, right?”

Jordy, one of the other captains, nodded.

“Angelica wanted me to talk to you about it so you can tell your girls what to expect. It’s nothing…” Keala tuned out the conversation as she packed up her bags.

“Going straight home?” Zoe asked as she packed her stuff up too.

“I’ve got locker room duty, but then yes.” Keala sipped down the last of her Pedialyte and took a bite of the protein bar she’d started eating before practice.

Zoe rolled her eyes. “It’s ridiculous that she has you doing that. That’s not your job at all.”

They walked together toward the squad’s locker room, and Keala shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’m not working tomorrow anyway.”

Zoe scoffed. “You know you would do it either way. I wish you would learn to say no to things.”

Keala sometimes wished that too, but there was something so innate inside of her that would never allow it. Maybe it had come from trying to make up for the fact that she wasn’t as smart as Akoni, or perhaps it had evolved to deescalate the tension that had built in her house when her older brother Nohea had started disappearing for days at a time; she couldn’t say.

“It’s okay. It won’t take longer than a few minutes, especially if everyone took their stuff.”

The pair walked into the entryway of their locker room. The space held a vending machine and a six-foot table, where their game day food was typically served. Taking a few steps past the table and a right into the actual locker room, Keala noticed the two black, hard-shell portable vanity tables that had been collapsed down into cubes, slightly smaller than a carry-on bag. They had an extendable handle and wheels like a suitcase, which Keala was grateful for since she would have to transport them.

She could guess whose they were.

Caroline, as sweet as she was, was one of the more scatterbrained of her teammates, and when Keala checked the one closest to her, sure enough, she found a sticker that read Thompson, Carol’s last name.

Zoe, who had walked to the other one, shot Keala a smile. “Guess.”

“Kennedy?”

Zoe nodded. “Kennedy.” She laughed, hauling it up as if she were getting ready to help.

“Oh, don’t worry! I can handle getting them.” Keala was already tossing trash into the trash bin and wheeling Carol’s vanity to the door.

“Don’t be ridiculous. They weigh a metric ton and you’d have to make two trips. I’m going to the lot anyway.” A bit of an exaggeration. They were likely twenty pounds, and if she could get doors figured out, she would be fine.

“But this is actually beneath your job description. Plus, I’m sure you need to get home to get some sleep before work tomorrow.”

Tomorrow would be Keala’s final “free” Friday before her work schedule changed. She would go to a workout class in the morning, practice most of the day, spend a few hours figuring out content ideas for the Sirens’ socials for the next week, and then she would meet with a few of the girls to practice some more. If she was lucky and he was free, she would be able to hang out with Ikaika after. At some point in there, maybe on the way to her workout class, she would try to call Josie, but with the time zone difference and their dance and work schedules, it was nearly impossible to say for certain.

Zoe scoffed. “Again, I’m going to the exact lot you are anyway, and the more we talk about this, the less time either of us have to sleep. Plus, I live closer to Kennedy.”

“Wait, no. You can drop it off at my car and I can take them both tomorrow or Saturday.”

“You should have them come to you since they’re the ones who forgot them.”

“You know they can’t with Ikaika living there. And I don’t mind.”

Zoe didn’t say anything, but Keala could read the look on her face. She—lovingly—called Keala a pushover often, and while Keala knew Zoe meant well, something so fundamental to Keala wasn’t going to change so easily. It was woven into the very fabric of her life.

As was made clear by the whole one-night stand attempt and subsequent fallout of trying to be someone she wasn’t.

She moved right past that train of thought, having spent as much time as possible this past week away from the apartment or in her room so she didn’t have to interact with the consequences of her mistakes.

The walk back to the lot was long, but Zoe told Keala about the trip to Yosemite she and her boyfriend had planned for the weekend. When they finally reached the parking lot, they said their goodbyes.

Keala had once again tried to take Kennedy’s travel vanity, but Zoe hadn’t been having any of it, so Keala tucked Carol’s into her backseat and headed home.