“It’s because you’re more Ha’ole than me,” Denton says and I tell him how that’s stupid, because we get the same Mom and Dad. He tells me to think about it but I have thought about it—if Mom is 50% Ha’ole, 50% Chinese, and Dad is mostly Hawaiian with some Filipino, Portuguese, Japanese and Samoan—we’re equally Ha’ole. So I tell him.

“Not even. See, every time Dad and Mom has one baby, it sucks the Hawaiian away from him and the baby becomes more Ha’ole each time. It’s true. Dad was doing pretty good, but when you was born, he lost his roots and he started playing golf. Ditched the tank top for one polo T- shirt. He doesn’t even surf anymore. Me, see, I was born first, I get more Hawaiian in my blood than you, so I look more like Dad, and das why he let me come with him on night jobs and not you. He was too shame for bring you.”

Dad shoots Denton a look so stern, he knows before Dad has to say anything.

“Nah, sorry.” Denton tells me, with fake remorse in his eyes. “I just messing with you. You just never got invited before because Dad only needed one helper those other times. Dis is one bigger job. One restaurant.” He nudges his leg against mine, so I nudge back at him with my whole body. It’s not my fault he slams into the damn door. He deserves it.

Dad yells at Denton and tells him “don’t antagonize your sister! She’s stronger than you, she could have whacked you right outside the car!”

I laugh but then Dad yells at me too and tells me to share the seat with Denton. I scoot over as much as I can, but on the other side is a toolbox, a metal shaft, and Dad’s carpet cleaning machine. The van only really seats two, but I’m not complaining. I’m looking out the window ahead and thinking about all that sugarcane. Between Kealia pond and Māʻalaea are miles and miles of tall, swaying sugarcane stalks until suddenly there isn’t and then there’s condominiums, the Ocean Center and a great big harbor. All beyond the bend is great Mother Ocean, from the subtle sea-cliffs all the way to Lānaʻi and on to forever. On the mountainside, there’s probably lots of mice, spiders and centipedes crawling in the dirt and grass. I bet there’s even owls, for that matter, out hunting. I ask Dad.

“Pueo? Yeah, I seen them out here plenty of times. They’re spirits half the time so I never like to see them when I drive alone. Especially not in the road. If you evah encounter one pueo in the road, look but don’t get too close. It’s good luck if you see them, but they’re delicate, and killing one is kapu. Just better hope it’s not one spirit!”

We drive through the tunnel and I make a wish with my eyes closed super-tightly. Then all around every turn, over every stretch of dark ocean, every crag in the mountain and along every mile of road, from the Pali trail to Lāhainā, I look out for my pueo. Denton must have used his wish on something stupid, like that Dad takes us to Jack in the Box. Fatso.