It must be nice to have someone who gives enough of a shit about you to warn you. Must be nice to have been given the opportunity to prepare.
Kayla wasted her carton early, but the captain saved hers for the final lap, when Makani was panting and light-headed. Gabrielle jogged beside her, chucking her own dozen hard. With each hit, Makani felt an accompanying shot of adrenaline. She pushed ahead of Jasmine, and Jasmine finished in fifth. Last place.
Makani took a single shot, and Jasmine took two. The veterans also took shots. Gabrielle and Kayla drank more than the others, Makani’s non-loss adding fuel to their competitive and exploitative inclinations.
As the rookies lunged, the veterans squirted them with baby oil and shaving cream. As they did jumping jacks, they flung mayonnaise and Spam. In a blur of screaming and vodka and exhaustion and confusion, Makani soon grew ill, but she kept her eyes on Jasmine. Forced herself to keep beating her.
“We’ve got a tough one.” Gabrielle grinned. “But don’t worry. We’ll break you.”
“Looks like she’s out for your job, Captain,” Kayla said.
Even though it was a joke, it was the first time that anyone had ever mentioned the possibility of captain. Divers never got to be captain because so much of their training was separate. But Makani desperately wanted to be captain next year. She was good at what she did. None of her teammates got more elevation from their takeoff, executed their twists so gracefully, entered the water with so little splash.
Jasmine stumbled into Makani and toppled her to the sand. A vodka bottle emptied the rest of its contents onto Makani’s underwear.
“God, keep your failure to yourself!” Makani said.
“Sorry, sorry,” Jasmine slurred. She’d never been able to hold her liquor.
The older girls were rolling with laughter. “I take it back,” Kayla said to Gabrielle. “That’s job security right there.”
Makani’s insides strummed with fury. She imagined seizing Jasmine’s hair and yanking until the flesh ripped from her scalp. Thrusting her lacerated head into the salty waves. Holding her in place. Drowning her.
“Shit,” Gabrielle said, brandishing a can of something. Makani couldn’t tell what. “These don’t have pull tabs. Did anyone remember to bring a can opener?”
None of the other veterans had, but a girl named Sarah kept a knife in her car. While she ran to fetch it, another bottle was passed around. The vodka burned as it slid down Makani’s throat. She licked her lips.
Sarah’s knife turned out to be large, something made for hunting or survival, and it easily pierced the cans. The smell released was repellent.
As the rookies did push-ups, chunks of meaty dog food were lobbed onto their backs. Crouching in front of Makani, Kayla pushed a wet handful directly onto her face and up her nostrils. Makani blew her nose and spit, retching. And then something thick was cascading down her head. An entire jar of honey oozed over her neck and through her hair. It would take days to wash out.
With each push-up, her body encrusted itself with more and more sand. “What’s your problem, Bitch?” Kayla screeched. “Can’t handle a few push-ups, Bitch?”
“Makani!” Gabrielle said.
“Wha—?” Makani turned her head, and her veterans high-fived.
Kayla lowered a bottle to Makani’s lips. “Drink up, Bitch.”
Another shot was forced down her throat. It mixed with the dog food and sickly sweet honey. She vomited. The veterans exclaimed with disgusted glee, but Makani couldn’t escape the stench. The honey clung the puke to her chin. As the other rookies finished their reps, Gabrielle and Kayla whooped and danced. Two more shots. Makani threw up again, but she refused to go down alone. “Hey, Jasmine.”
Her best friend was doubled over in sickness and exhaustion, but she glanced up at her name. The word NYMPHO was smudged but still legible. “Yeah?”
Makani pointed her finger. “Ha!”
It was a direct violation of best friendship. Jasmine’s jaw unhinged, hurt and upset, while the other girls laughed at the deception. They made her drink.
As the final round began, Makani had no idea who was losing. Her eyes scrunched closed as she did the sit-ups—just trying to breathe, just trying to keep everything from coming up again. Someone straddled her legs.
“Look at me,” the captain said.
Makani opened her eyes, and a bottle was thrust toward her face. She screamed as something splashed onto her eyeballs. The liquid burned like an instant inferno. She tried to wipe it away and then shrieked like she’d been wounded again. Her hands were still covered in sand and honey and gloppy food droppings. Blinded and in agony, she scrambled to her feet. “What is it? What did you to do me?”
Bedlam erupted as the other rookies cried out all around her. Screaming and yelling. Laughing and cackling. The intensity of the pain reminded Makani of being stung by a jellyfish. Someone said habanero Tabasco. Someone else grabbed her.
“Tilt your head back,” the girl said.
Thinned filth streamed in every direction across Makani’s face, but she could make out—she could see—a bottle of water. She crumpled to the sand. The girl ran off to help someone else. Makani moaned and gnashed her teeth. Through her tears, she saw another plastic water bottle near the bonfire, only a few feet away beside the empty cans and knife.
As Makani reached for the water, Jasmine swooped in and grabbed it. Her ponytail, thick with honey, smacked Makani across the eyes.
Orange sparks flew into the star-strewn sky. Rage, white-hot. With a deep guttural growl, Makani snatched up the knife. The blade flashed in the firelight. It was long and sharp and vicious. She grabbed the ponytail and sliced upward into the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“The tension released, and her hair gave way.” In the waiting room, Makani could still see the limp ponytail in her grimy hand. “It was this . . . instant, overwhelming shame. The realization that I’d done something terrible that could never be undone.
“Jasmine was so drunk”—her voice choked—“that she almost drowned. A swimmer, and she almost drowned. And it was my fault.”
Ollie’s hand rested gently on Makani’s back. He glanced at Darby and Alex, but they weren’t following what she’d said, either. “What do you mean?”
“The other girls didn’t see what had happened. Everything was so chaotic.” Makani paused, experiencing the trauma again. “Jasmine freaked out, of course she freaked out, and ran toward the ocean. I guess she wanted to rinse off—the Tabasco was still blistering our eyes—and to get the hell away from me. She looked afraid of me. I knew that I should go in after her, she was so out of it, but I didn’t.”
Makani had watched her best friend weave and stumble into the ocean. And then she’d turned her head away in shame. It had been too painful to watch the aftermath.