Sunrise Read online

  Sunrise

  Melissa J Morgan

  PENGUIN group (2010)

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Teaser chapter

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Text copyright © 2009 by Grosset & Dunlap. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. .S.A.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2008023047

  eISBN : 978-1-101-04626-5

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  One

  Cassie Hamilton wasn’t exactly the type of girl to go to summer camp. She didn’t know how to pitch a tent. She could live her whole life without braving bug juice. She had absolutely no desire to capture anyone’s flag. She just wasn’t a joiner, and yet here she was—joining the crowd on the beach campus of Camp Ohana, a water-sports camp in her hometown of Kalui Kona, Hawaii. Cassie knew that Ohana wasn’t a typical summer camp, and that’s why she was here—but with all the shrieking, singing, and chanting (yes, chanting) coming from the excited campers on the beach, it sure sounded like one.

  “O to the H to the A to the Naaaaa!” The campers were chanting this with such ferocious enthusiasm that Cassie felt like she’d stepped into some kind of cult revival. If she wasn’t so determined to do something different with herself this summer, she might have turned around and gone home.

  Then again, she wasn’t actually going to summer camp. She was sixteen, too old to be an actual camper. She was here to be a C.I.T., a counselor-in-training. That meant she’d have to help the counselors and junior counselors organize these overenthusiastic campers. She’d have to find a way to calm the kids down long enough to take a dip in the water without giving the ocean a seizure. Talk about madness.

  She was here, but that didn’t mean she had any idea where to go. Then she noticed a hand-painted banner hanging between two palm trees. ALOHA, C.I.T.S!! SIGN IN HERE!!! it said in turquoise letters with pink flowers dotting the I’s. She headed straight for it. The C.I.T. program director—her lei nametag said Simona—was sitting at a small table under the banner. She was busy signing in another girl, so Cassie waited patiently for her turn. She put down her backpack. Shoved her banana-yellow surfboard in the sand. Closed her eyes. Breathed in the scent of the island—a mix of tropical flowers, salt water, and cool volcanic wind, like no other place in the world. Listened for the waves. Felt the warm sand bury her toes. Took a long moment.

  This was her home; she was born and raised in Kona on Big Island. Even so, she wasn’t on the island so much anymore. Cassie had turned pro as a surfer more than four years ago, and since then she’d traveled to most beaches worth surfing, from Oahu to California to Australia to Japan and beyond. Usually her summers—all year, really—were about training and competing and, hopefully, winning. It was weird to be staying in one place for a whole summer.

  That was how Cassie felt right now . . . weird. Out of sorts. She wasn’t herself. Ever since the—

  Suddenly Cassie heard whispering nearby. She probably wouldn’t have even noticed, except it seemed to be about her.

  “She is not a C.I.T.”

  “She is so.”

  “Nooooo waaaaay. That’s crazy. Don’t you think she has better things to do?”

  “What, she’s just chilling out here for no reason?”

  “I’m telling you, there is no way. Pros don’t take the summer off to work at a sleepaway camp. That’s insane. That’s like Scarlett Johansson giving up her Oscar to work at the Gap.”

  “Scarlett Johansson never got an Oscar.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I bet you I’m right. I bet you a soda from the canteen, any flavor you want.”

  Cassie was clearly being paranoid. They weren’t betting soda on the fact that she was here as a C.I.T. . . . were they?

  Cassie turned to look. Two girls her age were on the sand nearby, openly staring at her. When Cassie stared back, the girl with the dark hair quickly averted her eyes. But the other girl—she had pale blond hair and a tan so even it looked artificial—she met Cassie’s eyes, unflinching. They must have signed in already, because they wore their C.I.T. nametag leis. The girl with the dark hair was Emmy. The other was Danica.

  So what if they knew who she was? Cassie smiled, acting like she hadn’t heard them. Both girls returned her smile. Now it was all smiles and sunshine, sunshine and smiles, everyone hap-hap-happy except Cassie, who was trying not to squirm in her flip-flops. She’d figured some people would recognize her here—she’d visited Ohana a year before to do a surfing exposition. But she didn’t expect it to feel like this. So exposed.

  “Hey there, are you here to sign in?” called Simona.

  “Yeah,” Cassie said enthusiastically. She stepped up to the table so Simona could hand her the lei with her name on it, but Simona was taking her time searching through all the leis, like she was having trouble finding Cassie’s.

  Cassie’s smile faltered when she noticed Simona pass over the lei that said Cassie and keep digging. Wait . . . she doesn’t recognize me? Cassie thought.

  Simona dropped the leis and leaned forward over the small table—made smaller by the fact that Simona was a very, very big girl. Imposing was the word. Cassie had competed against some killer surfer girls out on the junior circuit, but if she’d met Simona on the water, she would have been intimidated to fight her for any wave. “Just remind me of your name,” Simona said at last. “You’re a C.I.T., right? Let’s make sure we’ve got you on the list.”

  Oh, Cassie realized. She really actually doesn’t know who I am.

  Cassie felt funny about that. On the one hand, two girls who knew exactly who Cassie was were ragging on her about being here. On the other, the person in charge of the C.I.T.s had no clue who she was. Cassie was surprised to find herself torn between the two reactions, not sure which was worse.

  Not that Cassie was into fame and celebrity and autographing surfboards or any of that—though she had autographed a few surfboards, just like a
ny pro. If you surfed a good run, if you won a contest or two and were good enough to get a sponsor like Coco Beach, Cassie’s sponsor, you’d get your photo in a surf magazine and people started to know who you were. It’s not like Cassie got mobbed at airports. Still, she realized, she actually liked the comfort of familiarity. And of all people, she’d felt sure Simona would know who she was.

  “Cassie Hamilton,” Cassie said.

  Simona pulled out the pink lei with Cassie’s name pinned to it. “Remind me, are you here as a regular C.I.T. assigned to one of the bunks, or as a specialty C.I.T.?”

  “Specialty,” Cassie said. Her voice was more quiet than usual. She dropped the lei around her neck.

  Simona noticed the yellow surfboard stuck in the sand behind Cassie. “Not the surfing C.I.T., though,” Simona said, seeming confused. “I hope there wasn’t any miscommunication about this. I thought I already signed in the surfing C.I.T. Sorry, so many names today. Danica!” she yelled suddenly.

  Danica—the blonde who’d been giving Cassie the stink-eye before—sauntered over.

  “Danica, there aren’t two girls’ surfing C.I.T.s this year, are there?” Simona asked. “If so, the counselors should have really told me.”

  “Not that I know of,” Danica said in a sharp voice.

  Simona turned to Cassie. “Danica’s been coming to Ohana since she was . . . Danica, how old were you when you first came here?”

  “Nine,” Danica said. “I’ve been coming here every summer since forever, so I know Ohana better than anyone, obviously. This is the first year I’ll be a C.I.T., and I’m so excited.” She smiled wide, and Simona beamed at her. She was clearly a favorite.

  “Danica’s the surfing C.I.T.,” Simona said slowly. She took another look at Cassie’s bright yellow board—impossible to miss in the brilliant sun—and added, “Cassie, I hope you didn’t think—”

  “No, I didn’t, really,” Cassie said, interrupting her awkwardly. “I mean I know I’m not the surfing C.I.T., I mean, I was, I mean that’s why I applied. But then I changed my mind.”

  Danica’s face got very pinched at this admission. Maybe she thought she’d been the surfing counselors’ first choice.

  “I’m here to help the swimming counselors,” Cassie said. She shrugged, realizing how odd that might seem to anyone who knew she surfed pro.

  Originally, when Cassie had applied to be a counselor-in-training at Camp Ohana, she’d signed up to coach the kids with surfing lessons. She thought it would be no problem. Then—and she couldn’t explain this to her parents or her friends and especially not to her surfing coach—she realized she couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t. So she changed her mind. Being the swimming C.I.T. was the best choice for her this summer: She could be here, taking the summer off like she wanted, without pressure to surf.

  Simona seemed relieved that there was no confusion over C.I.T. assignments. “Well, if there are any other questions, we’ll get them sorted out at orientation,” she said. “Cassie, you met Danica. And that’s Emmy. She’s one of our lifeguards. Listen, I’ve got to run for just two seconds. Danica, if any new C.I.T.s come by, could you sign them in? And could you point Cassie in the direction of the C.I.T. bunk?” And then Simona was bounding off toward the crowd of screamers, bleating on a whistle.

  “It’s, uh, great to meet you guys,” Cassie said.

  “Nice board,” Danica said, taking Simona’s seat behind the table.

  “Thanks,” Cassie said.

  “Too bad you won’t have so much time to, you know, surf on it,” Danica said. “They keep the C.I.T.s, like, superbusy.”

  “Do they?” Cassie said. She was happy to hear it.

  Danica nodded solemnly. “Waiting tables, doing dishes, garbage runs, scrubbing the showers, cleaning trash off the beach—you know, the grunt work.”

  “She’s exaggerating,” Emmy said. “It’s not all work. Like tonight—”

  Danica cut her off. “I’m dying of thirst.” She set her eyes on Emmy. “I want a soda. Could you grab me one at the canteen?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Emmy said. She headed off down the sand.

  Now Cassie was alone with Danica. She wondered if Danica would ask her about the surfing C.I.T. position, like what happened, and why she changed her mind. But Danica did no such thing. “The C.I.T. bunk’s that way,” she said. She pointed a tanned arm, her finger aimed lazily at the cluster of small buildings in the distance, impossible to tell which one. It was the most unhelpful kind of directions she could have given.

  But all Cassie said was: “Thanks. See you later!” Something about this girl put her on edge.

  Cassie lugged her backpack onto her shoulders, balanced her surfboard over her head, and set off. The path looked like an obstacle course. Between where Cassie stood on the sand and the colorful makeshift buildings in the distance were too many things and people to leap over, duck under, and dive past. It would take Cassie a year and a day to find the C.I.T. bunk. So she decided on a detour. She kicked off her flip-flops and stuck her bare feet in the sand. She dropped her backpack, dropped her board. She found herself getting closer and closer to the shoreline, until her toes were good and buried in the tide and she wasn’t so much walking as standing there, looking out at the water, like she had nowhere else to be.

  Figures. Even though Cassie hadn’t set foot on a surfboard in months, she still was most comfortable beside the ocean. It felt like it belonged to her, that she belonged in it. How it could also be the thing she was most afraid of made absolutely no sense.

  “Cassie! Cassie! Cassie!” she heard in the distance.

  And then there—running straight at her like a blond-tressed linebacker all suited up in the latest Marc Jacobs (which made no sense really, a football player in Marc Jacobs, but that’s how it was)—was the one person at camp this summer who knew exactly who she was. This girl would never judge her. This was Cassie’s younger cousin, Tori, who was spending the summer at Ohana, too. Cassie had been the one to tell Tori about the camp. Tori used to go to a summer camp on the mainland in Pennsylvania, but it had closed down. In a way, they were both starting anew this summer.

  “Cass, where have you been?” Tori was saying. “I’ve been looking everywhere!” Then she flung her arms around Cassie, almost knocking them both in the ocean.

  Tori was an L.A. girl, born and bred, which meant she was always one step ahead when it came to fashion—and pretty much everything else, too. She was fourteen, two years younger than Cassie, so she was here as a camper, but you wouldn’t know that from meeting her. She acted sixteen, at least. Sometimes Cassie felt like the younger one.

  Tori broke out of the hug and stared at Cassie intently. “You’re moping,” Tori said. She gave Cassie a mock-serious look. “Cass! It’s the first day of camp and you’re being a big mope. Stop it!”

  “I’m not, I swear,” Cassie said, trying to deny it.

  “Cass, no one knows,” Tori said. “It’s not like with your other friends, how all they do is go surfing or talk about going surfing or listen to the weather report to see if it’s time to go surfing. Seriously, there are tons of other things going on here. This is camp.”

  “I think people do know,” Cassie said. “There were some girls . . . they were talking about me.”

  “What girls, where?” Tori asked. She spun around on the sand wildly, as if to prove her point. “You are completely and totally paranoid!”

  Cassie tried to describe them. “Other C.I.T.s. They were both really pretty. One was Hawaiian, I think she was the lifeguard. And the other had this long blond hair, real tan, she had on a white bikini . . .”

  “Oh, Emmy and Danica,” Tori said.

  “You know them already? How—?”

  Tori just smiled, shrugging helplessly. “I just, I don’t know, met them or whatever.”

  “God, Tor, you know everyone, and you’ve only been here five minutes.”

  “I highly doubt they were saying anything bad about you. Maybe they just
liked your ...” She paused, checking out Cassie’s outfit, which consisted of a sleeveless surfing shirt, boardies, and plain turquoise flip-flops. “Your flip-flops? Anyway, I promise you, Cass, no one knows about the accid—” Tori began, but before she could even finish her sentence, Cassie had jammed her hand over her cousin’s mouth.

  “Could we maybe not talk about it?” Cassie said.

  Tori carefully removed Cassie’s hand from her mouth. Then she pantomimed zipping her lips closed. Then, to keep the charade going, she mimed swimming out into the ocean, and doing a hula dance, or the moonwalk maybe, it was hard to tell what Tori was trying to communicate except that she was being a huge goof-off. Whenever they were together, things got a little childish. Probably it was genetic.

  “What are you doing, Tor?” Cassie said, bursting out laughing.

  “Cheering you up. And guess what? It worked. C’mon, let’s get your stuff to the bunk and then I’ll introduce you around.”

  “You’ll introduce me? I’m the C.I.T., you’re just a camper!”

  “That’s my great talent,” Tori said, “making friends. Your talent is surfing”—catching the look on Cassie’s face, she added—“and moping. You have a great talent for moping! C’mon, Cass, let’s go.”

  Cassie took one last glance at the ocean. She could have been training for pipelines right now. Instead she was here. She grabbed her backpack, propped her brand-new board on her head, and followed her cousin to her new summer home. This was Camp Ohana—ohana meant “family” in Hawaiian.

  We’ll see about that, Cassie thought.

  Tori sure knew her way around the campgrounds. Without a second thought, she led Cassie straight for a pebble-strewn path near a stand of palm trees. Stuck in the sand was a signpost with arrows pointing this way and that. Each arrow was a different color, with symbols of animals carved on each one. The whole effect was much like stumbling upon a village of some hidden civilization deep in the middle of a rain forest. On the arrows, Cassie noticed a dolphin, a bird, some kind of pointy-finned fish . . . before Tori let out a yelp and pulled her down a fork in the path. “Hey, Tasha, hey, Carlie. Hi, Bobby! Jana, what’s up?” Tori chattered to different campers as they went.