American Girl (Hawaii)

Hawaii

The fierce wind blew Keke Alika's long black hair into a halo above her head. She stood on the beach with her surfboard beneath her arm. The whitecapped waves crashed against the shore and rolled back into themselves. Keke planted her feet firmly. The hurricane-force winds buffeted her long-tanned legs with sharp sand shards.
"You're crazy," Warren Bickle yelled over the wind.
Keke glanced at him through the strands of her blowing hair. She'd met Warren and his friends two nights ago in the hotel Tiki Bar where she worked. Although she worked in the tourist industry, she didn't particularly like the vacationers she served. The fact that Warren followed her onto the beach annoyed her.
The hurricane remained offshore. Only the outer bands reached the Hawaiian Islands. The high waves were perfect for surfing. Keke wanted to use the opportunity before the storm began in earnest.
"Go back inside," she yelled into the wind. "It's not safe."
"If it's unsafe, what are you doing out here?" Warren returned, striding across the beach.
"I'm a professional surfer," Keke answered. "Go back to the hotel."
"I've done my share of surfing," her unwanted companion answered, ignoring her instructions.
Keke grimaced. Practically every tourist who visited Hawaii claimed he or she could surf. Most of them made fools of themselves on the smallest waves. Entreating Warren to return to safety one more time, Keke ran into the surf. She threw herself onto her board and paddled into the strong current. Gauging the waves, she chose wisely and rose to her feet.
The wave heightened, carrying her upward. She positioned herself on her board and noticed Warren astride a board he 'borrowed' from the hotel. He stood on wobbly legs as a low swell lifted him. Instead of gaining his footing, he fell. The board drifted away. He doggy-paddled toward it.
"Stupid," Keke muttered, riding the tall wave. She passed Warren on her way toward shore. A wave overcame him, and his small head disappeared. Keke dove into the water and swam strongly toward him. Grabbing him under the arms, she towed him onto the beach.
"What happened?" Warren's friend Shelley asked, squatting beside Keke.
"Your friend can't follow instructions," the young surfer spat out. Keke reached a point beyond frustration. "He was nearly drowned out there."
Shelley looked at Keke skeptically. Although she only knew Warren for a few months, she believed his boasts about surfing. He told her he won a competition at Surfer's Paradise in Australia. There was a picture of him receiving a trophy on his Facebook page.
"You're kidding," Shelley snapped, rising. "Warren's a champion surfer. It says so on Facebook."
Keke began to respond but held her tongue. His earlier performance proved he didn't have the skill to surf and had probably never rode a wave in his life.
"The best place for you is in the hotel," Keke said instead. Warren sat up and gazed around uncomprehendingly. "Take your boyfriend with you. And put that board back where he found it."
"Don't get sharp with me," Shelley snapped back. She stood to her full height, her blond hair billowing out behind her. "You don't know who we are."
"Tourists," Keke spit out. Without awaiting a response, she hurried toward her surfboard. Luckily, it had washed up with the hotel board.
"My father is Milbourne Blanche," Shelley stated, appearing at Keke's side. "Do you know who he is? He owns Blanche Pharmaceuticals. You've heard of Blanche Pharmaceuticals, right? And he's Warren Bickle. His father is a billionaire. You can't order us around. You're nobody…a little Hawaiian bartender."
"Oh, rich tourists." Keke shrugged her shoulders and lifted her board. She particularly disliked wealthy tourists who flung their fathers in everyone's faces. "Tell Mr. Billionaire's Son to stay inside where it's safe."
"Didn't you hear what I said?" Shelley persisted. "I'm Shelley Blanche. That's my brother over there. Milbourne the Third. And the other girl is Portia Rhodes, my brother's fiancé. Her mother…"
"I don't care," Keke stated flatly.
Shelley clamped her mouth shut. No one told her, 'I don't care.' She ogled the Hawaiian girl through slitted eyes. The wind picked up, throwing beach sand at the two women.
"That's a hurricane chopping up the ocean," Keke continued. "The hotel requested all tourists to remain inside. It's dangerous out here if you don't know how to handle it. Now, leave me alone. The window is closing on my opportunity to catch some waves. I'm not rescuing your billionaire boyfriend again. Next time he drowns."
"I don't like your attitude," Shelley remarked. "We'll go inside, but I'll see the manager as soon as I get there. Consider yourself fired." The young tourist turned on her heels and marched toward her friends.
Keke watched her go, mimicking her words with insolence. It didn't matter much if she got fired. Although she enjoyed her job at first, she grew to despise it. Rude tourists like Warren Bickle and Shelley Blanche ruined the good times for her. Keke really wanted to get on the surfing circuit.
Dismissing the obnoxious hotel guests, Keke returned to the waves. Their increasing height gave her ample opportunity to perfect her skills. To her dismay, Warren and company remained on the beach, watching her. She felt their staring eyes follow her every move. Finally, she gave up and, striding along the beach, returned to her bungalow.
After showering and pouring a cup of coffee, Keke sat on her couch, watching the storm roll in. Soon, the winds would really pick up, and the cutting rain would pour down. She felt satisfied with her surfing performance, but something about Warren Bickle nagged at her.
Shelley Blanche claimed Warren had won the Surfer's Paradise, Australia trophy. Keke had surfed at the competition for the last four years. She couldn't recall the name Bickle appearing on any of the rosters there.
Lifting her smartphone, Keke brought up Facebook. Her search for Warren Bickle proved fruitful. He appeared on the beach at Surfer's Paradise holding a trophy high over his head and a surfboard under his arm. The picture itself looked suspicious. The caption even more so: Newcomer Warren Bickle captures first place in the competition, 2022. Keke shook her head in amazement. She had surfed there that year. She also knew Destin Ebert took home the trophy.
"Photoshopped," Keke nodded to herself. "I knew it." She pumped her arm twice and shouted, 'Yeah.'
Keke checked out Warren's entire Facebook page. It was full of braggart posts about his billionaire status and photoshopped pictures of him winning awards around the world. Choosing a few at random, Keke checked them out.
The hurricane swirled around her bungalow, slashing it with rain. The wind pulled the shutters, crashing them against the walls. Keke hurried to close them against the large window before it shattered. The fierce wind nearly yanked her off her feet when she stepped onto the patio. She chastised herself for not acting sooner. Returning to the couch, Keke resumed her search.
The lights flickered and went out along with the internet. A few moments later, the generator kicked in. Keke forgot about the hurricane and typed searches rapidly. She was determined to discover who Warren Bickle really was. She doubted his billionaire status.
Pulling up site after site, Keke found Warren's name on multiple dating sites. Each one claimed his wealth but didn't provide much detail. He repeatedly appeared in Photoshop pictures: partying in Vegas, Monte Carlo, and Tokyo. He showed up backstage at Rolling Stones concerts and with his arm around Taylor Swift's waist. Keke rolled her eyes and closed the page. The post of him atop Mount Everest set off a fit of giggles.
"No way, Wonder Boy, no way." Keke rolled on the couch, grabbing herself around her tummy. The photoshop was so bad that no one other than Shelley Blanche would believe it. "This guy is unreal, and I mean literally unreal."
Keke's fingers flew while the hurricane reeled around her bungalow. She hoped the internet wouldn't fail before she finished her search. She had to know the truth about Warren Bickle. Nevertheless, other than the obvious fake pages and posts, she failed at every turn. Although she became frustrated, she didn't give up. As the storm strengthened, Keke continued to type.
Finally, Keke pulled up Classmates.com and typed in Warren Bickle. A long list of similar names popped up. Scanning them, her eyes alighted one that held promise: Cornelius W. Bickleheimer. Triumphantly, she tapped on the entry.
"Glory Hallelujah!" Keke shouted, leaping up from the couch. She danced around the small room while the hurricane raged. "I got you now, Mr. Billionaire Boyfriend, Mr. Showoff, Mr. Candy Corn." Laughing merrily, she threw herself on the couch and kicked her legs in the air. The nickname beneath the photo sent her into hysterics. "More like Candy-Ass Cornelius—from Toeterville, Iowa. Voted Mostly Likely to Lie His Ass Outta Anything. Today is my lucky day!" Keke pumped her fists again.
Possessing the right name, Keke searched the internet again and discovered an address for the Bickleheimer’s. An old clapboard house appeared at the end of a rutted road. She knew she shouldn't laugh at the less fortunate, but she couldn't control herself. The expression on Shelley Blanche's face appeared before her eyes. She longed to see it when the truth came out. Shelley's billionaire boyfriend's family didn't have two cents to rub together. What delicious joy to expose the phony. Keke waited out the hurricane in anticipation.
The storm raged through the afternoon and into the night. The internet went out completely, but Keke was satisfied. She had enough information to expose Warren Bickle, saved on her smartphone. She would delight in showing it to Shelley Blanche as soon as the hurricane passed.
Keke fell asleep on the couch. The wind and rain didn't bother her. She lived through several hurricanes in the past, and she was, after all, a true Hawaiian. Her ancestry stretched back through many generations.
When she awoke, the winds had died down. Keke stepped onto the patio to find palm fronds strewn around and a large tree down on the beach. A tourist group stood in a crowd on the sand outside the hotel. Keke hurried toward them. Shelley Blanche stood with her brother, Milbourne, and his fiancée, Portia Rhodes. The young Hawaiian scanned the area, searching for Warren Bickle.
Shelley Blanche turned reddened eyes toward Keke. Throwing her prejudices aside, Keke approached her. Her instincts told her something bad had happened.
"Warren's missing," Shelley cried, pressing her body against her brother.
"What? How?" Keke asked, stunned.
"He went surfing last night," the Billionaire's daughter sobbed. "We begged him not to go. He said he was a world-champion surfer. He said he knew what he was doing. His board's over there." She pointed toward the washed-up board with a trembling finger.
"Fool!" Keke couldn't control her words. She felt instantly sorry she had spoken. "I'm sorry, but Warren wasn't a champion. He wasn't anything. His Facebook photos were all photoshopped."
Shelley stared at her aghast. Impulsively, Keke hugged the young woman.
"His name was really Cornelius W. Bickleheimer from Toeterville, Iowa. He…" Keke's voice choked up. "I…I'm so sorry."
The morning dragged on. Keke remained with Shelley, trying to comfort her. A day's long search didn't recover a body or any sign of Warren. The only reminder of him was the borrowed hotel surfboard on the beach.
"You can stay in my bungalow if you like," Keke invited Shelley and her companions. "I'll make you comfortable while you wait."
"Thank you," Shelley answered demurely, "but we're going home as soon as the airport reopens. I don't want to stay."
"I am sorry about Warren," Keke sincerely muttered.
"He was a fool," Shelley stated harshly. "I'm sorry about my attitude earlier. I really believed him. I should have paid better attention to his Facebook. I can see how phony it is now."
Keke hugged her new friend and invited her back to Hawaii.

Keke Alika journeyed to New Zealand two years later to join a surfer's competition. On the beach, she spied a familiar face. On impulse, she approached the man and studied him closely.
"Warren Bickle!" she exclaimed, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips.
"Warren who?" the bleached blonde man asked, raising his eyebrows. "I'm Corey Warfield—world champion surfer."
"Oh, I beg your pardon," Keke apologized, studying the man intently.
A slim woman in a skimpy bikini approached and wove her arm through his elbow. Her sharp eyes penetrated Keke's face.
"Who are you?" she coolly asked.
"I thought I recognized your boyfriend," Keke stuttered, backing away. "I was wrong." Turning, she strode along the beach.
At a distance, Keke turned and studied the couple. She knew that if she did an intense search on Corey Warfield, she would discover his real name was Cornelius W. Bickleheimer from Toeterville, Iowa.