The Uneventful Life of Harvey Mackler

c h a p t e r | t w e n t y - t h r e e

"CAN WE BEAT him up?"

Hayden voices his suggestion loudly enough for our younger brother to hear, however Hollis remains unfazed, already aware that his words are empty threats.

As Hollis retreats back inside the house, having delivered a new batch of steamed taro to our poi pounding board, all Hayden can do is shoot daggers into his back.

"His birthday is in two days," I lament, transferring a handful of the cooked corm to the centre of the long wooden board between us. "We'd get in too much trouble. Wouldn't be worth it."

"I'm sure I could make it worth it," my twin mutters in response.

He lifts the pestle in his hands high, bringing it down forcefully on the starchy root vegetable, smashing it into a lumpy pulp. The poi board shakes as he brings the pestle down again on the potato-sized lump, grounding the taro corm into a paste. I have a feeling he's imagining the taro underneath his pestle to be Hollis's head.

"It's our fault for trusting him," I say, wetting the bottom of my basalt pestle with a splash of water. "I should've known something was fishy when he started talking about firecrackers. I just can't believe he was double-crossing both of us the entire time."

"I can't believe he got off scot-free when the pie exploding prank was his brilliant idea," Hayden sighs.

The direct aftermath of the pie incident last night was both my parents apologising profusely on our behalves. Fortunately, the Ramseys took it all quite well, particularly when my mother explained it away as a twelve year old's harmless prank gone wrong.

At the time, it had been easier to simply throw the preteen under the bus, than to admit that the whole fiasco was the result of two sixteen year olds (that she had previously praised for being 'almost grown up') having a prank war in the middle of a family dinner.

When we got home, Mom refused to speak to us. She had sat and stared angrily for the entire hour while Hayden, Hollis and I explained our roles in the accident to Dad. This morning, she woke us up at the crack of dawn, thrusted a stone pestle in each of our hands and told the two of us to start pounding poi if we had any value for our lives.

Hollis, apparently, is guiltless because he was 'coerced' into helping us, according to the story he told Mom later on last night after Hayden and I had gone up to bed. Evil brat.

I crush the taro under my pestle.

"Maybe it's time to retire Prank Week," I suggest with a dejected sigh.

Hayden slows down his movements, resting his pestle in the shallow tray of the heavy wood poi board. He rinses his hands in the water basin before curving it around the doughy paste being formed from the pounded taro.

"Maybe," he finally agrees after a minute. He glances over to my pile. "Hey, add more water to your pa'i 'ai. Yours looks too doughy."

"I know, I'm getting to it," I snap. "You focus on yours. I can still see some lumps."

I dip my hand in the water basin, adding more to the board and rolling out the pounded taro again before mashing it some more until it starts to resemble traditional Hawaiian poi.

"Why did she steam so much kalo anyway?" Hayden gripes. "I swear I've pounded over half a stone of it already."

"Mom wants us to take some to Aunt Kamila's tomorrow," I explain. "Let's just get this over and done with."