Chapter 5
Harper Lee Adler sat in the faculty office at the ritzy private high school where she taught English Literature and Creative Writing. She was scrolling through her emails while she waited for her after-school appointment with outraged parents whose son had earned a C- on his most recent assignment.
And now the sophomore biology teacher, Brad Tam, sat next to her crunching on Corn Nuts so loudly that she thought he’d break a tooth. She couldn’t concentrate, but there was nowhere else to go. The school put a lot of money into the students’ experience, but the faculty lounge was a Coke machine and folding chairs.
Still, she felt fortunate to have this job. Especially given how her last year had gone. She ignored Brad and thought back on how she’d ended up here after graduating with honors from NYU.
Harper was below average height, straining to hit five feet when she stood with her best posture. A high school boyfriend had once called her “curvy,” and while he meant it as a compliment, she sometimes struggled with what the word implied.
She had hazel eyes, light brown curly hair, and a smattering of freckles across her rounded cheeks. She was cuter than she was pretty, and while she knew that was her lot in life, she still wished for things she’d never have. Like a small up-turned nose and sharp cheekbones.
One thing she did have down pat was her style. She favored a Bohemian look and loved the sale rack at Anthropologie and the vintage shops in Soho. She had a collection of ankle boots, colorful chunky cotton sweaters, and patterned maxi dresses that made her unique among the black suits and turtlenecks of the city.
Harper grew up in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Her dad had worked for President Obama as a speechwriter and now he was a senior fellow in global health at the Council on Foreign Relations. Her mom was a social worker and was serving another term on the board at the Food Co-op. Harper had the classic brownstone upbringing, made good grades at Berkeley Carroll, and got into the creative writing program at NYU. She had dreams of becoming a novelist.
But her dreams were interrupted by Charles “Kai” Calhoun, a gorgeous surfer from California who came to NYU to study film. He wanted to make documentaries showing volunteer work in poor countries that also happened to be great locations for surfing. He invited her to tag along. She loved the thought of being adventurous and not tied down. Kai was her ticket to somewhere. She fell under his spell, and after graduation, followed him to West Africa. Her parents were more than skeptical. While they cautioned her against the move, they didn’t forbid her to go.
“If anything happens, you can always come home,” her mom had said.
“Nothing will happen,” Harper assured them, believing it was true. She was wrong.
On their so-called mission trip to Senegal, they were meant to help locals build shelters and wells, and she was going to teach English, too. Kai planned to document the entire thing on his iPhone and then he’d edit it into a YouTube channel and have a million followers. After their first week there, Kai carved K & H in a heart in the trunk of an old tree outside their shack, and Harper was fully in love. Unfortunately, that was about the extent of their romance in Africa.
Immediately, Harper suffered from bug bites and the heat. Her curls frizzed out in the humid climate. The food didn’t agree with her, and she fell embarrassingly ill often. A friend of hers from the NYU school of public health sent her a DM on Instagram that said, “You can always eat the fries.” And so she did, ignoring the voice in her head that nagged her about the seed oils in which the locals cooked them.
Before their adventure, she’d imagined spending full days with Kai. But once they got to Senegal, it wasn’t easy to get his attention. He was often with other surfers, checking out sets and breaks instead of pounding nails into new house frames. After a few months, the entire undertaking had gone sideways. Harper knew she’d made a mistake.
As had been hooking up with Kai in the first place.
Harper had been so blinded by her attraction to this gorgeous surfer boy that she really didn’t know much about his background from his California days. She had no idea he’d left a bunch of girls brokenhearted on various beaches. They’d all learned the hard way that commitment, loyalty, and faithfulness weren’t high on his value chain. He saved his devotion for the waves that called his name at mid-tide every day.
One day, after three months of wondering how much longer she could take it, a local woman named Faye she was teaching English to stopped the lesson and looked at Harper like she wanted to tell her something.
“What?” she asked. “What is it? Tell me.”
The woman’s English was not very good yet, but she didn’t need to speak. She raised her eyebrows and pointed to a photograph of Kai that was hanging on the wall of the makeshift community center.
“Bad.” She shook her head.
“Bad? No. Kai is good,” Harper corrected her.
Faye disagreed. She pointed to Harper’s heart.
“He’s not good. Not for you.”
“No, no, he’s a good guy.”
Faye shook her head and said, “Come.” She got up and gestured for Harper to follow. They walked down to the beach where Faye’s sister ran a little restaurant called Saly Bar. Faye peered through a side window and then grabbed Harper’s hand and said, “Look.”
And there was Kai, Gazelle beer bottles piled around him, and a beautiful Portuguese woman Harper knew from another aid group on his lap. They were kissing in a way that made it clear they’d forgotten they were in public.
Harper’s heart imploded. She knew that Faye was right to protect her from a cheating boyfriend, but in some ways, Harper wished she’d never seen it. And though she wanted to run away, in that instant she decided to put her big girl pants on and confront him in front of everyone.
Harper marched up behind him and poked him hard in the shoulder.
“Hey!” she shouted.
“What the hell?” He pulled away from the other young woman and turned to see who’d just interrupted his good time. “Harper? I thought you were teaching today.”