The Protest
Lena Holland
The sun was just as bright as our anger.
I wiped a streak of sweat off my forehead and lifted the cardboard sign higher above my head. In bold, messy paint it screamed: NO RESORTS. SAVE OUR REEF.
“Say it louder!” I shouted, and behind me a crowd of tourists, local families, and university students echoed back in chorus.
“No resorts! Save our reef!”
Yeah, okay, it wasn’t Shakespeare, but it did the job.
We were on Ma‘kaa Island, protesting against a new resort project. They planned to destroy almost thirty percent of the island’s biodiversity and a sacred stretch of coral reef and turn it into an infinity pool.
Cute. Except not cute. At all.
The site itself was closed off with barricades and security, so we couldn’t get inside.
So we started protesting outside another one of their resorts. It had taken us days just to get the permit to organize this protest.
On top of that, those rich brats kept trying to bribe us, putting a price tag on reefs, our island, our self-respect.
I tightened my grip on the megaphone and gave the suits hovering near the construction fence my fiercest death glare.
If marine biology didn’t work out, I could always have a solid career in intimidation.
Behind me, Kai banged a pahu—the traditional Hawaiian drum—keeping the rhythm of our chants.
Many tourists on the boardwalk stopped to watch, a few even pulling out their phones.
Let them record.
Let this go viral.
The ocean deserved a hashtag too.
The protest gathered just outside Sterling’s Kai Resort.
Kai hated that the resort had a name so close to his.
The building was a glass-and-concrete monstrosity that loomed over the shoreline like it owned the ocean itself.
Locals called it the “Glass Palace.” I called it a crime scene.
Sterling already had three resorts on the island. Three. Like one stolen shoreline wasn’t enough. Each one bulldozed sacred land and spat out infinity pools where nature used to live.
I hated the way the tourists inside were sipping drinks with paper umbrellas, completely oblivious to the reef bleaching only a few yards away. I hated the way Sterling’s name glimmered in gold letters over the entrance like a brand stamped onto paradise.
And I hated, most of all, that it worked.
People came. People paid. People posed for Instagram photos with the sunset while the reef quietly died beneath them.
That’s why I was here. Why we were here. Why I’d stand under this burning sun with my throat raw from shouting until every single person on this island knew: paradise was not for sale.
I looked around. People were chanting with full enthusiasm—and then, in the sea of homemade signs and sweaty protestors, I noticed him.
Tall. Hoodie pulled low even though it was ninety degrees. Sunglasses that screamed trying too hard not to be noticed and failing.
He wasn’t chanting, just watching, like he’d accidentally joined the wrong crowd.
Suspicious much?
I marched over, clutching my sign like a weapon. “You lost, Hoodie Boy?”
He blinked, clearly not expecting to be confronted by a five-foot-three woman with attitude.
“I—uh,” he started, then shut his mouth, like words were suddenly illegal.
“This isn’t a music festival,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “It’s a protest. For people who actually care about the ocean.”
He tilted his head, lips twitching like he was amused. Oh, great. The brooding, mysterious type. We had one of those in every protest, didn’t we?
He removed the glasses and pulled down the hoodie.
There was something about him. Not just the broad shoulders and the fact that he was a foot taller than me. More like… the way he watched me with his striking blue eyes. Like I was the only person standing on this entire beach.
Dangerous. Distracting. I hated that.
“Right,” he said finally. “I care.”
I snorted. “Sure you do.”
He chuckled.
I shoved a sign into his hands.
He took it like he didn’t know what hit him, staring down at the messy paint: Coral > Concrete.
“Congratulations,” I said. “You’re officially one of us.”
He laughed under his breath. Not mocking—like I’d surprised him. Like nobody had ever handed him a cardboard sign before.
Weird.
The crowd surged forward with another chant, pulling him along. He looked down at the sign, then at me, like he wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here.
Spoiler alert: neither did I.
But I do know how I ended up here. Hawaii is my home, my ancestral home. My mother was from here. Over the years, I’d watched the rich bulldoze paradise for profit. They carved up beaches, sold sunsets, destroyed reefs—and all for greed.
But enough was enough.
And I—being Hawaiian—couldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever.
We screamed in front of the very resort where Sterling was supposedly staying. His company already had four resorts in the area.
Wasn’t that enough? Apparently not. Greed never stops asking for more.
As I scanned the protest, I spotted Hoodie Boy again. He was talking to Kai, who suddenly looked over and waved me closer.
Kai was more than a friend—he was family, the brother from another mother.
“This is Lena Holland,” Kai said proudly, tugging Hoodie Boy toward me. “Our marine biologist. She’s leading this protest.”
The boy pulled off his hood and sunglasses, and… wow. Hazel eyes. A jawline sculpted by actual gods. I might have forgotten how to breathe for a second.
He extended his hand, hesitant but smooth. “I’m Ad—Alex.”
“Hello, Alex.” I shook his hand. It was warm. Firm but gentle. My hand molded perfectly to his. “What made you join the protest?”
He hesitated, then smiled. “I saw you screaming so passionately… I couldn’t stop myself.”
Heat crept into my cheeks, and I hated that he noticed.
“Well,” I said quickly, glaring at the gleaming Sterling Resort in the distance, “I hate the rich assholes who think they can destroy our island just because they have money.”
“Calm down,” Kai murmured, nudging me.
But he didn’t get it. I was exasperated. There’s so much land elsewhere—why here? Why destroy the reef?
Alex said nothing, just kept watching me. His eyes were too intense, like he was memorizing me.
I cleared my throat. “So… what do you do, Alex?”
“Oh, me?” He stumbled over his words. “I’m just… a tourist.”
“Good.” I nodded firmly. “Travel around. See everything. I hope you find something beautiful here.”
The heat was getting unbearable. I saw Alex sweating. I gave him a bottle of water and a granola bar. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Eat. Drink. Protesters don’t faint on my watch.”
Not again.
If one more protestor fainted under my watch, my professor would definitely call off the protest. I couldn’t let that happen.
I looked around. The people were looking tired, so I headed over to check on a group of exhausted students.
Just then, a bald security guard shoved through the crowd, his scowl sharp enough to cut glass. He zeroed in on a group of kids and screamed.
While another trying to shove them away. Some kids fell on the grounds.
“You’ve made your point. Go home before someone gets hurt.”
The students faltered, shoulders shrinking, signs drooping.
I strode forward, planting myself between the guard and the kids. “They’re not going anywhere.”
He sneered down at me. “Move along, lady. Don’t make trouble.”
I tilted my head, gave him a smile sweet enough to curdle milk. “Oh, honey, touch these kids again and I’ll shove your nuts so far inside you, you’ll be coughing Sterling letters before you can spell the name.”
A ripple of laughter and whoops burst from the students behind me. Phones went up, recording every second.
The guard’s face turned blotchy red. He glanced around—at the cameras, the crowd, my very sharp grin—and muttered, “Crazy bitch.”
“Damn right,” I shot back.
He backed off, disappearing behind the barricade.
The kids broke into relieved laughter, pumping their fists.
I turned back to them with a wink. “Don’t worry. Crazy gets results.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Hoodie Boy—Alex—watching me again. His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile, but his eyes… his eyes looked like they’d just witnessed a tidal wave.
