Here's where the story starts.
Quote from the book:
“Have you ever felt like your world’s falling apart just because you put yourself together with the wrong pieces?” I asked. “And that maybe, if you looked hard enough, you could find the right parts to put yourself together again?”
It explains what led a "good girl" to run away (with a bad boy) to be:
My journal, about my son who passed away and helped me see everything differently.
All of these books came from my heart, but Homeless in Hawaii has a special place because it's a coming of age story about love and a struggle to survive--maybe that's why I wrote it last.
Here's an excerpt toward the end of the book. This is after I came back from being a homeless.
The strangest thing about going back home was realizing life had gone on without me. It had been less than six months, yet no one remembered the rumors or the Bible girl who ran away from high school. People waved when I ran into them. They didn’t talk much about my senior year and most of them were incredibly nice.
I tried getting a few musical gigs and several people said they would have hired me if I just had a guitarist to play with. I tried jamming with a few guys, but none of them even compared to Cade. We didn’t have the same spontaneous transitions or the synchronization so important with Celtic and acoustic music.
I finally broke down and decided that without Cade in my life, playing music had become depressing. I got the first job I applied for and started working at a disco themed bowling alley where everyone knew one another. The people who worked there treated me kindly, and the elderly customers who came in the early morning and night always told the best stories.
One day, as I worked at the register, I saw a girl I’d known from church. “You were always such a fake,” she said and her words took me off guard because everyone else from my past had forgotten about my teen dramas.
“Don’t you know?” I replied, slapping her size of bowling shoes on the counter. “I’m old news. People like you are gossiping about other things now.” She gasped. “You really have no idea who I am or what I’ve been through. Next!” I yelled to the people standing in line behind her.
She didn’t even touch the shoes. Instead she moved aside and, without another word, left the building.
“When you stood up to that girl, I was impressed,” a fellow cashier said later. “I could never do something like that.”
“Yes, you could. You’re stronger than you think—and that means something coming from me because people have told me I can see things about people.” I winked at her and she smiled. As we talked, I sprayed bowling shoes with Lysol, tucked in laces and arranged everything nicely in cubbyholes. “Can you believe I couldn’t stand up for myself in high school? I had to become a homeless street musician just to find out I’d always had strength inside of me.”
“Oh, Elisa! You’re a hoot. You really weren’t homeless? Were you?”
“Yeah. I was.”
For another excerpt from Homeless in Hawaii, please go here: Coming Home to Myself
Homeless in Hawaii