Текст книги "From What I Remember"
Автор книги: Valerie Thomas
Соавторы: Stacy Kramer
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
ou having fun?” Juan whispers in my ear as we bump and grind with a bunch of boys.
“Yes,” I say, trying to sound cool, calm, and collected. But what I really want to do is shout it to the world. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
I’ve been waiting for this moment to arrive forever, and now that it’s finally here, it’s even better than I could have imagined.
I’ve got my hands in the air, I’m dancing up a storm, sweating like a pig. Some of my moves feel a little rusty, but, frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. I’m enjoying myself far too much to care. This is the best night of my life. If only it didn’t have to end in the morning.
I saw Kylie and Max making out on the dance floor (which was almost as shocking as the fact that I’ve been making out on the dance floor), but the next thing I knew, they were flying out the door, like fighter jets off to war. Normally, I’d be worried and chasing Kylie down the street, making sure she’s okay. But I haven’t got time for the pain. I’ve got one night only. One night to make Juan mine. And if I do, who knows what can happen next? A whole world of wonderful. At least that’s what I’m gunning for.
Hopefully, girlfriend can take care of herself while I’m taking care of myself. Or, rather, Juan is taking care of me. How awesome would that be if Kylie and I both lost our virginity on the very last night of school? Talk about bringing back a rocking souvenir from Mexico. Fingers crossed.
“Can I have this dance, gorgeous?” Juan’s high school friend Antonio asks me.
I turn to Juan to make sure it’s okay. “You cool with that?” I ask him.
“By all means. Everyone wants a piece of the beautiful new boy in town,” Juan says.
Beautiful new boy? Who? Me? I look around to make sure Juan isn’t talking about someone behind me, in front of me, to the left or the right of me. He’s not. He’s looking straight at me with his baby blues. Hot much? Be still, my heart.
Antonio, meanwhile, is quite the specimen. They know how to grow these boys in Mexico. And he wants to dance with me. Me! That is the freaking craziest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s like an alternate universe here in Ensenada, where the duckling is a swan. I’m handsome, suave, and popular. I could get used to this.
As Antonio and I shake our booties to the Scissor Sisters, I’m beginning to question my decision to return to La Jolla in the morning. I promised Kylie a ride back, but if tonight goes well, why bother trucking over the border when I’ve found paradise right here in Ensenada? Does it get any better than this? I highly doubt it.
Juan is staying in Ensenada for the summer. Maybe I should stand by my man. Though Kylie has to be at graduation, there is no pressing need for me to be there. Or anywhere but here, for that matter. The only sticking point is that Juan isn’t exactly out to his family. The macho Latino culture is a bitch. But I can help with that. Coming out is my forte.
Sure, Mom and Dad will be bummed that I’ve missed graduation, but I’ll make it up to them by losing the women’s clothes and dressing like a guy, for the first time in years. Dad will be so happy he’ll probably start handing out cigars. I just hope Kylie will understand when I hand her the passports and put her and Max on the first bus back to San Diego.
have no idea how long we’ve been making out on the pier. As far as I’m concerned, the world could end here and now. Because everything I never knew I wanted, I just received. Thank you, more please, Max Langston. We’re sitting up now, having gotten a few splinters from rolling around on the wood. I’m on Max’s lap and his arms are wrapped around my waist as his lips work their way toward my ear. His tongue plays with the fleshy part of the lobe and it’s so pleasurable I’m not sure I can bear it. Who knew my earlobes were so sensitive? How can someone be this good at kissing? His lips, his tongue, his teeth, they all work as a team, constantly doing new things, reinventing themselves. Just when I think he’s exhausted his repertoire, he’ll gently bite my lip and then his tongue will work magic somewhere new in my mouth, or on my neck, finding sweet spots I never knew existed.
“Look.” Max points out toward the horizon. His face pulls away from mine, and I feel like someone has cut off my oxygen.
And then I see it. A pod of dolphins has swum into the harbor and is leaping out of the water, spinning in the air and splashing back down. Max and I watch, mesmerized by their show. A few fireworks pop in the sky. Ensenada is going all out tonight. I guess it was a dolphin I saw earlier. My luck appears to be turning around, at least for today. I’m seeing stars, dolphins, and fireworks. And liking it. I’ve suddenly gone all soft, which is fine by me.
I jump up and look down at Max. “I’m going swimming, Langston. You coming?”
I don’t even care if Max sees my big old butt. Maybe he’ll like it. Maybe he won’t. I just want to splash around in the ocean, under the stars, while a full moon lights up the night sky. This is one moment that’s not going to pass me by.
“Hell, yeah!” Max says. “But what about the eels?”
“I had forgotten about them, but thanks for reminding me.”
“Sorry, my bad. Still going in?”
“I’m going to take on the eels. You with me?”
“All the way,” Max says, standing up and pulling off his shirt. His chest is so exquisite, so perfectly sculpted, my heart skips a beat. Is this really happening?
I pull my dress off, standing in front of Max in my bra and underwear. If he’s going to think I’m fat, might as well let him have at it.
Max’s eyes graze my body. I can feel them moving from my neck down over my breasts and resting on my stomach. He reaches out and touches me softly with his fingers. His hands wander over my body. I want to kiss him again, but he’s keeping me at a distance, just touching me. It feels so nice. His hands wind their way along my sides until both palms rest on either side of my butt.
Why isn’t he saying anything? Does he think I’m fat? I’m certainly plumper than bony Lily Wentworth. I mean, baby got back. I’m Latino. And Jewish. I like to eat. What can I say? I’m not a stick and I never will be. Say something, Max.
“You have the most beautiful body, Kylie. I can’t believe you hide it away in those baggy jeans.”
What? “Shut up,” is all that comes to mind. Brilliant.
“I’m serious, Kylie. I love your ass. All the girls at Freiburg are so skinny. You’ve got a perfect ass.”
“No way.” Another genius retort. It’s official, I’m a blathering idiot.
And then, because I can’t really discuss my ass any longer, I rush toward the edge of the pier, soar off the edge and into the water. It’s warm, silky, and bubbly. It feels like swimming in champagne. Max throws off his jeans and dives in after me. He swims up to me, takes hold of my hands, and we float together as the gentle waves toss us about. The dolphins play a few hundred yards away. The fireworks have finished—the literal ones, that is. Metaphorical ones are going off at an ever increasing speed.
“If you put your head underwater, you’ll be able to hear the dolphins speaking to each other,” Max says.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I used to do it as a kid. It kind of sounds like little clicking noises. Wait, I’ll try.”
Max plunges under the water, stays down for a few seconds, then pops back up.
“You can totally hear them. Go see.”
I take a deep breath and submerge myself. After a second or two I hear it, little clicks and screeches. It’s unmistakable. It sounds like they’re chattering away in a foreign language. I come back up to the surface.
“Very cool!”
“I know. It’s hard to hear them in San Diego. Too many people. They don’t come this close to shore.”
“What do you think they’re saying?”
“Probably talking about corruption in Mexico. I don’t think they’re fans of Felipe Calderón.”
“Listen to you, talking Mexican geopolitics.”
“Just trying to impress you. How am I doing?”
“You’ve impressed me, Langston. Enough already. I’m starting to feel like an underachiever here.”
Max leans in and kisses me. We bob up and down and side to side as we attempt to kiss, breathe, and somehow stay afloat.
Max points to the pier. “Check it out. Total crowd scene happening out there.”
I look to the pier and notice that people have gathered on the dock, men in suits, woman in dresses like mine.
“You think they’re watching us?” I ask.
“Definitely. They heard about the Americans swimming in their underwear in the harbor and they’ve come down to check it out.”
“Oh my God.”
“Kylie, no one cares about us.”
“I’ve never gone swimming in the ocean at night before. Ever.”
“Seriously? Night swimming is the best.”
“This is amazing. If I lived here I would do this every night,” I tell Max.
“If I lived here I would have a little boat, and I’d take us out on the water at night, maybe a little sangria, some of those tripe tacos. We’d lay back and look at the stars as we tool around the harbor. It’d be sweet.”
“You are sweet, Max Langston.”
“You are amazing, Kylie Flores.”
I can’t help myself, I’m giddy and grinning from ear to ear. I’m barely recognizable even to myself, and I’m liking that a lot.
“What are you smiling at?” Max asks me.
“I’m having a great night.”
“Me too.”
I lie on my back in the water, moving my hands just enough to keep me afloat. The stars are blazing above me. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Even though I know there might be an expiration date on this kind of thing.
elicidades!” someone yells out for the fifth time in ten minutes, and we all drink. Again. A guy appears and refills our plastic cups. Where did he come from? And how much tequila do they have? An endless supply? We’ve been knocking back shots with the crowd on the pier since we got out of the water, about a half hour ago. People have gathered here for some kind of massive wedding. We hopped out of the water, practically naked and smack into the ceremony. We tried to bail, but no one was having it. So we got dressed and joined the party, as we’ve joined every party that would have us since arriving in Ensenada. Man, these people know how to live it up.
Kylie holds her glass up to mine. “To Saint John the Baptist. I think he seems like a very cool dude. And he throws a kick-ass party.”
Kylie clinks glasses with me and downs what must be her fourth shot. I’ve had three and am really starting to feel it, so she’s got to be pretty blasted at this point.
“Maxie, wassup? You’re not drinking?” Kylie asks me.
Maxie? Definitely way wasted.
“I’m taking a break. You might want to do that as well.”
“Don’t think so. I’m feeling gooood. Wanna feel even better.”
“You don’t want to get sick.”
Suddenly I’m the responsible dude. This is not my thing, but I’m worried about Kylie, and I never really worry about anyone. Usually I let people take care of themselves, but there’s something about Kylie that’s vulnerable and fragile. I want to protect her. Giving her valedictorian speech with a nasty headache is going to be brutal. She has no idea.
“Oh my God, look at you. You’re such a little worrywart,” Kylie says, slurring her words. She’s got it bad. She’s going to have one wicked hangover in the morning, but, man, she is hot as hell right now, with her eyes at half-mast and that one dimple on her left cheek.
Kylie goes to grab my arm, misses, and nearly falls over. I catch her. She collapses into me. I don’t mind. I love the feel of her body next to mine. It just…fits. She smells like an ocean-and-tequila cocktail. It’s a potent mix. I want to lie down right here on the pier with her. Unfortunately, we’re in the middle of a massive group wedding. My timing is a little off. Maybe later.
A priest is in the process of marrying couple after couple. It’s a tradition, at midnight, on St. John the Baptist. After each mini-wedding, everyone drinks, and Kylie has thrown herself into things with abandon. So far, ten new marriages. Five more to go. Most of the brides wear dresses just like Kylie’s. And the grooms wear tuxedos. I can’t tell if this is serious or not. Are these people married now? Is this just some elaborate party ritual? Because the tequila is a big part of it, that’s for sure. I think the priest might even be taking a shot every now and then.
The crowd yells out, “¡Felicidades!” again.
“¡Felicidades!” Kylie screams, practically in my ear.
Everyone lifts their glass. Another one bites the dust. The couple kisses and then swerves off down the pier.
“That priest is churning ’em out,” Kylie says. “You think he gets some kind of kickback for each wedding? Maybe he works on commission?”
I laugh. She’s still damn funny, even toasted.
A man approaches us with a fresh bottle of tequila. We’ve moved on from Patrón to the off-label stuff, maybe brewed at home. Things are deteriorating rapidly. Kylie shoves her glass out for the man to fill. I put my hand over it.
“I’m cutting you off,” I say.
Kylie frowns. She looks so freaking cute, I move in to kiss her, but she pulls away.
“I want to get my drink on,” Kylie says.
“I’m saving you from yourself. How are you going to speak tomorrow?”
“I’ll worry about that tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I say. “Fill us up.”
He does and we both drink. The liquor burns my throat, but the warmth that flows afterward feels good. I’m really buzzed. Things are getting a little fuzzy around the edges.
“Are you two next?” I turn around to see the priest standing behind us.
“Yes! Totally!” Kylie says.
I turn to Kylie. “What are you doing?”
“We’re getting married, Maxie,” Kylie says, pulling me into a hug. “I want to do this.” She stares at me. Her big golden eyes couldn’t be more serious. Is this the alcohol or Kylie talking? Or a combination? She wants to get married? Seriously?
As I stare into Kylie’s face, I realize I’ve never wanted to do anything more. Kylie looks so fucking beautiful. This is the most romantic, exciting, awesome night of my life. I think I’ve fallen for Kylie Flores. Hard.
“I dare you to marry me, Langston,” Kylie says.
“You’re on,” I say. “Let’s do this.”
Kylie and I come crashing together in our drunkenness and euphoria. We kiss wet and sloppy. I get down on one knee.
“Marry me, Flores,” I say.
“I thought you’d never ask, Langston.”
“Do you have the rings?” the priest asks.
“We forgot our rings. Do you have any extra?” Kylie asks.
“I always bring extra. People forget the most important thing,” the priest says, handing Kylie two gold rings that probably came out of an old-fashioned gum ball machine. Kylie holds on to one and hands me the other.
“One for me. One for Maxie,” she says.
I look at Kylie wearing that rocking dress, backlit by the moon, and I can’t help but wonder how I didn’t notice this girl years ago.
The priest says something to us in Spanish. He waves his hand above our heads and touches his chest with his fingers. We exchange rings, fumbling to get them on each other.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest tells us. “You may kiss the bride.” And that’s exactly what I do.
Everyone shouts out, “¡Felicidades!” as Kylie and I kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss. An older woman comes up and hugs us both. Several others join in, and soon we’re in the center of a group hug. I’m still holding on to Kylie, but she’s sliding out of my arms and down onto the ground. I hold her tighter, trying to keep her upright.
“Kylie, you okay?”
“Hey, you,” she says. She’s half asleep. She can’t fight the alcohol anymore. And then she completely passes out. Her head falls to the side. I grab her under the arms so she doesn’t hit the ground. I’ve got to get her into bed. So much for the wedding night.
il, what are you doing here?” Charlie asks, when he sees me sitting on the hood of his Jeep.
It’s a valid question at five thirty in the morning.
“I’m coming with you,” I say, trying to sound all chipper, like I’m going to make the best damn driving buddy a guy could want. As if.
“We talked about this. You agreed.”
Technically, he’s right. I tacitly agreed by not arguing, as I normally would have. I didn’t have the energy. I wasn’t exactly on my game last night. I was already losing my shit over Dad’s news, and then Max’s bizarro phone call to Charlie telling him he was in Mexico, with no further explanation and absolutely no interest in talking to me, only added insult to injury. So I didn’t force the issue because I hadn’t fully realized just how enraged I was at Max. Blowing me off on the last day of school to go hang in Baja, probably to surf and get drunk all day.
“A girl can change her mind,” I say.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.…”
“You shouldn’t drive alone. It’s not safe. Besides, it’ll be fun. A little end-of-the-year road trip. And”—I hold out a shopping bag filled with junk food—“I brought snacks. Your favorite. Oreos and Yoo-hoo. You can’t kick a girl out with Yoo-hoo.”
I’m thinking the best sell is positive spin and lots of ammunition. I came locked and loaded. I figured I was going to need it. And I was right. Charlie is such a stupid slave to Max. Blindly following his every request like it’s the frigging word of God. He may be a nice guy, but nice guys finish last, my friend.
I still can’t believe Max didn’t even bother to text or call me. All day. So rude. And hurtful. Especially in light of what I’m going through (not that he knows, but still, Max needs to start putting my feelings first a little more often). Petty as it is, I kind of feel like I need my pound of flesh. And I’m going to Mexico to extract it.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with him, but Max really wanted me to come alone. I feel like I should respect that,” says Charlie.
“I know. You made it abundantly clear. Which is insulting, but I’m choosing to rise above and accompany you anyway.
With Yoo-hoo and Oreos. That’s just the kind of loyal friend I am. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Charlie isn’t making this easy, and I don’t have the patience to play nice much longer. Here’s the deal. I’m going. My boyfriend blew me off the entire last day of school. He has inexplicably and suspiciously found himself stranded in Mexico. I am not going to sit in La Jolla and wait for him to come find me. Given that the rest of my life has gone to shit, I’m not going to let Max slip away without a fight. I am hightailing it south, and then, on the off chance that Max hasn’t done anything too offensive, I will be there for him in his time of need. In the event that Max has been a total selfish asshole (far more probable), I will be there, front and center, to ream him out and then graciously consider forgiving him, which should earn me a few Brownie points.
“He really wants me to come alone.”
“Yeah, you just said that. Several times. And I’m not so interested in what Max wants.”
Okay. That was quick. I’ve already gone dark. I polish off the last of my venti capp (thank God the new Starbucks at the mall opens at five a.m. or things would be really gruesome right now), slide off the hood of the Jeep, and jump into shotgun before Charlie has a chance to say anything more.
Charlie climbs in, closes the door, but doesn’t start up the engine. Oh, no—here it comes. Charlie is a talker. Which is pretty ironic considering he’s Max’s best friend. I can only imagine the one-sided conversations that take place in the locker room. Probably pretty similar to Max’s and mine. Normally I’m happy to chew the fat with Charlie—he’s been almost like a girlfriend, listening to my shit when Max won’t—but I’m not in the mood this morning.
“Maybe Max wanted some time off, you know, to think about…stuff.”
“Stuff? What kind of stuff?”
“College. Squash tryouts. His dad?”
“His dad? What about his dad?” I ask. “I thought he was getting better.”
Charlie just stares at me.
“What?” I ask.
“You should probably ask Max. It’s not my business.”
Yet another thing Max and I haven’t properly discussed. I could fill a room with the things we can’t talk about.
“This whole thing is probably no big deal,” Charlie continues. “Maybe he just wanted to catch some good breaks. There’s great surfing in Baja. The thing is, I don’t think he wants any drama right now. It’s not anything he said, so don’t ask me what I know. It’s just a vibe I’m getting. The two of us showing up is gonna be drama.”
“Absolutely no drama. I’m on board with that.”
“C’mon, Lil. You know that’s not true. If you come, there is going to be drama. There always is. Just wait here. I promise I’ll bring him back quickly, and then you can go at him all you want.”
“I’m coming, Charlie.…”
“And it’s graduation. What if we’re late? You don’t want to be late. Seriously, Lil, this is not a good idea.”
“I’m coming, Charlie.” I pull a Yoo-hoo out of the bag and offer it to Charlie. I throw my feet onto the dashboard and sink into my seat. Let’s go, bro.
Charlie takes the Yoo-hoo, opens it, and gulps it down. He’s still not starting the car. I’m tempted to grab the keys and fire up the ignition myself. Charlie is really beginning to get on my nerves.
“I feel like you’re ready for a fight before you’ve even heard Max’s side of things,” Charlie says.
Oh my God, more talking. Please, stop.
“Max’s side of things is always up for grabs. I want to see for myself what’s going on.”
I am working myself up into a total lather. This was not the plan, but Charlie is not starting the car, and I am not getting out until I’m in Mexico.
Charlie sighs. Debate is not his strong suit. He’s always a little too concerned about everyone’s feelings.
“Start the car, Charlie. You know you can’t win this one. I will wear you down.”
“I just want to go on record as saying this is a really bad idea.”
“Noted.”
Charlie starts the car and takes, like, five years to back out of his driveway. He turns on to the street and we’re crawling toward the intersection. Oh. My. God. At this rate, we’ll be in Mexico early next week.
“Are we going to drive twenty the whole way?” I ask.
“It’s not even six in the morning. I don’t want to wake the neighbors. I know everyone on the street.”
I roll my eyes because that is just so Charlie. Always concerned about someone or something. Jesus, dude, you’re eighteen. Who fucking cares what the neighbors think? The world is not your problem.
There’s silence for a whole minute, and then Charlie turns to me.
“Are we okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, after last night.”
Last night? Shit. I had forgotten about that whole disaster. Do we really need to dredge that up again?
“Oh, yeah. Totally,” I reassure him.
“’Cause I still feel kind of weird about everything.”
“You so shouldn’t give it another thought. It just happened. We were both drunk. It was…whatever. Don’t worry about it. We’re fine. No one needs to know.”
“I know, but…maybe we should tell Max? I don’t want it to get back to him from someone else. I feel bad—”
“Nothing happened, Charlie. What is there to tell? Besides, who knows what he did in Mexico. He probably has a lot more to unload than I do.”
Charlie keeps looking over at me. I can tell he still wants to talk about things. Please, Charlie, I’m begging you, can we just drop it?
“You seemed really pissed at me last night when, you know, I couldn’t…do anything. And I just, um, wanted to say that—”
“Charlie, it’s so not a big deal. Put it out of your mind. I seemed pissed because I was pissed. At Max. Not at you. We messed up. It happens. There is no larger meaning here. Don’t look for it.”
“I guess you’re right,” Charlie says.
“I know I’m right. We’re seniors. This is the kind of thing people do senior year. So they have something to tell their grandkids.”
“Okay, I just, well, I thought I should explain why I couldn’t—”
“The less said, the better.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“We all have our junk.”
What is this, Oprah? Enough with the over-sharing. Now I get why Max finds my need to constantly communicate my feelings annoying.
“Before you go all postal on Max, you should probably listen to what he’s got to say.”
“Sure.” As if.
