The Pool Party

by Gary Soto

  “Yeah, that’s right, they’re your ‘personal friends.’ ”

  They peeled through inner tubes. Their hands, already dirty from pushing the car, became even dirtier, and the fronts of their shirts became smudged. Mustaches of sweat hung from their upper lips.

  “This one is pretty good,” Rudy said. He held it around his waist like a Hula Hoop and wiggled his hips like he was dancing.

  “Go, brown boy, go!” Alex clapped.

  “I’m goin’, I’m goin’!” Rudy sang.

  Alex was laughing at Rudy’s antics when a gloved hand clawed his neck. For a second he thought that the gas station attendant had followed them to the tire shop. He got ready to plead with the hand not to tell his mother. But when he turned, it was one of the men in overalls. His face was lined, and in the lines clung greasy dirt. A front tooth was missing, and in its place a piece of tongue stuck out.

  “What’re you kids doing?” he growled. A match was stuck in the corner of his mouth.

  “Ah, well …” Alex stuttered. He looked around to see if there was a way to run without getting caught.

  “You’re gonna get hurt,” the man continued. He spat out the match.

  “Ah, well, we need—”

  “An inner tube, sir,” Rudy interrupted as he stepped in front of Alex. “Just a little one, sir? Please?”

  “What for?”

  “See, I’m invited to a party. This girl Tiffany invited me. Do you know the Perez family?”

  “I know a hundred of ’em. My last name is Perez.”

  “It is? Are you related to Tiffany?” a surprised Rudy asked.

  “No!” the man snapped.

  “Well, I guess there are a lot of people named Perez. Her father’s a doctor or something. She lives in a nice house.”

  “Cut to the chase, kid,” the man bellowed. “I have work to do. What do you want?”

  “An inner tube. I’ll even tell her where I got it. Please?”

  The man stuck another match, headfirst, in the corner of his mouth. He sized up Rudy and Alex, and then waved. “All right, go ahead. But you get hurt, don’t come crying to me.”

  The man left, and the two of them searched the pile until they found a big inner tube they liked. They left the tire shop with Alex bragging, “See, I told you. They’re my personal friends.”

  At home in the backyard, they pumped air into the inner tube and watched it grow large as a boat. Grandfather, who was weeding the tomato plants, approached the boys, hat tilted and handkerchief tied around his neck. Grandfather whistled and remarked, “That’s a heck of an inner tube.”

  “We got it at Belmont Tire,” Rudy said. “From Alex’s ‘personal friends.’ ”

  “Yeah, they know me there.”

  “You’re takin’ it to the party, qué no?” Grandfather asked.

  “Yeah, this Saturday,” Rudy said.

  Grandfather ran a hand across his sweaty face. His face became pinched with thought. “That’s what we need—a pool.” He turned and gazed dreamily at the yard with its yellow-green lawn. “Yeah, a pool.”

  Rudy and Alex spent the rest of the afternoon fixing up the inner tube. Alex figured that Rudy could impress Tiffany with a low-riding, ese inner tube. They spraypainted the inner tube with splotches of red and yellow and pasted decals and stickers all over it. He let out some air, his fingernails on the stem as the air went pssssssssss.

  When they finished, Rudy stood back with his hand on his chin, admiring the inner tube. “It’s bad,” he finally announced.

  “Yeah, you gonna hit it off with Tiffany.” Alex then added, “You oughta ride it in.”

  “You think so?” Rudy asked, curious to see if he could fit himself into the center. He had ridden in inner tubes when he was young. But now he was older, almost ten, and much heavier. Could he get into the inner tube and hang on? he wondered.

  “Give it a try,” Alex said. “Just steer straight. Don’t worry if a car hits you, you’ll just bounce off.”

  Rudy, fitted with a helmet and skateboard gloves, groaned as he climbed into the center.

  “You ready?” Alex asked.

  “Almost,” Rudy said. From his pocket he took out a comb that was poking him. “Okay.”

  Alex pushed and rolled the tube until it began to pick up speed like a train.

  “Steer straight,” Alex hollered.

  “A la derecha,” Grandfather, now at the side of the house, watering the grass, yelled.

  The inner tube bumped and rolled. Rudy screamed, “I hope Mom has insurance for me …” as he sped down the street in his low-riding, ese inner tube. Rudy rolled and rolled and the food in his stomach—chicharrónes and root beer—sloshed about.

  Estela was sitting on the fender of a neighbor’s car, talking to a friend. The subject was boys.

  “Have you dreamed that you lived before?” Estela asked with a faraway smile. Her gold hoop earrings winked with sunlight.

  “No,” her friend answered.

  “Sometimes I get these feelings that I have lived before, and I had all these gorgeous boyfriends. And I—” Estela stopped when she saw an inner tube zip by and Alex running behind it.

  “What’s that?” her girlfriend asked.

  Estela jumped off the fender. “I think it’s my stupid brother, Rudy.” She propped her hands on her waist and moaned, “I’m gonna have to teach him manners.”

  The inner tube rolled up the street. It rolled for two blocks before it began to wobble and slow down. Then a teenager who was watching gave it another hard push, and once again Rudy felt like he was in a clothes dryer.

  “Go, little dude, go!” the teenager screamed.

  “Ándale,” Alex panted.

  The inner tube bounced against a curb and nearly ran into a little girl on her tricycle. Then it headed toward a yard sale. The customers, all bargain seekers, looked up in shock. They dropped their items—clothes, basketballs, lamps, toys—and dashed away as the inner tube rushed toward them.

  “Help, Mom,” Rudy screamed. “I promise to be good.”

  The inner tube crashed into the yard sale and Rudy was buried beneath a pile of clothes. Stunned and dizzy, he rose up on his elbows and looked around. A purple hat was on his head, and deep red shame was on his face.

  Chapter 6

  Rudy returned home dejected, pulling his deflated inner tube. When he had crashed into the yard sale, Alex had hurried away. The inner tube had slammed full force against the sharp edge of the handlebars of a bike. Now it had a foot-long rip. Not even Grandfather’s electrical tape could save it.

  Rudy’s father was leaning over the fender of their Oldsmobile. He was putting in a new set of spark plugs.

  “What’s up, Little Rudy?” Father asked. He wiped his hands on a greasy rag.

  “My inner tube ripped,” he answered.

  “Ripped!” he said. “After you and Alex decked it out?”

  A cloud of sadness swept across Rudy’s face. The cloud leaked a tear from the corner of Rudy’s eyes.

  Father examined the inner tube. He stuck his whole arm into the rip. It was beyond repair.

  “Hmmm,” he mumbled, hand on his chin. “I got an idea. You come back in five minutes.”

  Rudy went inside to wash his hands and face and pop a slice of cake into his mouth. When he returned, he was staring at the biggest inner tube in his neighborhood, if not all of Fresno.

  “What do you think? Pretty bad, qué no?” Father smiled, an air pump in his hands. He was sweaty from pumping, tired, and breathing hard.

  “Papi, it’s great.” A happy Rudy beamed. Rudy rolled the huge inner tube around the front yard and, with the neighbor kids watching, bounced on it until he landed on his head. Then his mom called him to dinner.

  That night over dinner, the family talked about the party. Mother asked three times, “Quién es Tiffany Perez?” and three times Rudy mumbled with his mouth full, “She’s just a girl at school. Pass the papas.”

  Estela, though, volunteered mo
re information. “She’s a really rich girl. Her brother was in my English class last year.”

  “Is she a good girl?” Mother asked. She was always concerned about her children’s friends.

  “Rich?” Father asked, pouring a wide river of chile on his frijoles. “I wonder if I ever cut their lawn before. Do you know their address?”

  “They live on The Bluffs.”

  “That’s a rich familia,” Father answered. Father snapped his fingers. “In fact, I got a mowing job over there. The Ramirez family.”

  “Mindy Ramirez?” Estela asked. “She’s rich too. Her brother’s in my math class. He’s dumb but cute.”

  “Pues, could be the same family. That house is on los Bluffs también.” Father fumbled through his pockets for a scrap of paper. He held it under the light and read 1356 The Bluffs.

  “That’s Mindy’s address,” Estela confirmed. “Her brother is cute!”

  “I know Mindy,” Rudy said, his mouth full. “She’s in my class. I lent her a quarter one time, and she never paid me back.”

  Grandfather, who was busily eating dinner, said, “That’s how the rich get rich. Little quarters add up. Why, back in the fifties, we had …”

  Grandfather told a story of a young man who arrived from Greece with only a quarter, a quarter that he found in a soda machine on board the ship. According to Grandfather, the man transformed that quarter into a multimillion-dollar empire.

  “I’ll have to get my quarter back,” Rudy said, sipping his Kool-Aid. “Maybe I can become rich too.”

  Next morning the family, including an embarrassed Estela, climbed into the Oldsmobile, now transformed, as Father joked, into the Lawnmobile. They had six lawns to cut that day, and Father needed all their help.

  “Dad, don’t make me do this,” Estela begged from the backseat. Estela hid her face in her hands. “I don’t want Eric Ramirez, the cutest boy at my school, to see me working. It’s too embarrassing!”

  “Nobody will say anything,” Father said. He shifted the car into reverse and, looking over his shoulder, backed up their large dinosaur of a car. He ran over the curb, jostling the passengers and the equipment in the trunk.

  “Work is honorable,” Grandfather said after a while. He took a stick of gum and tore it in half. He handed each of his grandchildren a piece. “I’ve been honorable all my life. Mira, look at my hands. Puro honor!” His hands were rough as bark, with huge veins riding the surface of his skin.

  Estela hid her face even deeper into her hands. She was hating life at that moment.

  They did the first two lawns, and then took a break under a tree in Figarden, a rich suburb. Then they cut three more lawns and saved the Ramirez house for last. By then, Estela’s face was sweaty. Her knees were grass-stained, her hair tangled from the leaf blower, and her once-polished fingernails were chipped. They looked like broken eggshells to her.

  The Oldsmobile rattled up to the Ramirez house, a stately structure that stood tall as a ship.

  “Estamos aquí,” Father said, and cut the engine. The engine rocked and shuddered, then sighed to a quiet end. They all climbed out. Feeling stiff, Father did a deep-knee bend and stretched his arms skyward. “Let’s start with the front lawn.”

  “Dad, can I edge this time?” Rudy pleaded. “Come on, Dad.”

  “Okay, but only if you steer right. I don’t want you to mess up.”

  Grandfather unloaded the mower and edger. Estela took out the brooms and rakes as she moaned to herself. “I can’t believe I’m cutting the lawn of one of the most popular boys at school. If Eric sees me I’ll die.”

  Mindy, parting the curtains, looked out the front window. She came out to the front steps and said, “Mom says not to forget the lawn on the side of the house.”

  “Hi, Mindy,” Rudy called.

  “Rudy Herrera, is that you?”

  “The one and only. I get to edge your lawn. How do you want it?” He pulled the starter on the edger, which coughed blue smoke but didn’t start. “You going to Tiffany’s party?”

  “You mean you’re invited?” Mindy asked. She had a surprised look on her face. Mindy was known to be stuck-up at school. Now Rudy thought she was stuck-up at home too.

  “I got an invitation.”

  Mindy looked at Estela and asked, “Is that your sister?”

  Estela pretended to look busy. She lowered her hat over her face.

  “Yeah, that’s Estela. She’s in one of your brother’s classes.” He turned to Estela and shouted, “Huh, Estela?”

  “Rudy, be quiet,” Estela snapped. “I’m going to wring your neck when I get home.”

  Mindy went back inside the house and Rudy pulled the starter on the edger once again. This time, the coughing edger whined into action and the blade spun like the propeller on a helicopter. Rudy lowered his safety goggles and started edging the lawn, orange sparks kicking up against the cement. He edged the front and then the back. He stopped at the pool, next to his grandfather. He shut off the engine and started sweeping.

  “Yeah, es linda,” Grandfather said of the house. He wiped his brow and looked down at Rudy. “You say she owes you a quarter.”

  “Yeah, plus interest, I guess,” Rudy said. Rudy looked up and saw Mindy peeking from behind a curtain. He waved and she ducked out of view.

  Grandfather thought a second. Then he asked, “And she’s going to the party?”

  Grandfather thought even longer. He took off his work gloves and swatted grass from his knees. “Her hermano is in Estela’s class?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Hmmm, well, Little Rudy, I think you should let that quarter pass,” Grandfather finally said. “It’s too much trouble.”

  “You’re right. You know, after I lent her a quarter, I found a dollar bill at the canal. Me and Alex were looking for frogs. You ever do that, Grandpa?”

  “All the time. Back when I was young we had frogs big as baseball mitts.”

  “¿De veras?”

  “Pues sí. Es la verdad.”

  Grandfather smiled and laughed a deep laugh that made his belly jiggle. He bent down and washed his face in the garden hose. Rudy did the same. When he looked up with water dripping from his eyelashes, Mindy was once again looking at him. Rudy waved again and Mindy ducked behind a flowery curtain.

  Chapter 7

  An electronic beep sounded when Rudy and Alex entered Everyman’s Coin Shop. They closed the door and looked back at their inner tube, which Rudy had chained to a parking meter. Rudy and Alex had debated whether to put money into the meter because, in a way, the inner tube was parked. But they decided to live dangerously and left it chained to the expired meter.

  The owner of the coin shop looked up, his eye hideously magnified behind a jeweler’s eyepiece, and sized up his two customers. “May I help you gentlemen?” the man asked in a polite voice. His eyepiece dropped into his palm. The owner shook it like dice before he placed it in his shirt pocket.

  Rudy and Alex looked around, not sure if the man was talking to them.

  “Yes, you two fine customers. How may I be of service?”

  Alex nudged Rudy. “Go ahead, ask him.”

  “Well, sir, is this worth anything? It was made in 1949 in Denver.” Rudy uncurled his fist. In his sweaty palm lay the nickel that his father had found while cutting the lawn. Rudy handed the nickel to the man, who brought out his eyepiece and studied the nickel. He hemmed and hawed and ticked the nickel against the glass case. He looked up at the boys. “My dear sirs—” he started to say.

  Alex nudged Rudy again. “See! You’re going to be rich! Will you buy me a Gameboy?”

  “Rich!” Rudy screamed. “I’m going to be rich! Really?”

  The two did a quick dance, gave themselves high fives and, gripping the glass case, asked, “How much is it worth?”

  The man put his eyepiece back into his shirt pocket. “A nickel,” the man concluded.

  “Yeah, we know it’s a nickel,” Rudy said. “But how much?”
<
br />   “I’m afraid that your nickel is worth a nickel.”

  Alex closed his eyes in disbelief. “It can’t be. It’s so old.”

  “I’m afraid that’s the truth.”

  “No, it can’t be,” Alex argued again. His face looked desperate. He had talked Rudy into walking two miles to the coin shop because he was sure—dead sure—that the nickel was worth a lot.

  The man fumbled through his pockets and brought out a nickel. He looked at the date. “Here, my good friends, is another nickel minted in 1949. You can have it. It’s yours.”

  Rudy took the nickel and peered at it. He gazed intently and concluded, “It is from 1949.” Rudy handed it back to the man and turned to Alex. “See, I told you it’s not worth anything!”

  “How did I know? Remember, you’re smarter,” Alex said, shrugging his shoulders. “It just seemed so old.”

  “I’m sorry that I can’t help you,” the man said, and turned from the boys to answer the telephone.

  When they left the coin shop, a policeman was writing up a ticket where they had parked the inner tube.

  “Híjole!” Rudy screamed. He ran over to the policeman. “Are you giving us a ticket?”

  “Is this your inner tube?” the policeman asked. His badge sparkled in the afternoon sun.

  “Yeah,” Rudy admitted.

  The policeman flapped his ticket book closed. “You can’t chain it to a meter. Better move it.” The policeman scratched his head and then added, “That’s a heck of an inner tube.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Rudy said despondently. When the policeman left, Rudy took the 1949 nickel from his pocket and fed the meter. “I may as well put it to use. This car is going to get a ticket if I don’t.” The meter was ticking down to four minutes.

  From the coin shop, Rudy and Alex rolled the inner tube to Francher’s Creek, a canal-like river that snaked through south Fresno. “You want to test it for leaks?” Alex asked.

  “Probably. Our jeans will dry out quick if they get wet. Anyway, mine could use a wash,” Rudy agreed.

  They heaved the inner tube into the edge of the creek and got on, Rudy first. Once Alex boarded, they pushed off. They paddled with their hands and with a stick they found floating in the water. They were giddy with excitement. The inner tube floated westward, on a slow but steady current.