by Lisa Freeman
“You a beaner?” Brad frowned.
I didn’t know what a beaner was, but judging from the look on his face, it couldn’t be good. There was a moment of silence. I had a sense of impending danger. They had me and they knew it.
Lord Ricky stood up, so I stood up, too. I’d get no sympathy from these guys if they thought I would mess up the balance of their beach. Lord Ricky handed me my bag and felt me up a bit. He dug his face into my neck and sniffed me.
“She doesn’t smell like a beaner,” he said.
“But Nuevo, that’s Mexican,” Brad sniggered.
“No,” I said. “It’s Hawaiian, N-u-u-h-i-w-a, like David.”
Brad’s mouth dropped, and Lord Ricky’s eyes opened wide. Suddenly they were crazed. Sounds, not words, tumbled out of their mouths. All together they were saying things like, “Ya. Jah. Foth.”
The way they were twisting around made them look like they were high on Guiana—that’s a drug made from frog slime. My dad told me he’d seen people trip on that stuff for days at a time.
Lord Ricky waltzed with me cheek to cheek. Brad and Stu swooned next to him and hummed. Then Lord Ricky said, “David Nuuhiwa, alright.”
Uh-oh. I had just wanted to tell them how to say my name. I didn’t mean to give them the impression that David Nuuhiwa, the badass surfer from Hawaii, was related to me. But it was too late. Lord Ricky was giving me the shaka cool sign, pinkie and thumb raised, wrist shaking back and forth. Brad and Stu backed up just far enough for me to break free.
“Well, goodbye,” I said.
Brad and Stu crossed their arms, tucking their palms under their armpits, nodding, and said, “Alright, Nani Nuuhiwa. Alright.”
I had done it. I had gotten past the gargoyles and I was looking good. I flipped my hair to one side and reached out to say goodbye to Lord Ricky. I touched the dog tags around his neck and saw the name Ray Stevens on them. Still holding them in my hand I asked, “Wow. Mary Jo’s brother?”
It took less than a second to realize I had made a terrible mistake. Lord Ricky grabbed the bandana around my neck. Spit sprayed all over my face as he pulled me in closer and asked, “Do you know what the ultimate sacrifice is?”
As a matter of fact, I did. It was when a soldier died for his country. I realized that’s how Mary Jo got into the lineup. Ray must have eaten it in ’Nam so the lineup gave her a mercy pass. Lord Ricky pulled the scarf tighter. I started to choke. He was so angry that his face went purple.
“Have you ever ID’d body parts after they were in an airtight coffin for a week? Half a body stuffed into a uniform with hair and teeth attached to something that looked like your best friend’s face. Have you? Ever hold the American flag after it was folded by an honor guard? You ever do anything like that?”
I shook my head.
How could I have blown it so bad? I wanted to cry but that would have been uncool.
The men at the volleyball court stopped playing and looked our way. Brad stepped behind me, trying to block their view. Lord Ricky grabbed my bandana even tighter until we were nose to nose and I was on my tippy toes. Stu pointed to my bandana trying to come between me and Lord Ricky as he said, “Rick, look what you’re holding onto, man. Air Cav. See. ‘Have guns. Will travel.’”
Talk about a talisman. On the patch, just below the skull with wings, were the words, AIR CAV WARRIOR SPIRIT. Seeing that design brought Lord Ricky back to reality and saved my life. He gently put me down and patted the top of my head.
“You got friends in the Air Cavalry?” he asked.
I could breathe again. “Yes, lots of them,” I said.
Stu was waving and smiling at the men on the volleyball court, trying to get everybody focused on the game again, but they weren’t buying it. He was like a ventriloquist when he told me, “Nani, be a good girl and wave to the guys about to kick our asses.”
Because I wanted to cry, I thought about the Ed Sullivan Show and Señor Wences, the little painted hand puppet I loved so much. I did what Stu told me to do and waved.
“I really miss Ray, ya know?” Lord Ricky said.
He took my hair into his hands and held it like a blanket. Then he blew his nose and wiped his face in it. I centered myself before asking, “Can I go meet Mary Jo now?”
He looked at me for a moment, released my hair, sat back down on the garbage can, and signaled me forward.
I hurried down the beach toward the lineup. They were still facing the water, completely unaware of what had happened behind them.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Initiation II: Fish Empress
At the green wall where all the gay guys sat, it was another party day at State. A radio was blasting a high-pitched soprano singing some weird German song. Men with mustaches were eating crustless sandwiches and drinking wine from the bottle.
The gays were on my left. Each was more beautiful than the next. They sat close together for protection like schools of fish. Oiled to the gills, most of them were smoking and soaking up every ounce of sun their bronzed bodies could absorb.
A little farther down the beach, almost to the water, I walked past some girls who were playing with a cootie catcher. Their fingers were under paper flaps that looked like a flower opening and closing. The air stunk of patchouli and clove cigarettes mixed with cherry incense burning on clumps of sand. This had to be the Topanga clique. They wore off-the-shoulder peasant dresses, see-through ponchos, and patched denim bikinis.
As they played, one of the girls moved her index fingers and thumbs in and out, side to side, and asked, “Will the McBride twins be here today?”
She flipped open one of the inner triangles and read the answer, “Definitely not.”
In unison all the girls sighed and went back to eating avocado and sprouts sandwiches on wheat berry bread and talking about having a bad case of the munchies.
The lineup sat in front of the Topanga Girls covering their noses with the corners of their towels as incense blew in their faces. I reminded myself not to look too self-confident. I made a mental note of each girl’s strategic placement in the lineup. Their positions defined their power at State. In the center, of course, were Rox and Claire. The Lisas sat to Claire’s right. KC, the girl with a shag haircut, sat on the end. She wore Arnold Palmer Ray-Bans, a knit bikini with a zigzag pattern, and had tube sock tan lines. On the other side of Rox, two perfect mannequin types sat side by side. That had to be Suzie in the crochet cream and powder blue bathing suit with the perfect part down the middle of her hair. And Jenni wore a bikini with a strapless top. She was so sweetly beautiful with her beaded Indian purse and matching barrettes. Next to them at the far end was Mary Jo’s spot. Her towel was there, but she was nowhere in sight. Where was she? I came to a grinding halt.
“Fight!” somebody yelled.
I turned around and saw a kid in an open aloha shirt and trunks sagging halfway off his butt kicking sand in the face of a guy who looked like Tarzan.
“Faggot!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.
Another boy standing next to him was lighting matches and tossing them at the man’s friend, who was lying on his belly looking up at him. The boy was saying, “I hate you, I hate you, and I hate you.” Then he lit the whole matchbook and dropped it.
From behind me, I heard Claire say to Rox, “They’re gonna get beat up again. You better do something.”
Rox stood and turned toward the action at the same time that I turned around toward her. We both walked forward and did the full-on frontal smash. Worst of all, it was 100 percent my fault. I should have jumped out of the way, but I was too starstruck so our foreheads collided.
“Wipe out,” a lifeguard said laughing as he ran up the beach to break up the crowd.
“What’s your problem?” Rox snapped at me as she pushed her tortoiseshell shades up into her hair. She had sky blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a perfect little beauty mark on her cheek. She reeked of Bain de Soleil.
“Sorry,” I said.
I smile
d and tried to look happy.
“Is Mary Jo around?”
Thank God the Valium had kicked in. The lineup looked like a firing squad ready to carry out any order Rox gave them.
“No,” she said and pushed past me.
The lineup rushed after her, except Claire. She lingered, mulling me over, assessing every detail about my hair, my halter top, and my flip-flops. She didn’t talk. She just looked long and hard. Slowly circling, she sucked on a lollipop and twirled a dangling turquoise earring. Her eyes were hypnotic. I felt like I was spinning. I had never seen that color aqua before. They matched her turquoise perfectly.
“You wanna go out?” she asked, pointing to the waves.
Just my luck, the no surfing blackball flag was flying. State was going off with a six-foot break and there was no place to run. I had to go for it.
“Can I leave my stuff here?” I asked.
“Of course,” Claire said, all friendly.
Believe it or not, all I could think of was the 23rd Psalm: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me. I hated the way Jean’s Catholic voodoo came into my mind when I was scared.
Claire watched me take everything off except the rabbit foot tethered to my bikini and the scarf around my neck.
Rox looked back over her shoulder at us. She was still pissed off but when she caught Claire’s eye, her frown turned into a grin. There was no time to translate what that meant. Claire didn’t move, so I realized that I was supposed to lead the way. My hands were shaking. I had never been in surf this big before without a board, but I had to act cool, and I did. Luckily, no one was paying attention to us. That’s the way it is at the beach. No one cares about chick stuff.
I waded out to my knees. This was not my Pacific Ocean. It was dark, thick with kelp, and so cold it stung. I let my palms float on top of the swirling whitewash. I spread my fingers to pay homage to Ae Kai, the place where land and sea meet. The water was splashing hard against me. I turned my back to the waves. Claire sashayed right past me. I had never seen a haole girl edge out toward the break like that. Some girls, I thought, just belong to the water. Obviously she was a Pisces.
A path of suntan oil glistened behind Claire, which made it easy for me to follow her over the ditches and jagged rocks that made State so dangerous. Everything was cool until the ocean got so deep that I couldn’t bounce off the bottom to keep my head out of the water. What the hell was I going to do? Panicking only made things worse. I needed to relax and let the power of the sea lift me up and carry me out.
Claire kicked hard and dove under the first wave. Six-footers slammed overhead, pushing me down and tossing me around like a rag doll. I popped up, filled my lungs with air and got ready for the next wall of water. Body surfing is an event that you have to do alone. Claire and I knew that calling for help was not an option. And besides, she had given me a dare and I had accepted. Now it was time to put up or shut up. Once I realized that, the rest was simple. Catching the current was like flying under water. The bigger the wave, the deeper I dove and the calmer the ocean seemed.
When there are really big waves, the only survival technique is to dive under the turbulence as far as you can and wait for the sunlight to appear above you and then paddle toward it. Underwater, my eyes strained looking for swarms of tiny jellyfish that hung like miniature chandeliers beneath the surface. When I rose up, I stretched my arms high over my head and kicked as hard as I could to stay above water as long as possible.
Dropping down the spine of a giant wave, I saw Claire floating on her back outside the breakers. She looked totally peaceful and at one with the sea. As a bunch of pelicans flew over us in a V-shaped formation, a thought raced through my mind. If I could be friends with Claire, all my problems would vanish.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her long white hair, which was making a halo of light around her face. She was cosmic, singing a Loggins & Messina song.
“Is that ‘Vahevala?’” I asked, paddling over.
She didn’t answer. The only sound was the ocean splashing up against my face. I wanted to say something but the rule was I had to wait until she spoke to me. Circling around silently, I understood the power of Claire. On the beach she seemed frail, but in the water she was strong. It was usually that way with beach chicks. Aquatic strength was another key to power. Surfers didn’t like wimpy girls, and they didn’t like jocks either. They liked girls who looked like mermaids in the water. Annie taught me that the ideal girl had a combination of beauty and strength like Claire did. Rolling up with the swell gave me the perspective I needed. I now understood that Claire guarded the gate of liquid cool at State, and Rox ruled the sand.
From the vantage point of the takeoff zone, I realized two more things. One: a surfboard would make it easier for me to scope out who was onshore. Two: seeing the lineup on the beach made it clear what their role was. Without them, surfers wouldn’t have anybody to witness what they did. It was up to the girls to make sure each wave, and the surfer on it, was remembered. They were like historians or something.
Up close, I could see Claire’s ears were underwater. She hadn’t heard a word I said. But something didn’t look right. Her brow was furrowed and the muscles in her face were so tight that her neck veins pulsed. She was struggling to get her wind back. I could see she was in trouble but it was best not to say anything. Annie taught me that letting a local keep face was more important than asking if they were okay.
“What grade are you in?” she said, barely getting the words out without swallowing water.
“Tenth in September,” I told her.
We dog paddled next to each other. Our toes touched accidently.
“You going to Pali High?” she asked.
Before I could say yes, Claire’s face disappeared below the waterline. When she resurfaced, she was red as a pomegranate and gasping for air. My initiation was over.
When someone is drowning, they cling to anything or anyone close by. Because of that, sometimes both people end up drowning. With my mind racing in a hundred different directions, I kicked away from Claire. She grabbed at the water, trying to reach me, and then her head went completely under.
There was no time to figure out the cool thing to do so I did what my dad taught me. I dove way underneath Claire and grabbed her from behind. That way she wouldn’t be able to panic and pull me down. Under the water, my right arm grazed her ribs and locked over her chest. I flipped her body away from mine. At the same time, I used my left hand to push into her lower back to float her face up to the surface.
She was limp as I paddled away from the takeoff zone. Her broad shoulders and narrow hips made her easy to maneuver in the water. After about fifteen minutes of dog paddling, Claire was still floating in front of me. I finally asked, “How are you doing?”
Claire slowly stretched her arms wide as if waking from a deep sleep and smiled. She said, “I’m fine,” in a sassy sing-song voice.
She was laughing and breathing easy. I jerked away, realizing I had been had.
“I peed on you,” she said and spit a mouthful of water at me. “Did you feel it?”
Half of me sank right there in the ocean.
“I was telling you in my own special way to piss off.” She laughed again and waved at the lineup. All the girls were standing up watching, laughing, and waving back.
“Now I’m going to make sure you never bother us again.”
Claire snatched at my bathing suit top but missed it by inches. Then she laid back and kicked water in my face. My eyes stung. I couldn’t see her but I felt something moving down my legs as she grabbed my bathing suit bottom and pulled it to my knees. She would have gotten it totally off but I kicked her in the head, pulled them back up, and paddled for the first wave I could get. She swam after me and yelled, “Don’t ever come back to State, dorkus!”
I figured she’d probably get her wish because the wave I was about to t
ake was most likely going to kill me anyway. The swell had picked up to at least eight feet with a ten-foot drop. It was a total close out. I didn’t care. I had blown it big time. I was ready to die, and I didn’t care if it hurt.
Flying over the lip of the giant wave on my belly was like seeing God, getting totally off, and then paying for all the sins of mankind. I got myself tubed, but without the speed of a board, the wave closed in and ate me alive. I bounced off the ocean floor, pounded by the whitewash. The only thing that gave me satisfaction was knowing Claire would eat it next.
Adjusting my top, I watched Claire stretch out her arm and power into a huge wave. She dropped out of it ahead of the break. It was like watching someone go over Niagara Falls without a barrel. All I could see were her feet curling into a crackling vat of whitewater. She must have gone headfirst into the rocks. She got exactly what she deserved.
Lord Ricky saluted me as I plowed through the whitewash toward the beach. He was lying by his board next to Brad and Stu. There were about twelve blonde guys in front of them waxing their boards, perched and ready to surf.
“Hurry up!” one of them yelled.
I couldn’t tell if he was yelling at me or to the lifeguard slowly lowering the no surf flag. Why couldn’t I just die already? Behind me, Claire was acting all dramatic and stuff. She was coughing and splashing all around. All I could think about was getting away from State and hiding at 33 Sage until school started in September.
I hurried out of the water, face lowered and tongue pushing against the roof of my mouth so I wouldn’t cry. I turned to take one last look at the ocean. Claire was bobbing up and down as another wave crashed over her.
“Aren’t ya gonna help ya friend?” Lord Ricky asked.
Jean always told me, “Once a mistake, twice a fool.” There was no way I was risking my life for that bitch. Did she really think I was so stupid that I’d fall for that drowning act again? Hell, even the lineup wasn’t interested in Act II. Rox was busy chatting with some major babes and didn’t even bother to look up.