Honey Girl

by Lisa Freeman

  The four girls untangled slowly. Sometimes, little gestures say more than words. When one of them flipped her hair quickly to the side, I knew something terrible was about to happen.

  When Claire finally looked up, she had a strange expression on her face and Rox’s eyes widened. The JC Girls towered over them. Rox sighed and Claire’s grin faded from her face.

  The JC Girls circled tighter around Rox and Claire. They seemed to think that Claire and Rox were nothing but silly pin-up girls who could be folded up and made to disappear. The one with the bloody knee lunged forward right into Claire’s face and thumbed up her nose so it looked like a pig’s snout. But the girl with bells around her ankle, the one I thought of now as Tinkerbell, yanked her back and stepped in front of her.

  “They’re mine,” she said.

  Tinkerbell was so muscular, she made Rox look awkward and gangly. She had on a Rolling Stones t-shirt without a bra, huge silver loop earrings, moccasin boots, shorts so tight she had a case of camel toe, and she had frizzy, dirty brown hair.

  No one moved as Tinkerbell walked around Claire, psyching her out. I stayed totally still, trying not to draw attention to myself. There was something really wrong with this picture. I heard the JC Girls were usually digging for sand crabs or chasing sand pipers. I thought they wore Day-Glo green bikinis and sun block, drank chocolate milk, and ate shrimp cocktails.

  “What’s so funny about t-surfers?” Tinkerbell asked, raising her chin.

  I was terrified that Rox and Claire would start laughing but they didn’t. They stood up, dusted the sand off, and gave the JCs the silent treatment. It was their way of saying “up yours.”

  Rox and Claire used silence like a weapon, except this time it went on too long. It became like a dangerous fuse burning. I watched the four girls circle tighter around Claire and Rox, backing them out of sight from the rest of the beach.

  In the daylight, they looked different. Tinkerbell was not a Jonathan Club debutante from the Coronet Ball, and her friends did not have swimming pool tans. They wore revealing tops with Fritz the Cat and the old pothead cartoon Mr. Natural on them. Their bikini bottoms tied to the side, making a bulge that looked like a muffin top over their shorts. Gross me out.

  “What makes you think lowlife Valley Dudes like you get to know anything?” Claire asked.

  Dude was a country western word for people in checked shirts buttoned up to their necks, greased-back hair, cowboy boots, and cross-eye stares. It was banned on the beach and only used to describe a tourist, wannabe, or geek. No one, absolutely no one, wanted to be called a dude.

  It all clicked. These weren’t Jonathan Club Girls. They were the full-on rivals Mary Jo had warned me about, the ones who threw Molotov cocktails, those little sticks of dynamite, just to introduce themselves. Outside the bathroom, I could see the stuff in their fishnet bags more clearly. There was a Ouija board, not a backgammon one, and power blaster eight-track, not a radio. I was so totally screwed. These were total kick-your-ass titas, tough girls. That’s what we called them back home. And judging from this bad call and the fact that Mercury was in retrograde, it looked like I’d probably never sit with the lineup again.

  “What’d you steal?” Rox asked, pointing to Tinkerbell’s purse.

  Tinkerbell slapped the Styrofoam cup of coffee out of Rox’s hand, but Rox didn’t flinch.

  “The Valley’s that way,” she snapped, pointing toward the freeway.

  Tinkerbell looked like she was going to tear Rox apart, slice her to shreds, and then chew her up until only liquid oozed from her mouth. Claire tried to push Tinkerbell away, but the others held her back. I thought about something I learned from listening to soldiers at the Jones. In combat, hesitating is a deadly mistake. I was perched and ready to jump in. My fingers gripped tight into a fist as I watched the checkerboard in front of me shift again. I launched forward, staggering toward Rox, who motioned me back into a subordinate pose.

  “We don’t fight,” she commanded.

  “And we don’t crash parties or try to screw other people’s boyfriends, either,” Claire said, standing right in Tinkerbell’s face.

  I felt a whole new kind of devotion to Rox and Claire as I leaned back against the wall and put my hands behind me. I was blown away by how they handled themselves.

  “Your boyfriend’s a freak,” Tinkerbell snarled at Claire.

  “Yeah, she totally got him off last night,” Tinkerbell’s friend chimed in. She was the one wearing a black t-shirt with cut off sleeves and the letters U.F.W.O.A. on the front. I had no idea what that meant but considering what a jerk she was, I figured it must have stood for Unfriendly Woman of America.

  “You …” Claire almost called her a bitch, but Tinkerbell’s sidekick pushed her in the sand, belly up. They were yelling and cheering over her.

  That’s when I started to talk to Jesus again. I didn’t bother with Latin words or stained-glass images. I just cut to the chase and prayed, Please help us. If you do, I won’t watch TV for a month. Not even a commercial. I’ll only watch the news with Jean. Please get us out of this.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Banzai t-surfers

  Maybe the vodka was giving me double vision, or maybe I was losing my mind. I peeked around the wall and looked toward the water. I saw two forms coming our way. I couldn’t make out who they were, so I moved my head slowly back and forth the way I used to focus the lens of Dad’s camera. I squinted with one eye and put a hand over the other. I moved away from Tinkerbell and Rox, who were standing toe to toe.

  Through the mist hanging offshore, visions floated up the beach with wizard-like long hair flying behind them. They were two tall, Icelandic-looking gods with stomach muscles stacked on top of each other, totally buff. Both guys were more beautiful than any girl I had ever seen. Their faces had delicate features, strong jaws, and full lips. Another beauty with a dark tan joined them as they picked up their pace.

  These were bona fide surf gods. They marched toward us with their boards tucked tight under their arms like knights heading into battle. As they got closer, it dawned on me that I was looking at the McBride Twins, Nigel and Shawn, and the dark fish himself, Jerry Richmond.

  There are only three things that can mess with a surfer’s cool temperament: hunger, someone messing with his van, and seeing his chick in trouble. Judging from the look on Jerry’s face, someone in the water must have told him the Vals were picking on Rox and Claire.

  Jerry Richmond was notoriously mellow with a smile that made any girl feel like she was hearing the Carpenters sing. He looked like a rock star with his long dark mane and his perfect body without a single hair on it. On top of that, his biceps were the size of grapefruits and his Sundek trunks were tied so low, his groin muscles showed. As he walked closer through the morning breeze, he waved his arm at the twins, motioning for them to hurry up as they glided along over the sand. The slower they moved, the longer I’d get to stare at them. Unseen by the girls behind the wall, they made their way up the beach toward our spot by the bathroom. I remembered this rule:

  Never make eye contact before he does.

  Ordinarily, I would have had to rely on my peripheral vision or hide myself behind a veil of hair to get a good look at the McBrides and Jerry Richmond. But this was a crisis situation and because of that, an exception to the rule. The way things were right now, I figured I could look them straight on and not be considered a slut.

  I’d never seen identical twins before, and the McBrides were hypnotic. There was no way to tell them apart, but I knew that Shawn was Claire’s. He wrote her love letters all the time, and he was sensitive. Nigel was a different story. He had a reputation for maneuvering girls smooth and easy, just the way he surfed. The only chink in the McBride’s armor was that their number one devotion, even before surfing, was Jesus Christ. They were Born Again Christians who were saved right on State Beach, January 2, 1972, at a famous mass baptism. From what the Lisas told me, ever since then, the McBrides could out-sur
f anyone, except Jerry Richmond. The Lisas also told me that many girls had found the church thanks to Nigel. I couldn’t imagine this. Just the same, Nigel and Shawn were hot.

  Tinkerbell and her gang started whirling Rox and Claire around, making loud clucking noises.

  No surfer went out with a girl who fought. Rox was twisting her elbow up to ward off Tinkerbell, who was flicking her finger at her face, trying to get her to fight back. None of them saw Jerry coming around the corner. He walked past me quickly and stuck the tip of his board right up the unexpecting Tinkerbell’s butt. She jumped and started to kick, turning around quickly with her fist flying through the air, only to find Jerry, Nigel, and Shawn standing behind her. Tinkerbell immediately went into total sweet mode. It was bizarre. She dropped her shoulders, replaced her angry face with a cute smile, sucked in her stomach, and acted all coy, saying, “Good to see you again, Shawn.”

  “No, I’m Nigel,” he answered, then pointed at his twin, “He’s Shawn.”

  Jerry slipped his hand into Rox’s and Shawn stood by Claire. The whole scene was weird. One minute, there was war going on and the next it was Love, American Style. Rox softened her scowl and smiled as Claire morphed into Little Miss Groovy. Just like that, the other girls uncrossed their arms as though they were all friends. From what Mary Jo had told me about these titas from the valley who like to beat up girls, an about-face like this was unheard of. What kind of gangsters were they?

  Claire dug her toes into the sand as she backed up onto the open beach with Shawn. He wrapped his arm around her. His arm looked smooth, tan, and caked with salt from the ocean. It didn’t matter that he was wet or that her tube top was getting soaked, cuddling was part of her girl duty. You always warmed your boyfriend, no matter what.

  When Nigel entered the circle of Vals, a pulse pounded between my legs. There was no way to explain the feeling other than it reminded me of those nights when I locked the bathroom door. Nigel made me sober up instantly. I watched him make eye contact with every girl, luring them in one-by-one, then looking away and tossing each out like a scrap of bait. He looked fearless and unshakeable as he flipped his long hair and strolled over to Tinkerbell. Gently, he leaned his board against the bathroom wall as if it were made out of glass. He pulled his red trunks down so none of us saw anything dangling under the waistband.

  What a hunk. I pinched the back of my neck to stop myself from grinning. If I laughed, giggled, or even smiled it would have been worse than my goof-up of not recognizing the Vals in the bathroom. I dug my fingernails into my arm and prayed again. Please, Jesus. Help me keep my shit together.

  “You’re a wild man,” Tinkerbell said to Nigel.

  “Yeah,” her buddy said.

  Tinkerbell positioned herself in front of Nigel with her back to Rox and Claire. She grabbed his arm and pulled him to her.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  He leaned in closer to the group of girls. From the grin on his face, I could tell he was enjoying the way they were coming on to him.

  “We just want to know something,” Tinkerbell’s friend said while she put her arm around Nigel. Her jean shorts were so tight, she had a camel toe, too.

  “We want to know why the t-surfers rule,” Tinkerbell cooed.

  Claire watched carefully as Rox sashayed around them like a cat about to kill. I could almost see her tail twitching.

  “Ask Nani,” she said, pointing in my direction. “She’ll tell you who the t-surfers are.”

  I felt my voice slide down my throat and land somewhere in my gut. I had no clue who the t-surfers were. My heart snapped apart and felt like it was hanging by a single thin vein. I thought I was having a heart attack. They all looked at me. A nasty taste rose from my stomach. It was those gherkins again.

  The weird thing is it was Tinkerbell who rescued me. She motioned for her titas to make their move into the bathroom. All of them were flirting and teasing the guys. The Vals were total scum buckets and all they really wanted to do was piss off Rox and Claire. They were all good prick teasers, but Tinkerbell was the best. She moved in on Jerry again, touched the tip of his board, leaned on him, and lit his smoke. Even more amazing, she tried to push Rox out of the way and gave Jerry a little tug toward the bathroom.

  “Just look inside,” she said in her best come-get-me voice.

  But Jerry wouldn’t leave Rox’s side. Shawn looked worried, like he’d catch a venereal disease or something if he went into the girl’s bathroom. He shook his head, no.

  “I’ll go with you,” Tinkerbell’s friend said to him.

  Shawn would not budge. The fight was officially over, but the fun was just beginning. Nigel wasn’t freaked out. He let the Valleys pull him into the bathroom. He poked his head around the corner.

  Nigel McBride was even better looking from the rear. His ass was tiny, and as he turned his body side to side, every muscle in his back rippled. Nigel was also a ham, a total goofball. He held out his thumb, like a painter trying to get perspective. Rox and Claire giggled, but when I laughed, they growled at me. What did I do wrong? That is, besides confuse the meanest bunch of girls in the world with the dumbest ones and not tell Rox and Claire that their boyfriends were coming up the beach? Aside from that, I should be in the clear.

  “We’re waiting,” Tinkerbell squawked.

  No one else noticed the dirty looks I was getting. They were too busy watching Nigel do his Michelangelo imitation. He was tilting his head side to side, admiring the graffiti but not going all the way into the bathroom. Nigel turned with a big smile on his face.

  “Hey, you guys should check this out.”

  “No way, José,” Jerry said.

  Both Shawn and Jerry hugged their babes and gave him a thumbs down.

  “Well, I can tell you who the t-surfers are,” he announced, turning to me. “If Nani doesn’t mind.”

  Nigel McBride said my name. He knew my name. And he was still smiling.

  “Absolutely,” I said. Don’t ask me how I got a four-syllable word out without slurring.

  It might seem like nothing, but it was a turning point in my life. When Nigel McBride talked to me, the world changed. Maybe that Jesus stuff was working. I felt protected, like a lucky charm had floated into my lap. Then bang. The sound of Tinkerbell snapping a huge bubble brought me back to earth.

  “Come on, we’re waiting,” she commanded.

  No one bossed around the most prominent surfer at State. Especially someone from the valley with hair that looked like it got stuck in an electrical socket. Tinkerbell brazenly lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the sand. Nigel said, “Mistake.”

  She acted like she didn’t hear him and took such a long drag that it totally hot-boxed her Marlboro. What was wrong with this fool? Anyone with half a brain knew girls weren’t supposed to sass.

  Girls listen, look pretty, and compliment guys. Especially surfers.

  That rule dominated all others. But Tinkerbell and her stoners didn’t care. They thought they were moving in again but must have forgotten that State Beach was sort of like Nicaragua. I mean, it wasn’t a good place to visit.

  “Jesus Christ, Nigel …” Tinkerbell said.

  Nigel zoned her. The small talk was over. Without giving Tinkerbell a chance to continue, he said, “It’s Christian Surfers, not t-surfers. Christian Surfers Rule. It’s a cross, not a ‘t,’ you nimrod.”

  Shawn began to chant, holding one finger high in the sky,

  “Christian surfers rule. Christian surfers rule.”

  Jerry joined in. Nigel held up the crucifix hanging around his neck so close to Tinkerbell’s face that her hobbit-like eyes crossed. She jumped back, trying to focus, and bumped his board. It fell to the ground. The crowd went silent.

  Everybody froze, watching Nigel’s board bounce on the cement. Shawn ran to its side like it was a child who had just been hit by a car, inspected every inch, and announced, “No dings.”

  Rox and Claire had huge grins on their faces whe
n Nigel walked toward Tinkerbell, moving her out farther and farther onto the open beach. He yelled, “Go back to the valley, you bimbo!”

  Jerry joined in by snapping his wet towel at her.

  “Let’s go,” said Tinkerbell’s friend.

  She reached for Tinkerbell, who winced when her elbow was touched. It was a bloody mess.

  Tinkerbell would never be allowed on State again. She had blown it for life. Getting shined on by the McBrides and Jerry Richmond was not something any girl, no matter how tough she was, could come back from. Her friends hurried her off the beach, reeling from a moment she would never ever live down. When she passed me, everyone saw her deliberately bump me hard against the wall. I almost started to cry.

  Tinkerbell scampered off the beach. Nigel walked toward me. I fiddled with the tips of my hair and looked the other way so that I could mellow out. When I turned back, I caught Tinkerbell’s eye. She stuck her chin in the air and slowly drew her finger across her neck like a hunting knife. Why was she threatening me instead of Rox and Claire? Nigel stopped right in front of me. To keep my legs from quivering, I pressed my knees together and waited. I wanted to say something, but I remembered the rule:

  Don’t talk to a guy until he talks to you.

  I could smell the ocean and Mr. Zog’s Sex Wax on his body. He stood close enough for me to reach out and touch one of his hard little nipples. I didn’t move an inch. I couldn’t breathe. Nigel dashed forward and scooped a bottle cap up from the sand. With a smirk on his face, Nigel gave me a wink, then leaned forward and took aim. He flicked the cap so it hit Tinkerbell right between her shoulders. That thing had so much zip on it, you could hear it whizzing by in the air. Probably thinking a bee stung her, she screeched and flailed her arms around like a windmill. Her titas came to her rescue and started shooing the phantom away. I had to look toward the sand to keep myself from losing it.