by Ann Steinke
“Yeah,” Scott said. “Back in seventh grade. My parents were in a big car accident then, and they both ended up in the hospital with pretty serious injuries.”
I was listening to him intently. This was the first I had ever heard of this.
Scott went on. “So anyway, the Pachecos let me come live with them until my parents got out of the hospital.”
“How long was that?” I asked.
“Just a couple of weeks. But it was wild,” he said, looking at Lou. “Three of us were crammed in one room, and I slept on a mattress on the floor next to Lou’s bed. It was crazy—like living in a bachelor’s dorm.” He chuckled. “Remember those wrestling matches we had?”
Lou nodded. “It’s a miracle we survived those,” he said.
“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “Roberto could be so manic.”
“Roberto’s your older brother, right?” Ter asked.
“Yeah,” Lou answered shortly.
After that, both of the guys clammed up. Lou stared out at the ocean, and Scott began rummaging through the cooler. I didn’t know what was going on, but I was fairly certain that it was the subject of Roberto that made them feel uncomfortable. I looked across at Ter. She seemed tense too, and she was biting her lower lip.
At that moment a dog came bounding down the beach. We could see he was aiming for a Frisbee a man had thrown. He leaped into the air, caught it cleanly, and ran back toward his master. We laughed, watching the antics of the dog a couple of minutes, and then Scott said, “You know who that dog reminds me of?”
“Yeah,” Lou said. I thought there was a catch to his voice. “Hound Dog.”
“Hound Dog?” Ter prompted.
Lou smiled at her. “Yeah, up to a year ago I had this dog I named Hound Dog. Man, that dog was something else. He could chase a Frisbee just like that one.”
“Or anything else you threw,” Scott said with evident admiration.
“Right. An old shoe, a rock, it didn’t matter,” Lou said, laughing.
“What happened to him?” I asked.
“Oh, he got old and sick,” Lou explained, scooping up a handful of sand and letting it sift through his fingers. “He was part shepherd and part malamute . . . a really handsome guy. But then he got arthritis, which crippled him. And they said he was also suffering from the beginnings of kidney failure, and that the only thing we could do was—” He swallowed. “You know, put him to sleep.”
“Oh, no!” Ter said, gasping.
Lou looked at Scott, his expression a combination of affection and sadness. “Remember that day?”
“Yeah,” he said solemnly. “We decided to take him to the beach one last time, and he was so weak, he could only lie down in the back of my Jeep.”
I swallowed.
“He used to stand up back there, tail and tongue flying in the wind. But that last day he didn’t even look over the side once,” Scott continued with obvious difficulty. “He just lay there, panting, as if he could barely breathe.”
“Do you think he knew what was coming?” Lou asked. His eyes were shining like polished pieces of coal.
“I don’t know. I really hope not,” Scott said sadly.
“Anyway,” Lou said, taking a deep breath, “when we got him out on the beach, he just sat there. And that’s when I knew I just had to do it. . . .”
I glanced at Ter and saw that she was wiping at her eyes.
“Man, were we messes that day,” Scott said, his voice tight. “We cried like babies.”
“So is Doglette a replacement?” I asked, immediately regretting the words as soon as they left my mouth.
“No,” Lou said firmly. “You can’t replace a dog. That’s what I told Scott when he kept bugging me about getting another dog.” He looked up and grinned at his friend.
“Bugging you!” Scott yelped. “Yeah, well,” he admitted, “but aren’t you glad I did?”
Lou chuckled. “You were a pain in the neck!”
“That’s what friends are for,” Scott said.
They grinned at each other, and I realized then that these guys had a friendship that equaled Ter’s and mine. And that surprised me. I had never witnessed that kind of intimacy between two male friends, and I hadn’t really expected it for some reason.
“Doglette’s a weird name,” Ter said. “How did you come up with that?”
Lou’s face immediately brightened. “After Scott convinced me that I needed another dog to help me heal, we went to the shelter in Santa Maria—just this past June. And we saw this cute puppy, a cross between a shepherd and a collie. The people there claimed it would turn out to be a big dog.” Lou laughed as if he were recalling the scene. “Man, that puppy was tiny. So I said to them, ‘That’s not a dog. That’s a doglette.’ And the name stuck!”
We all laughed, but then fell into silence once again. I think Ter must have been afraid the mood would turn somber again, because I could detect the panic in her eyes.
“So you guys have known each other a long time?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Lou said, smiling at Scott. “Too long.”
“Very cute, amigo,” Scott returned, punching Lou in the arm.
Then Lou looked at Ter and me. “And how long have you two known each other?”
“Since second grade,” Ter said, looking at me fondly. “We met one day during recess. Two boys from the third grade were picking on me.”
I smiled and nodded as I remembered that day.
“I was little for my age and that probably didn’t help,” Ter went on. “Anyway, they were white guys, and they were making remarks about me, saying I didn’t have any right to live in this country . . . that my parents were wetbacks.”
“Aaagh!” Lou spat out in disgust, and I realized he must have been familiar with that sort of discrimination on a personal level.
“Yeah,” Ter said, nodding at Lou. “But Krista had been playing with some girls nearby, and she’d been watching the whole thing. So when one of the guys shoved me down into the dirt, she ran over, yelling at them. ‘Her parents do not have wet backs!’ she said, and then she threatened to punch their lights out.”
We broke into laughter at the story, then Scott looked at me. “What were you, the class bully?” he asked.
I smiled. “No, but at that time, I was the tallest person in the class,” she said. “I figured my size would scare them away. I had no idea what wetbacks were, but it didn’t matter. I just hated to see them pick on someone else, and it worked. They left Ter alone.”
“Yeah, and after that I started to hang around Krista,” Ter said.
“And we started to get to know each other. . . . I mean, I couldn’t just ignore this little girl who was always following me around,” I said, shrugging and aiming a teasing look at Ter.
She wrinkled her nose at me, but smiled.
After that the four of us talked a little bit more about names for our band, but we were really having difficulty agreeing on anything. So finally Scott jumped up, pulled me to my feet, and said, “Let’s go for a walk.”
We started down the beach, leaving Lou and Ter behind on the blanket. Scott held my hand as we walked.
“I’ve been looking at college catalogs, trying to figure out which ones have the best music departments,” Scott said. “I figure if I have to go, then at least I’ll pick one where I can work toward a career in music.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” I said.
“Yeah, but my parents just don’t understand how serious I am about being a musician,” he said. “They think I’ll forget all about it once I get to college.”
“Why don’t they want you to be a musician?”
“Because there’s no guarantee I’ll make it,” he explained. “They think I’m doomed to a miserable life if I pursue music. But I know I’m going to make it!” he said fiercely. “I’m not that easily defeated.” Then he grinned and squeezed my hand. “Move over, Eric Clapton,” he said with a laugh.
I smiled. “I know how it feels to not
have your parents behind you one hundred percent,” I said pensively. “That’s the way it is with my parents sometimes. My dad’s a builder, and my mom’s the executive loan officer at the Intercostal Bank—very serious careers,” I said, grinning. “And they can’t seem to relate to my interests either.”
“Which are?”
“Well, have you ever heard of professional storytellers?”
“Writers, you mean?”
“No, professional storytellers go around to schools and libraries to tell stories to kids,” I explained. “I want to do that by telling stories on my guitar.”
“Hmmm,” Scott said, cocking his head to one side.
“We have someone who does that down at the county library from time to time, and I think it’s so neat,” I added.
Scott appeared interested. “What kind of stories do they tell?”
“Oh, folktales from different countries. Or sometimes they make up stories. Or they adapt stories from books,” I said. “Storytellers help kids use their imaginations and make them want to read more.”
“That’s great,” Scott said.
“Yeah. And I could use my music, too. A lot of folk songs tell tales.”
“So that’s how you want to use your music?”
“Yes—ideally. Only my parents feel like yours . . . they don’t think I could ever earn a living that way.” I scowled and added in a low voice, “They’re probably right, too. That’s why I’m going to major in English. If I go to a teacher’s college, then at least I’ll have school teaching to fall back on.”
Scott frowned. “It seems like a rip-off that someone who plays and sings like you can’t have a chance at making a career of it.”
We walked a little farther without speaking. Then Scott said, “Maybe our band will be such a success that we’ll prove everybody wrong. Maybe your parents and mine will take our music more seriously once we get our first gig.” His voice was growing more animated as he spoke. “After we settle on a name, we should talk about whether or not we want costumes. Maybe we could dress all in black or something. . . .”
He continued to share his ideas about the band with me, but I didn’t contribute much. Instead I just listened, feeling a little bit awed by his energy and the level of his enthusiasm.
Scott stopped walking about a mile down the beach, and pulled me close to him. He put his arms around my waist. “Krista, remember the first day of orchestra?” he asked, looking down at me.
I nodded.
“Well, when I saw you and Teresa come in that day, I just knew that I’d really like you. And I hoped that I could get to know you better.” He paused for a moment and just looked at me. “I was right about you,” he whispered. “You’re really terrific. And . . . I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
I stared at him. I didn’t know what to say. And then he kissed me.
Scott’s lips were warm and gentle. They didn’t ask for more than I could give. But I was receiving a very clear message. Scott really, really liked me. I knew I didn’t return the emotion to the same degree. And that made me feel guilty.
Scott pulled back and looked at me with so much warmth. As we walked, hand in hand, back toward Ter and Lou, I decided I didn’t like myself very much. And I wondered how long I could keep pretending that I was comfortable with where our relationship was leading.
We joined Ter and Lou, who convinced us to go for a walk on the boardwalk, where there was a mini mall. So we all hopped into the Jeep and drove to an adjacent parking lot. After some window shopping, we came across a photo booth.
“Hey, let’s get our pictures taken,” Ter said. So all four of us piled in the booth, the guys sharing the seat and balancing Ter and me on their laps. We laughed and mugged and took two group shots. Then Scott suggested that each couple pose separately for the last two shots. So Lou and Ter leaped out of the booth just as the third flash went off, and then Scott and I quickly jumped out to let them sit for the last shot.
The guys let Ter and me have all four photos. She and I watched as Scott took out a pocket knife and cut the picture strip into four pieces. He handed me the one of us and gave the remainder to Ter. She was thrilled, of course, and she giggled as she tucked the photos away in her purse.
After playing a couple rounds of pinball in the arcade, we wandered back to the Jeep and prepared to head for home. The sun was low in the sky, just about to sink below the rim of the world. The air was already beginning to get chilly, and the fog bank out at sea was starting to move in closer. Scott and Lou wrestled the top back on the Jeep, and then we started toward home.
We drove to Ter’s house first, and Lou walked her to the door. Scott’s arm was wrapped around my shoulders, and I had my head pressed against his chest. From that angle, I had an excellent view of Lou and Ter on her front porch—and of the kiss they shared. I tried to focus my eyes on something else, but for some reason, I couldn’t help but watch. I didn’t know who was initiating the kiss, but it seemed to last a very long time. The dark, awful feeling I hated welled up inside me. I took deep breaths, but it wouldn’t go away. I turned my head into Scott’s chest and listened to his heart beating. It sounded normal to me, unlike my own, which was thumping so hard that I was sure Scott would feel it.
As soon as Ter was inside, Lou came back and leaped into the back of the Jeep. Scott put it in gear and drove with one hand, keeping me wrapped up in his other arm.
At my own front door I turned to say good night to Scott. Then I spotted Lou in the Jeep. Responding to a sudden impulse, I threw my arms around Scott’s neck and pulled him tightly against me. Our kiss was longer than the one Ter and Lou had shared. I made sure of that. And when I finally pulled away from him, I noticed that he was breathing heavily and that he was looking at me strangely.
“Whew,” he said, running a finger down the side of my check. “I can’t wait to see you again.” His voice was husky.
I fumbled for the door handle and practically fell into my house. “Good night,” I said, knowing he’d think I was breathless from the kiss. But it was the horror of realizing why I had kissed him like that that had taken my breath away. I had wanted Lou to see it.
CHAPTER NINE
In orchestra Monday I played my violin with more energy than usual. I pretended it was only me in the room and I concentrated solely on the music. I wanted to distract myself from thinking about Lou. And I wanted to forget that I was in danger of doing something that would hurt Ter. So I threw myself into the music, completely obliterating all other thoughts and feelings from my mind.
At the end of the period Dan turned to me and said, “Well, finally someone is giving one hundred percent.” Then he packed up his violin and walked away.
“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” Cathy said, suddenly appearing at my side.
Jojo bounded down the risers and joined us. “Hey, how’s the band going?” she asked me.
“Never mind the band,” Cathy said, grinning. “How are the big romances going?”
“Shhh,” Ter whispered, glancing around to see if Scott or Lou was close enough to hear.
“Everyone’s talking about you guys,” Cathy went on, sounding excited. “They see you four eating lunch together out on the quad. And everyone wants to know when we can hear you play.”
“Uh . . .” I said, staring at her stupidly. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about the four of us, and I had an impulse to flee the room to get away from everyone.
“People are talking about what neat couples you guys make,” Jojo said. “And Krista, you and Scott look so great together.”
I forced a smile and busied myself by packing up my violin. “I have to get to work,” I mumbled, hoping that sounded like a believable explanation for my lack of enthusiasm.
“Yeah, me too,” Cathy said, sighing. Then her eyes shifted to a point somewhere behind me. “I think it’s time for our exit, Jojo,” she said. “Here come the guys!”
Jojo giggled, then discretely slipped away wit
h Cathy.
The guys came over to walk Ter and me to our lockers and then to the cars. Somehow I managed to smile and chat as though everything were normal. But inside me was a jumble of confusion. I had so many things to think about, so many emotions to sort out. And all I wanted to do was get away.
It took all my energy to pretend nothing was wrong. I said my good-byes to the guys and hopped into Ter’s car without arousing any suspicion from anybody—not even Ter. I suppose she was too wrapped up in her excitement about Lou to notice I wasn’t myself. All the way to my house, she talked about how great he looked, how wonderful he was, what he said at lunch . . .
It drove me crazy.
I decided I needed some space—away from Ter—to think. Being around her was getting more and more difficult. Every time she talked about Lou, I had this awful fear that I’d say something incriminating. Or that I’d react to something she said in such a way that she’d know I was attracted to him. So I decided that I should spend less time with her.
The first thing I needed to do was get my car fixed, which meant that I needed to work overtime to earn enough money. But once it was fixed, I wouldn’t be dependent on Ter for transportation on the nights I couldn’t borrow my father’s car. Still, even if I did work more hours, it would take some time before I had saved up enough. My Toyota needed a new clutch, which would cost around $560, and so far I had saved up $415. That left a balance of $145, which translated to almost three weeks of work.
As it turned out, all Ernesto could give me was one more night a week—Sunday. And that was one of the few nights the band could get together and practice. So when I told Ter, Scott, and Lou about my new schedule, I tried to make it sound as if my parents were pushing me to get my car fixed sooner. They were all disappointed, of course, but nobody could come up with an alternative solution for me. So in the end, we decided to do our best and work around the new schedule.
About a week later, Scott engineered what he called an “official” date.
“Playing in Lou’s garage doesn’t count,” he argued when I pointed out that we were together a lot already. “That’s work, not entertainment. I want a real date. You know, so that we can all go somewhere dressed up in great clothes. Maybe we could go to a movie and then out to eat.”