From What I Remember

by Stacy Kramer, Valerie Thomas

  “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.

  am jolted awake by sunlight flooding the room.

  What time is it? Where am I?

  Disoriented, I attempt to open my eyes. The light is stabbing. My head is throbbing, my throat is raw, and my stomach is roiling. Is this what a hangover feels like?

  I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had one. Until now.

  I close my eyes, take a few deep breaths, and lie still, trying to get my bearings. Last night was one of the greatest nights of my life. I think. But then again, it could have turned into one of the worst. I don’t remember much past a certain point.

  I give it another go. I glance around, taking in my surroundings. A partial view of an unfamiliar bedroom comes into focus. There’s a dresser in the corner where a mess of snow globes, stuffed animals, and Barbie dolls fight for space. A poster of a fuzzy white kitten with a huge purple bow around its neck is taped to the wall, between two windows. One window has a shade pulled halfway down, the other has no shade at all. Light pours in, mercilessly. Is it always this sunny in the morning?

  I turn my head to avert my eyes, and that’s when I see him. Asleep. Oh. My. God. Max. I am now wide awake and it’s all coming back to me.

  I try to sit up, but the effort makes me woozy, and I lie back down. Why on earth would anyone drink if this is what it feels like the morning after? Maybe because the night before felt pretty damn great. That much I remember.

  feel the hangover immediately. But it’s not nearly as brutal as I thought it would be, considering the amount of tequila we downed.

  I can tell it’s going to be another gorgeous day in Ensenada from the way the sunlight hits the wall. Surf is probably up. I bet the breaks are sweet. Wouldn’t mind picking up a board and going out. I’m sure Kylie’s never surfed. I could teach her. How fun would that be?

  I look down and catch a glimpse of my watch. Shit. It’s six thirty. I wish we had more time, but we don’t; we have to motivate. Graduation is in less than six hours.

  Suddenly it doesn’t seem so important. I briefly think about missing it entirely, staying in Ensenada with Kylie. But that’s a no go. Kylie needs to be there. Reality rules, which is a bummer. I’m afraid of what happens when we get back to real life and Lily is waiting there for me. I shove that thought to the back of my mind. I’ll deal with it later. I’ve got six more hours with Kylie. I don’t want to think about Lily until I absolutely have to.

  I turn over to see Kylie gazing at me through those impossibly long lashes. The sun bathes her brown skin in a golden glow. Damn, that’s a nice sight to wake up to.

  I curl into Kylie, wrapping my arms her. I can feel the curves of her body as they melt into mine. She’s perfectly rounded. All positive space. The soft arcs of Kylie’s flesh feel so much more like home than Lily’s hard edges. Man, I’ve fallen hard. It’s only been twenty-four hours, but it feels like a lifetime.

  ey, you,” Max says, smiling lazily. “We got pretty messed up last night.”

  “Yeah,” I say, hoping he’ll offer more, giving me a better picture of what exactly happened toward the end of the evening, when my disc got erased.

  “I hope we didn’t do anything stupid,” I say, fishing for information.

  “Yeah, pretty sure we did.” Max laughs softly and his eyes close again.

  That’s all I get?

  Max takes my hand in his, which is when I see them—two identical gold bands. One on his hand. One on mine.

  The rings catch the sun; light shoots off the gold and bounces around the room.

  What exactly happened last night? I am ablaze with an unsettling mix of passion and panic. I’m sweating now, which can’t possibly be appealing. What have I done? I’ve got high school graduation, a summer internship at the San Diego Arts Council, New York University in the fall, and parents who are going to freak. I’ve been MIA for the past twenty-four hours. I’m in Mexico with Max. And we’re wearing rings that look suspiciously like wedding bands. This is bad. Very, very bad.

  I’ve never even been on a date.

  Or had sex.

  Or have I?

  I sit up, intent on hatching a plan, and that’s when I see Lily Wentworth standing in the doorway, staring at me.

  hat. The. Fuck. Max?”

  I hear her before I see her: the unmistakably piercing sound of Lily.

  I am going to kill Charlie. What part of “come alone” wasn’t clear?

  It’s a rude awakening to what is bound to become a bear of a day.

  I lift my head to see Lily standing in the doorway. If this were a cartoon, smoke would be rising from her head. Her body would be engulfed in flames.

  I am in some serious shit.

  I look over at Kylie looking at Lily, and sure enough, she is flipping out. Her eyes are as big as saucers. If she were a cartoon, her eyeballs would be popping out of her head and rolling onto the floor. Unfortunately, none of us are cartoons. This is not a comic book. It’s real life. And what was once a romance is now a horror show.

  I have no idea what to do. I am not the guy who smoothes out these kinds of situations. I’m not a peacekeeper, like Charlie. I’m the guy who looks for the exit at times like this.

  I can see Charlie standing awkwardly next to Lily.

  “Dude?” I say to him.

  “Sorry, man.”

  Damn. I am so pissed at Charlie.

  his cannot be happening. It’s like some cruel joke. Or a bad dream. Or a mirage. On the off chance that my brain has scrambled the image, I close my eyes. When I reopen them, the same gruesome tableau is still there, the bodies splayed out before me like the goddamn Alamo. Max and Kylie. Kylie and Max. In bed together. In bed together. I’m trying to process it, but I can’t make sense of it. It’s too bizarre. Too infuriating. Too everything.

  Maybe there’s some kind of logical explanation for why they’re in bed together, other than the fact that they’ve just had sex. Yeah, as if.

  This is where Max has been on the last day of school? While I’ve been living in my own private hell, suffering my dad’s indignities all
alone, he’s been hanging out in Ensenada? Screwing Kylie Flores, of all people?

  I am so livid I can’t think straight. I want to pull my hair out. I want to pull Max’s hair out.

  I mean, seriously. What. The. Fuck?

  Max is such an asshole.

  “Let’s give him a minute,” Charlie says. I forgot he was even here.

  “Let’s not!” I insist. I mean, Max has had twenty-four freaking hours. What does he need with another minute?

  see Lily Wentworth and Charlie Peters standing in the hallway as soon as Juan and I enter Manuel’s house. What are they doing here?

  Lily’s skinny arms are folded across her chest in a power pose, outside an open bedroom. I have to assume Kylie and Max are in there, post-whatever.

  Be afraid. Be very afraid.

  There will be blood.

  Instinctively, I know I must get to Kylie, to help, protect, and serve. An invisible tether pulls me toward her. I rush past Juan, completely forgetting our discussion. Clearly, he has not. He grabs my hand to stop me. Juan has been gearing up for his big moment with Manuel for the past hour. He wants to proclaim his homosexuality, and he’s asked me to stand by his side for moral support, which I promised to do; but now my allegiance has shifted. Potential boyfriend or not, I have to get to my girl.

  “I thought you were going to help me tell Manuel,” Juan says.

  “Tell Manuel what?” Manuel asks, sidling up next to us.

  “Juan is gay,” I blurt out. I feel bad letting the cat out of the bag like that, but I’ve got a sneaking suspicion this will not come as a surprise.

  “Oh, I knew that,” Manuel says. “I think everyone knows. I’m glad you’re finally ready to tell us.”

  “You don’t have a problem with it?” Juan asks, shocked.

  “Of course not,” Manuel says.

  “Problem solved,” I say, extricating myself from Juan’s grasp and hurrying down the hall, Manuel and Juan on my heels.

  “What’s she doing here?” I hear Kylie say. I can’t see her, but I can feel her. And she’s mad as hell.