“You okay?” Max asks.
“I’m fine.”
“Really?”
“I am. I just, I don’t know. I guess I need to get used to…everything. Being here. Us. Them. You know, it’s all new to me.” I smile at Max to reassure him. I know I’m giving him a false sense of security. But what else can I do? I’m trying.
Max pulls me close, holding me tight. I see Lacey gawking at us. She leans in to Richie and whispers. He turns to stare at us as well. Here we go.
“Lacey and Richie are looking at us like we’ve just robbed a bank,” I say. Max doesn’t even bother to look at them.
“Who cares?” he says, and then he leans in and kisses me for the whole world to see. At that moment I understand with total clarity that he believes in me, in us, and it gives me a shot of confidence. He’s right; who cares?
“I’m sorry about Lily,” I say. “Is she okay? Is she here?”
“You didn’t see her when we came in, sitting on Luca Sonneban’s lap?” Max laughs. He doesn’t seem bothered at all by the turn of events.
“I missed that. Probably the stage fright. I think I was focused on the floor.”
“Yeah, you were pretty freaked out. It was cute.”
“I’m glad I amuse you, Langston.”
“What can I say, Flores? You’re a quirky chick. And I dig that about you.”
I laugh, because it’s true and it’s probably not going to change anytime soon. Good thing Max likes it.
“That was fast, Lily hooking Luca,” I say.
“Not for Lily. She’s kind of a record holder in that category.”
“Isn’t that awkward? I mean, you and Luca are friends.”
“Not for me. Luca’s really into her and has been for years, and I’m really into you, so it’s all good.”
“I’m really into you too,” I say.
“Well, isn’t that special.…”
Max and I look up to see Will looming above us.
“You two lovebirds are a sight to behold,” he says. Next to him stands Juan. They’re both wearing well-tailored suits. Will’s is a dark gray with pinstripes, Juan’s is navy blue.
“You’re wearing a suit!” I say.
“You know how I love Tom Ford’s work,” Will says.
“Your idea?” I ask Juan.
“All Will. He insisted on buying us matching suits. I didn’t really have much to wear, but I would have settled for clean shorts and a T-shirt,” Juan says. “I think we’re ridiculously overdressed.”
“We come bearing In-N-Out burgers,” Will says, holding up a large bag.
“Excellent,” Max says.
Will reaches into the bag and plucks out a burger. He hands one to Max and then passes out burgers to me and Juan.
“No way I’m eating one of those. Have you seen the spread here?” Juan says.
“You have no idea what you’re missing,” Max says.
“He’s from Mexico. Forgive him,” Will says.
“Those burgers will kill you,” Juan says.
“Maybe, but they’re worth it,” Max says, polishing off the burger. “Loved the mirror. Impressive work,” Max tells Will.
“I thought you’d appreciate it,” Will says.
“I’m keeping it as is,” Max says. “For posterity.”
Will laughs. I have no idea what they’re talking about.
From across the lawn I see Jemma Pembolt, one of Lily’s faithful lieutenants, striding toward us. She looks determined and pissed. Shit. She comes right up to Max.
“You are such an asshole, Max. I can’t believe you brought Kylie to the party. I mean, the body’s still warm.”
“Lily’s here with Luca. I think she’s okay with it,” Max says.
“You’re such a self-centered prick. Of course she’s not ‘okay’ with it. She’s just letting Luca lick her wounds,” Jemma says, her well-toned arms folded across her chest like some kind of South American despot.
“Jemma, chill.” It’s Lily who has suddenly materialized, with Luca at her side. While he stands dutifully next to her, Luca looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
Lily gives me a level gaze. It’s not hateful, but there’s no warmth to it either. I get it. She’s doing the best she can to preserve her dignity, and I’m certainly not going to make it any harder on her.
“Jemma’s just being protective. But I can take care of myself,” Lily says. “C’mon, J, let’s get you a drink.”
“Whatever. He’s still an asshole,” Jemma says, giving Max one last icy look, and then the three of them walk away.
I feel bad for Lily. This is her turf, and my being here with Max can’t be easy for her.
“Do you think we should leave?” I ask Max.
“No. She’s fine. She’s happy to parade Luca around with her. And Charlie’s my best friend; I have a right to be here. And we’ve got a whole lot of summer parties ahead of us. Might as well get used to running into each other.”
“We’re going to feed Juan some real food,” Will tells me. “We’ll be back.” He and Juan wander off.
“How about I get us some beer?” Max asks.
“I think I need to detox tonight.” I also want to see if we can have fun without the alcohol.
“Told you tequila can give you a nasty hangover. Maybe you’ll listen to me next time.”
“I doubt it. I’m stubborn like that,” I say. “I’ll just have some water.”
What I don’t say is, “Don’t leave,” even though that’s what I’m feeling when Max gets up and heads over to the bar. With Max as my life raft, I can float. Without him, I feel a little like I’m drowning. The encounters with Sonia and Jemma have diminished whatever confidence was building.
I spot Sharon Lee approaching, and I vow to say something as soon as she’s close enough. It’s like my own personal test. Can I do this? If not, I should seriously forget ever leaving the house again. Sharon’s always been super popular, but I don’t think she’s evil. How hard can this be?
“Hey, Sharon,” I say.
“Hey, Kylie. What’s up?”
“Not much.” I rack my brain for something else to add to that. Jeez, I am hopeless at the art of conversation today.
“You’re going to NYU, right?” Sharon asks after a pause.
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to Barnard. We should totally get together in New York.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure,” I say, trying to hide the surprise in my voice.
“I’m so psyched to get out of La Jolla and be in a big city, you know? This can be such a small town sometimes.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” And I say that from the bottom of my heart. “I loved New York when I visited last summer. It had such an amazing energy. I’ve never seen anything like it. I felt like I was buzzing with ideas after spending the day walking around in the city. I usually feel the opposite after being in San Diego for a while.”
Sharon laughs. “I know, right?”
Claudia Kleemon and her boyfriend, Harry Thomas, walk by.
“Hey, Sharon. Hey, Kylie,” Claudia says.
We both say hi.
I can do this. I can converse with the human race and not have it be an embarrassment of idiocy and awkwardness.
“E-mail me. ’Kay?” Sharon says.
“I will,” I promise.
And then she walks away. That was not bad at all. In fact, I would have to say that was a stunning success, considering how badly things started out.
“You okay? Still breathing?” Max asks as he takes a seat, beer in hand.
“I’m fine. Much better than when you left, actually.”
“So was it me?”
“No. It just takes me a little longer than normal people.”
Will and Juan are back. Juan is holding a shrimp kebab in one hand and corn on the cob in the other.
“We cannot stand idly by,” Will says. “Our feet have been called to action.”
“You two go,” I say.
“Oh, no. You’re not getting out of this, missy. We’ve got to lose our minds on the dance floor in order to make graduation official,” Will says.
“I don’t think so.…” I try to protest, but it’s no use. Will pulls me, and Juan grabs Max’s arm, and together they escort us to the far corner of the lawn.
“There will be dancing,” Will says.
There are only about fifteen people dancing. I’m loath to put myself out there for all to see. But I really don’t have a choice as Will and Juan pull all of us toward the DJ. Some Eminem/Rihanna/Prince mash-up is playing. Will and Juan sandwich Max and me in the middle, so there’s no way out.
Will and Juan exaggerate their moves, throwing their hands in the air, grinding their hips into ours, singing loudly along with the lyrics. It’s embarrassing and ridiculous, but pretty hilarious, like a bad YouTube video. Max and I look at each other and crack up. Max takes my hand and pulls me away as Will and Juan, eyes focused on each other, dance to their own private party.
“How we doing?” Max asks as we walk over toward the pool, both giving up on dancing.
“I’m glad I came,” I say.
“Me too.”
Max puts his fingers under my chin and tilts my head toward him. I look into his face and I am overwhelmed by a rush of emotion. I may love this boy. Or maybe it’s just infatuation. Whatever it is, it’s powerful and highly addictive. I could get used to having him around.
There’s a rebel yell, and suddenly Charlie cannonballs into the pool. A huge cheer goes up, and then, one after another, people jump in after him. Most of them are in their clothes, but a few have stripped down to their underwear. The DJ turns up the music, and now there are more people in the pool than on the dance floor. The sun is setting, about to dip below the horizon, and the lights in the pool illuminate the water so that it shimmers a deep blue.
Max and I walk to the water’s edge.
“Want to go in? No eels. I promise.”
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it.”
I grab Max’s hand, and together we take a flying leap into the pool.
said I’d be okay when Kylie left, and I am, but it took a while. For the first twenty-three days, I sat on my bed after school and bounced a Nerf ball off the ceiling until dinner was ready. Mom got mad at me, a lot. And I got mad back. Some days a woman named Gloria babysat me. I like Gloria, mainly because she brings me Airheads. Then we figured out that I could Skype with Kylie, and now we do that almost every day at 3:00, which is 6:00 on the East Coast, where she lives now. Sometimes she’s eating dinner when we’re talking. She eats a lot of chicken ramen. And apples. She showed me her dorm room, and I met her roommate. Once Kylie stuck her computer out the window so I could see what she sees. Lots and lots of buildings. A long street with stores and cars and buses everywhere. I saw a CVS sign and a McDonald’s sign.
Dad is still gone a lot, working, but he learned to put the fork in the right place, and my milk, and he taught me so many soccer tricks, I think I might play in the World Cup someday. I’m really, really good. I even started playing on a team every Saturday morning. Three times now Max has come over and played soccer with us, like he did all summer. I’m better than he is.
Today is Thanksgiving and Dad told me he would let me carve the turkey with him using the electric carving knife that Mom got him. It’s kind of like a chain saw for meat. Too bad Kylie’s not here. She loves stuffing and cranberry sauce almost as much as I love Airheads.
I can’t wait to see her at Christmas.
alter, you can’t smuggle food into a café and just sit here and eat it,” Gabrielle says.
“They’re just lucky I’m not homeless and reeking of urine.
This is New York. Far worse things than this occur,” Walter insists.
“It’s just weird. Buy a sandwich. Or a muffin. I don’t get why you have to bring in food from the dorm,” Gabrielle says.
“Why pay when we get all the food we can eat for free?
Besides, I’m not doing anything clandestine.” Walter holds up a sandwich, purloined from the dorm, for the world to see.
“Peanut butter sandwich, people, right here. If they have a problem, they can come talk to me. Or handcuff me. Whatever they see fit. I’ll take my punishment like a man. Until then, let me eat my peanut butter in peace.”
“Give me half.” Gabrielle holds her hand out.
“You harass me and then you want my food. I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way.”
We’re sitting at Café Drip, in the East Village, a bit removed from the crush of NYU coffee drinkers, and we like it like that. We’re here every Monday and Wednesday to study Western Civ. The only class we all have together. It’s the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, so we’re actually done with school and not studying today. We’re just hanging until Gabrielle and Walter have to go to the airport to catch their flights home. Walter’s from D.C. His dad is some bigwig at the State Department. Gabrielle is from Chicago. Unlike me, they’re both flying home for the holiday. I’m staying here, with a little takeout turkey in my dorm room. Mom and Dad could only afford the flight at Christmas. Cue the sounds of a violin playing in the background to accompany my self-pity. This is going to be one sucky Thanksgiving. I console myself with the fact that it’s only four days.
When I first walked into my dorm room and discovered Gabrielle was my roommate, I was horrified. Gabrielle is scary beautiful with flawless chocolate skin and a five-foot-nine-inch body. I figured she’d either be a vapid girly-girl or a pretentious snob. But she’s neither. She’s wry and sharp and curious about everything.
Walter is a lot like Will, in that he’s gay, he’s brilliant, and he’s my friend, but in other ways he’s nothing like Will. He’s the most serious, intense, motivated person I’ve ever met. His daily movie viewings, on top of all our homework, make me feel like a sloth. And don’t get me wrong, I’m busting my butt here; I just don’t have it in me to keep going and going and going the way Walter does. I can’t imagine life without Gabrielle and Walter, and yet a mere three and a half months ago we didn’t even know one another.
I still miss Will and Max ferociously. I thought it would abate as the months passed, but it’s as painful as the day I left. It helps that Will texts me throughout the day, offering up a running commentary on life at Berkeley.
Remarkably, against all odds, he and Juan are still together. “Deeply in love. Inextricably attached,” Will says. They see each other twice a month, which is a lot more than I’ve seen Max, who I haven’t laid eyes on since the day I left for New York (unless you count Skype, which I don’t), almost four months ago. We text, we talk, we Skype every day, sometimes twice a day when we can manage it with the time difference, but it’s just not the same as being there. But what can we do? It is what it is. If we can survive this, we can survive anything.
Walter looks at his watch. “We should go, Gabs.”
“You gonna be okay? All by your lonesome?” Gabrielle asks me.
“I’m gonna be fine. I’m going to study for Carter’s exam, see a bunch of movies. It’ll be nice to have a mellow weekend.” I’m not looking forward to it at all, but I’d never admit it.
We all walk outside onto Avenue A, where Walter hails a cab. We hug and then they climb into the cab. I feel like crying as I watch the car disappear into the traffic. Mostly, New York feels like home in a way San Diego never did, but on rare occasions, when I miss Max or Jake or my parents, and the city seems full of other people laughing, walking arm in arm, full of purpose, it can feel like the loneliest place in the world.
I decide to walk the eight or so blocks back to my dorm. I love the street life in the East Village. Men in dapper suits and old-school punkers with multiple piercings fight for space on these blocks. As I take in the smells of roasting peanuts and the sounds of ambulances and cars honking, I remind myself how lucky I am. I’m in New York City. So I don’t have plans for Thanksgiving. If that’s the worst fate to befall me, I’m doing
pretty well this year.
My conviction doesn’t quite dull the pain in the way I’d hoped.
I buy a slice, a few garlic rolls, and a Diet Coke for my dinner. I can’t help but wonder what Max is doing now. Playing squash? Classes? A tiny part of me always worries that some beautiful, sun-kissed Southern Cal girl will sweep him off his feet one of these days, but I can’t dwell on that.
I reach the big blocky building I now call home, and take the elevator up to the sixth floor. The halls are empty, and my footsteps echo as I clomp toward my room in my Doc Martens, the de rigueur NYU shoe. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the place this desolate. As I reach my door, I notice a piece of paper tacked to it.
I step closer and pluck it off. It’s a letter addressed to Max.
What?
I start to read, and realize it’s an acceptance letter from the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, for January.…I’m thoroughly confused.
I open my door to find…Max sitting on my bed, waiting for me.
“Oh. My. God. What are you doing here?” I say.
“Happy to see me?”
“Thrilled out of my brain…but how…what—”
“Gabrielle gave me her key. I forgot how articulate you are when you’re thrown off guard.”
Is it possible he looks even better than when I left? I’m pretty sure I don’t. I’ve definitely gained the freshman five. Too many cereal choices at breakfast.
“I didn’t have plans for Thanksgiving, and rumor has it, neither do you.” Max holds up a can of cranberry sauce. “You like cranberry sauce? ’Cause at the moment, that’s kind of all we’ve got.”
I hold up the letter and wave it at Max. “What’s this?”
“I’m transferring to Pratt.”
“Here. In New York?”
“No, I’ve decided on the campus in Dubai. Better weather. Good squash team.”
From What I Remember Page 32