Ashes to Ashes (18 page)

“Sister power!” I scream back, swimming toward them. I start trying to dunk Reeve, but it doesn't do any good, because pretty soon he's got me by the waist with one arm and Nadia with the other.

It's a really good day. It feels so nice to play, to feel young and free. Later Nadia and her friends are watching TV inside, and Reeve and I are wrapped up in towels watching the sun set. “Hey, can you maybe wear a tie to dinner tonight, and khakis?” Before Reeve can answer, I add, “And my dad will order sake for the table, but you definitely shouldn't drink any.”

Reeve gives me a look. “Cho, I'm not a barbarian. I know how to act around parents.”

“I know, I know, but please just don't act cocky. My dad hates when young men act cocky.” That's a direct quote, too.

“Hey, you knew what you were signing up for when you got on this ride,” Reeve says, grinning, and I shriek and slap him on the legs.

“Ow, ow! That hurts!” Reeve grabs my hands. “I'm kidding. I'll be a perfect gentleman. Don't worry so much.”

I lean back against him and say, “Remember the first time we met? When the house was being built? You were here with your dad and we were playing tag, and you ran right into a room with fresh cement and ruined it.” I burst into giggles.

Ruefully Reeve says, “My dad beat my ass for that. It was worth it, though. You had on a frilly dress like you were going to a piano recital, and you were such a little bitch.” In a high-pitched voice he says, “ ‘I'm rich and this is my house.' ”

I slap him on the chest and he fends me off, and we just sit there, watching the sun dip away.

“I love you, Cho.”

A smile spreads across my cheeks. “Duh,” I say.

“You're such a brat,” he says, pulling me closer.

“You knew what you were signing up for,” I say.

He laughs, and then I say, “I love you, too.”

Reeve's chest puffs up, he's so happy. “Hey, I was going to wait to give this to you tonight, but I'm already nervous about impressing your dad, and they might think it's weird, like I'm getting too serious too fast . . .” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small box. “For you.”

I don't know if Reeve has good taste in jewelry or not, but I recognize the red velvet box as being from Brightline's—the
shop where I bought the necklaces for me, Rennie, and Kat—and they really don't have anything ugly. I open it already smiling. It's a beautiful necklace: an opal heart surrounded by a line of pavé diamonds, on a short chain. I can't stop staring at it. “I love it! But, Reeve, it must have been so expensive.”

“Only the best for Princess Lil,” he teases, and I lean forward and hold up my hair so Reeve can do the latch. Years from now this will be what I remember when I remember my spring break senior year. Not the missed trip to Jamaica, or not being invited on Alex's yacht with all my friends. It will be this moment right here. The smell of chlorine on his skin. The way the sun dips slow into the water before it disappears. The first time I ever told a boy I loved him.

T
HE SUN IS SINKING LOWER
and lower in the sky. Even though I know it's bad as shit for your eyes, I've got my sunglasses perched on the top of my head so I can stare straight into it. The orangey pinks of the rays, sizzling out across the slate sky, lighting up the turquoise water in electric-blue streaks. The colors are just too beautiful, and to look at them through some cheap-ass drugstore plastic lenses would be a straight-up travesty. Plus we set sail back to Jar Island tomorrow, and I want to hold on to every single minute.

Clearly I screwed up. Forget Oberlin. I should have applied to some random school in the Caribbean to study marine
biology so I could see this sunset every damn day.

Everyone else is below getting ready for dinner. I'm in my black bikini, cross-legged on one of the white sunbathing beds on the main deck. It was starting to get cold, and my suit was still wet from this afternoon—when me and the guys were taking turns jumping off the bow. Luckily, one of the boat staff brought me out a drink and set a super-soft blanket over my shoulders.

I've done jack shit for the past few days besides swim and sun myself, and my legs are almost as brown as the whiskey in my glass. I have to keep reminding myself to sip it slowly, because it's the smoothest, most quality shit in Uncle Tim's bar, and it goes down dangerously easy. I fear I'll never be able to drink cheap whiskey again.

Down on the deck below me, I hear the boat staff setting the dinner table for us, the clinking of glasses and silverware. We've eaten outside every single night, a gourmet meal with fresh seafood, on a big banquet table draped with white linen tablecloths. There's a chef working all day for us, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and desserts, while we fuck around.

I thought it would take some getting used to, this kind of life. But it hasn't. Like the whiskey, it's going down really, really easy. And I'm kind of bummed that this is my one and only spring break trip.

“Yo, Kat. Look what we found!”

I turn my head and see PJ walking over in a button-up shirt and board shorts, mirrored sunglasses hiding his eyes. He's holding a wooden box. Jonah, one of Alex's chorus friends, comes up beside him and lifts the lid, like a game show hostess showing off a prize. Inside are neat stacks of brown cigars, each one encircled with an ornate gold foil band.

I stand up and pull on my cutoffs. “Holy shit. Are you serious? Another box of Cubans?” I haven't smoked a cigarette for three weeks now, but I've made a spring break exception for a Cuban. Several spring break exceptions.

“Uncle Tim must have just come back from Havana,” Derek says. He takes out two, cuts the tips with a silver clip monogrammed with Uncle Tim's initials, and passes around a lighter. “Yo, Al! You want one too, right?”

Alex comes up from the kitchen, followed by one of the hired boat staff carrying a tray in his hands loaded with four tumblers of whiskey and perfect square ice cubes. I quickly drain the glass I'm holding and then trade my empty for a fresh one.

“The chef is making some sick crab cakes! Should be ready in an hour, guys,” he announces. After taking a few big gulps of his whiskey, he says to us, “What do you say we never go back?”

Though he's smiling, I know there's truth behind those words. This has been an escape for Alex, to not have to see Reeve and Lillia together.

In a way it's been an escape for me, too.

Right after we set sail, I regretted saying yes. First off, sailing on any boat when
Judy Blue Eyes
is gone depressed the shit out of me. And, as I expected, it was awkward on board for the first few days. We were definitely divided along class lines. Alex's chorus friends mostly hung out up on the deck, while the rest of us were in the lounge. Jonah spent the whole first night shuffling his magic cards, and Ivan didn't do much but stare down at his bongos and pat them quietly. Brianna, the girl who did the Christmas duet with Alex, has followed him around like a lovesick puppy. It was basically my worst fears come true.

But things took a turn when the captain found us a cove between some tiny sand islands, and the water was warm like a bath. Everyone took turns jumping off the bow into the water, even Ashlin, which impressed the shit out of me.

That was really all it took for us to be cool with each other. That night everyone hung out on the deck together. Ivan played his bongos, and PJ and Derek made up a rap, which was pretty decent for a freestyle and had me laughing my ass off. Ashlin had Brianna putting braids in her hair. And Alex, bless his heart, kept sitting between me and Jonah, because dude had his eyes on my boobs, like, 24/7.

All in all, not a bad time. In fact, it's been pretty great.

So my escape? I'm always so quick to shit on things . . .
people, experiences, different points of view. I get it set in my head that things are a certain way, and then I shut out anything that might contradict that perception. Except I couldn't pull that shit on this boat, and I'm better for it.

*  *  *

I go downstairs to shower and change for dinner. Ashlin is in the room, getting into this flowy caftan thing, and Brianna has on a 1950s housedress. I don't have anything dressy to wear for our last meal, so I put on my black tank dress. I should seriously get new clothes before I head to Oberlin. I mean, if I get in. That acceptance letter better be waiting for me when I get home.

Ashlin comes up behind me with a scarf. It's got a cool trippy pattern on it. She ties it around my head like I'm some kind of seventies rock star.

“Thanks,” I say.

“You should totally wear a look like this to prom! Something vintage.”

Prom. See? Another one of those things that I've shit on. Why shouldn't I go to prom? I'm a freaking senior, after all.

Ash looks over at Brianna. “Did you buy your dress yet?”

“Um, not yet,” Brianna says. “I'm not sure if I'm going.”

“That's crazy! You have to go.”

“I'm in this show at the regional playhouse, and I had to
buy my own costume. So I doubt I'll have the money.”

“Oh,” Ash says, and I can tell she feels like a dummy. “Well, that stinks.”

“It's no big deal,” Brianna says, lowering her eyes.

“Wait,” I say. “Prom tickets are that expensive?” If they are, I probably can't go either.

“They are this year,” Brianna explains. “It's going to be at some club in Boston.”

“That's a dumb idea.” I turn and look at Ash. “Who's making these bonehead decisions?”

Ash points her finger at me. “Don't even. You have no right to complain. If you care, then come to a prom committee meeting. Don't just bitch about it.”

Damn. Ash has some fire in her. “Okay, okay. Down, girl.” I smile at her, and she smiles back.

It's crazy, the things that have happened this year. How much I've changed. How everything that I thought was set in stone isn't. It makes me excited for the future and all its possibilities. Anything can happen.

Suddenly I have the overwhelming urge to talk to Mary. I want to tell her how much better life gets, if you give it a chance. I want to tell her to let go of the Reeve drama once and for all. I want to tell her that I miss her.

I
N THE CAR ON THE
way to the restaurant, I smooth down the skirt of my silk dress and say, “Daddy, please be nice to Reeve.”

He and my mom exchange a look. “I'm always nice.”

In the backseat Nadia and I exchange a look of our own. “Not true, Daddy,” she says in a singsong voice. “When you met James, you gave him the third degree about drinking and driving. And, hello, we don't even have our licenses yet! Now James is afraid to come over to the house.”

My dad hides a smile.

I give Nadia a grateful look, and then she remembers she's supposed to be giving me the silent treatment, and she turns her head back toward the window.

When we pull into the parking lot, Reeve's sitting on a bench in front of the restaurant. He's wearing a tie and khakis, and even a navy-colored sport coat that he must have borrowed from one of his brothers, because I've never seen him wear it before. He quickly stands up from the bench and shakes my dad's hand. “Dr. Cho,” he says. “Good to see you again, sir.”

“Daddy, this is my friend Reeve,” I say.

“Hi, Reeve,” my dad says. The two of them are almost the same height. Reeve's just an inch or so taller.

Reeve kisses my mom on the cheek. “Stunning as always, Mrs. Cho,” he says, which of course she eats up. My dad looks amused by this. To Nadia he says, “What's up, li'l pup,” which she acknowledges with a wave.

When we get to the table, my dad pulls out the chair for my mom, and Reeve tries to pull out my chair, but he jerks too hard and it makes a terrible squeaking sound, and everyone turns around to look. I'm so tense, I feel like I'm going to give myself a stroke, but Reeve looks as relaxed and at ease as always.

My dad orders a bottle of sake, and when he offers some to
Reeve, Reeve picks up his glass and accepts with both hands. I shoot him a panicked look, like
What are you doing?
and Reeve says, “Dr. Cho, I read that in Korean culture it's rude not to accept alcohol from an elder.”

My parents exchange impressed looks. “Absolutely correct,” my dad says.

“And I'm supposed to drink it like this?” Reeve turns his head to the side and takes a small sip.

My dad hoots with laughter. Daddy never hoots. I can feel my stomach start to unclench.

“Wait, why is he drinking it like that?” Nadia asks.

“You aren't supposed to drink in someone's face, because it's considered disrespectful,” my mom says. “You're supposed to turn your head slightly. Reeve, where did you learn about this?”

“I read a few articles, and I watched a YouTube video on drinking with elders,” Reeve says.

“Oh, that's darling,” my mom exclaims. “What else did you learn?”

Reeve sits up straighter. “Never pour your own drink. Never let someone else's glass sit empty. Always accept a drink with two hands.”

My dad turns to me. “Do you know about all this, Lilli?”

“I know to accept with both hands,” I say.

“What about you, Nadi?” my mom asks.

“I don't need to know about it because I'm not old enough to drink anyway,” Nadia says with a frown, spearing a cherry out of her glass. We both like to drink Shirley Temples when we go out to eat.

My dad laughs. “Well, it's good to know anyway.”

Though he doesn't say so, Daddy is also impressed by how much sashimi Reeve eats. My mom keeps putting more on his plate and he keeps eating it. It turns out he's also fine with chopsticks. When my dad asks him about his postgrad year, I get nervous again, but Reeve is prepared. He tells him he's been accepted to Graydon, that he's already training again.