From What I Remember (26 page)

“Will, it’s late. We need to head back.” I’m saying what I’m supposed to say even thought my heart isn’t entirely in it. Because this is what I do. The responsible thing. This is who I am. Allowing Will to lead us down the garden path couldn’t possibly be a good idea. Despite the fact that the garden path is calling my name.

“We should say our good-byes,” I say to Max, looking to him for confirmation.

“Yeah, guess so.” I’m surprised to hear the hesitation in Max’s voice.

Still, it’s late. We’ve got to go.

“Don’t I, at least, get a little food and drink? I mean, I know I’m just the driver, but still, the help’s gotta eat,” Will says.

“Suppose we have time for a taco. Let’s get you a plate,” I say, looping my arm through Will’s and walking him into the house. Max trails us.

“‘We’re gonna bring this party up to a nice respectable level. Don’t worry, we’re not gonna hurt anyone. We’re not even gonna touch ’em,’” Will says.

“‘We’re just gonna make ’em cry a little, just by lookin’ at ’em,’” I say, finishing the quote.

“What are you guys talking about?” Max wants to know.

“It’s just some lines from
Some Kind of Wonderful
,” I offer.

“The old movie?”

“The genius old movie by the brilliant Sir John Hughes.”

“Oookay, whatever,” Max says.

Will has wedged himself between us. Literally and metaphorically. Our ritualistic behavior must seem strange to Max. I’m hoping Will can keep our little routines to a minimum. It’s too much information for Max.

“What are you wearing, Will?” I ask. The overalls might be more shocking than anything else that’s happened in the last ten hours.

“Carhartt dungarees. They’re all the rage in Milano. I picked up a pair in Tijuana.”

“Seriously? What?”

“I needed a change of clothes, and this is all I could find at the border. They could use a major retail infusion here. Someone should get word to H&M.”

“What happened? You drove down naked? Your clothes got ruined? I mean, really, you look insane.”

“Kylie. Leave it alone,” Will warns. I rarely hear that tone in his voice.

“Got it. Let’s get you a nice big glass of sangria and introduce you around.” I will leave it alone, if that’s what he wants. Will is my best friend. He’s trekked all the way down to Mexico to rescue me, and if he wants to dress like a gay farmer, so be it.

Will sniffs at me. “I gather from the fact that you smell like a sailor on holiday that you’ve taken up drinking?”

“Yes. Only in moderation.”

“I’m shocked! Shocked!”

“You’re always on me for not having fun. I’m having fun now.”

“I thought you’d be a bloody wreck. Weren’t you kidnapped? This gives a whole new meaning to Stockholm syndrome.”

“These aren’t the people who kidnapped us. These are my dad’s old friends. And we didn’t really get kidnapped. More like accidental abduction in a truck of stolen electronics.”

“Your dad has friends?”

“That’s your takeaway?”

“That was the most shocking part of that sentence.”

I laugh because Will knows my dad almost as well as I do.

“Apparently her dad had a lot of them. And fans as well. He was a soccer star in Mexico,” Max offers.

Will raises one eyebrow and looks at me.

“I can tell you all about it on the way home,” I say.

Will, Max, and I enter the kitchen to find Manuel’s nephew Juan making a fresh round of sangria. Juan is the poster boy for tall, dark, and handsome. I can practically feel Will’s eyes caressing him, hear Will panting after him. The temperature in the room rises twenty degrees as Will moves in on his target, all focus. Oh God. I brace myself for what is sure to be a debacle.

Juan is so not gay. But there’s no stopping Will once the wheels are in motion.

“Hey, you,” Will says, eyes only for Juan.

“Hi there,” Juan says, perfectly innocuous, almost perfunctory, to all three of us. But somehow Will takes it as an open invitation.

“How are you doing tonight, gorgeous?” he asks Juan, sounding like a parody of a gay man on some
Saturday Night Live
skit. Max and I share a look, both wincing at the tacky line.

“I’m, uh, good,” Juan says. I can tell he has no idea what to make of the flamboyant Will.

“It’s good to be good. I’m good too. Better, now that you’re here,” Will says, full of innuendo that Juan seems oblivious to.

Oh, dear God. This is embarrassing. Where did Will find these lines? In some dusty old book from 1984?

“Juan, this is my friend Will. He just drove down from San Diego to take us back,” I say.

As Juan turns to grab a few glasses, Will leans in and whispers to me, “So gay.”

“Don’t think so,” I whisper. “Your gaydar is off.”

“It’s never off,” Will says.

“Sangria?” Juan offers Will a glass.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Will takes the glass from Juan, grazing his hand.

Juan looks awkward and quickly moves his hand away. I shoot Will a look, hoping he’ll cease and desist before things get downright mortifying.

“So, are you guys going back to San Diego now?” Juan asks.

“Not quite yet,” Will says.

“But pretty soon,” I add.

“So, what do you do when you’re not making sangria, Juan?” Will asks, polishing off his drink and pouring himself another. Guess we just lost our designated driver. Looks like I’ll be needing a Big Gulp of coffee en route.

“I’m at architecture school at UCLA.”

“Ooooh, I love architects. They have such
big
buildings.”

Oh Lord, let the floor open up and suck me into the ground. Better yet, take Will.

“Uh, not all of them are big. Some are quite small. It all depends on the client,” Juan says.

“I’m sure yours are very, very big.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still in school, so I’m not really building much other than models at the moment.” Poor Juan looks hideously uncomfortable.

“I bet you’re really good with your hands, all that drawing and building.”

“Yeah, we do take a lot of drawing classes, so, you know…”

“No, I don’t know. Why don’t we go outside and you can tell me all about it.”

I can see Max choking back laughter. This is turning into some kind of strange performance piece. I’m pretty sure Juan’s not enjoying himself. I know I’m not. Time for a curtain call.

“I think we should really get on the road,” I say, taking Will’s hand and pulling him out of the kitchen. “So, uh, hope to see you again soon, Juan.”

“That was awkward,” I say.

“You were freaking that guy out,” Max tells Will.

“He’s gay. Trust me,” Will insists. “He wants me.”

“You’re out of your mind,” I tell Will.

Manuel approaches.

“We’ve got to head back to San Diego,” I say. “My friend Will just got here.”

Will goes to shake Manuel’s hand, but Manuel pulls him into a tight embrace. The guy is a hugger. I can’t even imagine how he and my dad were best friends.

“Promise you’ll be back soon,” Manuel says to me.

“I promise.”

“And try to bring your dad next time.”

“That I can’t promise.”

“You have to go so soon?” Juan asks, suddenly appearing at our side. “I could tell you a little about architecture school,” Juan offers to Will. “If, you know, you’re really interested,” Juan asks.

“I’m really, really interested,” Will responds.

“So, you can stay for a little bit?” Juan wants to know.

“Not really…no…” I say.

“Forever, if that works,” Will pipes in.

“We need to get going. We’ve got graduation in the morning,” Max says.

“You guys could e-mail,” I offer helpfully. As much as I want to stay, I know time is ticking away. We don’t want to get to the border too late. Mom is expecting me. If we lose Will it could be days before we get out of here.

“We could take a short walk, talk architecture, and then you can leave with your friends,” Juan offers.

Before I know what’s happening, Will and Juan are heading out the door.

“Nice overalls, by the way,” Juan tells Will as they walk away.

“I’ve got a kilt in the car. I could change,” I hear Will say.

“Wait. What just happened?” Max asks me.

“No idea,” I say, feeling dazed and confused.

“Is your friend gay, by any chance?” Manuel asks.

“I don’t think there’s anyone gayer,” Max responds.

“You may want to go after them if you plan to get back to San Diego tonight. Juan is, how do you say, on the low down.”

“You mean the down low?” Max asks.

“He doesn’t think we know he’s gay. But we know. We’ve all known forever. We’re just waiting for him to tell us.”

After hearing this, Max and I charge outside, but we’re too late. Will and Juan are speeding down the street and out of sight in Will’s Mini.

have been sitting on the curb outside the school for a long time now. I’m counting seconds; I’m up to 3,841. I don’t know what to do or where to go. My plan was to get Kylie and go home. But now that I can’t get Kylie, I don’t really have a plan. Kylie might be in the school. But the man won’t let me in. Maybe Kylie will come out and see me. Maybe she’s not in there. But then, where is she? I keep counting. Why didn’t Kylie come home today? Why doesn’t Dad know where she is? Why did Mom leave me with Dad? I liked yesterday and the day before that and the day before that and every day except today.

I stand up and look out at the street. Cars rush by. Everyone is going somewhere except for me. I’m stuck here. I reach into my backpack and grab the two Luke Skywalkers. I don’t want them anymore. I throw one across the street. It doesn’t even reach the other side. I throw another one, harder this time. It goes a little farther. I empty my backpack onto the ground and start throwing all the figures into the street. I can hear cars crushing them. They’re all broken now, in pieces everywhere. Most of my collection is gone, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything.

I start counting again. I decide to start over from one. I get to 467 when a car pulls up to the curb. It’s Dad. He sees me standing at the top of the stairs and comes toward me. I don’t want to see him. He’s going to be angry. I turn and walk away.

“Jake,” Dad yells as he starts running. “Stop. Wait.”

I run faster, around the school. I’ve got to get away from him. But Dad is fast, faster than I would have thought. He reaches out and grabs my arm. He’s strong. I can’t move.

“What the hell were you thinking, Jake?” Dad’s yelling now.

I don’t know what to say except, “Hi, Dad.” I don’t like yelling.

Dad throws his arms around me and hugs me for twenty-three seconds without saying anything. He breathes out really hard and then takes in a few deep breaths. He lets go of me, and we stand there staring at each other. I wonder what will happen next.

“Jesus, I had no idea what happened to you. You could have been killed or kidnapped or…I don’t know what. You can’t just run away like that, Jake.” He’s not yelling, but he’s talking really loud. Too loud. I’m standing right next to him.

“Here’s the list of stuff I don’t like: apples, the fork in my bowl, Honey Nut Cheerios, eggplant parmesan, worms, watching baseball, and Taylor Swift.” I’m not looking at Dad anymore. He’s not saying anything.