From What I Remember (42 page)

One of the officers approaches Kylie’s window and says, “Go, go. We’ll take it from here. You don’t want to miss your graduation.”

Kylie doesn’t hesitate. She pulls out and makes a beeline for the toll road. Within seconds, we’re on the road and cruising toward the border. For a few seconds, no one says a word. We’ve just traveled through a tunnel of doom and come out the other side.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,” Will chants.

I’m not sure how long Will has been chanting this under his breath, but now he’s upping the volume a little.

“You okay, Will?” Kylie turns around to look at him.

“I’m fine. Now.”

“Juan! That was awesome. Man, how did you do that?” I, for one, am overjoyed.

“Because he’s a rock star!!” Will says. “He’s
my
rock star!” Will smothers Juan’s face in kisses. Juan is giggling. Lily recoils.

“You grow up in a small town in Mexico, it has its advantages,” Juan says.

“What did you tell the police?” Kylie asks.

“I told them there were two criminals chasing us, with a shitload of stolen stuff in their truck. Like I said, the police chief is my dad’s best friend. He’s like my uncle. He didn’t really question it. He knows I would never do that unless it was for real.”

“You’re my own personal Chow Yun Fat,” Will says to Juan.

“Who?” Charlie asks.

“Chinese action star,” Kylie and I say at the same time.

Kylie and I share a look. I try to convey a million little things, but I don’t think I’m particularly successful. Kylie looks away, either not feeling it or not wanting to acknowledge it.

know I should probably be relieved or grateful or something that we got out of that situation, but all I can think about is the look I saw Max give Kylie. A fairly significant look, I think. Max may think I missed it because I’m sitting in the back and they’re in the front together. Maybe I’m being paranoid; God knows it’s in my nature. And Max did seem really sorry when we were talking earlier. Still, I’ve got to change the dynamic here. I can feel things slipping away. “That was awesome,” Charlie tells Kylie. “All I did was drive,” Kylie says, trying to seem humble. Who is she kidding?

“You rock, girlie. But then again, I already knew that,” Will says.

“Man, I totally thought we were toast,” Charlie says. “But you drove like a pro.”
Yeah, we get it, Charlie. Enough already.

Max insisted Kylie drive, and now everyone is propping her up. As if it wasn’t bad enough seeing her wake up with Max, I’m meant to suffer a hundred indignities as we all congratulate Kylie to within an inch of her life. This is too much.

“I think we have the cops to thank for saving us,” I say. Everyone goes silent. At least I’ve changed the tenor. “And Juan.”

“Yeah, thanks, dude,” Charlie says to Juan. “We owe you one.”

“It’s no problem. You don’t owe me anything,” Juan says.

Thank God, the conversation has turned. I have no clue who this Juan guy is, but I’d rather he be the focus of attention than Kylie.

I’m trying to keep my composure, but I can feel it weakening with every second. I’m, like, thirty seconds away from total hysteria. It’s been a long day and it’s not even nine a.m.

“Maybe Charlie should drive now,” I say. “I mean, it’s his car and we are in Mexico. Don’t want to take any chances. The police can be sticklers down here.” I don’t need the two of them sitting in the front seat together.

“I’m happy to get in the way back,” Juan says. “It’s getting a little crowded in here.”

“Fine with me. I need to look over my speech anyway,” Kylie says.

Kylie pulls over at a turnoff and Charlie jumps into the driver’s seat. Max stays in the passenger seat. I’m sure the plan is for Kylie to just pop in back with me. But that’s a no go, I’m afraid.

“Maxie, could you sit next to me? I’m not feeling so great,” I say.

“Uh, sure,” Max says. I don’t know if he really wants it. But I figure two hours of me and Max sitting next to one another will help bridge whatever gap may still remain between us.

“It’s cool. I can sit in front,” Kylie says, like she’s the most agreeable girl in the world.

Please. Honey, you don’t fool me, I saw you on that squash court. I know what a raving lunatic you are. And you know what a bitch I can be. So let the games begin.

Kylie gets in front, Juan gets in back, and Max climbs in next to me. We’ve still got Will in the row with us, unfortunately, but there’s no other place for him, except in the trunk, which would be fine with me. I’m guessing it’s not going to fly with everyone else, though. I’ll just have to pretend Will isn’t here. Easier said than done.

“You seem tense, sweetie,” I say to Max. “You want a neck massage?”

“I’m okay,” Max says. He seems almost uncomfortable around me. This is so not good.

“C’mon, I insist. It’s been a rough ride. It’ll make you feel better.”

Max hesitates a second before answering. “Uh…okay.” He doesn’t want to say no. But he doesn’t want to say yes.

I massage his neck, working my hands over his shoulders.

“Feel nice?”

“Yeah, thanks, Lil,” he says. And then, literally thirty seconds later: “I think I’m good now.”

What a joke. No way I’m stopping. I need to make this work for me. Show who’s the alpha dog here. My hands move around his shoulder and down his arms, over his torso, toward his legs. Will is watching us with obvious disdain.

Kylie takes a quick look over her shoulder.

Max moves his leg away. I ease off, but I’ve accomplished something. Things may not be entirely good between Max and me, but, at the very least, I’ve staked my claim. Kylie saw my hands all over him. Hopefully, she got the message.

am sitting in the front seat, hunched over my laptop, eating stale potato chips—which are somehow all the food we’ve got in the car—and staring at the screen. I’m trying to focus on my speech, but it’s hard with Max and Lily directly behind me practically having sex. Talk about inappropriate. They could at least wait until we’re all out of the car. I can’t stop asking myself how I could have been so wrong about him. I will my eyes to concentrate on the words in front of me, tuning out everything else, and I begin to read:
Golda Meir once said, “Create the kind of self that you will be happy to live with all your life. Make the most of yourself by fanning the tiny, inner sparks of possibility into flames of achievement.” Today is the day we create ourselves. The decisions we make from now on will impact the rest of our lives. Every generation is handed the torch. It’s our turn now to take it and run with it, to show the world what we’ve got.

I’m having serious second thoughts. What I imagined was brilliant and heartfelt yesterday sounds clichéd and pretentious this morning.

I glance at the speech again.

We don’t have one second to waste. We can’t afford to make mistakes. Think carefully, choose wisely, set a tone. And get busy, class of 2012!

Maybe Max was right and the quote is off. I’m not sure anyone will relate to it. I’m not sure I do.

We can’t afford to make mistakes.
Do I really feel that way? It sounds so severe. I mean, the last twenty-four hours were a huge mistake, but do I regret it? I don’t think I do. My answer surprises me a bit. But the truth is, despite the fact that it’s morning and things haven’t exactly gone in my favor, I learned I can survive outside of my tiny little world. I learned that even if it hurts sometimes, I’d rather be out there in the big, wide world than hidden safely inside my own cage. My heart may be broken, my clothes may be lost, my speech may no longer be relevant, but I’m stronger for it. Still, it’s not very helpful at the moment. I mean, what am I going to do about the damn speech? I don’t have time to rewrite the whole thing. And I’m certainly not going to just ad-lib a new one from the podium. I have no real choice. I’m going to have to go with it. It’s one speech, for a school I hated. I’ll say the words, get off the stage, and move on with my life. It won’t go down in the annals of Freiburg history as the world’s best valedictorian speech, but I’ll live.

We’ve now been driving for a while; we’re nearly in Tijuana. We’re making good time. If all goes well, we should be back by ten thirty, eleven. Maybe I’ll even have time to change. I realize I’m going to have to call my mom and come up with some kind of explanation for why I’m still not home, where I’ve been, and why I’m wearing a bright pink dress that looks distinctly South of the Border.