From What I Remember (54 page)

“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.