Summer of Seventeen (4 page)

“That won’t work. Papi always phones her parents to make sure I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“Go for a sleepover. When her folks have gone to bed, you can sneak out.”

Her eyes lit with excitement and I felt my pulse speed up.

“Yeah, that could work!”

“You could … you could stay at my place. We’d just have to be awake early to get you back to Esther’s for breakfast.”

Before she could reply, Mateo came out with his football, looking at me questioningly.

“Qué pasa?”

He grinned and shook his head. “Mami says you have to go in now, Anayansi. You women have work to do.”

Wow. I knew I couldn’t get away with saying shit like that, and this little dude was like 10 years old!

Yansi threw him a look and muttered under her breath, “Mi hermano me tiene realmente cabreada.”
My brother is really pissing me off.
If I were Mateo, I’d be watching my back.

We tossed the ball around for a few minutes before Mrs. Alfaro called us for supper.

I could tell Yansi’s brain was whirling—she was really quiet and kept throwing me these searching looks. I felt uncomfortable because we hadn’t been able to finish our conversation, and I knew it sounded like I was asking her to have sex with me, and maybe I was, but really I just wanted us to spend time together by ourselves—although I wouldn’t say no if she offered. Obviously.

It was killing me not knowing what she was thinking.

“Nico, I heard you tell my daughter that you’re looking for a job?”

I caught my name just in time, taking a second to translate in my head.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Alfaro smiled at her husband.

“It’s a busy time of year for lawn care,” she went on. “Raúl could use some help, if you’re interested.”

“Um, that’s real nice of you,” I said doubtfully, glancing at Mr. Alfaro’s stern face. “But I’m looking for something full-time.”

“It would be, but just for the summer. Isn’t that right, Raúl?”

I saw the trap a good ten seconds too late. If I was working for Mr. Alfaro, then I wasn’t messing with their daughter while they weren’t there.

“Si. Pay is $7 an hour. Cash.” He stared at me, his eyes giving nothing away. “Starting tomorrow, 7
AM
-4
PM
.”

From the frown on Yansi’s face, I could see that she got it, too.

I decided that I’d accept, just to stay on his good side, but keep an eye open for anything else that came up. But then my brain cranked into gear as if to say,
Dude, you aren’t quitting a job your girl’s father has given you!
Besides, even though it was less than minimum wage, if he was paying me cash, I wouldn’t have to pay taxes. But nine hours a day with a guy who didn’t like me because I was dating his daughter?

“Wow, that’s, um, great. Thank you, sir.”

He nodded, his face showing no expression.

Shit. It was going to be a long summer.

The sun had sunk behind the river by the time I left their house, and the sky was flushed with color—orange and pink bleeding into the silver-blue water.

I usually felt peaceful after seeing Yansi, but now I was restless and on edge, annoyed at the way the Alfaros had railroaded me, frustrated from sitting opposite Yans all night without being able to touch her.

I walked home rather than skate; it was too dark to see potholes in the road, and I didn’t want to risk trashing the Tony Hawk.

As I got closer to the house, I could see lights on in the den. There was a stranger in there. It didn’t feel right. Nausea bubbled up, and I rubbed my chest as memories came flooding back; Mom sitting up waiting for me every evening, watching her get sick, watching her lose weight, watching her fade away, watching her die. I’d hated coming home some nights, but I always did because I knew she wouldn’t go to bed until I was back.

Seeing those lights now was all wrong, and I nearly lost my dinner.

I stood frozen for a moment, and I could see the guy, Marcus, walking backwards and forwards, moving his stuff around the room, settling in.

Then I forced myself to move, digging out my key, and let myself into the house, wincing when the door slammed. I hadn’t replied to either of Julia’s texts asking me where I was, the last one telling me to be quiet when I came home because she had to be up early
for her summer job.

I was too wired to go to sleep, so I headed into the kitchen and snagged one of Ben’s beers from the fridge. I knew he wouldn’t mind, although Julia would be mad if she found out. Tough.

I sat on the back step, listening to the soft rumble of waves rolling up the beach. This wasn’t how I thought it would be. I’d been looking forward to this summer all year. I’d imagined long days on the beach with Yansi, borrowing Mom’s car to drive us somewhere quiet.

But the car was long gone, sold by Julia. She hadn’t even told me she was going to do it; one day it was gone. Just like Mom.

When I asked her about it, Julia told me to grow up. I didn’t even know what she meant by that. Get a job that made me miserable, like her? Worry about the price of milk or the price of gas? Worry about things that no one could control, like who got cancer, and who lived and who died? How did any of that help?

I heard footsteps and looked over my shoulder to see Marcus watching me.

“Someone’s birthday?” he asked.

“What?”

He pointed to the small pile of colorful envelopes pushed into a heap by the telephone.

“Oh. Well, yeah, I guess.”

I’d forgotten about those. They’d been there for so long that I’d stopped seeing them.

“Yours?”

“Yeah. I haven’t opened them yet.”

“Why not?”

I shrugged.

He shook his head and laughed lightly.

“Funny … I thought people usually, you know, enjoy birthdays? Isn’t that traditional?”

It did seem kind of dumb now that I thought about it. I just hadn’t been able to open them before, but seeing myself through Marcus’ eyes, I must have looked weird, or maybe just pathetic.

I stood up and put my beer on the kitchen table, then dragged the pile of envelopes closer. There weren’t that many—only five. One from Yansi, one from Julia and Ben, Aunt Carmen who wasn’t really my aunt but a friend of Mom’s, one from Sean. And one more.

I opened them all, reading the jokes and dumb messages, pocketing the twenty dollar bill that fell out of Carmen’s envelope, and the $50 gift card for Ron Jon’s Surf and Skate shop that was from Julia. Yansi had bought us tickets to see a band in Orlando, but I hadn’t been able to go. She had begged her parents for weeks to get permission just to buy the tickets, too. She went with a girlfriend instead, which her parents preferred anyway. No point wasting them.

I hesitated over the last envelope, feeling dizzy as I stared at the shaky handwriting.

Marcus sat down next to me and popped the tab on a can of beer.

“You okay, man?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice breaking embarrassingly.

I tore the envelope and read the card quickly, knowing that it was the last thing Mom had ever written. But all it said was, ‘Love, Mom’. She’d been too sick to write anything else.

“Happy birthday,” said Marcus, tapping his can of beer against mine. “How old?”

“Seventeen. A month ago.”

He stared at me. “How come you only just opened your cards?”

I began to speak, but couldn’t get the words out.

His eyes widened in understanding.

Mom died on my seventeenth birthday. Now every time I had a birthday, it would be a death-day, too.

Marcus stood suddenly.

“You up for a little stealth mission? The surf by the pier has picked up enough for some longboard action.”

I didn’t want to be in that house filled with memories of a sick woman who aged in front of my eyes, opening cards with shaky writing I could hardly read.

Then I remembered that I’d dinged my longboard a couple of weeks back and hadn’t gotten around to resealing the top layer of fiberglass. If you ride a damaged board and seawater gets inside, it rots the foam.

“My board’s trashed at the moment,” I explained, “but I know a place you can go that’ll work better than the pier with this onshore breeze.”

“Sounds good,” Marcus said, “I’ve got a spare you can borrow if you want to come along.”

“Really? Thanks, man.”

“No worries,” he said with a smile.

I stood at the entrance to the den—his room now—while he rummaged in his board bag, then hauled out a nice-looking eight footer.

“It flexes a bit too much on the bigger waves, but it should work for you now.”

I ran my hands along the board’s stringer and scuffed up the wax with my fingernails. Yeah, this was a nice board.

Then I saw that Marcus had a guitar propped up against the wall. I pointed to it with my chin.

“You play?”

What a dumb friggin’ question. What did I think he did with it? Play tennis?

But Marcus just smiled.

“Yep. Been playing since I was ten. I’m writing some songs, working on a few things. If I can get some money together, I’m going to cut a demo to send off to record companies.”

I was impressed. I didn’t know anyone who did stuff like that, but I just nodded and tried not to look too interested.

“Cool.”

He grinned like he could tell what I was really thinking, then he snatched up his car keys and shut the door behind us.

Two minutes later we were sitting in his van and Marcus was following my directions to Jetty Park.

“I thought the entrance was manned by security,” Marcus said curiously.

“Yeah, but there’s another access road that heads straight down to the shore the other side of the boardwalk. You’re not supposed to drive there, but no one checks at night.”

“Sounds good.”

We bumped down the sandy path and he parked on the beach, leaving the headlights on so we had something to aim for, even though we could see windows lit up in the big house on the point and the Shorewood condos in the distance.

I shivered slightly, but not from cold. The sea was warm, maybe 70
o
F, but there was something about the way the endless blackness crawled across my skin.

I shucked my jeans and t-shirt, and Marcus handed me his longboard. So I paddled out, the ocean moving under me, the spray misting across my face and shoulders as the waves broke gently.

Two things made me peaceful: being with Yansi and feeling her warm breath on my neck while we held each other; and this, here and now … being rocked by the swell, rising and falling, listening to the waves breaking on the shore behind me. I stared into the night, breathing in the humid, salty air, before turning my board around, feeling a wave rise up, springing to my feet, curving into the clean water at the shoulder, the white foam chasing me, riding until the energy passed through and carried me away.

We surfed maybe an hour before Marcus called time-out and I caught a wave back to the beach.

He’d built up a small fire by the time I jogged over to join him. The van was between the road and us, so no one would see the flicker of low flames.

The sickly sweet smell of weed floated toward me, and I could see the bright embers glowing as he inhaled.

I plopped down next to him, thirstily eyeing the two six-packs he had lined up as he handed me a can of beer.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

He passed me the blunt next, and I thought maybe having Marcus live with us wouldn’t be so bad after all.

I coughed slightly; it was stronger than I was used to, and it didn’t taste like he’d mixed much tobacco in with it.

“Good shit,” I wheezed.

He chuckled quietly. “Yeah, got it from a friend who knows some people south of the border.”

I took another hit and passed it back to him.

“So you’re not into birthday cards?” he asked, his voice amused.

“No, not anymore.”

He grinned and inhaled deeply.

“Yeah, they’re evil. I mean, what kind of sicko sends people cards on their birthday?”

I gave a small laugh and lay back on the warm sand, staring up.

“What about other cards? You down on them, too?”

I could hear the mocking humor in his voice, but I didn’t care.

It was easy being with Marcus. He didn’t look at me sideways all the time, because I was ‘the kid whose mom died’. You’d be amazed the shit teachers let you pull when they think you’re ‘acting out through grief’. The school counselor said that to me shortly after it happened and I’d been caught beating up a Senior who was bothering Yansi. I wasn’t ‘acting out’—I was kicking the shit out of a dickhead. I didn’t even get a detention.

I put my hands behind my head and stared at the sky, stars marking their way across the night, moving, moving, until they burned and died.

“Birthday cards are okay, I guess. Kinda lame. But I don’t see the point of Valentine’s cards. I mean, they’re just embarrassing, right? That dude, St. Valentine, he got thrown to the lions or beheaded or something. What’s that got to do with hearts filled with chocolate and flowers and all that shit?”

Yeah, I think the weed was getting to me; I didn’t usually talk this much.

“Maybe because girlfriends take your head off if you forget to send a Valentine’s Day card.”