Chapter Eighteen
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Derek
Wednesday evening. The sky is fading. Lamps around the water glow like engorged fireflies. Everyone’s stepping around me to board the yacht and I’m staring at the palm trees lining the street. Waiting for Jae to materialize.
What if she doesn’t come? What if her uncle doesn’t let her? I look down at the two tickets in my hand, the prices stamped big and bold in the center.
A slow breeze passes, and something tells me to look up. When I see Jae, my heart skips.
Shit. My heart skips.
She’s walking up the sidewalk in a long yellow dress that hugs her body when she moves. She’s wearing a small cardigan that covers her up, but not really. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s not a muumuu, and on her, it looks like a million bucks.
I don’t know what to do with my hands. I stuff them into my pockets.
She looks over my shoulder at the giant body of the yacht and looks up at the deck, where people are already standing and pointing out across the city. Her eyebrows shoot up. “A boat? We’re getting on the water?”
“Your first water experience was a major disappointment. Remember?” I imitate her jumping around like a deer and she laughs. “This is a two-hour ride. What do you think?”
“You want an open mic here?”
I shrug. “You wanted unique.”
She nods slowly. “Yeah … That would be kinda awesome, wouldn’t it?” Then she smiles. Big and dimply. And I’m trying, I’m trying, not to notice how my body reacts.
“You’re not scared?” I ask.
“As long as we don’t sink like the Titanic.”
“Don’t worry. You could always dump me in the ocean and keep the floatie to yourself.”
She laughs. “Not helping.”
I lead the way onto the boat. “So how did you make it out of the house? What did you tell your uncle?”
“The truth. I said I was looking at a venue with someone from the club.”
“And he was cool with that?”
“Uncle Rowan and cool don’t belong in the same sentence. He let me leave after a long-ass sermon, full of warnings and admonitions.”
We pass a dining room paneled in polished wood and go up a winding staircase to the upper deck, where there are six or seven other passengers. I’m trying not to stare at Jae walking in front of me. I’m trying.
Let’s just stick to planning the open mic, I say again, but this time to myself.
When we’re standing side by side, there’s a quiver and the yacht roars to life.
Jae grabs the railing and looks up at me, her eyes the size of Jupiter.
Then we’re pushing through the Intracoastal Waterway, our version of Venice.
Mansions pass on either side, giant yachts parked in front like cars.
Most of the houses are unoccupied, waiting for their humans to return.
Empty hot tubs, empty lounge chairs under shadowy arches, doormats that won’t be stepped on for months.
Every so often we see someone, and we get a glance, a wave, a shout hello.
There’s excited chatter as everyone walks across the deck to take in Delray from this higher vantage point. For a long time, Jae and I don’t talk, and it doesn’t feel like we need to.
A waitress walks around carrying a tray of drinks, with nonalcoholic punch for us.
For the first time, I look around and realize we’re the youngest people here.
A Japanese couple is taking turns with a digital Polaroid camera.
Then the guy walks toward us, the camera hanging around his neck, and waves us together with his hands.
“One picture,” he says.
It’s awkward, but Jae and I take a step toward each other.
“More, more,” he says, with more hand-waving. He motions for me to put my arm around her shoulder.
I don’t know what happened between dancing on the beach and now, but I’m scared to touch her.
I let my hand hover a millimeter above her shoulder, and she looks up at me with a look that says Don’t be dumb, and we start laughing.
Short nervous chuckles, and then we can’t stop.
In the middle of it, the camera flashes.
The guy gives us a thumbs-up and the picture rolls out of the camera. As he waves it around, I drop my hand from Jae’s shoulders and we ease into another silence, watching the mansions pass.
“So what do you think?” I ask. “This versus the pavilion.”
“It’s definitely unique. It might be a little distracting, though, don’t you think? I mean, it’s a gorgeous view, all these houses passing.”
I nod. “We could consider the dining room downstairs.”
“Yeah, I could see that. At least Swan can’t say it’s unoriginal.” She pauses. “So, we’re only talking about club stuff, right?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. What kind of stuff do you write? You didn’t say.”
“That’s not club stuff.”
“Loosely related.”
I don’t want to go there. To life inside the pink bungalow. It’s a minefield of miseries in there. I want to stay here where there’s something to smile about. But Jae’s looking at me now with intense interest and I’m feeling greedy.
“I had this shoebox full of my grandpa’s old baseball cards. They were worth thousands. Anyways, my mom sold them. All of them.”
“Without telling you?”
I nod. “I hardly see my grandparents—on either side, actually—and I don’t have much to remember them by. So I kept the box and now I fill it with scripts. Screenplays. Sometimes just the bare bones. Enough so I don’t forget the premise, you know?”
“Wait. You want to make movies? I would never have guessed.”
“I dunno. It’s just for fun, I guess. I can’t really say what I want to do for sure, you know? There’s soccer. I’m pretty good at that. Aren’t you supposed to do what you’re good at?”
She looks like she just bit into a lemon. “But you don’t sound excited about soccer. You sound excited about writing. That’s the fuel, don’t you think? If you’re excited about it, you’ll probably keep going. You’ll get better anyway.”
I pause. It’s the first time I’ve really thought about it.
That maybe I would rather write a script than play soccer.
But the idea of me becoming a professional screenwriter is too far from what I’ve always thought I’d do, becoming the next Messi, Mbappé, Cristiano Ronaldo.
I shake my head. “I dunno. I guess if I could make a difference in Hollywood, that would be cool. I’d love to see more Indian superheroes. I mean, Krrish was something, but …”
“Huh?” Just then a bird whizzes past her shoulder. She screams and ducks, grabbing her heart. We both laugh. “So … what is Krrish?” she asks, still clutching her chest.
“Well … it’s kind of … so … okay.” I take a breath.
“Koi … Mil Gaya was the first movie in the franchise—okay?—where this guy gets a brain injury as a baby and then this little alien Jadoo magically heals him. Krrish and Krrish 3 are the sequels about his son named Krrish—of course—who inherited superpowers.”
I snap my mouth shut. I realize I’m talking with my hands, and Jae’s looking at me like I’m the little alien myself.
She shakes her head. “I’m confused. It went from Krrish to Krrish 3? What happened to Krrish 2?”
I laugh so hard I’m grabbing the railing, and Jae chuckles, watching my face. “You’re not the only one asking that question,” I say finally.
“You laugh a lot,” she says, amused. “I mean, more than I thought you would.”
“I get it from my dad,” I say, and leave it at that.
The camera guy taps my shoulder and holds out the developed photo. “Beautiful couple,” he says. “Beautiful couple.”
“We’re—” Jae starts.
“Thanks,” I say, reaching for it, and he walks back to the waiting woman. I shrug at Jae. “Who cares. We’re never gonna see him again. You want it?” I hand the picture to her.
She looks down at it for a while, touching the corners, running her finger down the sides. I’ve never seen anyone so enthralled by a Polaroid before. “No, you keep it,” she says, almost shoving it back into my hands.
“Geez. Do I look like Shrek or something?”
“No,” she says quietly. “You look good.”
The corner of my lip is just itching to smile. I tuck the photo in my back pocket and lean against the railing. The sun is setting, sending broad strokes of paint across the sky. The night air is crisp. I nudge closer to Jae, let our arms touch. She doesn’t move away.
“So how did you end up in the club?” she asks.
“We’re supposed to stick to poetry,” I say.
“No, we agreed to club stuff. This is relevant.”
I almost tell her to forget it. I’m not ready for her big doe eyes of disapproval. But hey, she knows about Tillman and she’s still here. And anyway, not even the guys know what really happened. It might be nice to tell someone. To not have to keep everything locked inside like Fort Knox.
I wince a little, ease myself into the truth like wading into a pool of piranhas. “I got into a pinch of trouble.”
“A pinch? A pinch gets you community service?”
“Yeah. A pinch.”
“Okay, what’d you do?”
I cock my head to the side, glance at her through the corner of my eyes. “I don’t want you to think poorly of me.”
“I couldn’t think any more poorly of you.”
“Well, in that case. I’m a serial sand thief.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes.
“Naw, I’m a professional license plate blocker.”
She tsks. “Whatever, Derek.”
“Okay, for real, though. I shave cats without their owners’ permission.”
She bursts out laughing. “Where do you get this stuff?”
“The news.”
We both get quiet as we pass a house where a family is having a backyard barbecue.
Two men stand around a grill with beers in their hands, laughing as a gentle smoke trails into the night.
Two women sit at a table and clink their champagne flutes together.
A boy and a girl sit in the pool splashing water on each other.
There’s something eerie about the picture.
Two men, two women, two children. A barbecue, champagne, a pool.
It’s too perfect, too normal. I wonder what will happen when the two families go their separate ways.
I wonder if the mother will pop pills tonight, if the father will sneak off to see his mistress, if their son or daughter will lie in bed wide awake, knowing something isn’t right.
“I broke into Mrs. Aldana’s house,” I say, and Jae makes a sound between a gasp and a scream. She clutches my arm.
“No,” she says.
“Yeah.”
“No!”
“You have gum in your ears, Jae?”
“Why the hell would you break into Mrs. Aldana’s house? Of all people. She’s … I mean … There’s Mr. Cuomo. Did you consider Mr. Cuomo? The creep stares at our boobs in class. What the hell, Derek? How’d you even get in?”
“I knew the trick to the door.”
She gasps again.
“I know, I know. But you asked.”
Jae’s saying something, but my heart is doing jumping jacks.
There’s a familiar dark yellow house along the waterway.
Miguel and Henry are outside on the smooth black patio.
Miguel wasn’t supposed to be home. It’s arcade night.
And after arcade night there’s always drinking in the grove behind the school.
Henry is breakdancing in slow motion, showing Miguel how to get into a windmill. Then he pops back up to his feet and looks over his shoulder at the yacht. I drop down to the floor, my eyes level with Jae’s knees.
“What are you doing?” she hisses. I’m sure she hasn’t seen them yet, or she’d be down here with me.
I reach for her hand and nudge her to sit down.
Her eyes burrow into my head. “Why are you being so weird?”
I am. I’m being weird. I’m being the biggest coward. I just don’t wanna deal with these guys today.
“Is that …” Jae’s voice fades. “No.”
“Hey!” I hear Miguel yell. “Is that Easy?”
I groan. Stand up. Take off my hat and brush my hair aside, buying time.
“Derek!” shouts Henry, hands cupped around his mouth like a megaphone. “What the hell’s going on, man?”
“Ignore them,” I say to Jae’s mortified face.
Miguel’s voice strains to be heard as we float farther away. “You taking her to the boom-boom room?”
My face burns. I turn around and lean against the railing, too embarrassed to look at anyone else on the boat. I seethe and take in a deep breath through clenched teeth. I wish I could just laugh it off, but the look on Jae’s face is killing me. “They’re idiots,” I say.
“You don’t have to say anything.” She crosses her arms. Her eyebrows are so furrowed they almost fuse together.
I don’t blame her for being upset. Me hiding from the guys is epic-level douchery. But she doesn’t know them like I do. They’re all about appearances. Jae is fun and cute, but absolutely not what you’d call cool. And the poetry club is so far from cool you couldn’t see it with the Hubble.
Before, I never had to think about fitting in with the guys, about losing them as friends. I had all the right shit. Now I don’t, and I’m still pretending I do. Something about that feels … shitty. Especially now, with Jae standing next to me, daggers for eyes. Shit shit shit.
I try to talk to her, but it’s one-word answers until we dock again. Then it’s goodbye.
You can’t blame her. But at the same time, she could never really understand.