Chapter 5 #2
Dad spoke to us in Spanish all the time growing up until we became fluent. We also spent a few summers in a row in Puerto Vallarta with our cousins from Guadalajara, where Dad’s from, so we practiced a lot with them, too.
“Rob, this isn’t a game,” Dad chides. “The only thing that calms me about this situation is that the money goes directly to the Grand Slam Development Fund. But it pains me to think how that money could’ve been put to better use.”
He glances at Henry for a moment before standing and picking up his plate.
My dad didn’t grow up with much, but his baseball career with the Yankees changed his life.
He’s one of those rare people who never forgets where they came from, and I admire that about him.
He constantly reminds us that money can go as quickly as it comes, and that we should learn to spend it wisely.
Naturally, that only makes me feel worse about the fine, especially after hearing about Dora and Henry’s financial issues.
“It’s getting late. I better get going and see what your mom is up to.”
He knows exactly what “up to” means at this hour.
Dad walks over to the kitchen and leaves his plate in the sink.
“Oh, and about the sleeping arrangements,” he says. “Henry, you’ll be staying in our room since Addison and I never stay over anyway. Feel free to move all your things in and make yourself at home.”
“Thanks, Joe. I appreciate it,” Henry replies, standing up. I still can’t get used to that new, deeper voice. It keeps short-circuiting my brain, stirring up feelings I’d rather not feel again.
Dad leaves. Henry picks up everyone’s plates and takes them to the kitchen sink. He’s about to start doing the dishes when Robbie shouts, “Just leave them! Carmen will be here tomorrow morning!”
Henry turns around with a half-smile, and it’s the first time I’ve seen his teeth since he arrived. “My God, Carmen as in salsa verde Carmen?”
“The one and only.”
“Man, I’ll have to ask her to make some tomorrow,” he says, getting back to the dishes.
“There’s a huge Tupperware in the fridge,” Robbie replies. “She makes one every week or I can’t function.”
“I swear I asked my mom to make it a few times, but she never got it right.”
Henry’s now beginning to sound more like himself, and for some reason, it hurts even more. I was hoping he turned into a monster. That way, it would be easier to keep hating him.
“Well, I guarantee you’ll be swimming in salsa verde for as long as you stay here with us,” Robbie says with a laugh, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer. “Feel free to grab one for yourself, too.”
Robbie gestures for us to follow him to the living room.
“Where are your manners, Roberto?” Gemma says, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to offer me a beer, too?”
“You’re seventeen,” Robbie reminds her, throwing himself back on the couch, “and out of your mind if you think I’m offering alcohol to Jae Cho’s favorite underage daughter.”
“Well, duh.” Gemma sits next to Robbie, tugging his heavy-framed glasses off his face and tossing them onto the coffee table. She’s an only child. But Robbie already knows that.
“You need to stop worrying about that internship, you nerd,” she says. “You’ll get accepted whenever you apply. I’ll talk to Papa Jae. No biggie.”
“No, no, no,” Robbie says, gesturing for her to stop. “Please don’t tell your dad anything about it. I want to apply on my own and see how it goes.”
Gemma narrows her eyes suspiciously at him.
Henry joins us and sits in an armchair directly across from me.
“If I’m not accepted, we’ll wine and dine Papa Jae to convince him to take me in.” He shoots Gemma one of his hearty grins, and she rolls her eyes. “My treat.”
Robbie takes a sip of his beer and raises it toward Henry. “Where’s yours?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Aight. So what’s going on with Liam?” Robbie asks, crossing his right ankle over his left knee and extending his arm over the sofa’s backrest.
“He’s pissed off. And for good reason,” I admit, pretending to pick at my nails. They’re freshly manicured, so there’s nothing to pick at. I’m just keeping myself distracted. It’s better than risking any judgmental looks in my direction.
“Don’t worry. He’ll come around,” Robbie says reassuringly, taking a long sip of his beer. “He always does.” He looks at Henry again. “You sure you don’t want one?”
Henry lifts a hand and gives a single shake of his head in response.
Robbie is twenty, a year younger than Henry, but somehow Henry seems older than that. Not physically, but in his overall attitude. Right now, his expression is dimmed, a diluted version of himself. He seemed happier doing the dishes and talking about salsa verde.
“Besides, what did you expect?” Robbie continues. “You denied him in front of everyone.”
“Oh, come on,” Gemma snaps. “Get off her back.”
“Thank you, Gemms,” I say, reaching over to mess up Robbie’s hair. He grumbles in protest. “I know I messed up, okay? But I’ll make it right. I might ask him to be my boyfriend once he cools off.”
“Aw! That’s so cute, B!” Gemma says, beaming. “He’s going to flip. And you two will make it work. You’ll see.”
Robbie can’t help but keep glancing at Gemma’s cleavage, and I’m a second away from calling out his gross behavior.
“I have to agree with Joe on this one,” Henry says, tone flat. “The last thing you need right now is a boyfriend. You should focus on your footwork and your serve. Trust me, that guy will only be a distraction.”
Excuse me?
“You never struck me as the type who’d date a celebrity. But hey … seems like a lot’s changed in five years.”
I scowl at him, mouth agape, but he looks away.
He knows he’s being a jackass, right?
“Well, my girl here is a celebrity in her own field,” Gemma says proudly. “And everyone loves her. She’s already signed an ambassadorship contract with Ro—”
“Gemma.” I cut her off before she can finish. She throws a panicked look my way, and I give a quick, sharp shake of my head. I haven’t told her the deal’s temporarily off, but my expression says it all.
Henry tilts his head, brow furrowed, curiosity flickering in his eyes. Though it could be something else entirely. It’s exasperating not being able to read him.
Robbie clicks his tongue. “Rolex is out.”
God …
I blink.
“Oh my god, B, I’m sorry,” Gemma says, covering her mouth. “I had no idea.”
That’s because I was embarrassed to tell her earlier.
“It’s okay.” I sigh. “And they’re not out out,” I counter, glancing at Robbie. Not yet at least. “They’re putting the ambassadorship on hold for a while.”
“Yeah, and all you have to do is win the US Open next year to be reconsidered,” he says. “Piece of cake, right?”
“Well, I almost won this year, didn’t I?”
Just thinking about it puts me on edge. I need that win, more than oxygen in my lungs, more than anything in this world.
“And she needs to behave.” Robbie raises an eyebrow as he says it. He really doesn’t know when to quit. “Those are the conditions Rolex put on the table for them to greenlight the ambassadorship.”
“Seems like you’ve got a year of hard work ahead of you, don’t you, Bells?
” Henry drags a hand through his wavy hair, and I notice the slight curls at the ends.
Those don’t usually show up every day. I remember that.
But I’m getting distracted by his hair when I remember to glare at him for what he just said.
It has no effect, though; he claps his hands on his thighs and stands up.
Hearing him call me Bells again is seriously messing with my head.
“I’m turning in,” he says, walking away at a worm’s pace. “And I’d suggest you watch that tape before going to bed. That’ll make things easier tomorrow … for both of us.”
“Sure, Coach.” Not that I’d be able to sleep without watching the tape anyway. He doesn’t need to remind me. This whole coach thing is going to be a nightmare.
“It was nice seeing you guys again,” Henry says over his shoulder with a smile. I’m sure he means Robbie and Gemma. He jerks his chin at me. “And I’ll see you downstairs tomorrow at seven a.m. for practice.”
Henry carries his boxes inside my parents’ room, rolls in the couple of suitcases he brought with him, and before shutting the door behind him, he says, “Oh, and Bells?”
“Mm?”
“The ball was out.” He shuts the door and I jump reactively from my seat to go after him, to tell him he’s wrong and I’m right. But Gemma runs her arms around my waist and pulls me back on the couch before I do anything stupid.
My ears feel hot and I’m sure there’s smoke coming out of them.
“B, look at me.” Gemma grabs my hands to calm me down like she’s done countless times in the past. “It’s not worth it.”
Robbie is smart enough to keep quiet. He sets his empty bottle of beer on the coffee table and glances at Gemma’s cleavage. Again.
“Oye, ?ya párale, no?”4 I’m not in the mood to keep entertaining his wandering gaze.
“What?” Robbie laughs nervously, knowing exactly what I’m talking about.
“You’ve never seen a pair of tits before?” Gemma asks bluntly. She noticed it, of course.
“I’ve seen plenty,” he says, eyebrow raised, the smile gone.
“Doesn’t look like it to me,” she fires back with a chuckle.
I raise my hand and she high-fives me. He rolls his eyes like we’re not worth the comeback.
Gemma and I burst into laughter.
“What do you want me to say, Cho? You didn’t look like this the last time I saw you. You didn’t have to do that, by the way.”
“Do what, exactly?” Gemma retorts with a grimace.
“Get your boobs done, or whatever.”
“In your defense, Robbie,” I cut in, “I thought the same thing.”
“I did not get my boobs done!” Gemma says in a high-pitched tone, giving his shoulder a light shove. “And as I told Belén before you got here, they blossomed over the summer. No silicone here, amigo. My grandma on my mom’s side has huge boobs. Seems like I won the genetic lottery.”
“Can you not say that word?” he grunts, laughing as he grabs his glasses from the table and puts them on. He stands and heads toward his room off the living room.
“You’re the one who can’t stop looking at them,” she calls after him.
“Guys can be real creeps, Gemms,” he mutters, opening his door. “You don’t have to give them a front-row seat.”
“Oh, shut up!” I cut in.
“I’ll wear whatever the hell I want,” Gemma fires back. “And I can take care of myself. But thanks for the unsolicited advice, Rob.”
She usually moves around with her “driver,” Vladimir, but we all know he’s her bodyguard. The guy’s massive and terrifying. She’s good.
“You’ve had those for like a week,” he says, quieter. “You don’t get what it’s like out there yet.”
“Oh, thanks, Rob. Let me know when you grow a pair, and we can compare notes.”
“That’s not—” Robbie snorts. “Whatever.”
He slides one door shut. “Got an eight a.m. class tomorrow. Good night.”
Then pulls the other closed, shutting himself into his geek sanctuary where he’ll probably play PlayStation for an hour before bed.
“Ugh.” Gemma looks annoyed.
“Ignore him. He’s a dork.”
I should get going,” she says. “It’s getting late, and I have an early class tomorrow.” She grabs her purse and walks over to where her small luggage stands against the wall. “I envy you.”
“Really?” I say. “I’d rather go to school with you than …” I point my thumb toward Henry’s bedroom as I walk her to the front door.
“How are you feeling about, well, all of this?” she whispers.
“Like shit,” I whisper back. “There’s so much I need to tell you. I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.” Gemma sighs as she hugs me. “Good luck tomorrow.”
“Can’t wait,” I reply in a sarcastically melodic tone.
“Love you!” she sings back, walking down the hall.
“Love you too, Gemms.”
I shut the door and head to my bedroom. After a quick shower and brushing my teeth, I return to the living room to watch yesterday’s tape. The notebook and pen that Liam gave me are still sitting on the coffee table. I can’t help but feel the frustration building up again.
With a sigh, I lower myself to the floor, cross-legged, open my new notebook, and press play. Funny how we keep calling them “tapes” even if it’s all digital now.
I don’t want to get too comfortable and risk falling asleep. The truth is I’m drained, and all I want is to shut my eyes and forget about this. But I know that if I don’t watch it now, I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and come back out to do it.
But time flies, and after filling two pages with notes, I’m finally done with the tape.
This notebook has officially turned into a diary because I tossed in more than a few personal thoughts, too.
Watching myself lose control after the match was both cringe-worthy and embarrassing.
I had to stop the video at that point because I couldn’t stomach it.
No notes.
I lie back on the couch and give my scribbles one last pass to see if there’s anything else I should add.
My stomach twists.
Mom and Henry were right.
I flip to the last page of my notes and write:
The ball was out.
Over and over until I lose count and my eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion. I don’t fight it; I’m physically and mentally drained. My hands go slack, the notebook falls onto my chest, and I drift into a deep slumber.
When I open my eyes, I’m still lying on the couch.
I have no idea what time it is, but it’s pitch-black outside, so it must still be the middle of the night.
I sit up and yawn, then stand, only to notice Henry sitting out on the balcony.
It’s a small balcony, big enough for two chairs, but I love it. From here, you can see Union Square.
He senses my presence and glances over his shoulder.
He’s barefoot, wearing a simple black T-shirt and gray cotton shorts.
He gives me a slight nod and turns his gaze back to the city skyline.
He seems lost in thought, so I quietly step away and let him be.
But the weight of everything unsaid tugs at me, giving me pause.
“Henry?” I say softly, turning around. I want to tell him how sorry I am about his father.
I want to reconnect, to have my friend back.
I need answers and want so badly to know why he left the way he did.
The thought pisses me off for the millionth time.
But either I spoke too quietly or he ignored me.
I don’t dare approach him.
I’ll see you downstairs at seven.
1 Everything okay, love?
2 “You’re so annoying.” (not a literal translation)
3 Well, that’s the fine’s amount, isn’t it?
4 “Hey, cut it out, will you?”