by Lisa Freeman
Melanie thrust her shoulders back and said, “Neato. Bosso. Keeno,” and gave us a peace sign. Ick.
When she was out of earshot, Rox said, “I hate her.”
The sunnier it got at State, the gloomier Rox looked. She didn’t talk again until a shadow fell over us.
There was only one person who would dare stand in Rox’s sun. “Look what I found,” Jerry said in a singsong voice. He playfully dropped some seaweed on Rox’s butt, then sat on it, getting her all wet and sandy.
“Are you done?” Rox asked. I wasn’t sure if she meant surfing or sitting on top of her, but either way, she was smiling again.
“Negative,” Jerry said. “No waves at Porto down south, so we’re going to spend the rest of the afternoon here.” He gave her a quick kiss, jumped up, put his board on his head, and said, “Later, ’gator.”
Nigel yelled, “Wait up, Richmond,” and charged after him.
I loved Nigel’s soft, Jesus-like vibe. In the year we’d been together, he’d gotten even sweeter—if that was possible. He’d also maxed out yet another wet suit with new muscles.
The Topangas nearly gave themselves whiplash watching the McBride twins walk by. I thought, What a bunch of amateurs. Wait till they see me celebrate my one-year anniversary with that hunk when he gets back from saving souls in India.
I was distracted by a van pulling in to the parking lot. It wasn’t a cool van; it was a Ford with no windows on either side. It looked like an impenetrable cube of metal and sat there like a dare.
“Oh, no,” Lisa H. said.
I lit Rox’s cigarette as she said, very matter-of-factly, “Looks like the VPMs got a pass from Lord Ricky.” No one drove into State’s parking lot without permission.
Lisa H. groaned, too loudly, “Not those uncivilized sex fiends.”
Claire shushed her. “The Van Patrol Members are not normal,” she confirmed, “but they can surf.”
What is normal in this Haolewood? I asked myself, lighting my Lark 100 off Rox’s. I recognized these nutty white boys (a.k.a.: haoles) from school. Everybody knew this pack of nomads went from beach to beach. They were notorious ladies’ men.
“Do you hear? They’re blasting it,” Lisa H. announced.
“Shut. UP,” Rox said.
“What?” Lisa H. asked.
I tried to be a peacekeeper. “You know they always play that song by Iron Butterfly before they surf,” I said.
“Is it true that Iron Butterfly was so stoned, they couldn’t pronounce ‘In the Garden of Eden’?” Jenni asked.
“Yes,” Lisa H. said, with great authority. “‘In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.’ Seventeen minutes and five seconds of it, to be exact.”
“No one asked,” Rox said.
The Lisas bickered for the entire seventeen minutes. When the van door finally slid open, pot smoke billowed out and several versions of the same blond surfer descended.
“They remind me of the Rolling Stones getting off their jet,” I said.
Everyone could see that they were more than just a clump of guys who moved in a pack. Their hair was wild and uncombed, and they swaggered like no high schoolers I had ever seen.
These newbies weren’t pretty like the McBrides. They were scruffier and more dangerous, with cracked teeth and black eyes. It made for a seismic shift in the ethos of State.
The Lisas and Jenni perked up and started going off on Johnny Brewster, the driver of the VPMs, and how cute he’d gotten.
The more they yakked, the lower Rox sank. I could tell their constant chatter was really irking her. They didn’t know she was pregnant and feeling icky. If they’d done one more hair flip, I think Rox would have lost it.
But when I saw Coco Sinclair bringing up the rear of this motley crew, I got what all the excitement was about. He was a total surf maverick, and he and Johnny were ranked in the Competitive Under-Eighteen category. I had no doubt they were here for the Tubed article. It was going to be a summer of “see and be seen.”
Lisa H. should have kept her mouth shut, but she couldn’t stop herself. “You know, maybe I’ll go for that Coco.”
“Spare me,” Rox said.
So much for flow in the lineup.
“Time to recruit,” Claire said, clapping her hands all enthusiastically, like Mary Poppins. “Jenni, why don’t you and the Lisas check out the public side of Bel Air. There might be some potentials hanging out.”
“But the VPMs just got here,” Lisa H. pouted.
“Go get some recruits,” Rox ordered. “Do you want the Topangas to take over? Look at those space cadets. They’re going to outnumber us if you don’t get going.”
Over in the Topangas’ spot, Melanie laid out eucalyptus leaves, making pillows for each of her girls. Then she stood so Glenn could see her. She twitched then jiggled like something had just crawled up her butt—looking at Glenn all the while. Then her sister Nicole did it, too.
Glenn didn’t know what had hit him. He kept adjusting his tripod and pretended not to see them, which made us snicker ourselves sick.
When Claire was done laughing, she said, “Come on, you guys. We need serious backup.”
“But we wanted to hang out with you on your last day,” Jenni said, cuddling into Claire’s side. Jenni’s blond hair was almost as long as mine, making her even more luscious in her violet bikini. She was so cute, guys called her by her last name: Fox. She was the protective Libra who watched over the Lisas.
Claire reassured her, “I’m only in Europe for a little while. I’ll be back before the end of the summer.”
“But then you’re going straight to UCSB. When are we going to see you?” Lisa H. whimpered.
Rox pretended to play a little violin. “Do you think Claire and I busted our butts making this lineup, so you could let it evaporate? Get going.” As they strutted away, she started talking about them behind their backs. “You better not let those dorks eff up. Or else, Nani.” She held her finger cocked to my head like a gun, then said, “Pow.”
Rox was looking right through me, acting like I was just another member of the lineup. She rested her head on Claire’s shoulder.
Claire didn’t even know Fiji existed. Their affection was girly and sweet. It didn’t bother me. In fact, I liked it.
Seeing them made me smile to myself and lick my lips. I knew Rox was just acting tough, and deep down she couldn’t resist me. At least, I hoped not.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lovebirds
Claire tested her tan by pushing two fingers into her forearm. If the spot went white, she would know she was burning. “I don’t want to fry. Did you see how pink Lisa H. was?” She chewed her pinky nail off and nonchalantly spit it into the sand. “I need a swim,” she moaned.
Claire walked toward the tower, and the whole beach stopped to watch. Glenn did, too—but I didn’t hear a single click of his camera. Claire flowed into the breeze like some kind of deity and flirted with Bob the lifeguard until he brought the no swim flag down.
“I’ve got a question.” Rox held up her left hand and admired her fingers. “What do you think? Diamonds with a white gold band, or regular gold?” she asked me.
“What’s the difference?”
“White gold looks like silver. Regular gold looks like gold.”
“Why don’t you just get a silver band?”
“Well …” Rox paused and thought. “Gold is forever.”
“What does Claire think?”
“Claire thinks … expensive. Like a typical Palisadian rich girl.” She scooched closer. Her words tickled my ear as she said apologetically, “Claire is going to be the godmother; you’re going to be the aunt, okay? You understand, don’t you?” I nodded, surprised I could lie to Rox.
Jerry got out of the water, his board resting on his head, and began to walk up the beach.
“Well, it’s now or never.” Rox stood, pushed her boobs up, and spanked the sand off her ass as she walked up the beach to talk to Jerry.
Claire gave her a thumbs-up a
s she sat back down with me. Then she whispered, “Chain smoking can’t be good for the baby.”
What did it matter, anyway? That baby was half Rox and half Jerry, which added up to total perfection.
We turned onto our stomachs and positioned ourselves elbow to elbow, wiggling down as low as we could. This way, we’d be able to watch Rox’s every move. Claire tossed her hair to the left, and I tossed mine to the right, so when we put our heads together it was like we were in a tunnel. It was great. And yet it wasn’t. I was stuck in the front row watching my future being determined for me.
“Do you think he’ll get down on one knee? Or maybe he’ll break into tears of joy.” Claire giggled, barely containing herself, as Rox took Jerry’s free hand and held it close to her heart. We watched her put her other hand on Jerry’s board. It was like some kind of surf sacrament. A triangle, a blessing. Yin, yang, and baby.
I almost got caught up in the moment and didn’t think about what was really happening. I was losing my true love to some guy. If I married Nigel and Rox married Jerry, we’d be breaking the ultimate rule:
Never marry a surfer.
That was my mentor, Annie Iopa’s, most important rule. Annie used to work at my dad’s bar. She was like my big sister and taught me everything I know. “Surfers are no good as husbands,” she had warned me. Why didn’t I warn Rox? And why didn’t I stop this pact she’d dragged me into? I peeled back the Band-Aid and looked at the perfectly round, red blister on the inside of my arm. Love makes you do weird things.
“I think she just told him.” Claire poked me in the ribs. Jerry stepped forward, staring at Rox. Their hands were still tightly laced together. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes went wide. “I think it’s going to be tears,” Claire said.
“This is like watching a silent movie,” I told her. “Even though we can’t hear anything, we can totally tell what’s happening.”
“It’s so romantic.”
That made my flesh crawl. Claire squeezed my hand. Jerry turned and gently positioned his surfboard against the metal trash can behind him. He said something to Rox and looked away.
“Nope, looks like he’s going to get on one knee!” Claire squealed.
Then, like a rocket, with one convulsive kick, Jerry slammed his heel in the center of his board, breaking it in two. The snap was so loud it echoed down the beach.
I gasped. It was awful and violent, like watching a car crash. Everybody turned to see what all the commotion was about—including Glenn. Claire covered her face.
For the second time today, everybody’s eyes were on Rox. Except now she wasn’t the little princess making an entrance. She was the girl getting yelled at by the hottest surfer on the beach. Everyone could hear Jerry’s incomplete sentences.
“What the … you said you couldn’t!”
He picked up what was left of his board and hurled it, one piece at a time, into the empty trash can behind them, making the most brutal noise I’d ever heard.
He paced back and forth, slamming his fist into his hand.
“What’s he going to do? Hit her?” I said. “He better not.”
“This is definitely not good,” Claire said, still covering her face.
I was not going to let Mr. Mellow lose it on Rox. I prayed to Pele, Please make Jerry Richmond go away forever, and stood up, not sure what to do next.
Jerry was just about to kick over the trash can when Nigel and Shawn intervened from across the beach. Nigel whistled through his teeth, and Shawn yelled, “Hey, lovebirds!” Before Jerry could make one more threatening move, they had him in the parking lot. And that was that.
When Rox trudged back to us, Claire and I scooched to either side so she could lie between us. I didn’t know what to say, and neither did Claire. What would help at a time like this? What could we possibly say? I looked down at my hands, cautiously glancing sideways at Rox. “Sorry” seemed so pedestrian.
It was as if someone had switched off the light in Rox’s eyes. Her neck and chest were covered in red blotches. She lit another cigarette and told us, “I’ve got to get this taken care of.”
That’s when my supernova Virgo side kicked in. At least abortion was legal now, so Rox wouldn’t have to have some guy do it in a garage with a rusty hanger. Annie had told me about girls who tried to miscarry back home before it was legal in Hawaii. They’d eat baby goat livers and drink carrot juice. But Rox didn’t need to know all that right now.
She didn’t move. Everything went very still in our area, but the rest of State flowed with its normal rhythm: volleyball games, gay guys splashing in the water, Glenn with his tripod set up just to our right, and Bob on riptide watch as waves crashed into swimmers.
When Claire finally spoke, she tried to sound lighthearted. “We’re going to need a code word for this operation,” she joked. “No pun intended.”
I knew Claire didn’t mean to be a smartass, but she couldn’t have said anything worse. Rox shuddered and narrowed her eyes. “Wake up,” she said, snapping her fingers in Claire’s face. “This isn’t some game. This is my life.”
For a moment, Claire was speechless. That’s a first, I thought.
“I know,” she said sharply. “But shouldn’t we have a discussion, at least, about adoption?”
“I’m not getting stretch marks for nothing.”
“No, of course you’re not. I should have known better.”
“You don’t know anything.” Rox pounced. “You just have your perfect little life and your perfect little parents who are going to take you and your brother on your perfect little European vacation. And then you’re going to go to your perfect college that’s perfectly paid for. The only thing that isn’t perfect is your two-timing boyfriend, who hasn’t gotten you pregnant yet.”
“Shut up!”
“YOU shut up.”
Claire stood and grabbed her stuff. “You know, Rox, why don’t you just take care of this yourself.”
“I will.”
“Fine,” said Claire.
“Fine,” said Rox.
“I’m going to hang out with the recruiters,” Claire said. “Have a great summer.”
Rox pulled the towel over her face so tightly, I thought she was going to suffocate. As Claire turned to go, she held up her middle finger at Rox, mouthing the words that went with it. Then she looked at me. “I’ll see you when I get back from France, Nani. Sorry, but you’re going to have to take care of Her Heiny.” She headed up the beach to Bel Air without another word.
After a few seconds, Rox yanked the towel off her face and fixed her gaze firmly on me. “Promise you won’t leave?”
“We made a pact. Remember? I’m not going anywhere.” I forced a smile.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Secrets and Cover-Ups
June fifteenth was going to be a historic day. Everybody was planning to get to State at the crack of dawn. There was a total solar eclipse, and it wouldn’t be visible from California again until the year 2150. Nobody was supposed to go out when it was happening, but State was going to be a full-on party. The SOS had been planning it for weeks.
I had made viewing boxes out of cardboard. Each one had a wide piece of aluminum foil and a space for your head to go through, and when you stood with your back to the sun, the eclipse would be reflected on a white sheet of paper.
I was in a hurry to meet Rox. When I ran past my mom’s room, I could see she was still in bed. “Get up!” I thought she’d be better when she stopped drinking, but she was worse than ever. The alarm clock was blaring when I turned it off. How could anybody sleep through that?
I rushed to the kitchen to heat up some old coffee, but when I took it to her, the bed was empty. Then I heard it: gagging. I ran to the bathroom. Jean was lying on the tiles under the toilet.
“Help,” she whimpered.
I didn’t know what to do, so I called Joyce. When she picked up, I didn’t even say hello; I said, “Mom’s sick. She’s throwing up, and the sheets are soaking wet.”<
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“Get her a beer,” Joyce said calmly.
“No!”
“Nani, she needs alcohol or—”
“I threw it out.”
“Get some chocolate, then, and put it under her tongue. I’m on my way.”
“Chocolate?” But she had hung up.
I tore the kitchen apart looking for something like chocolate. I went crazy, pulling open all the cabinets. I called Joyce right back. “There isn’t any chocolate. Nothing’s here.”
“Okay. Just stay with your mom. If she convulses, call an ambulance.”
“What?”
“It’s going to be okay. I’m on my way.”
I hung up the phone, but as soon as the handle hit the receiver, it rang again. I lifted it without a second thought and said, “Yeah?”
“Is Jean Nuuhiwa there?” the voice asked, confused. When I didn’t answer, it said, louder, “Hello?” Then, even louder, “Is Jean Nuuhiwa there? This is Sister Mary Helen from St. John’s.”
Holy Mary, Mother of God, I thought.
“Hello?” The voice was curt.
“Oh, hello, Sister. My mom—” I wasn’t sure what to say. In the last three weeks, I had told Sister Mary Helen every lie in the book—from Jean getting a flat tire to the flu. We’d even had a couple “deaths” in the family when she was too hungover to go to work.
“She’s not here,” I finally said. “Um.” I yanked at my hair, trying to think of something. “I have a fever. And she went to the pharmacy to get some medicine, so I’ll finally stop throwing up.” There was silence on the end of the phone. “Is it okay if my mom stays home today? I don’t want to be alone.” I looked up and asked Jesus for help—knowing he spoke the language of nuns. “Would you hold on, please?”
Then I held the phone so she could hear Jean making heaving noises from the bathroom. I shuffled my feet and held the phone close to them, then slurped to make it sound like I was wiping my mouth.
“Sorry about that. But like I was saying, I’m sick. Okay if she stays here today?”
