by Lisa Freeman
Rox didn’t dignify that with an answer, so he turned up the music and beat the dashboard loudly with his open palm. It made me nervous, with his temper and all. I looked down at my feet and saw Jerry’s board under some towels.
He was planning to surf later. I shook my head and covered my face with my hair. Obviously today was no big deal to him. Maybe if Jerry was the one getting his insides scraped out, he’d feel differently. If guys could get pregnant, the world would change pretty damn fast.
—
The doctor Rox was going to see had an unpronounceable last name and an office on a tree-lined street in Beverly Hills. I prayed to Pele that Rox would get through this all right. But the truth was, I felt like everything was spiraling down. I was stuck in this weird love limbo, and everything was falling apart. I tugged my hair to one side of my head and bent low in the back of the van as it stopped, muttering, “Goddess, please bless Rox and me.”
Diane had parked and gotten out of her car before Jerry even turned off the van. “Let’s go, everybody,” she ordered and motioned for Jerry to get going. Diane was determined to oversee every part of this unhappy expedition.
As Jerry got out of the driver’s seat, Rox yanked me toward her and said, “You’re going to watch him. He may be a jerk, but he’s my jerk, and you’re going to make sure it stays that way. Don’t let him out of your sight.”
Oh great, I thought. Now I am babysitting Jerry Richmond, too.
I must have had a blank look on my face, because she said, “Nani, please!” It was the slight tinge of pleading in her voice that made me agree.
Diane pointed to a deli on the lower floor of the medical building and said, “You two wait there.” I hugged Rox goodbye, but when Jerry attempted to do the same, she turned away.
It was like she had slapped him with a big chunk of reality. Jerry put his hands on his head and turned so no one would see the look on his face. But I saw it. He knew he was screwed.
Jerry barely looked at the deli’s menu before he ordered the first thing on it: pancakes with sausage wrapped inside, and two eggs.
“How can you eat at a time like this?” I asked him.
“I’m hungry. And besides, it’s not all my fault, Nani.”
“Why do guys always blame girls when they get pregnant?”
Jerry didn’t answer. I thought about the poor little—what do you call it … tadpole?—swimming around in Rox, that was about to get sucked out. That’s how it’s done, someone told me. With a giant vacuum.
Jerry scarfed down his food when it came. He was a terminal, hopeless jerk in my eyes.
After a few minutes, he grimaced and ran outside. Was he leaving me with the check? I only had fifty cents in my wallet. After he didn’t come in for a while, I peeked through the blinds and saw him curled over himself in the alley, throwing up. I jumped back so quickly, I spilled my coffee everywhere. But after I tidied up, I looked out again. He was leaning on the parking meter. He just stood there, for, like, ten minutes, staring at the ground. Then I watched him tuck his shirt back in and wipe his eyes and mouth.
I grabbed a newspaper from the empty booth next to us to look like I’d been reading the whole time. When he came back in, I looked up nonchalantly.
“I’m sorry, Nani,” he said. He stared straight at me. “Look,” he said, pushing his hair out of his face, “I feel really bad.”
I could tell he was being honest. It didn’t make the situation any better. In fact, it made it worse—more real, and even sadder. There was nothing I could do to fix it, so I changed the subject. “I hear you’re going pro in Hawaii. You know, the drinking age is eighteen over there.”
That kind of lit him up—almost back to his shiny self for a moment. “What’s it like there?” he asked.
I don’t think he realized he was jiggling his leg so hard under the table that our coffee looked like it was on the San Andreas Fault. I drew him a little map on the place mat of all the hot surf spots, from Waikiki to Pipeline. I reached over and grabbed one of his pancakes as I spoke, and before we knew it, two hours had passed.
Finally, Diane knocked on the window. She had Rox by the hand. “I’m taking her home. Hold on to her while I get the car.”
I ran out so she could put Rox in my arms. Rox was holding her hands over her belly, not quite doubled over, but heading in that direction. Rox was so pale, and she smelled like rubbing alcohol. Jerry looked like he had just seen a ghost. “Hi, doll,” Jerry said. He moved closer, and I let him hold her.
Rox seemed like she could collapse at any moment. She had tried to make her dream come true. I remember her saying, “We aren’t like the others. We want babies and husbands.” She had told me that when we first kissed. But today Rox melted away. Half awake, half asleep, she was half Jerry’s. Half mine.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Upside Down
The next day, when I got home from State, the sun had already set. No one in the lineup had a clue what was really going on. They thought Rox was off being esoteric at Esalen and dismissed her absence as protocol.
At home, on the other hand, things were very weird. The dishes were clean, and I couldn’t believe my mom had baked my favorite dessert: pineapple upside down cake. The flip was back in her hair, and she had an apron on.
“Don’t touch that,” she said. “Joyce is coming over any minute, and I want her to see it whole. But you get the first piece.” And then she gave me a hug that made me feel better than piles of presents on Christmas Day.
She had placed a strip of fabric on the kitchen table to cover the water stains. On top of it were two little feeder fish in a mayonnaise jar. “Who are these little guys?” I asked.
“They’re yours. I know nothing can ever bring back your aquariums from the Java Jones, but I thought, well, maybe having some new fish would make it easier to live without them.” She put the jar in my hands, and I held it up to get a better look at them. “Do you remember when Mrs. Taniguchi’s koi pond overflowed, and you and your dad collected those giant, foot-long koi and put them in the bathtub?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “And you didn’t know they were there …”
My mom finished my sentence. “And I screamed bloody murder.”
“And Dad thought it was so funny.” This was the easy-breezy way my mom and I used to be all the time. We were having so much fun, trying to think up names for the little guys, I almost forgot to call Rox. It was 9:00 p.m. by the time I grabbed the phone on my way down the hall. Hopefully her line wouldn’t be busy, and Diane wouldn’t answer. There was a heap of laundry on my bed. I switched on the TV and turned off the sound. Then I dialed Rox.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“Oh, Nani,” she said, disappointed. “I thought you were Jerry. I’m tired. Nobody told me that I’d leak so much afterward. I’ve got old lady underwear on and—a pad,” she said, slurping something.
“Are you eating?” I tried not to sound too surprised.
“Yeah, crappy applesauce and chamomile tea. It’s good for the cramps. They’re the worst. Hold on a minute.” I heard Rox put down the phone and open a bag. “It’s time for my pain pill.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I made something up, like you would for a kid about to get their first tooth pulled. Something that makes them braver and less afraid. “The worst is over,” I said. “You’re on the homestretch. You’ll feel better in no time. And I’m in your corner.” And then, just to make sure she understood, I said very clearly, “I’ll be your shoulder to cry on, if you need.” I wished I had someone like that tonight, someone into whose arms I could nestle my head and lumber off into a snooze, feeling safe.
When we were done talking, I felt closer to Rox than I had in forever, and I knew the sooner Jerry left for Hawaii, the better it would be for both of us. I waited for her to relax before I told her about Mary Jo’s return. Finally, we could talk about something besides Jerry and the baby.
“Are you kidding me?” Rox said. She was furious.
“I’ll get that Mary Jo. You’ll see.”
Then I gave her some gossip about Lisa and Jenni double-dating with Coco and Johnny that night, and how Coco had been resting his feet on a little sand pedestal Jenni made him, and how Johnny kept holding Lisa’s hand whenever he could.
Everything was great until Rox said, “By the way, I told Jerry you were suicidal without Nigel, so he’s gonna keep an eye on you. Which means you can keep an eye on him, nonstop. Pretty good, huh?” Her language was looser than normal—unguarded, like her gates were down. I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at it—as if she could see me through the holes in the receiver, mouthing “YOU DID WHAT?”
“I gotta go,” she said. “The pill is starting to work.” It sounded like she dropped the phone.
“Hello? Hellooo?” I said into the phone. When she didn’t answer, I hung up, too.
I was looking at my David Bowie album cover when there was a knock on my bedroom door.
“Hi, Haunani. Can I come in?” Joyce had brought me a piece of cake. “Is it better if I call you Nani?”
I don’t think a grown-up had ever asked me an intelligent question before. I tried not to look too stunned. “Yeah. Nani’s good.”
“Okay if I sit down?” That was two in a row.
“Sure,” I said. I moved over so Joyce could sit with me on my bed while I ate the most amazing cake my mom had ever made. “Mom’s doing good. Isn’t she?”
“So are you,” Joyce said encouragingly. “What do we have here?” She bent down to look closer at my new fish.
I named them in that instant. “Cecelio and Kapono.”
“The singers?” Joyce asked. I couldn’t believe she knew who they were. I nodded. Joyce said, “My husband and I saw them when we visited our son, Joseph, on leave. That was the last time I was on Oahu.”
I let her hold the jar and pointed. “The gold one is Cecelio, and the one with the black spot is Kapono, ‘cause he’s a bit of a badass.” Joyce thought that was funny.
“Do you miss home?” she asked.
“Every day. But I have good friends here now.”
“Like Rox?”
“And these two guys.” I took the jar back and carefully placed it next to my bed. It was kind of nice to have adults around again. We talked for about five minutes, and when she left I felt like I knew her better. Like, I actually knew Joyce.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Elimination of Nancy Norris
Friendships spread as fast as flames in the lineup. Once again, candidates seemed to materialize out of the sand, and so, a few days after Rox’s thing, we were hosting a potential SOS named Heidi Henderson, a model from Teen magazine. She even did a commercial for acne medicine once because her skin was like a baby’s butt.
She was sprawled out in the prime guest spot next to Lisa. I closed my eyes to envision a lineup based on kindness, beauty, and love for the beach and each other. Maybe Heidi would lighten my load instead of adding to it. She was quite a catch.
She looked like the type of adorable girl who had a poster of a medieval unicorn tapestry on the wall behind her bed. Her voice was high, but up close I could see perspiration above her lip, meaning that she was nervous, which surprised me.
Heidi was a real jet-setter. Her dad was a pilot for Pan Am. She talked about seeing the Northern Lights, and what the sun looked like at midnight in Alaska. Her well-traveled tales included Rome, Copenhagen, Japan, and Paris. Jenni, who still wanted to be a stewardess for Pan Am, was stoked. Trying to impress us, Heidi said:
Je vais parler en français pour vous. Je suis mignonne. Tu es belle. Ceci est mon chien, mon chat, mon cochon, le ciel, le soleil, l’océan. Oui bien? Où est la banque?
I am going to speak French for you. I look good. You are beautiful. This is my dog, my cat, my piggy, the sky, sun, ocean. Yes, good? Where’s the bank?
She was trying to convince everyone she was fluent in French, but I knew better. I was really into French history (another secret). In Mrs. Dupre’s class I learned about the Celtics, the ancient natives of the land where France and Belgium are now. I liked the way they separated time by moons instead of months. It reminded me of home.
I watched in disbelief as the lineup bought her BS, hook, line, and sinker. On the beach, smarty-pants girls are banned. But Heidi definitely hadn’t read the fine print of the never-ending dos and don’ts at State.
I just stared at her, wondering why nobody else seemed to notice she wasn’t making any sense. I wondered why this blue-eyed Heidi—a graceful, Norwegian-looking girl—could act all stuck-up like she knew everything.
The lineup lay on their stomachs, oblivious to the crowds, screeching kids on skim boards, and the occasional gawker who was gaping at one butt more perfect than the next. They were concentrating on their back tans, and nothing could distract them—not even Glenn Martin from Tubed, who was standing in his assigned place, clicking away as the guys tried to out-surf each other.
Mary Jo’s left elbow lay inverted, and her mouth was half open in the sand. She was comatose from a night of drinking ouzo, some Greek liqueur. She didn’t see Nancy Norris descend and plop down the way a bird poops. And she didn’t smell the zinc oxide that hovered around Nancy Norris’s big grin as she cluelessly blocked the sun.
Nancy clasped her fingers to her chin and turned to Heidi, saying gleefully, “You aren’t one of them. Are you here for the audition? Me, too. Hi!”
Heidi looked down the row of girls. The SOS lifted their heads, waiting for her reaction. She arched her chest and pulled her shoulders back. “And who is that?” she asked, shooting her thumb at Nancy Norris.
Nancy Norris wore a Day-Glo-green swimsuit and trolled around us, waving hello. Her eyes were a little too far apart, round, and sad like those Keane portraits of kids. Her forehead was unusually high, and the bridge of her nose was flat, but the tip was turned up. She had a thin upper lip that stretched into a permanent grin. Her frizzy, brown braids barely reached below her shoulders.
“Can’t you make it go away?” Heidi demanded, looking indignantly at Lisa and Jenni. When they did nothing, Heidi turned to Nancy. “You know—you can feel your pulse if you stick your finger up your nose and hold it there.”
Nancy happily did this. How could Heidi be so cruel? And why was she sitting with us? I was overcome with a feeling of disgust. If pretty is as pretty does, we weren’t much to look at.
It seemed like poor Nancy was in suspended animation, with her finger up her nose, laughing because Heidi was laughing. Nobody else was. I closed my eyes the way I would to avoid witnessing something terrible and unstoppable. I thought to myself, Haunani Grace Nuuhiwa, don’t be a chicken shit. Defend Nancy, or tell her to run. Do something.
But I lay back down and pretended to be asleep as Nancy Norris knelt next to Mary Jo and sang out, “Wake up, Jojo!” She stuck the tip of her braid in Mary Jo’s ear. There was a reason Mary Jo had to be friends with Nancy Norris. She told me a long time ago. It seems back in the early 1950s, their mothers pledged Kappa Kappa Gamma together at UCLA. That freaky sorority bond meant a friendship for life. It was a cross Mary Jo had to bear.
Nancy had bands of steel on every tooth, with rubber bands crossed into an X over her front teeth. That made it difficult for her to talk—but not impossible. “Wake up, sleepyhead. Wake up, wake up.”
Mary Jo groaned as she tried to come to. She signaled to Nancy Norris to be quiet, but once Nancy got going, she couldn’t stop.
She turned to the lineup and babbled, “There was this one time when Jojo and I were in Westwood, and we were so starved we couldn’t decide if we wanted fresh donuts from Stan’s or a burger at the Hamlet—you know how good the Hamlet smells—and the onion rings …”
As she went on excitedly, Mary Jo stood, dizzily trying to navigate the treacherous terrain of hot sand and a pathetically out-of-control Nancy Norris, who swayed from girl to girl.
Nancy Norris talked on and on, fatally mistaking the annoyed looks from all
the girls for positive attention. Nancy waved at everyone again and said, “Jojo told me your numbers are dwindling. Maybe I can join your group!”
Heidi let out a vicious laugh.
That heartsick feeling rushed back. I couldn’t believe that no one, including me, was going up against Heidi, just because she was kinda famous.
Heidi counted, pointing to each girl as she did, “One, two, three, four, five, six—and with me, seven.”
“That’s more than enough,” Mary Jo told Nancy Norris. “We don’t need you. You’re mental.” Then she grabbed Nancy’s shoulders, whipping her around so the rest of State couldn’t hear as she exploded from asleep to crazy. She said, in one breath, “You’re the one that still keeps your Liddle Kiddle dolls in your purse and blames your speech impediment on living in New Jersey when you were a baby. And you still wake up early every Saturday morning to watch Yogi Bear and The Banana Splits. Just the other day, you cried when I told you Beany and Cecil weren’t real, and then I had to explain to your sorry ass that the Soviets and the Russians were the same people!”
I plugged my ears and thought about Hawaii, Parker Ranch cowboys, red clay dirt, and moss-covered boulders at the bottom of waterfalls.
“You guys should have seen her when she freaked out in third grade because she couldn’t get her skirt over her big butt in a Drop and Cover drill,” Mary Jo said.
Why wasn’t I saying anything? What was I afraid of?
Heidi laughed.
I should have yelled out, right then and there, “LEAVE HER ALONE,” but I didn’t, so Mary Jo continued.
“And you still play tetherball at Canyon Elementary and stick your Water Wiggle sprinkler between your legs.” Mary Jo closed her monologue by putting one leg behind Nancy Norris’s ankles and pushing her on the shoulders, so she fell flat on her ass.
Nancy Norris scrambled up and ran off the beach, looking like a lab rat that had escaped with everything but its tail. She scurried away, tagged for life with imaginary pink elastic bands on her ankles that read Reject.
