Riptide (19 page)

Dad snorts. “More like a last-minute email, but who the hell cares? It’s an opportunity for you to impress some Ivy Leaguers and for me to show the senior morons—I
mean partners—exactly what they missed in that last ad-vancement round.”

Panic sets in. Now it’s not just about the Ivies but my dad’s status. After all, my success is an extension of his success. This is bad. Really bad. My chest constricts. Sweat beads up above my lip. I manage to maintain a semblance of control. “But I’ve been training for a surf competition all summer. It’s tomorrow morning, and it’s really important to me. The UCSD surf coach is going to be one of the judges. This is my chance to see where I stand.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “Grace Parker, you will not ditch this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a silly surf competition that we’ve never even heard of, much less approved. We’re talking about your future here. Get your head on straight.”

I blink. Yeah, we’re talking about my future. My chance. My once-in-a-lifetime shot to make a great impression on the UC San Diego surf coach in a competition setting. And now that’s getting blown out of the water by a senior partner that Dad can’t stand.

“But I’ve been training all summer. This comp—there’s not going to be another one like it.” Tears spill out. I’m breaking, fracturing into a million little pieces.

Dad leans forward, lightning fast. He’s not playing game show host anymore. I lean back, his finger in my face.

“You will attend this party,” he snaps. “You will be there right on time. You will not screw up this opportunity.”

So this is what it comes down to—all my hard work gone because Mom wants me to go to school where it snows. And is this Dad’s opportunity or mine? What’s the point? The freaking point is I want to go to UCSD. I’ve worked hard for this.

Forget the tears. I’m furious. I stand up, trembling with
anger, and take in a shaky breath. “I’m … going … to … the …
comp. Just because you get thrown a last-minute bone doesn’t mean I have to eat shit and smile pretty with you.”

Both parents pop off the couch in disbelief that their precious robot got a spine. Dad takes two gigantic steps and stops inches from me. Inches from totally losing it in front of Mom. Everything turns slow motion for me. She joins him and places a hand on his arm, a reminder she’s watching. Well, good, maybe he’ll lose it. Maybe she’ll see I’m not making it up. Although judging by her reaction, I have to wonder how much she really questioned my “stories” after all. It seems that as long as we pretend everything and everyone at our house is nice, then it doesn’t matter what really goes on behind closed doors. If you live a lie long enough, I guess you eventually believe it.

Dad balls up his fists. “You sure as hell will go. And you
will
smile pretty and make us proud. The brunch starts at eleven a.m. Your mom and I will arrive together, as we have
a parents-only mimosa mixer beforehand. You will drive
the Jeep, top on, freshly washed, and wearing an appropriate dress. End of discussion.”

Question: How do you win against someone who’s stronger and holds the power? Answer: You don’t. You just get bruised up trying.

I lock my bedroom door, crank up the music, and sneak out of my window. Even though Ford and I just had one of the worst fights ever, I know he’ll understand this. How much it hurts to be told I can’t compete in the comp. We’ve worked for this all summer.

I pedal up his driveway, second-guessing this decision and thinking maybe I should have called. What if he turns me away?

I knock on his door, heart pounding. Head throbbing.

Mama Watson answers the door. She looks confused. “Hi
mija
. Come on in.”

I step inside. “Is Ford around?”

She shakes her head no, quiet. Hesitating. She sits down on the couch and pats it. “He’s hanging out with Brianna.”

I sink onto the couch, crying. My whole world has crumbled, and I have nobody.

Mama Watson puts an arm around me, holding me until I’m done crying it out. Even though there’s nothing but a big empty hole inside me, at least I feel calmer.

I squint at her through puffy eyes. “Thanks for letting me cry.”

“Sometimes that’s the best thing for us.”

I nod and sniffle. “Yeah.”

S
he gets this mom look of concern on her face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

No. I don’t want to talk about it with anyone but Ford. And he’s not here. He’s done with me. I treated him like crap. And now I don’t even have a friend. I double over and bawl my eyes out again, in Mama Watson’s lap. She pats my hair and I cry over more things than I can focus on—until I’m too tired to cry.

I sit up, feeling like the marshmallow man. Mama Watson passes me a box of tissues. I grab a few and wipe at my cheeks.

She says, “Would you like to talk now,
Mija
?”

I do, but I’m afraid that if I start talking everything will gush out of me like I’m a compromised dam. And fear of what will happen then—whether she believes me or not—holds me back. Even though things are messed up at home, I do love my parents, and I know they love me. I love surfing … and Ford. But he’s moved on. After cinching my emotions tight, I shake my head.

She reaches out and tucks my hair back so she can see my face. “
Mija
, I know you really wanted Ford to be here. He’ll be back later. You two can work things out. But I want you to know, Ford, he’s just a boy. A great boy.
El te ama mucho
.
Pero
he can’t fix whatever is this wrong. It took me a long time to learn this, but once I did, life got so much easier. The only person who can make the decision to help you is you. And the only place to put your trust is God.
¿
Entiende
?”

I nod. “
Si
.” Part of me wonders if Mama Watson’s God is my God. I think about the reverence on her face when she makes the sign of the cross after mealtime prayers. Or how she’s so positive that He’s the answer. It’s like I’m watching her relationship with God through a glass window. My face pressed up against it. And my God hangs out in the foyer of our church, working on more important things, while I run down the halls of my house trying to escape my dad.

I get up. “Thanks.”

She stands up and hugs me. It feels good. Safe. “Anytime. I’m always here. I love you like my own,
mija
. When you’re ready to talk, I’m here.”

thirty

¿
Que dijale?:
What does it tell you?

It’s six a.m. on a Saturday morning and I should still be in bed. But today is the surf comp. Grace will be out there without me. And then there’s last night with Brianna. Blew me away. Didn’t expect things to go there again. It’s weird, kissing someone I’m not even exclusive with, and I don’t know how I feel about it. How Brianna feels about it. Making out with her so soon. I mean, kissing her is amazing—her lips are so smooth and soft. But I’m not sure it’s the right thing to do. Which sounds crazy. Everything’s crashing together all at once.

I bang around the kitchen looking for cereal.

“You trying to break my cabinets?”

I whip around, embarrassed. “Sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”

Ma adjusts the tie on her robe and bustles into the kitchen. She waves a hand at the barstools. “Take a seat. You need my
migas
and some coffee and some sense talked into you.”

I slump onto the barstool, exhausted. “Thanks.”

Ma goes into cooking mode and whips everything out with the ease of a person who hasn’t lost a wink of sleep. She peeks out from behind the fridge. “So, you and Grace are having problems?”

I bury my face in my arms, in a cross between exhaustion and embarrassment. Ma can read my face like a book—there’s no way I want her looking at me if we’re talking about Grace or Brianna. She’d kill me. “Yeah.”

The refrigerator door shuts. “Grace came by yesterday.”

“She did?” I sit up. “How was she?”

Ma opens the carton of eggs. “Seems like she’s having a bit of a hard time.”

I drop my head back in my arms. “That’s just Grace. She’s a drama queen.”

Bam
. Ma whacks my head. Not like it hurt. Just the normal
watch it
gesture.

“Okay. Okay. That wasn’t nice.”

The sizzle of an egg hitting the pan is the sound of love and forgiveness. Ma says, “You know, regardless of what’s going on between you two, she could use a friend right now. I didn’t raise you to turn your back on someone in need.”

I groan. Here comes
migas
with a side of guilt.

The clang of the wooden spoon against the cast-iron skillet is fast-paced. Ma’s biting back words. Which makes me feel guiltier. I already feel like a louse for dating Brianna when part of me is still attracted to someone else. Now Ma is telling me what a crummy friend I’m being to Grace. But after all the crap Grace has pulled this summer, that thought irritates me.

I sit up. “What about Grace? She hasn’t been the greatest friend in the world either.”

Ma shakes the spoon at me. “
Mijo
, she’s not my kid. You are. Isn’t today her big moment? Her competition?”

I squirm on the stool. “Yes. But I doubt she wants me there. We aren’t exactly talking.”

Ma turns back to the stove, dumps some chorizo in with the eggs, and stirs ferociously. “Which explains the reason she stopped by yesterday. I
always
want to share my problems with the people in my life I don’t like or trust.”

Guilt served. Well done. Not too sure I’ll enjoy breakfast now. “But mom, what about her whole
we can’t date but you can’t date anyone else either
crap? And what about her going out with Damien? And she told me to date Brianna—what’s that about? It’s like she wants to hold me back but at the same time she doesn’t want me. She’s
loco
.”

“How do you feel about Brianna?”

Ouch. My stomach burns. “I don’t know. She’s really smart, and beautiful … ” I slump to the counter, realizing for the first time that I’m doing the same thing to Brianna that Grace has done to me. Well, sort of. Brianna deserves someone who is 100 percent into her. ’Cause she’s awesome. And I’m an idiot who’s still hung up on someone who doesn’t want me. “But … ”

Ma puts
migas
on two plates and sprinkles them with
cotija
cheese. She raises an eyebrow. “But what?”

I grab my plate and shove a bite of
migas
in my mouth. Then I answer, “She’s not Grace.”

Ma parks in the stool next to me. “Care to elaborate?”

I think about how I’ve made out with Brianna. That I’m not into her enough to kiss her like that. About feeling guilty, like I’m using her or something—like we’re friends with benefits, but she’s not in on the fact that this whole deal is a friend thing.

I shrug, ears burning. I screwed up big time, and Brianna doesn’t deserve this. I owe her a major apology.

But I don’t elaborate. I just say, “Not really. Besides, dating Grace isn’t going to happen. I don’t even think I really like her anymore. She’s not into me, and she’s definitely completely unavailable. So that’s that.” I think again about what her dad would do to my future career if I went after his daughter, and about possibly screwing things up for Hien. That’s a cold shower. “Really. I don’t want to date her. I just need to get over her.”

Ma’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Are you two still friends?”

“I don’t know. It’s all screwed up.”

Ma says, “But she wanted to talk to you yesterday.”

“She’s gone on a date with Damien. I don’t know if
I can deal with that.”

Ma points her fork at me. “Then you aren’t the boy I thought you were. Are you so innocent? Can you throw the first stone,
mijo
? Grace has been a good friend to you. Remember when PoPo died? Who was there for you?”

Grace.

Ma shakes her fork at me. “You’re at the age where you have to make big decisions. Keeping friends is important. Grace is important. This competition is important
to her
.”

“I know, I know. But I don’t know how to fix it.”

She says, “Get your rear end in your truck and hit the road.”

Even though I know that’s what I need to do, I’m worried. The two of us didn’t exactly part on good terms. “But—”

“Sometimes you rely on faith. You believe in the things you cannot see. Trust your heart.
¿
Que dijale
?”