Riptide (4 page)

“That looks good, honey. Do you have a lightweight sweater to wear with it?”

“Yep. Do you remember the short-sleeved white one from last summer?”

He smiles wide—it was a sweater he bought for me on a shopping trip. “Sure do. We bought it at Nordstrom’s.”

I grin and try not to remember the reason we bought it. “It’s a perfect match.”

“Good choice. Did you like the other dresses?” He glances at his watch.

I shrug. “They were cuter on the hangers.”

I twirl around in front of the mirror. Dresses with the perfect twirl make me smile. This one swirls just right.

Dad tilts his head and smiles at me. “I can’t believe my little girl’s going off to college soon.”

“Me neither.” In this kind of situation, I play along, knowing he means every word, and I hang on them wishing this was our norm. It’s hard not knowing what sets him off, living life trying to guess what color he wants me to fill in on his paint-by-numbers-with-no-color-key kit.

“And I think you’ve got a real shot at the Ivy Leagues if you don’t mess up.” Dad leans against the wall. “Was there anything else you want to browse?”

“Nope. This is perfect.” I shift back and forth on my feet, feeling awkward but better. I know there’s something really screwed up about this, and I feel like it’s my fault somehow.

The only other dark cloud hanging over me is the fact that I’m not sure how to tell my parents I don’t even want to leave San Diego for college—I want to attend UCSD.

four

internship:
fancy euphemism
for copy grommet

It’s the first day of my internship with Bristol and Wentworth, LLP, and I’m stuck in the world’s worst traffic on Highway 1, sweating the fact that if things don’t clear up, I’m going to be late. Not a stellar way to impress the boss who can make or break my college apps with his letter of recommendation.

Maybe it’s lame to be excited about an internship—especially one that will cut out three mornings of surfing every week for the next eight weeks—but this is for all the Jorges out there. Last summer, one of my surfer buds, Jorge, disappeared. I didn’t run into him for a few weeks at the beach and couldn’t reach him on his cell. He never showed up at the skate park. This feeling in my gut that something was horribly wrong got confirmed when I ran into his neighbor, who told me Jorge and his mom had been deported. And then, a couple months later, things turned worse. Someday, I’m going to kick some INS courtroom ass.

I’ve never talked to Grace about how much this devastated me. It’s too raw. Makes me feel exposed.

Ai
. I see the exit, but traffic’s moving at the pace of a snail taking a dump. It seems like forever before I pull into the parking garage for the Wentworth building.

By the time I open the fancy door to the office, not only am I late but I also have nasty sweat stains on the nerdy button-down Ma bought for my internship.

The admin reels back with an unapologetic look of disgust. Then she looks down at a piece of paper and says in a snooty tone, “Ferdinand. You’re eleven minutes late, and you might want to reconsider your antiperspirant. I’m Teresa. Mr. Parker can’t stand tardiness.” Then she makes air quotes. “To be early is to be on time. To be on time is to be late. And to be late is unforgivable. Now head down the hall and hope he’s not there waiting. Conference room G.”

I hate it when people talk at me like that.

I stand there, thinking that I pictured this way different. Where’s my funny comeback?

She waves me off quickly. “What are you doing? Run!”

I nod. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

Then I walk-run down the hall, dodging suits, and say a quick prayer as I burst into the conference room. There’s a lanky Asian-looking dude and a strikingly beautiful African-American girl sitting at a long table.

Of course, there’s the backside of Mr. Parker’s head too. “You’re late,” he says as he swivels his chair around. When he sees me, he freezes for an instant.

“What’s going on, Ford?”

Maybe not letting him know it was me applying was a bad idea. “Um … I’m Ferdinand?”

An odd grin overcomes his previous expression of surprise. “Hmmm. Ford is short for Ferdinand? Well, I guess I would have already known how fortunate we are if I’d been at the interviews. I had more pressing things going on this year, like winning the Ricardo case. You’re going to miss all those awesome summer waves?”

“Well. You know how it is.” I balance my hands up and down in the air. “Catch waves. Plan for my future. Catch waves. Plan for my future.”

Mr. Parker nods. “I didn’t know you had drive, other than surfing. Maybe you can rub off on Grace. She’s flaking out on picking a college.” He extends his hand. We shake. “Good to have you on the team. I was impressed by your resum
é
. You have a lot to offer, son.”

Wow. My eyes widen. “Thanks, sir.”

“Meet your fellow partners in Copy Machine—Brianna and Hop.”

Embarrassed, I wave at them both. Brianna gives me a look that says she’s not impressed and eyes my pit stains. Hop smiles and nods once.

Mr. Parker says, “Take a seat. And today is the first and last day you’ll be late. I don’t do late. Neither do my interns. There are no free rides here—for anyone.”

Bossman letting me know what’s up. I can respect that. I don’t ask for free rides or favors. I say, “Yes sir.”

I slide into the seat between Hop and the beautiful Brianna. She scoots her chair away a couple of inches. Little Miss Subtle.

He flicks out his wrist and checks his watch. “I’ve got a meeting with a new client soon. Teresa will set you up with a tour of the place.” He gives everyone a huge grin. “There were lots of applicants. The partners and I sifted through several strong
resum
é
s to come up with the best interns—the three of you. Don’t disappoint me now.” Then he walks to the door and turns around. “Ford, walk down the hall with me. You can join your cohorts for the tour in a couple of minutes.”

I speed over to the doorway and catch up with him. “Sir, I’m really sorry about being late. It won’t happen again.”

He says, “No worries. I’m sure it won’t.”

We speed-walk past a few more conference rooms and then he enters his office. I follow him, feeling queasy.

He sits down behind his glass desk but doesn’t motion for me to sit. “Well, I’m sure you’re wondering what this is all about.”

I nod. “Yes sir.”

“Well, son, it’s like this. The way I see it, your internship here turned out to be serendipity for both of us. You see, I know how you kids get all excited about senior year and call it senioritis, when it’s really a bunch of kids sticking their middle fingers up at the world. Hell, I did it. But Grace needs to keep her focus. She’s got a great shot at nailing valedictorian this year and she doesn’t need any distractions. Her mother and I want what’s best for her. The Ivy Leagues.” He pauses and stares me down. I gulp. He continues. “I don’t have to tell you how important things—like the right internship, the right connections, or the right school—can change someone’s life.”

I nod. He’s right. It’s the reason I’m standing in his office wondering what he’s getting at. “Yes sir.”

He smiles and bangs his fist on the desk. “I knew you’d get it. This is perfect. You’re her best friend and surfing buddy. I need you to run recon for me. Keep those guys away from her. The last thing Grace needs is some sappy summer romance messing with her head. She needs to go into the school year ready to focus on academics.”

Whoa. Are you kidding me? Dating Grace was my number-one goal for the summer … and it’s now in direct conflict with my number-two goal. It took me two years to work up the nerve to go after Grace, and now, in the span of a week, she’s shot me down with the friend card and her dad, my new boss, is asking me to keep guys away from her. Rip my heart out already.

He waves his hand at me like no biggie. “Don’t worry, Ford. You can do this, and I never ask for favors if I don’t plan on returning them. You come through for me, I’m sure I can secure you an internship at Gutierrez, Haverty, and Mierl. That would be a great experience to have next summer, right before college. You’ve heard of them, right?”

Holy crap. Who hasn’t? I suck in my breath. My head’s reeling as I mentally run through the repercussions of saying no to my boss on the first day of work, saying no to the father of the girl I want to date, and possibly betraying my best friend who I want to date more than anything.

“Yes sir,” I say. “They won a breakthrough case on immigration reform in California.”

Mr. Parker nods. “Well, Miguel happens to be a good friend of mine. You watch out for my baby girl, and I’ll take care of you. Deal?”

It’s mainly for the summer, right? I think I could win over her dad by the school year, convince him I wouldn’t be a distraction to Grace. As for the summer, Grace already shot me down anyway. And she’s not into dating anyone right now, so it’s not even like I’d be working against her—it’s more like I’d be helping her maintain her goals, and those just happen to coincide with her dad’s concerns. So, really, I’m not betraying anyone. I can do this, right? I tap my fingers on my leg. I can try again with Grace in the fall. What’s a few extra weeks?

Besides, it’s not like I have any great backup options. I say, “Deal.”

“I knew I could count on you,” Mr. Parker says. “Head on out to the copy machine tour.”

I run down the hall and catch up with Brianna and Hop. They’re still in Conference Room G, waiting for the tour.

Brianna looks at me, one eyebrow almost arched to her hairline. “What was that about? Found the strongest applicants to make copies?” She waves her arms around wildly, pointing toward me and Hop. “Are you kidding me? We’ve got a rainbow in here. Where’s the token white kid?” She pops up out of her chair and her hands move automatically to her curvy hips. “And I’m not sticking around to make copies for the next eight weeks.”

Wow, the girl’s got fire. Wondering which question to answer, I shrug. “I’m half-white. Does that work for you?”

Hop laughs nervously. “Listen, you can take the all-righteous, too-good-for-everybody route
or
you can dig up the courage to stick it out. There’s no way all we’re going to learn is how to make copies. I don’t know about you, but I sure could use a great letter of rec.”

Brianna’s going to murder Hop and I’m the key witness. He keeps his cool, waiting out her stare of death.

She says, “I’ve got game.”

He shrugs. “I guess we’ll see. Are you here to play the game? Or are you just here to be loud and make a big splash and a big exit?”

Daaaaamn! I laugh out loud. Couldn’t help it. She directs her fierce gaze at me. I laugh again. “Nice try. I got a mama straight from Mexico. You haven’t had the years of practice
or
the fire to come close to the looks my Ma shoots me.”

She bristles like a cat rubbed the wrong way.

I shrug. “Just stating the facts. You got game or what? I’m going to get a tour of the copy machines from
Teresa
.” I say “Teresa” with the Spanish accent.

Hop stands up and sticks out his fist. We bump fists over, under, and straight on. Then we walk out the door.

A few feet down the hall, I turn around. No Brianna. “Dude, you think she’s gonna quit?”

Hop says, “No way. She’s smarter than that. I called her bluff. She needs a few minutes. Then she’ll be here all summer to terrorize us with her awesome hot self.”

We keep on walking.

Hop says, “You play poker?”

“Not really. I’ve been trying to spend time volunteering with organizations that help immigrants get legal status. I’m interested in immigration law.” Not wanting to sound too serious or uptight, I shrug and add, “Well, that and surfing.”

He claps his hands together and rubs them maniacally. “Awesome. I have a project of sorts that I need a little help with. You need to meet my crew—some of them could use your help. As for poker, we play for quarters.”

We reach Teresa’s desk without Brianna. Teresa’s an uptight woman; I can tell that by looking at her. She dresses about ten years older than she is, and not in a good way. That dark black hair of hers is captured in a tight bun and she wears granny glasses. What’s up with women who do that?

Teresa glances at us and points to nearby seats. No words. Then she looks back. “Where’s Brianna?”

Hop says, “I think she had to powder her nose or something.”

Teresa nods. We sit. A few minutes later Brianna huffs around the corner and sits next to me. Man, she’s furious
and
she smells good.

It turns out Teresa wasn’t the one to give us a tour of the copy rooms. They got Jada for that. She’s the head honcho of the mailroom and the copy brigade. Looking at her, she seems like a cool chick—a nose ring, little tatt on the back of her neck peeking above her collar, blond hair in a ponytail.
Aw
, ponytails. But nope. She’s a freakin’ drill sergeant.

Once we’ve finished the driest tour in the history of internships, I’m wondering about how bad I want that letter of recommendation. The surf report today was decent—for summertime. Grace probably caught a ride to the beach with someone else. Five bucks says it was a guy, and I bet Damien was eager to help out.

And the worst part about today? Brianna’s running the copy machine while Hop and I watch.

Hop says, “Man, I never realized how much the art of making copies is like construction.”

Brianna rolls her eyes.

He keeps going. “I guess every good copy project has one guy working and two supervising.”

I laugh. “Good one, dude.” Hop has a future career as a bad comedian.

Brianna focuses on that copier like it’s delivering babies instead of papers.

I say, “Brianna—Let’s pick up the pace. I need to see some more enthusiasm. Hop to it.”

Hop says, “Dude, don’t take my name in vain.”

Brianna whips her head toward us and raises one eyebrow. “One, I don’t need supervision, and two, you two fools couldn’t handle me if you tried.”

I like the way she thinks. In lists. And she’s got
fuego
.

Hop keeps a straight face and turns to me. “The sign of a good handler is to corral the subject in a way that the subject does not know they’ve been handled.” Then he looks at Brianna and says, “You stayed, didn’t you? Between that and the fact that I’ve yet to lift a finger, I’d say I won this round hands down.”