Stick (15 page)

“If I did, I'm not telling.”

Bosten laughed. “Yeah. Me neither.”

*   *   *

Dahlia was so happy
to see us when we got to her house. Her eyes shined and her cheeks blushed when Bosten and I thanked her for asking Evan and Kim to hang out with us.

Her home smelled delicious, and we were starving.

Everything here was different, and it made me wonder.

So, after dinner, when we finished the chocolate cake she'd made for us, Bosten and I were both wiped out and ready for bed.

Bosten yawned. “Dahlia, do you think       it would be all

            right if I borrowed your car in the morning to drive Sticker and the twins up to C—”

She cut him off. “You        can use the car               any time you want, honey.”

“I'm a                        good driver,” Bosten said.

“I don't care      if you rob banks with it and park it upside down.           I said you can use it. And the keys are hanging by the door. After breakfast, I'll give you                  some money       so you can put gas in it and maybe buy            yourselves some lunch.                If you're going to be gone all day, like you were today.”

“Thank you, Dahlia,” he said.

I opened the door to our bedroom. “Thank you, Dahlia. Good night.”

“Can I ask you boys           to sit down and    talk to me for just one minute before you go to bed?”

“Oh. Sure.”

“Here.” Aunt Dahlia waved us over to her couch.

She sat down between us, then put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed.

People never touch me.

Bosten sat down at the end, away from us, and Dahlia said, “Come           on over here, Bosten.”

She lifted up her arm so he could scoot in beside her, too.

Then she just sat there, holding us.

It was weird, and it was nice, too.

I didn't know if I was supposed to say something else.

And Dahlia did two things that I don't think anyone had ever done to me and Bosten. She leaned over and kissed us both on our cheeks, and then she said, “I just want

          you boys to know that I     love you, and I would do            anything for you.”

It was confusing.

I knew Bosten was confused, too.

Because, what do you say to something like that?

Then Dahlia put her hands on each of our knees, looked from me to Bosten, and said, “I just wanted you to know that. And I need to tell you I spoke      with your mother today.”

She shifted a bit. “Things are going to be          different            when you go back                  home next week.”

Different from what? I wondered.

“Your mother         and father. They're going to be living separate for a while now.”

Then she didn't say anything. We just sat there for the longest time. A million thoughts bounced around in my head, and none of them was very nice.

“Is that why they sent us here?” I said.

She just patted our knees. She didn't have to answer.

And Bosten, surgical, asked, “Who's staying,      and which one's leaving?”

She said, “Your mother thinks it's best for boys         to stay with their father.”

Aunt Dahlia cried for us when we told her good night.

She didn't need to do that.

*   *   *

I wanted to sleep,
but I couldn't.

I just stared up at a spot in the dark where my little window would be and imagined I heard the sound of waves on the beach.

But it was Bosten's breathing, and it scared me that my brother was crying.

“It doesn't matter, Bosten. It's going to be okay.”

“I know.”

“Then don't cry.”

“I want to go home. I want to see Paul.”

“Oh. You want to know something funny? Today, Kim told me she thinks you're cute. And she asked me if you have a girlfriend.”

Bosten rolled over in bed so he could see me.

“What did you say?”

“I told her you have a girlfriend, but she shouldn't give up trying for you, 'cause that's how my brother is.”

Bosten sniffed, wiped his nose, and laughed just a little.

“You're dumb, Stick.”

He pushed me with his foot.

“
You're
dumb, Bosten.”

I pushed him back.

I loved my brother.

“Okay.” And then he said, “I wish I     wasn't like this.”

“You're the luckiest and best person in the world, Bosten.”

“Stick?”

“What?”    

“I can't live      with Dad anymore.”

“I know.”

AUNT DAHLIA

Dahlia cooked French toast
and bacon for breakfast.

Bosten and I sat there in the kitchen, in our underwear, with our elbows on the table, puffy-eyed and pale, eating quietly while the sky grew lighter outside.

Everything was different.

Dahlia sat down and watched us.

She drank coffee.

I didn't want her to be sad about things.

“You could come surfing with us, Dahlia,” I said.

She put her hand over mine and smiled. “You're so              sweet. I think it would scare me         too much, seeing you boys out there in that     water.”

I wondered what she would think if she ever saw us at home.

Dahlia scooted her chair out and went into the living room. When she came back, she put her car keys and a twenty-dollar bill down on the table next to Bosten's hand.

“I want            you boys to have       a good time,” she said.

Bosten looked at her and nodded his thanks. Then he looked down and smiled. “I don't have     any pockets         to put that in at the moment.”

I nudged him under the table with my toes and laughed. “You're dumb.”

“So?”

I carried my plate over to the sink, and then I went up to Dahlia and kissed her.

I'd never kissed anyone before in my life. I felt myself turning red.

“Thank you, Dahlia. Come on, let's go, Bosten.”

*   *   *

She didn't even watch us
drive away or anything. I think Dahlia wanted to show Bosten how much she trusted him, and how much she really didn't care about things like cars when there were other things like people in the world.

I never knew about that stuff before.

Sometimes I wondered why she treated us that way, why she accepted us the way she did. It wasn't a sterile kind of tolerance, like kids could expect from PE coaches and nurses who gave you tetanus shots; it was something else.

One time, she told me about how her husband died when she was only twenty-five years old. I said he must have been a real nice man, but I couldn't look at her when I said that. It made me sadder than just about anything. It was hard to understand how things that make some people mean and cruel don't work on everyone.

She was a wondrous person, I thought.

And my head was so full of wonder after a couple days at Aunt Dahlia's house that I didn't know if I'd be able to shake it all out and put up with Washington ever again.

As we drove down Ocean to the twins' house, I started doing the math, like Bosten would do, calculating the days until we had to go back home; and it made me feel dark inside.

Five more days.

Monday.

The day after Easter.

We had to go back home.

“What are you all        quiet      for?” Bosten said.

“Nothing.” I pointed. Evan and Kim were already outside waiting for us. “Park there.”

*   *   *

At C Street,
we pulled the car into the unmarked dirt lot on the ocean side of the county fairgrounds. We stood behind the open doors of the Dodge and stripped out of our clothes and slid into our wetsuits. Everyone at C Street did that. It wasn't a big deal at all.

Some of the cars that were there played music with their doors and windows open.

We'd parked next to a pickup that was backwards with its tailgate down. Two guys who looked a little older than Bosten sat there, watching the waves. They were wet and had their suits half-stripped down to their waists. They said hi to Evan.

Evan went over to them. “Hey, Mark.    Dave.”

They were smoking a joint. Lots of guys were getting high in the lot. It smelled like weed everywhere. A couple guys were even drinking beers, and nobody there could have been more than eighteen years old. The youngest kids were maybe seven or eight, wearing wetsuits or Sex Wax shirts just like the older guys. But everywhere around us, kids were laughing, talking loud, goofing around. It was only about nine in the morning, too.

A teenager standing next to a van behind us had a big cut over his eyebrow. Blood ran down his face and onto his chest, but I could hear him laughing, bragging to his friends about how he was going back out in the water.

It was like that.

Mark handed the joint to Evan, and he took a long, deep hit from it and held in the smoke for what seemed like easily more than a minute. I watched him. He was way better at smoking pot than Bosten or Paul. I could tell he had practice.

Evan said, “These are my          friends           from Washington.       Bosten and his brother,        Stick.”

Mark and Dave nodded at us. The one named Mark said, “Hey, Washington.”

Dave pointed the joint toward the Dodge. “You want some?”

I looked at Kim. I said, “No, thanks.”

But Bosten was already over there, smoking with the other boys.

Kim whispered, “I don't      smoke, either. They know              that.”

“I think it stinks,” I said. “And just wait till you see how stupid Bosten gets when he's stoned. Just watch. He's going to make
me
drive now.”

She smiled at me, and twitched her head so her perfect hair flicked back over her shoulder. “You          drive?”

I liked her. A lot.

I tried to make my chest look hard, make the muscles in my arms show through Evan's wetsuit for her.

No success.

“I drive at night. I blow things up.”

Kim laughed. “That's sexy.”

“I know it is.”

*   *   *

We had to climb down
the rocks at the edge of the dirt lot; and when we got to the bottom, the only way into the ocean was to wait for the perfect moment between sets of waves, throw our boards in without the leashes attached, and then jump into the water and swim for them before getting crushed by the surf back into the rocks.

I thought that was pretty insane.

But everyone did it.

Bosten and Evan howled and laughed.

So I went last, after watching Evan, Bosten, then Kim go. And they had to shout for me to do it, because I wasn't really sure I had the guts.

Kim sat up on her board and yelled, “Come on! You drive at night and blow things up, right?”

She could ask me to jump face-first into the rocks and I'd do it.

So I decided I wasn't going to just stand there like an idiot in a borrowed wetsuit all day and watch. I finally took a deep breath, thought for a flashing moment about dying, and took the leap.

*   *   *

We surfed to the point
of exhaustion that day.

Evan was right about the break at C Street. It was so much easier than catching the fast and slippery waves at the Strand in front of Dahlia's house. And if I paddled far enough out, Evan brought me to a spot where the waves broke left, so we could both ride them front-side. For some reason, too, the water was warmer there than it was at the Strand. It was murky and pale, and there was so much seaweed beneath the surface that every time I slipped off my board it felt like I was being attacked by sea monsters.

I didn't like the seaweed part, but I tried to act tough.

After all, Kim said I was sexy.

Kind of.

I got up on the board so many times that I actually began to feel confident, which was a strange and new thing for me. Bosten and I laughed and whooped and howled, and thought about nothing else besides just being there, on the water together, with our new friends. It was like we had completely abandoned the land and everything on it.

One time, we all floated together, holding on to one another, so we made this private island out beyond the breakers.

“This is the     best   day    ever,” Bosten said.

Kim held my hand on one side, and Bosten's on the other, and Evan had a hold on his sister's leash.

“I'm       glad   you guys came,” Kim said.

I felt myself getting hot in the face when she looked at me, because I was peeing in Evan's wetsuit.

He was right about that, too.

*   *   *

When we decided
we'd had enough, we all caught waves that took us halfway down to the pier, where we could walk out of the water onto the sandy beach. We found a warm spot in the sand, dropped our boards, and collapsed there, motionless, like basking seals, letting the afternoon heat from the ground slowly percolate up through our wetsuits.

I would have easily fallen to sleep, but after about twenty minutes of lying there, Evan sat up and announced, “I'm starving.”

And Bosten moaned, rolling over onto his back, his face covered with sand and salt. “Me, too.”

So we got up and trudged back to the dirt lot and the Dodge, tied the trunk lid down with our four boards sticking out, peeled our shrunken and pale bodies out of our wetsuits, and got dressed. I tried to casually watch Kim while she got undressed on the opposite side of the car from us, but she had this perfect way of changing clothes with a towel wrapped under her arms, so nothing showed. That's also when I learned that sand inside your underwear, plus a boner, can almost make you cry.