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Sweet.
The ticket seller leans forward and says something to Kylie in Spanish. I watch as a look of concern sweeps across her face, wiping away her smile. It’s like a shade being drawn. Kylie slides the tickets back under the divider and then looks at me. Jesus. I don’t know if I can take another hitch in the plan. I’m already ru
“What?” I ask. I hate not being able to understand. I should have studied Spanish and just ignored Dad. I live on the border of Mexico. I can say maybe ten words in Spanish, and one of them happens to be the word for hand-job. Pathetic.
“She asked me if we have our passports or birth certificates,” Kylie says.
“Jesus, I didn’t even think of that. We can’t get over the border without them?”
“No.” Kylie takes in a sharp breath and doesn’t seem to exhale.
I feel dizzy, like the floor is spi
Kylie thanks the ticket seller and walks away. What is she thanking her for? Reminding us that we are once again totally screwed?
Kylie heads over to a wooden bench in the corner and collapses onto it. I sit down next to her. I can feel myself slipping into the panic and fear. The sitting is only making it worse. I get up and walk out of the station, leaving Kylie behind. I don’t want to look at her. I don’t want to talk to her. I’m back to being pissed at her for getting us into this. I can’t help myself. I don’t want to be here. And it’s starting to look like there’s no way out.
I wander out to the street. My mood has dipped dangerously low. I look around the town. It’s not a bad place. There are bars and restaurants everywhere, and little pastel houses. It’s the kind of place I expect to end up in on some crazy spring break during college, slamming back shots of tequila and cruising the streets all night. But not today. Not now.
“I know this sucks. I’m really, really sorry. I should have never gotten you into this,” Kylie says, appearing at my side. She seems eerily calm. And genuinely sorry.
“It’s not all your fault. I mean, I’m a big boy. I could have bailed,” I say.
I both do and do not mean this. She didn’t want any of this to happen any more than I did. At least she’s not whining about it like me.
“What are we going to do?” I ask. Because hell if I know.
“I have a passport at home. But I can’t call my parents and tell them what’s going on. I just can’t. They’ll freak.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“Couldn’t you tell them you came to Mexico on, I don’t know, some kind of senior prank or something, and they could come down with our passports, or meet us at the border?”
“Not go
My eyes meet hers. I want to make sure I’m getting my point across.
“Shit.” That’s all Kylie says. And then she walks across the road to a little park. There are about a million pigeons and a few old guys playing dominos. Kylie sits down on a mound of grass and stares out at the harbor. I lie down on the grass next to her, staring up at the sky. It’s a cloud-free day, perfect for surfing, biking, ru
“Things are, like, hanging by a thread at my house. I seriously think this would push my mother over the edge.” Kylie lies down, rolls onto her side, and stares at me. “Just when we thought everything was going to be okay, it all goes to hell again.”
“What do you mean, hanging by a thread?”
Kylie heaves a sigh. “My brother Jake is special needs. He has Asperger’s syndrome. He requires a lot of attention. I mean, he goes to school and stuff, but everything is really hard with him. It’s practically my mother’s full-time job to worry about him, except for the fact that she actually has a full-time job as a nurse. And my Dad is always away, working out of town.”
Kylie pauses to make sure I’m still with her. I am.
“I’m kind of the glue that holds things together. Between taking care of Jake and working as a nurse, Mom doesn’t get around to doing things like making di
“That’s a lot of shit to deal with.” No wonder Kylie never smiles.
“Usually it’s okay. I’ve got systems for getting things done quickly. And I really like spending time with Jake. The worst part is the mental stuff. I feel like they’ve got all their hopes pi
Heavy.
“I’m sorry. That sounds shitty. I’ll give you an eighty-nine on the life-sucks scale,” I say.
“I didn’t even crack ninety? Are you grading on a curve?”
“Totally. You get an A minus in overall suckage.”
“Cool. I feel so much better. Okay, your turn.”
“My Dad is sick, with cancer.”
I blurt it out, just like that. I’m not sure why. Maybe because we barely know each other. And, most likely, we’ll never see each other again after today. It’s easier to be honest.
Kylie looks startled. Cancer has a way of doing that to people.
“My Mom, who kind of has a compulsive need for everything to be perfect, is in denial. So she never talks about it. My older brother is an outcast because he refused to go to law school and join my dad’s firm. Instead, he plays guitar in a crappy band in dive bars around Seattle. I am the last remaining beacon of hope, kind of like you, I guess. I’m expected to go prelaw at UCLA and join the firm. If I do what I want to do, like my brother did, it would be the ultimate blow to my dad.”
“Wow. That sucks.”
Kylie looks at me with such sad eyes that I actually feel bad. So I lie to her.
“You know, they cure cancer all the time these days, so, hopefully, he’ll be okay.”
“Yeah, hopefully.”
Neither of us says anything for a minute.
“So, what do you want to do?” Kylie asks.
“I don’t know. Lots of stuff. I’d like to try a few different things. Just not law.” I hedge. I don’t want to go there.
“Congrats. You’re the big wi
“Excellent. I love wi
I don’t mind talking to Kylie. In fact, I’m digging it. If this were any other day, I’d say we should kick it and grab lunch. But it’s not any other day. It’s the last day of high school, the day before graduation, and we’re stuck in Ensenada, Mexico.
hat if I ask Will to drive down?” I say. “He’ll be totally into it. He can go to my house, get the key from under the mat, and then grab my passport. Can he get into your house?”
“Definitely. Our housekeeper’s always there.”
“He can probably cruise down here in a few hours,” Kylie says.
“That’s very cool that he would do that.” Max sounds surprised.
“Whose best friend wouldn’t do that? Charlie would do it, no?”
“He would. He totally would. Should I call him?”
“No, Will would be mad if I didn’t call him. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. You might call him Weird Will—”
“He knows about that?”
“He’s not an idiot. Anyway, he’s an amazing guy. And an amazing friend. He’d do anything for me. Besides, he lives for a good story. He’ll dine out on this one for years.”