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“If you put your head underwater, you’ll be able to hear the dolphins speaking to each other,” Max says.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I used to do it as a kid. It kind of sounds like little clicking noises. Wait, I’ll try.”
Max plunges under the water, stays down for a few seconds, then pops back up.
“You can totally hear them. Go see.”
I take a deep breath and submerge myself. After a second or two I hear it, little clicks and screeches. It’s unmistakable. It sounds like they’re chattering away in a foreign language. I come back up to the surface.
“Very cool!”
“I know. It’s hard to hear them in San Diego. Too many people. They don’t come this close to shore.”
“What do you think they’re saying?”
“Probably talking about corruption in Mexico. I don’t think they’re fans of Felipe Calderón.”
“Listen to you, talking Mexican geopolitics.”
“Just trying to impress you. How am I doing?”
“You’ve impressed me, Langston. Enough already. I’m starting to feel like an underachiever here.”
Max leans in and kisses me. We bob up and down and side to side as we attempt to kiss, breathe, and somehow stay afloat.
Max points to the pier. “Check it out. Total crowd scene happening out there.”
I look to the pier and notice that people have gathered on the dock, men in suits, woman in dresses like mine.
“You think they’re watching us?” I ask.
“Definitely. They heard about the Americans swimming in their underwear in the harbor and they’ve come down to check it out.”
“Oh my God.”
“Kylie, no one cares about us.”
“I’ve never gone swimming in the ocean at night before. Ever.”
“Seriously? Night swimming is the best.”
“This is amazing. If I lived here I would do this every night,” I tell Max.
“If I lived here I would have a little boat, and I’d take us out on the water at night, maybe a little sangria, some of those tripe tacos. We’d lay back and look at the stars as we tool around the harbor. It’d be sweet.”
“You are sweet, Max Langston.”
“You are amazing, Kylie Flores.”
I can’t help myself, I’m giddy and gri
“What are you smiling at?” Max asks me.
“I’m having a great night.”
“Me too.”
I lie on my back in the water, moving my hands just enough to keep me afloat. The stars are blazing above me. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Even though I know there might be an expiration date on this kind of thing.
elicidades!” someone yells out for the fifth time in ten minutes, and we all drink. Again. A guy appears and refills our plastic cups. Where did he come from? And how much tequila do they have? An endless supply? We’ve been knocking back shots with the crowd on the pier since we got out of the water, about a half hour ago. People have gathered here for some kind of massive wedding. We hopped out of the water, practically naked and smack into the ceremony. We tried to bail, but no one was having it. So we got dressed and joined the party, as we’ve joined every party that would have us since arriving in Ensenada. Man, these people know how to live it up.
Kylie holds her glass up to mine. “To Saint John the Baptist. I think he seems like a very cool dude. And he throws a kick-ass party.”
Kylie clinks glasses with me and downs what must be her fourth shot. I’ve had three and am really starting to feel it, so she’s got to be pretty blasted at this point.
“Maxie, wassup? You’re not drinking?” Kylie asks me.
Maxie? Definitely way wasted.
“I’m taking a break. You might want to do that as well.”
“Don’t think so. I’m feeling gooood. Wa
“You don’t want to get sick.”
Suddenly I’m the responsible dude. This is not my thing, but I’m worried about Kylie, and I never really worry about anyone. Usually I let people take care of themselves, but there’s something about Kylie that’s vulnerable and fragile. I want to protect her. Giving her valedictorian speech with a nasty headache is going to be brutal. She has no idea.
“Oh my God, look at you. You’re such a little worrywart,” Kylie says, slurring her words. She’s got it bad. She’s going to have one wicked hangover in the morning, but, man, she is hot as hell right now, with her eyes at half-mast and that one dimple on her left cheek.
Kylie goes to grab my arm, misses, and nearly falls over. I catch her. She collapses into me. I don’t mind. I love the feel of her body next to mine. It just…fits. She smells like an ocean-and-tequila cocktail. It’s a potent mix. I want to lie down right here on the pier with her. Unfortunately, we’re in the middle of a massive group wedding. My timing is a little off. Maybe later.
A priest is in the process of marrying couple after couple. It’s a tradition, at midnight, on St. John the Baptist. After each mini-wedding, everyone drinks, and Kylie has thrown herself into things with abandon. So far, ten new marriages. Five more to go. Most of the brides wear dresses just like Kylie’s. And the grooms wear tuxedos. I can’t tell if this is serious or not. Are these people married now? Is this just some elaborate party ritual? Because the tequila is a big part of it, that’s for sure. I think the priest might even be taking a shot every now and then.
The crowd yells out, “¡Felicidades!” again.
“¡Felicidades!” Kylie screams, practically in my ear.
Everyone lifts their glass. Another one bites the dust. The couple kisses and then swerves off down the pier.
“That priest is churning ’em out,” Kylie says. “You think he gets some kind of kickback for each wedding? Maybe he works on commission?”
I laugh. She’s still damn fu
A man approaches us with a fresh bottle of tequila. We’ve moved on from Patrón to the off-label stuff, maybe brewed at home. Things are deteriorating rapidly. Kylie shoves her glass out for the man to fill. I put my hand over it.
“I’m cutting you off,” I say.
Kylie frowns. She looks so freaking cute, I move in to kiss her, but she pulls away.
“I want to get my drink on,” Kylie says.
“I’m saving you from yourself. How are you going to speak tomorrow?”
“I’ll worry about that tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I say. “Fill us up.”
He does and we both drink. The liquor burns my throat, but the warmth that flows afterward feels good. I’m really buzzed. Things are getting a little fuzzy around the edges.
“Are you two next?” I turn around to see the priest standing behind us.
“Yes! Totally!” Kylie says.
I turn to Kylie. “What are you doing?”
“We’re getting married, Maxie,” Kylie says, pulling me into a hug. “I want to do this.” She stares at me. Her big golden eyes couldn’t be more serious. Is this the alcohol or Kylie talking? Or a combination? She wants to get married? Seriously?
As I stare into Kylie’s face, I realize I’ve never wanted to do anything more. Kylie looks so fucking beautiful. This is the most romantic, exciting, awesome night of my life. I think I’ve fallen for Kylie Flores. Hard.
“I dare you to marry me, Langston,” Kylie says.
“You’re on,” I say. “Let’s do this.”
Kylie and I come crashing together in our drunke
“Marry me, Flores,” I say.
“I thought you’d never ask, Langston.”
“Do you have the rings?” the priest asks.
“We forgot our rings. Do you have any extra?” Kylie asks.
“I always bring extra. People forget the most important thing,” the priest says, handing Kylie two gold rings that probably came out of an old-fashioned gum ball machine. Kylie holds on to one and hands me the other.