From What I Remember

“All right, I’ll catch you later.” Luca shuffles off, relieved, I’m sure.

I pull out my phone to text Kylie. One last play. And then I remember her phone’s dead. Damn. Why must this be so hard? Maybe it’s not meant to be. What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico.

I see Will, Juan, two younger girls who must be Will’s sisters, and their parents getting into a massive Range Rover. That is some serious gas the Bixbys are guzzling.

“Hey, Will,” I say. “Did I ever thank you for coming to Mexico?”

“Not that I can recall,” Will says.

“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

“Well, it didn’t do much good since I couldn’t actually give you a ride home.”

“Doesn’t matter. It was cool of you to come.”

“I did it for Kylie.”

“I know.”

“You know, Max, I saw your photographs.…”

“Where?”

“In your room. When I was getting your passport. You’re good. A

“Dude, you snooped through my room?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Will…” Juan chastises.

“I know. I shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry about the mirror.”

“What mirror?”

“You’ll see it when you get home,” Will promises.

Great. Can’t wait. Man, Will Bixby is a freak.

“I like her, Will,” I blurt out. Because, really, why else would I be standing here talking to him? It’s not like we bonded in Mexico. I need help and he’s the guy. Plain and simple.

“I know,” he says. And that’s it.

I wait for a minute, but he doesn’t say anything else. Damn, I am really having to work for it here. This is not my thing. So not my thing.

“What should I do, man? I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do.…” I’m getting a little desperate. I know he can hear it in my voice. I need to pull it back. Get my shit together. This girl is ru

Suddenly Will lets out a long beeping sound. What the hell?

“‘At the beep, please leave your name, number, and a brief justification for the ontological necessity of modern man’s existential dilemma, and we’ll get back to you,’” Will says.

“I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?” I ask. Dude is completely mental.

“It’s a line from Reality Bites,” Will says.

“Uh…okay.”

“The thing is, Max, I can’t say anything. I promised her I’d stay out of it. I swore to it, and my allegiance is to her. Not to you.”

“Stay out of what?”

“Anything having to do with the two of you. She says she wants to move on.”

“Do you think she means it?”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Will, are you ready to go? We’re late for lunch,” Will’s mom says, leaning her head out of the car.

“Yeah. Ready,” Will says. “Look, Max, I’m sorry. Truly. I would love nothing more than to get involved, but I can’t break my promise.” And with that, Will climbs into the car.

“A pleasure meeting you,” Juan says, and then jumps into the Range Rover after Will.

I’m at the end of the line here. I don’t know what more I can do except go home and see my dad.

ot it,” I say as I kick the ball toward the makeshift goal.

Dad expertly blocks my shot and sends the ball sailing back to Jake. We’re actually playing soccer together. It’s pretty mindbendingly weird. Granted, it was my idea and I practically had to drag Dad into the backyard to get him to do it, but once we were here, he was into it. Maybe that’s what I should have been doing all along, forcing Dad, kicking and screaming, to pay attention to us. I’ve been letting him set the pace all these years when what he really needed was for someone else to shove him out of his own way. It’s hard to ignore the similarities between us.

Dad’s wearing the yellow soccer jersey from Manuel. He stared at it for about ten minutes when I first pulled it out of my backpack, and then he disappeared into the bathroom for a while. When he came back out, he was wearing the jersey.

I told Dad and Mom all about the stolen computer, Ensenada, and Manuel. I left out some of the grittier details, but I did mention Max here and there. I played it down because I don’t need the third degree. Dad didn’t want to talk much about the accident. So I let it rest. For now.

The mere fact that he and Jake made it through a long evening together (okay, Jake did run away, but at least Dad found him), in which they went out to di

Jake stops the ball with his foot, picks it up, and throws it to Dad.

“You can’t touch the ball with your hands,” Dad says. “Only your feet touch the ball in soccer.” I can hear the a

“I know that. I play soccer in school,” Jake says. “I just like catch better. I’m tired of playing soccer.”

“Okay,” Dad says. “Then let’s play catch.”

“Catch is a game for two people,” Jake says.

“Three can play catch,” Dad insists. I’m not sure he’ll ever come to terms with the particulars that make Jake Jake. Catch will never be a three-person game to Jake. His rules are hard and fast. He’s grown a lot in the last few years, but Asperger’s has its limits. And Dad has his limits. Hopefully, in the Ve

“It’s okay. I’m going inside to get dressed. You two play catch,” I say.

I head into my room to change. Will and Juan are coming over for our John Woo movie marathon. For once, we’re going to hang at my house instead of Cloudbank, Will’s McMansion of ridiculous proportions, and I’m psyched about it. It’s nice to be back home.

The Mexican wedding dress is lying in a heap at the foot of my bed. I pick it up and finger the frayed hem, smooth out the wrinkles. It’s a lovely dress. I was going to toss it in the trash because I didn’t want any reminders of my night with Max. But now, looking at it—the delicate embroidery, the hand-dyed color, the beautiful cut—I want to keep it. Or maybe I’ll have it chopped into a mini and wear it with platform sandals in New York City.

I throw on my familiar uniform of jeans and a T-shirt and check myself in the mirror. My hair is back in a tight ponytail. My face is scrubbed clean of Lily’s makeup. It’s all so familiar. This is the reflection that has stared back at me for as long as I can remember. But is this the me I want to show the world? I can do better. What’s the harm in putting a little effort into it? Tonight may only be Will and Juan, but, hell, I just graduated high school, rocked out my valedictorian speech, and I’m off to New York City in two months. Life is just getting started, and I’m dressing like I’m retired. I pull my hair out of the ponytail and muss it up. I grab a stretchy black minidress off a hanger, one of the many gifts from Will that have been going to waste in my closet. I throw off the jeans and T-shirt, and shimmy into the dress. It’s formfitting in all the right places. I probably should have listened to Will a long time ago. I add a belt, flip-flops, and a little gloss. Better. Much better. I spin around in front of the mirror. I can look hot if I try. Why have I been trying so hard not to?

My phone buzzes with an incoming text. It’s Charlie inviting me to his party. I don’t bother to respond. I can’t imagine feeling very welcome there with everyone toasting Max and Lily, the prince and princess of the ball. Thanks, but no thanks.

No texts from Max. But what did I expect? A note proclaiming his undying love? He and Lily are most likely having sex right now.