eight
royal flush: the five highest cards of a
suit where the ace ranks high; the best
hand in certain games of poker
My cell buzzes and I check my messages. Grace texted me:
Breakfast on Dad this morning. Pick me up hungry. Treating you to fave coffee shop first.
I throw everything in my truck and head out. When I roll up Grace’s drive, she’s waiting on her front porch. Her norm. She’s always so stoked about the waves she can’t stand missing out on a minute. That’s one of the things I love about Grace.
I leave Esmerelda running and play it cool walking up her driveway. She’s walking toward me, bag over her shoulder. “Want me to grab your board?”
She nods and walks toward the truck. She never says yes when I offer to grab her board. I jog over and grab it. Don’t want to look too eager. Then I carry it under my arm and whistle as I head over to place it in the bed of my truck.
Grace stands by the passenger door. “So you gonna be a gentleman or what?”
I smile and hurry over to yank the door open, uncomfortable. This would have been cool before I made the Deal-with-the-Dad. She’s throwing out all the signs. Heck, at this point she’s gonna be asking me out. And then I’ll be stuck between a rock and a hard place. She climbs up into Esmerelda and lets me close the door.
I trot to the driver’s side ’cause I’m playing it cool. She looks good today. I shift into drive, figuring out how to joke this off. “So who is this demure sugar mama sitting next to me? Buying breakfast. Wanting doors opened. Were you abducted by aliens last night?”
“No. Poker players.”
I laugh. “Yeah. Well, you’ll be glad to know I was robbed. Of like five dollars in quarters. At one point I had twenty. But since fifteen of those buckeroonies were bonus, they don’t count. These guys would crack you up, Grace. You should have seen them last night. Yo Nlare of u’d have thought I was hanging out with professional poker players. One dude even wore sunglasses the whole time. And kept a straight face.”
Grace settles back into the seat. “Well, I’m glad you had fun with your new friends.”
She sure as heck doesn’t sound like it. I exit her neighborhood. “I can tell. Where to after coffee, Queen Grace?”
“Bagel Palace?”
Grace could care less where we eat before surfing. In fact, the quicker the better. So she’s being extra sweet suggesting one of my favorite places, Bagel Palace, which can have major lines.
“You got it.” I turn up the radio.
Breakfast at Bagel Palace shakes things back to normal. When we get to the beach, I carry our boards and Grace carries the bags. We reach our spot to set up camp. I lay the boards down. Grace tosses me wax and I get to work. She shimmies into her wetsuit and zips herself. That’s weird. It’s usually my job.
I say, “All right, Femme Fatale—you ready to bust a 360 or what?”
“I hope.”
I toss her the wax. “Hope? What kind of talk is that?”
She shrugs.
“You gotta get out there and show the wave who’s boss.”
She grabs her board and turns around.
I go for it. “So, who you been surfing with this week?”
She says, “Damien’s been giving me rides. He even gave me some nice pointers on airs.”
Inwardly, I wince. The dude’s a total douche and his reputation with the ladies isn’t the kind of thing I want Grace involved with, and it’s certainly not what Mr. Parker would want for her. Damien will just take what he can get and then walk away with her dignity and a smile. Freakin’ A. What to do …
I zip my suit and then attach my leash. “Watch out for him. It’s cool he’s giving you pointers, but remember his reputation.”
Grace huffs. “It’s not—”
I back up and say, “I’d hate for you to get mixed up with that. Remember your focus: surfing and academics. Heartache’s not on the list.” As she opens her mouth to protest, I say, “Let’s kick it.”
Then I run into the water, shins splashing salt. She laughs and follows, too competitive not to race me. The best moment of the day so far. We paddle out to where everyone else is already catching waves. Grace lags behind.
An hour later, I’ve shredded waves. Grac Sd wehie has been shredded.
She paddles over to me looking tired and pissed. “C’-
mon,” I say. “Your last try was better. You sort of pulled a 200, if that’s a move.” Then, to lighten things up: “But I have to say—your wipeouts have style. The way your body angles toward the water as your board nosedives is impressive.”
“What is this? A bad attempt at reverse psychology?”
I shrug. “If the board shorts fit … ”
She squares her body and paddles toward an incoming set. In a rush to catch the wave, she hits it right and pulls a massive bottom turn before assaulting the lip. Her board goes vertical for an instant before she spins 180. And thar she blows. She bunks the rotation and crashes. A minute later she pops up to the surface sputtering.
I paddle over, grinning. Push her board over to her. She clings to it like moss on a rock. “You’re da bomb, baby. Da bomb. You were so close. I totally thought you were going to nail it. Ready to get back in the saddle?”
Her cheeks puff up before she blows the air out. “I’m cashed.”
I look over at the guys. “Did you hear that, Buzzy? She says she’s cashed.”
He spits and then runs his hand through his super-short blond hair, making saltwater spray off of it. He tilts his head and checks me out. “Bullshit.”
Damien paddles closer. “Hell no she’s not. She’s just getting started. Hey, Grace. Good to see you out today. I didn’t know you were going to make it.”
Freaking interloper. But that was enough for Grace. Her ego can’t take a double whammy. She puffs up like a little rooster, cheeks red. Good. She needs some fire. And what the hell was that about didn’t know you were going to make it? What? Does Damien keep tabs on Grace now?
“C’mon. Let’s show ’em what you got.”
Grace paddles over to the lineup. Buzzy, Damien, and I follow. Party waves suck. There’s a few kooks out here who don’t know crap about the way things go down on crowded days. They better stay off my waves. A nice set barrels toward us about a hundred yards out.
I reach over and give Grace’s board a pat, like I would my truck. “The waves are filthy. This is it. I can feel it. You’re gonna go crazy on those waves and show folks how it’s done.”
Grace laughs and nods, kind of high-strung. She seems off today; I don’t get it. We paddle over to the spot where it should peak and wait. When it’s go time, I give Grace’s board a shove and say, “Paddle!”
Aw, crap. She dropped in on the wave at the same time as a newbie. Freakin’ A. He’s moving to cut her off. But Grace carves hardcore. She’s not taking this—and then the jerk shoves her off her board.
Duderuck Sar"aking thiss going down.
I turn around, looking for some peeps. Buzzy. Sweet. I yell, “Did you see that shit?”
Buzzy looks toward the jerkoff riding straight down the line. What a waste of a wave. He says, “Hell yeah I did.”
Damien paddles over like he can’t get out of my business.
I head over toward Grace. She’s not up yet. Panic fills me. I grab her board and tug on her leash. There’s drag. She pops up to the surface.
I lean over, worried. “Why’d you stay under so long? That wigged me out.”
She clenches her jaw, climbs on her board. She turns her back and tugs on her wetsuit. There’s a small hole in her wetsuit, down low, at the small of her back.
“He sliced your wetsuit with his fin?” I turn toward Buzz and Damien and yell, “Somebody needs to take care of that chump. He ran over Grace with his fin. I’m gonna paddle in with her. Who’s got dibs on kicking his ass outta here?”
Damien says, “I’ll help him find his car.”
Buzzy says, “Hell yeah.”
“Don’t beat him up,” Grace says. “Okay?”
Damien frowns. Then he smiles and says, “How about a firm suggestion? And then if he doesn’t see reason … ” He holds his hands up. There’s only so much a guy can do. This may be his only moment of redemption.
I give him a thumbs-up. I tell Grace, “Start paddling. You’re probably bleeding in the water, and unless you want to attract any more sharks than you probably already have, I suggest you don’t slow down until you hit the shore.”
When we reach the shoreline, I flag down a lifeguard. She jogs over with her first aid kit.
The lifeguard asks, “Everything okay?”
I say, “Not so much. A moron ran over her with his board.”
The lifeguard steps in closer. “Ouch. Could you pull down your suit for me and let me get a look at it?”
“Not until he’s looking a different direction.” Grace turns to me. A lot of emotions pass across her face, but I don’t get any of them.
Unbelievable. I give her a what’s up with that look, then I turn around, annoyed. Like, I’ve seen her tah tahs when a wave hit her suit the wrong way last August, and she doesn’t want me to see the top inch of her butt? Really?
Then she grunts and I hear her unzip her suit by herself.
I peek around. She flinches, and it drives me nuts she’s not letting me help her. That dude really knocked her around. I kind of hope Damien needs to provide a little Svidrive extra persuasion to get him to leave. Never thought I’d be on the same side as him.
The lifeguard lets out a low whistle. “That’s one hell of a bruise. The cut’s not too bad. At least you don’t need any stitches.”
I half turn and take a look. Damn. How’d she get the bruise? The lifeguard digs around in her first aid kit, then blocks my view with her body. Her arm is moving like she’s wiping the cut. Grace doesn’t make a sound.
Then the lifeguard pulls out a bandage.
I give Grace a thumbs-up. She bestows a tiny half smile.
The lifeguard applies the bandage. Then she says, “Wait a bit to make sure your cut isn’t bleeding before you get back in the water. And take care of yourself. I’d say you’ve got enough injuries for the week.”
Grace nods, cheeks red.
The lifeguard looks at Grace and then at me—hard—like I had something to do with the jerk-off running over her. She says, “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” Grace says.
The lifeguard shrugs. “Take care of yourself.”
I put my arm around Grace. “Don’t worry. She’s in good hands.”
We walk over to the boards. Grace bends toward her board. I make a quick block.
She puts her hands on her hips. “I got a little cut on my butt, not my arms.”
“You get five points for rhyming but that’s not enough for me to allow you to carry your board, ma’am.”
She raises a brow. “Cheap points.”
“Cheap rhyme.” I wink. “Take a load off. Those waves aren’t going down anytime soon.”
I take her hand, an electric moment, and pull her over to a beach towel. We plop down.
I say, “How’d you get the bruise on the top of your butt?”
She frowns. “How about respecting a girl’s privacy? You weren’t supposed to look.”
“Temptation won.”
She digs her toes in the sand, classic Grace. “I fall on my surfboard all the time, detective.”
I tug her ponytail. “Well, maybe you need to be more careful, Womanista.”
She shrugs and stares at the ocean. I watch her, waiting. Then she looks at me and smiles like nothing bad happened today. “Let’s grab a snow cone—it’s on my dad.” She looks so cute as she holds her hand out for mine. I let her pull me up and we run over to the snow cone stand.
Thirty minutes later, we’re in the party line. The guys give Grace mad props for coming back out.
Buzzy whistles. Then he says, “You really get sliced?”
I say, “Is the Pope Catholic? Yeah, she did.”
Grace laughs.
“Girl, you’re boss.” Damien says. He puffs his chest and surveys the ocean. “Whatever wave you want … it’s yours. You cherry-pick it.”
Some other guys pipe in with “Hell yeah.” Grace eats it up. And I love that everyone is being cool. Although I hate that Damien comes off as her protector. You’d think he owned the Pacific. I have no problem helping Mr. Parker keep guys like him away from Grace. In fact, I’d say it was in everyone’s best interest. I’m starting to see the good side of making a deal with Mr. Parker. Grace needs someone to field guys for her.
After driving around aimlessly for about an hour after dinner, I finally pull into an empty parking lot by Black’s Beach. Between the stress of watching out for Grace and wondering what I can do to help Little Hien, I’m scrambled.
Esmerelda’s engine cuts out with a rattle and a hum when I shut her down. I jump out of the cab and get set up in the bed of the truck. I wad a beach towel into a ball, and lie back on it. There are hundreds of stars out tonight. Twinkling. Sometimes I come out here and talk to PoPo, Ma’s Papi, but tonight I need to talk to someone I haven’t talked to in a long time. Jorge.
It never felt weird talking to PoPo. But talking to somebody your age in Heaven? The ache starts in my throat and spreads all the way down to my chest, where it lies heavy, mixed with the weight of guilt and the sting of reality.
C’mon, now. Man up. Just do it.
I gaze up and find the Milky Way. Then find Sagittarius. The archer. A warrior. The best kind of constellation to find Jorge peeking through. Sometimes, I imagine the sounds of bullets popping off like a truck backfiring in some open-air market in Mexico. And Jorge standing there next to some little kid. Then he grabs the kid and throws him to the ground out of the spray of bullets. And when the shots stop firing the kid is safe and his mom runs to him and Jorge to thank him for her son’s life. But it’s too late, because Jorge’s not there anymore. I don’t know how it went down, but I know Jorge’s heart. And if there was a chance to save someone else, Jorge would have died doing it. That’s the only thing I can hold on to when reality spins out of control.
I stare at the brightest star, a lump in my throat. I croak out, “Hey man. You got time to talk tonight?”
Then I wait. The only noise is cars in the distance zipping down the highway and ocean waves rolling gently in.
“Jorge? I’m sorry, man. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t even g Sdn alo to your funeral. Didn’t find out about things until too late.” I shut my eyes for a brief second. Pull it together. Tighten my grip on the towel and try again. “I didn’t know things were that bad. I thought you were in the process of trying to make things legal. Didn’t know you could get deported when you were trying to figure out how to do it right. I should have hid your family at my house. Should have figured out how to get you a better lawyer.”
Mi Dios. A sob escapes me and I shove my fist into my mouth. I don’t deserve to cry. I have my cozy life.
Life.
Jorge? He was just getting started. My breathing heaves up and down with the weight of sobs stuffed inside my ribs until it seems like I’ll burst. And for a few minutes all I can do is breathe and fight the release of stuffed emotions, ones that give me fuego to fight for all the Jorges. For their families. The stars blur, and I swipe at my eyes and pull it all back in.
My words come out broken. “I’ll … make it … up. I swear.” I sit up and rub the towel on my face. “I save up half of every paycheck. Once I figure out where your mom is living, I’m going to mail her half of this summer’s pay.” It almost hurts to stare straight at that star. Like I can’t look Jorge in the eyes. “I know it doesn’t fix things. But I know you would have done the same. Taken care of your family.”
I sit up and scoot back until I’m leaning against the cab. Then I hold the towel in my lap and sit in silence.
For several minutes. Calming down. Then I look up one last time. “I’m going to spend my life making this right. I’m going to help people, and Little Hien’s my first chance at redemption.”