Summer of Seventeen (5 page)

I laughed. It sounded like he’d met Yansi, although I knew he hadn’t.

“I always preferred St. Jude,” said Marcus, with a huge yawn.

“Who’s he?”

“The patron saint of lost causes.”

“Yeah? Does he have a special day?”

Marcus laughed. “What? Like Hopeless Loser day?

“Yeah!”

“And you think people would what … send cards to real losers?”

“Or, if you were a real loser, you could send one to yourself.”

He laughed slowly, drawn-out and mellow.

I must have fallen asleep after that because when I woke I was cold and the fire had gone out. The sky was the faintest gray and I could tell that dawn was only an hour away.

Marcus was sprawled out on the other side of the charred sand, our empty beer cans lined up drunkenly.

“Hey!” I said, then again, louder. “Hey!”

He grunted and sat up.

“Oh man, what time is it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe 5:30
AM
?”

He rolled his shoulders and stretched, working the stiffness out of his neck.

“I haven’t fallen asleep on the beach in a while. That must have been some good weed.”

I wondered if Julia was up yet, and I wondered how much I cared that she’d be mad at me.

We climbed back into the van and drove home, some early traffic already on the road.

Marcus went straight to his room without a backward glance. Groaning, I realized that I had less than an hour before I had to be up—my first day of working for Mr. Alfaro. I stopped to get a glass of water from the kitchen, but paused when I heard voices—Ben and Julia, arguing again.

“What time is it now?”

“Ten to six.”

“Damn Nicky! Where the hell is he? I should have left for work five minutes ago. He’s been gone all night. All night, Ben! He could be dead!”

“Don’t be too hard on him, babe.”

“Why are you always taking his side?”

“I’m not,” Ben replied, his voice calm like always.

“He’s out all the time, doing God knows what. He doesn’t listen to me. He certainly doesn’t listen to you.”

“Nicky’s a good kid. He’s had a lot to deal with.”

Julia’s voice was tight with irritation. “And I haven’t?”

“That’s not what I meant, babe.”

I pushed the door open and walked inside. Julia’s face was red and blotchy, her expression furious, like she’d explode any second or her head would start revolving.

Here it comes.

“Where have you been?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Out.”

“Your curfew is midnight!”

I laughed out loud at that. “Curfew! Says who?”

Her eyes bulged and the red flush on her cheeks spread to her neck. Not a good look.

“I know I’m not your legal guardian, but you should let me know where you are as a common fucking courtesy, for God’s sake!” she snapped.

I stared straight at her and she was the one who looked away first.

“Well, there’s no one else to worry about you, is there? You should do what I say!”

“Not gonna happen.”

Her expression rushed from shock to anger to something else that I didn’t recognize. I left the room before she lost it completely.

I heard Ben’s voice as I trudged up the stairs. “Maybe you’re right about having kids—if they grow up like him.”

I think he was trying to make a joke of it, but he should have known better.

“I just can’t talk to Nicky anymore!” Julia ranted. “Whatever I say he bites my head off, or just looks right through me.”

“He’s 17. Everyone’s like that at his age.”

“I’m 23, Ben! I didn’t sign up for this. I’m not ‘mom’ material.”

I stopped to listen to the rest.

“You’re doing a great job,” Ben said, and I wished I could have laughed out loud. “He’ll come around.”

“He missed so much school last semester. I never knew where he was. His grades are slipping. If he doesn’t make
some
effort, he won’t even get through high school let alone college.”

Ben’s voice was even. “College isn’t for everyone. There’s always work for a plumber. I could ask my boss to take him on as an apprentice when he’s 18—although Nick would have to complete his GED. But it’s good money.”

“I don’t know what to do with him.” Her voice dropped, and I strained to hear her. “Maybe he’d be better off in a foster home. It would only be for a year—just while he finished High School.”

Sweat broke out all over me and my heart lurched. I’d always wondered, but now I knew.

I yanked open my bedroom door, letting it bang into the wall, then slammed it behind me. I fell face first onto the comforter, burying my head, muffling her voice that said everything.

Ugly, angry thoughts bubbled rapidly, and I pounded the pillows, fury burning through me.

We’d never gotten along. I’d always been in the way, the annoying younger brother, the mistake that should never have been born. She wanted to go off and live her boring life with boring Ben, play it safe. Fuck her. I didn’t need her.

When the alarm went off on my phone half an hour later, I hadn’t slept for even a minute. A glance in the mirror showed red eyes with dark shadows underneath. I looked like hell. Felt it, too.

I threw myself in the shower then dressed quickly in an old pair of boardshorts and ratty tee. I didn’t have time to make any breakfast, so I just grabbed a loaf of bread and shoved it in my backpack, along with a wrinkled apple and a bottle of water. I remembered my baseball cap at the last minute. The high pressure was still sitting over us, and it was going to be in the mid nineties today.

I could already feel a trickle of sweat in my armpits and down my back as I skated to the Alfaros’ house. I hoped I’d get to see Yansi—something that would make this shitty day a little better.

But Mr. Alfaro was waiting for me, his arms crossed, his face a hard, blank line.

He didn’t say anything, just jerked his chin toward the truck. I went to open the passenger door, but he laid his hand on my arm and motioned at me to sit in back with the equipment.

Great. I was so insignificant I didn’t even rate sitting in the truck’s cab.

I tossed my backpack and skateboard in, then jumped on and slumped against the side of the truck. As he pulled away, I glanced up at the house’s windows and saw Yansi. She smiled and blew me a kiss.

Suddenly, the day was a little brighter.

By lunchtime, I had learned one essential truth: Mr. Alfaro was a fucking slave driver and wanted to kill me. Maybe that’s two truths, but I was too tired and pissed to think straight.

I started by spreading about 20 wheelbarrows of lava rocks. After that, I lost count. Next, I crawled on my belly in dust and spider webs and shit under some lady’s deck, trying to find a leak in a pipe that fed her sprinkler system and fishpond, hoping like hell that there weren’t any snakes. Then Mr. Alfaro made me scoop green slime out of the same freakin’ pond, until I was filthy and stinking.

I got all the crappiest jobs that he must have been saving up, and he never said more than ten words the whole time, just pointing and grunting.

Finally, he signaled me to come take a break. My lips were cracked and dry, and my shoulders and back felt burned. I’d taken off my t-shirt hours ago when it was soaked with sweat. It had dried stiff and covered in white salt marks. I pulled it on and tried to wash my hands using the garden hose. I’d drunk two bottles of water, but I’d sweated so much I didn’t even want to piss. Not that the lady of the house would have let me inside. She came out to study the beds where I’d spread the lava rocks and looked at me like I was shit on her shoe. But then she gave Mr. Alfaro the same look, heading back inside without a word.

I wondered how many lava beds there were in front—anymore than two and I was out of there.

I sat in the shade of the truck and drank some more water then stared at the loaf of bread I’d brought to eat. It was totally unappealing, and I decided I needed to get my shit together and pack a better lunch tomorrow. If I was still alive.

I knew Mr. Alfaro was watching me, even though it looked like he was half asleep, his eyes black slits. But every now and then he took another bite of his tortilla, chewing it slowly. It smelt amazing and had my stomach groaning. I forced down another dry slice of bread, nearly choking on it, but hungry, too.

The owner of the house came out again, passing us as she headed toward the new Benz parked beside the three-car garage. Then she pinned her irritated gaze on me.

“You!”

I glanced nervously at Mr. Alfaro, but his face showed no emotion.

I stood up, feeling uncertain, brushing the crumbs from my t-shirt.

“You’re new,” she said accusingly.

“Yes, ma’am. Just helping out Señor Alfaro for the summer.”

Her lip curled. “Really. Is that the best you can do, working for some Hispanic?”

My jaw dropped open as she shook her head impatiently and marched away.

I was totally embarrassed, knowing that Mr. Alfaro had heard every word. I stood there, having no clue what to say, and I couldn’t meet his eyes.

I sat down again, my appetite gone. What a bitch! I wondered if Mr. Alfaro had to put up with crap like that every day. It sort of made some sense now, why he always insisted on speaking Spanish at home. I would too if I were him, and some white bitch spoke to me like I was scum. Or even worse, couldn’t bring herself to say a single word to me. I wondered why we hadn’t driven somewhere else to eat our lunch, even if we did have to come back later.

My eyes flickered over to him and I realized he was watching me again. My cheeks reddened, but I hoped that he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference because of all the sunburn.

Weirdly, I felt like I should apologize or something, but that would probably have made it worse.

Eventually, Mr. Alfaro stood up and jerked his chin at the mountain of lava rocks next to the wheelbarrow. I supposed that meant I should start on the front yard.

The afternoon passed pretty much the same as the morning. By 4
PM
, I was nearly keeling over. I was hungry, thirsty, sunburned and every muscle was crying out. I thought I was pretty fit, but everything hurt. Mr. Alfaro just kept going, moving through the day like a swimmer with slow, even strokes.

He dropped me at my house, and drove away without speaking. I was pretty annoyed about that. Would a ‘thank you’ or ‘gracias’ have killed him? I wasn’t even being paid daily—I’d have to wait until the end of the week for my money.

I limped into the kitchen for more water and just my luck, Julia was there. Jeez, didn’t she have a life?

“Where the hell have you been? You look terrible and God!—what is that smell?!”

“I’ve been working,” I grumbled.

“Working?” she said suspiciously. “Doing what?”

I could have ignored her, but fighting took more energy than I had left.

“Yard work for Yansi’s dad.”

“Yard work?”

Was there a fucking echo?

“Yes.”

“Oh…” she hesitated, testing whether or not to be pissed about that. “Well, okay then,” she said at last. “How much is he paying you?”

“How much is the summer program paying
you?
” I asked sharply.

Her lips tightened, but I think she must have realized she wasn’t going to win that one.

“Whatever, but if you’re earning money you should start helping out. A contribution to the grocery bill would something with the amount you eat.”

That’s when I lost it.

I pulled the half eaten loaf of bread out of my backpack and threw it at her.

“Fine! Have the fucking bread! I ate half. You want a dollar for that?”

I shoved a hand in my pocket and tossed a handful of quarters onto the kitchen table where they bounced and skittered to the floor.

“Don’t yell at me! You’re acting like a child.”

I wanted to throw more than fucking bread and a handful of change, so I stormed out of the room and headed for the shower, ignoring her shouted words.

I locked myself in the bathroom and stood under the water until it ran cold. My skin stung and my muscles ached. Even though my stomach growled, I lay down on my bed and fell asleep.

I woke up shortly after midnight, wondering why I was conscious. My eyelids felt sore and were tender when I touched them. Shit on a stick—even my eyelids were sunburned.

I sat up drowsily, and immediately my stomach rumbled. I was so hungry my backbone was sticking to my ribs.

I pulled on a pair of jeans and stumbled into the kitchen then stopped dead. I realized what had woken me: a woman giggling.

A blonde girl with huge tits spilling out of a tank top was sitting on Marcus’ lap, her mouth glued to his face.

Was
everything
going to make me lose my appetite on this fucked up day?

“Oh, hey man,” said Marcus, looking up and pushing her away. “Didn’t mean to wake you. This is Gina.”

“Dina!” giggled the woman, slapping his shoulder playfully but fluttering her false eyelashes at me. “He’s cute! You wanna party with us?” and she held out a bottle of tequila.

“Um, no, I’m good, thanks. I was just, um, just gonna get something to eat.”

“Me, too,” laughed the woman as she licked her lips.

Oh hell, I did not want to know that.

Marcus smiled. “Come on, peaches. Let’s take the party back to my room. See ya, kid.”

Shaking my head at the weirdness of the day and world in general, I made myself a baloney sandwich and then, as an afterthought, another two for lunch the next day.

And then finally, finally, the day really was over, and I headed back to bed and fan-fucking-tastic beautiful oblivion.