No going back, p.9
No Going Back, page 9
“And the dad is…”
“Claudio Hernandez. They met at Albertsons. Super-nice guy. An amazing cook.”
“You were saying about your mom?”
“She’s bouncing around. She’s funny. She’s not even sick anymore.”
“Oh my God, Antonio! Your mom is good. You’re living with her. You have a sister.” She punches me in the shoulder. “You better be the best big brother! You better treat that little girl like she’s gonna be amazing. Like she deserves to be.”
I drop my eyes to the ground. I fight to catch my breath. “I will. I promise.”
“Hey,” she says. “Look at me.” She’s smiling, her cheeks red, full, happy. “Antonio Sullivan, I believe you.” And she says it like she’s finally seeing me the way I see her. The way we used to see each other.
But this time we’re not drunk.
I swallow.
She swallows.
I study her face, her eyes.
She studies mine.
She closes her eyes.
I close mine.
I lean way in.
She jerks back, her eyes popping open. “What—what are you doing?”
“I was just, uh—oh no—I thought—”
“Nope,” she says, shaking her head. “Huh-uh.”
I turn away fast. “Oh God, Maya. Oh hell. I didn’t mean—I am so sorry.”
“Antonio,” she says, “that is not where we’re headed. You hear me? Not for a long time. Maybe never.” She stands up and walks to her car door. Reaches for the handle. “I’m glad things are good with your mom. Say hi. Hug your sister for me. And you be good. I’ll call you. When the time is right. When I’m ready.”
“Come on, Maya!”
“When I got your text, I felt this pull,” she says. “I honestly thought about scoring booze and heading to the pier together. Like picking up right where we left off.”
“I understand,” I say.
“Understand what?” she says. “How messed up our friendship got?”
“No! I don’t want to go back to that. I’m clean. I have goals. I’m on a path, Maya!”
“I can’t trust you,” she says.
“You just told me you believed me.”
“That was before you tried to kiss me.”
“I’ll show you. I’ll prove myself to you.”
“I love you, Antonio!” She shakes her head like loving me is stupid. “But we are shit for each other.”
Before I can respond, she opens up and hops in.
I run around to her side. I tap the window, begging her to stay and talk. Begging her to listen. Begging for another shot.
My mind is like, Stop.
Step away.
Breathe.
Smile.
Let her go.
But my heart… “Please, Maya! Please, let’s just—can we start this conversation over? Stay, Maya! Talk to me, Maya! Please!”
She starts the car. Cracks the window. “Go away, Antonio!”
I hop to the front. Press my hands on the hood. I’m yelling right at the windshield, right at Maya, so she can hear me through the glass. Yelling ridiculous stuff—pounding on the hood now. “I’m changed! I’m better! Talk to me!”
Her eyes say, You’re scaring me. I don’t know you. She buries her face in her hands.
I rush back to her window. “I’m sorry, Maya. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She looks up at me, tears streaming down her face. Then she pounds the gas and hauls out of there without looking back.
And I’m standing alone in the middle of the street as sounds whoosh in. Laughter from the party. Streetlights buzzing. Dogs barking. And Murdock’s voice in my mind telling me I’m getting sent back to Zephyr for breaking curfew two nights in a row.
I get my ass moving. But before I make it to the end of the block, the mini truck is honking right behind me. I turn to see Gary Jr. pop his head out the window.
“Hop in, man!”
SUNDAY 12:50 AM
I don’t have energy for the argument. I get in the mini truck.
Gary nudges my shoulder. “What ever happened to Tonio Sullivan and Maya Jordan?”
I slam my fist into the dash. Kick my heels into the floor.
Breathe, Antonio.
Inhale deep, Antonio.
“I can’t!”
“Are you talking to me?” Gary asks.
I shake my head. Then I close my eyes and try to take in a breath.
But Gary puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m thinking Maya just needs a little spa—”
“Shut up, Gary!”
“I got weed. I think it might—”
“Shut up! Shut up!”
“Fine. No weed. You keep on inhaling that regular air. It’s working awesome for you.”
I glare daggers at him.
“Let’s stick a pin in that weed topic,” he says. “In the meantime, I’m going to say the last word regarding what happened that night with me and idiot Vaughn.”
I roll down the window. Lean my face to catch the wind and try to shut him out.
“So we walk right into Lance’s because the key works.”
“I know it works, Gary! Otherwise there’s no robbery!”
“Exactly. We go directly to the alarm keypad. It’s right where you said it would be. Awesome, right? Not awesome, because that Vaughn insists on punching in the code.”
I sit up, leaning my chest and face all the way out and into the wind. Like dogs do.
So Gary shouts. “The stress of the moment gets to Vaughn. He can’t punch the code in right. He pokes the keypad over and over, harder and harder, until his beefy finger literally smashes a number—I think it was the seven—right through the pad, all the way to the wall. He manages to pull his finger out of the hole and, BEE-BAW! BEE-BAW! That alarm is howling, man! But we figure we still got a minute, so—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Gary!”
“Believe me, you do. We get in the safe no prob. We’re grabbing cash fast. We’re grabbin’ it and grabbin’ it, hand over fist, and we’re like, Hold the phone! How much freaking money is there? More than you told us there would be, Tonio. Cuz it’s not only in the safe—there’s Nike shoeboxes piled up all over the place. Vaughn spots the Jordans he’s been coveting forever, in his exact size. He opens the box. No kicks. Cash. I couldn’t believe it.”
I grip the door handle. I swear I’m gonna jump out of this moving car.
“So we’re on our way out with two trash sacks of cash on our backs. That’s when Vaughn decides to make a run for it. However, as open as the front door was, Lance’s storm door was closed tight. And it was clean glass from top to bottom. You can imagine where the story is headed.”
“My God, please don’t say—”
“Yup. Vaughn explodes through that glass door. Shattered glass flying everywhere. He doesn’t stop running till he’s sitting in the truck, dripping blood off his forehead like a leaky faucet. I pop the bags in back and drive away fast. And I’m trying to think straight, Tonio! But big-baby Vaughn is like, I don’t wanna stash the money. I can’t wait. I wanna take my share now!”
“Stop the truck, Gary.”
“In a sec.”
“Right now!”
“I tell him, No, Vaughn! But he won’t stop that blabbering. I can’t take it! I gotta quiet him down. So I pull over and get out of the truck and grab two shoeboxes out of a bag. I tie the bag back up, get in the truck, and hand the boxes over to Vaughn. As you will come to understand, that is a decision I would too soon regret.”
I regret his stupid decision too. Because after hearing Vaughn’s story in juvie, the cops searched our house and found a gun and a Nike shoebox stuffed with cash that my dad chose to hide under my bed. When Lance was arrested, they asked him about me because of the matching shoeboxes. He told them all about me running those sacks of cash and drugs for him. But he never mentioned my dad. It was the gun and drug-dealing charges, plus planning the robbery, that got me the two years in Zephyr.
“Anyways, cuzza that alarm, we nix the trip out to Rattlesnake and bury the bags at the marina under the cover of darkness. We’re home free, right? Not so fast, because Vaughn’s forehead is still bleeding bad. I know I talk a lotta smack about that idiot, but Vaughn is a good friend. So I gotta stop that blood flow. I fumble all over the truck for a rag, for a tissue, a paper towel, a doughnut napkin.… I find none of these items. Therefore, I—”
“Don’t say it.”
“—grab a fistful of dollars out of a shoebox and hand them to Vaughn so he may apply direct pressure to the wound. You following, Tonio?”
“Yes, Gary, I’m following.”
“Turns out Lance’s neighbors call the cops after hearing the alarm. They don’t get my plates. But they give a decent description. So we get stopped. Right away, it’s clear to the officers that they have their men, because the hundred-dollar bill glued by blood to Vaughn’s forehead leads them to the eleven thousand four hundred and sixty-five dollars in the Nike Air Jordan shoeboxes tucked under the seat.”
“Oh my God, Gary! What is the point of telling me all that now?”
“The point? Getting caught was all Vaughn’s fault! But the good part is—”
“There is no good part!”
Gary pulls the truck over. He kills the engine. “The good part is they thought that was all the money. They don’t know there’s way more money out there.”
“Who doesn’t know?”
“The cops. The judge. The lawyers.”
“Where did the money go?”
“I told you. It’s at the marina.”
“Then what happened to it?”
“The money is—read my lips, slowpoke—buried… at… the… marina.”
“How much?” I kick myself for asking.
“The twelve K they caught us with was in those shoeboxes. But those big bags we buried at the marina… if they were any more full, they’d split right open.”
An image of bags bulging with cash pops into my head.
I shake the image away. “I’m done with that money,” I say. “I’m done with Vaughn.” Then before I can stop and think how to put it less harsh, I just spit the words out. “You too, Gary. I’m done with you. We are finished. We are over. Right now.”
He turns to me, tears rolling. “That’s not true, Tonio,” he says, wiping his eyes. “You’re my best friend. And you don’t wanna admit it, but I’m your best friend too.”
I can’t take seeing Gary Jr. cry. I can’t take him talking about us like that. I have to turn away and look out the window.
He starts up the truck and drives in silence.
And that silence lasts about half a minute, because Gary picks up the miserable story right where he left off.
After they’re released from juvie, Vaughn begs Gary to dig up the money. He says he needs it immediately to buy a Boston Whaler and supplies for a trip he’s gonna take up the Salish Sea with his best friend, Charlie. Charlie, who we’ve always known is Vaughn’s imaginary friend because of all the wild sci-fi stuff Vaughn says Charlie does. Charlie made a lie-detector app. Charlie made a robot that can dig for clams. Charlie made a glitter bomb and set it off from the bottom of the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese. It’s just too sad, all the stories that Vaughn makes up.
Anyways, Vaughn needs Gary to show him where the money is because the night they buried it, he was woozy from losing blood. Plus, it was dark and he’d never been to the marina.
Gary insists to Vaughn that they’re gonna wait for me to get out of Zephyr. Gary holds him off so long that Vaughn is no longer even in the picture because his grandma ships him off to live with his retired-marine uncle in San Diego.
“It’s me and you now, Tonio, and enough money to change our lives forever, just sitting there waiting for us.” He kills the headlights as we glide to a stop a block from my mom’s house.
I reach for the door handle.
“I’m getting shovels tomorrow morning,” Gary says. “Tomorrow night we meet up at the marina gate. I take you to the spot. And we dig up those bags.”
“I’m not gonna do it, Gary.”
“I’m finally gonna make my movie dreams come true,” he says. “I’m not moving to Portland anymore. I’m doing it right here in South King County. With legit gear. Are you familiar with the Red Komodo 6K S35?”
“I am not.”
“It’s the best camera on the market. And I am buying one. I’m buying lights, bounce boards, mics, booms, green screens, and everything I need for editing. Final Cut Pro, Pro Tools, giant monitors, multi-terabyte hard drives. And I’m paying these starving Seattle actors scale, man! They’re not gonna know what hit ’em. Do you know what my movie’s gonna be about?”
“I’m tired, Gary.”
“Guess.”
“I can’t even—”
“The story of our lives, Tonio. You, me, Maya. Even idiot Vaughn.”
“Wow. Just wow.”
Gary taps his temple. “I got the screenplay all up here. Just waiting till I can put cash down on Final Draft Twelve. I’ll boot that software up, let my fingers dance and the words flow.”
“Good luck with that.” As much as I want him out of my life, I truly want the best for Gary. But I’m so exhausted, my words come out sarcastic.
“You don’t think I can do it,” he says, staring right at me, his face burning red.
“I don’t think you can do it, Gary. I know you can do it.”
“No, you don’t,” he says, dropping his head onto the steering wheel.
I wait for more words. But it’s silent in the truck.
I could leave Gary Jr. right now. He’s giving me the chance to go.
But something keeps me in my seat.
It’s just the sound of our breathing until Gary pops upright. “I’m gonna show you, Tonio!” He slaps the dashboard. “I’m gonna show my mom and dad. I’m gonna show every teacher who ever got frustrated with my ADHD mouth and treated me like an annoying problem that wasn’t worth solving.”
“You show ’em, Gary.”
“I will! Now, go get that money with me!”
“I’m not going anywhere near it.”
“I owe it to you.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
He hops off the seat, slapping the dash again. “Can’t we be epic together, Tonio? For once in our lives? Is that too much to ask?”
I pull the door handle.
He stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Fine. But I’m calling you tomorrow. We’ll talk it over when your head isn’t clouded by the fog of Maya.”
I want this to be easier. Because Gary Jr. is kind. Gary Jr. is hilarious. Gary Jr. is inspiring. Doesn’t matter. I gotta put my foot down. “You’ve been a true friend. I love you, man. But we’re shit for each other. I’m sorry, Gary. This is goodbye. Forever.”
I hop out, shut the door, and walk.
Gary Jr. drives at my side for the whole block.
When it’s time for me to turn into the house, I can’t help it. I sneak a peek at him.
“Bro!” he shouts, leaning over to the passenger window, his face exploding into laughter. “You almost had me there! For real you almost did!”
He steps on the gas and pulls away, shouting out his open window. “Two AM, Tonio! We’re gonna be epic!”
I watch, shaking my head as the mini truck disappears around a corner. He’s pretending it’s not true. But this is one hundred percent the last time I have anything to do with Gary Jr.
I send a wish to the universe that he be kept safe and taken care of. And that all his dreams come true. And I have to admit, I’m gonna miss him. But the drama? I can’t have it. Saying goodbye to Gary Jr. forever is a big relief.
Maya is a whole other story. I think about us being over. And I feel like I’m falling and I don’t know how to catch myself.
I try breathing deep, but there’s not enough air in the world to make me feel better about me and Maya Jordan.
When Mixing Fireworks and Wine, We Laughed
So then, spring break, sophomore year,
Maya, me, and Gary made our way to the pier,
loaded down with Red Vines, boxed wine,
convenience-store slices—pepperoni and Hawaiian—
and microwave popcorn that bulged a plastic trash bag.
And a bunch of bottle rockets, left over from summer,
that Gary swiped from his dad’s closet stash.
We waded in the water, licorice hanging out our mouths,
netting bullheads and jellyfish, splash-fighting
and sloppy-sipping that wine.
We gulped and chugged, laughing and laughing,
as Gary Jr. launched missiles from his fist.
They whistled—FEEEEEEEEE-OOOOOOOOOOOO—
then landed in the sound with a hisssss.
Maya wanted to shoot one too.
Giggling silly, she wrestled Gary for the lighter,
not sober enough to notice
the kid had a grip on a bottle rocket he’d just lit.
Gary’s fist got flung. The rocket shot straight up.
And the FEEEEEEEEEEE was not followed by an
OOOOOOOOO. It was followed by an UHK!
cuz the rocket found a pier-plank knothole
and got stuck.
Next thing we knew, we heard a sizzle.
We saw the smoke, then a spark, then flames.
We froze at first, stunned, just watching,
maybe hoping, that the fire might put itself out.
Gary took action. He grabbed the wine box.
Wedged it under his arm. He aimed, squeezed,
firing a pink stream at the plank.
Bull’s-eye! And the flames exploded wider.
Alcohol makes it worse! Maya shouted.
Throw mud!
Gary watched in shock as me and Maya tossed mud.
We tossed it and tossed it, until that plank and the two of us
were totally covered and the flames shrank
