I jump up and look down at Max. “I’m going swimming, Langston. You coming?”
I don’t even care if Max sees my big old butt. Maybe he’ll like it. Maybe he won’t. I just want to splash around in the ocean, under the stars, while a full moon lights up the night sky. This is one moment that’s not going to pass me by.
“Hell, yeah!” Max says. “But what about the eels?”
“I had forgotten about them, but thanks for reminding me.”
“Sorry, my bad. Still going in?”
“I’m going to take on the eels. You with me?”
“All the way,” Max says, standing up and pulling off his shirt. His chest is so exquisite, so perfectly sculpted, my heart skips a beat. Is this really happening?
I pull my dress off, standing in front of Max in my bra and underwear. If he’s going to think I’m fat, might as well let him have at it.
Max’s eyes graze my body. I can feel them moving from my neck down over my breasts and resting on my stomach. He reaches out and touches me softly with his fingers. His hands wander over my body. I want to kiss him again, but he’s keeping me at a distance, just touching me. It feels so nice. His hands wind their way along my sides until both palms rest on either side of my butt.
Why isn’t he saying anything? Does he think I’m fat? I’m certainly plumper than bony Lily Wentworth. I mean, baby got back. I’m Latino. And Jewish. I like to eat. What can I say? I’m not a stick and I never will be. Say something, Max.
“You have the most beautiful body, Kylie. I can’t believe you hide it away in those baggy jeans.”
What? “Shut up,” is all that comes to mind. Brilliant.
“I’m serious, Kylie. I love your ass. All the girls at Freiburg are so skinny. You’ve got a perfect ass.”
“No way.” Another genius retort. It’s official, I’m a blathering idiot.
And then, because I can’t really discuss my ass any longer, I rush toward the edge of the pier, soar off the edge and into the water. It’s warm, silky, and bubbly. It feels like swimming in champagne. Max throws off his jeans and dives in after me. He swims up to me, takes hold of my hands, and we float together as the gentle waves toss us about. The dolphins play a few hundred yards away. The fireworks have finished—the literal ones, that is. Metaphorical ones are going off at an ever increasing speed.
“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 grinning from ear to ear. I’m barely recognizable even to myself, and I’m liking that a lot.
“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.
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. Wanna feel even better.”
“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.