* * *
“Ari, I had no idea you wanted to be a writer.”
I looked at Susie. “Neither did I.”
“No jokes. Do you really?”
“I think maybe I feel something inside that tells me that I’m going to be a writer.”
“I think you’d be a wonderful writer.”
“Do me a favor, Susie. Don’t tell anyone—not even Gina.”
She had a smile on her that rivaled a sunrise. “Oh, wow! I never thought that Ari Mendoza would ever ask me to keep a secret for him. You just made my year.”
* * *
Spring break came around. The kids in our school didn’t take trips to beaches or Las Vegas or places like LA or San Diego. That took money, and most of us didn’t have any. But we liked spring break anyway. We hung out—which wasn’t such a bad thing. We liked hanging out.
And everybody was all pumped up. Spring break—and then graduation. Commencement. The end. And the beginning. The beginning of what? For me, a life of trying to figure out who to trust and who not to trust.
* * *
I had a dream. I guess in the end, it was a good dream. Dante and I were running. There was a crowd of people chasing after us. And I knew they wanted to hurt us. Dante wasn’t a runner, so he was falling behind. I ran back and said, “Take my hand”—and just like that he became a runner. Hand in hand, we ran. But the crowd was still after us. And then we reached the edge of a cliff—and below there were waves crashing into the rocky shore.
“We have to dive into the water,” Dante said.
“I can’t dive.” I didn’t think anyone could survive jumping into that water. And I thought Dante and I were going to die.
Dante wasn’t afraid. He smiled. “We have to dive. Just dive when I dive.” I trusted him—so I dived when he dived. And then I felt myself coming to the surface. The water was warm, and Dante and I smiled at each other. And then he pointed toward the sandy beach. And I saw my father waving at us and smiling.
That’s when I woke. I felt alive. And I knew that part of the reason I felt so alive was because of Dante.
It was a good dream. A beautiful dream.
* * *
After I woke from the dream, I got up from bed and walked into the kitchen to grab some coffee. I smiled at my mom. “Why aren’t you ready to go to school?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know about you—but I’m on spring break.”
“I knew that. I was just making sure you were, you know, in touch with reality.”
“Ari, just have some coffee and be quiet. Sometimes it’s better not to talk.”
* * *
Dante and I were hanging out at his place and playing with Sophocles. That little guy liked to move around a lot. And he’d found his voice. He made noises, and he knew those noises were coming from him. I liked hearing him screaming with delight. That was the word, “delight.” He was delighted to be alive. One day, he would be shouting out his name to the world. I hoped the world would hear it.
Twenty-One
SUNDAY NIGHT I WAS GETTING all set to begin my last two months of high school. What had I learned? I’d learned that my teachers were people—and that some of them were extraordinary. I learned that I had something in me called writing.
And I was learning that sometimes you had to let go of the people you loved.
Because if you didn’t, you’d live all your days in sadness. You’d fill your heart with the past. And there wouldn’t be enough room left for the present. And for the future. Letting go—it was difficult. And it was necessary. Necessary—there’s a word.
I was also learning that loving someone was different from falling in love with them.
And I was learning that there were a lot of people who were just like me and they were struggling to find out who they were. And it didn’t have to do with whether they were straight or gay.
And, yes, we were all connected. And we all wanted to have a life that was worth living. Maybe some people died asking themselves why they had ever been born or why they had never found happiness. And I wasn’t going to die asking myself those questions.
Twenty-Two
SUSIE AND GINA AND CASSANDRA and I studied at my house in the evenings. Dante came to study with us too. Sometimes we held hands under the table.
“You don’t have to hide,” Cassandra said. “We know what you’re up to.”
“We’re not hiding,” Dante said. “We’re just very private people.”
Cassandra pointed at me. “He’s private. You, on the other hand, are something of an emotional exhibitionist.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right,” she said. “It’s what makes you so beautiful. You have a heart and you don’t hide it. Ari still has to learn a few things on that front.”
“Look who’s talking,” Gina said, “Miss Never Let Them See Me Cry.”
“Women need to learn how to protect themselves.”
“You could teach a class,” Susie said. “And I’d take that class.”
“How did this discussion become about me? I don’t like where this is going.” Cassandra picked up her notes and began going over them. “I have a test in the morning.”
We all went back to studying.
That’s the way we lived our lives the rest of the semester. On Fridays or Saturdays, we would all go to the movies or out into the desert and we would talk. We did a lot of talking. Sometimes Susie brought along the guy she was dating, “Cricket.” We all called him that, and he took to liking it.
One night, we all went out into the desert and Cassandra brought along two bottles of champagne. “They were supposed to be for New Year’s, but that didn’t work out.”
“It’s not legal for us to be drinking alcohol at our age. We’re breaking the law.”
Susie just looked at me. “What’s your point?”
“We are the criminal element that society wants to rid itself of.”
“Maybe we’re not committing a crime.”
“Well, we are committing a crime,” Dante said, “but I doubt the court would waste its time prosecuting us.”
“Well, I say we commit this crime with intent—and to hell with it.” Gina had this great evil laugh.
Cassandra popped open the champagne and brought out the plastic cups. Cassandra proposed a toast: “To Ari and Dante. Because we love that you love.”
Sweet. So damned sweet.
We had fun. There wasn’t enough alcohol to get drunk. Not even to get a buzz, really. I gave most of my champagne to Dante. I knew I wasn’t going to grow up to be a champagne kind of guy.
I watched Susie kiss Cricket on the cheek. “My rebel with a cause.”
“I’d kiss you too—but maybe that’s not so cool,” I said, “so consider yourself kissed.”
Cricket had this goofy smile on his face. “That was a nice thing to say.”
Our second toast was to Cricket. Before we toasted, he said, “Well, maybe we should toast Ari’s mother. She’s the one who gave me the idea. Well, via Ari.”