Chapter Six

Kaminsky looked up as six Bloods came through the door, laughing. It was part of the crowd from the Tunnel, some of the younger ones. One of them went up to the desk, put one foot up and leaned on his leg. "Yo Bobby, m' man." Raymond leaned against the back cabinets, trying to look inconspicuous.

"Hey, guys," Kaminsky drawled. "What's up?"

The Blood straightened his bandanna, tucking his bangs up underneath. "Get 'Sea Shark'?"

Without hesitation, Kaminsky handed him a CD-ROM. "Think you can beat Richard's high score?"

"No prob'm." The Blood turned to his friends. "Wha'd I tell ya?" They all laughed as if he had said something funny and clustered around a computer in the far front corner. As the Blood with the CD sat down and booted the system, Kaminsky stood up, turning to Raymond.

"Listen, man, you're way uptight. No worries—we'll get you started tomorrow. Sela, remind me, okay?" He walked out of the room without looking back.

Sela smiled and pushed a chair at Raymond. "Here. Sit down."

"What a strange guy," Raymond remarked as he sat down, putting his knapsack on the table.

She rolled her eyes and stared at the door. "Bob's a great guy, even if he sometimes acts like he's stoned. Used to be professional, you know."

"A professional what?"

She glanced at the surfboard in the corner. "Guess. He had a sponsor and everything. You should see his trophies."

"And now he's a business teacher?"

"He stopped on account of his wife. She said the competitions were too dangerous. He's faculty advisor for the surf club, now, so he still gets out."

"That's a nice board." Like you'd know the difference, Raymond told himself.

"His pride and joy. Some big surfboard-maker-shaper-guy custom did it. Guy … I forget. Guy Something. One time,"—she lowered her voice, speaking confidentially, which Raymond assumed was supposed to make him feel like somebody special—"one time one of the Bloods comes in, drunk—full-on toasted. He picks up the board and starts screwing around with it. I was sitting right here. He holds it between his legs and starts to screw around with it—you know, rubbing it and stuff. So, anyway, Bobby comes back from the bathroom and sees the guy and tells him to put it down. Bob's always so cool, and everything, but when this Blood tells him he won't give it back—I swear to God—Bob lays him out."

"Hit him?"

"Knocked him right out. Flat out. Funny how it never got reported, yeah? And now he's their best friend."

Obnoxious laughter erupted from the corner. The Blood with the bandanna climbed up on his chair, cupped his crotch with his right hand and flipped his friends off with his left, babbling obscene-sounding words Raymond couldn't understand. A chorus of laughter resounded, then dissolved as Bob walked in, carrying three cans of orange soda. Raymond had a hunch that the quiet had no direct connection with the teacher walking in.

Bob chucked cans to Raymond and Sela. "Here. Drinks on me." Then he turned to the group in the corner. "You wanna turn that radio up?" he asked them. "The Mamas and the Papas," he explained to Raymond and Sela.

Raymond pulled the tab on the can and went on listening to Sela. When the bell rang he thanked Bob for the soda, waved good-bye and went to Trig knowing more about Sela's love life than any kid in school.

* * *

After English, Ed and Raymond passed through the Tunnel of Hell, ignoring the racial slurs and intimidating stares. Both of them carried, besides their books, a small brown bag. It was a burrito day.

Susan got there late, bought a milk like the rest of them and sat on Raymond's right, across from Ed and Francine. She smiled at him, then turned her attention to one of the surfers, who was telling them the story behind a fresh battle scar he'd acquired at Banzai Pipeline. During the narration, Raymond watched Larissa carry her tray over from the girl's line. Though she usually sat with the Filipino princesses two tables over, she bounced over and plopped down to the left of Raymond, sandwiching him between herself and Susan.

"Hi, everybody!" She greeted them with a perfect piano-key smile, and opened her milk. The surfer crowd exchanged looks.

Larissa elbowed Raymond in the ribs. "Hey, cutie."

Raymond took a small bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. "Hello, cutie," he said, flat. Larissa giggled and put her arm around him, while Susan poked him from the other side.

Susan leaned over the table and looked past Raymond at Larissa. "Oh Larissa, I heard you broke up with Saul." She rolled her eyes. "Gee, that's really too bad."

Larissa's perfect smile turned into a cheerful frown. "Yeah, last week. I guess it just wasn't meant to be." She looked at Raymond, and Susan kicked his foot. Larissa rested her head on Raymond's left shoulder and fluttered her eyelashes. "That's all right, though. I still have my Raymond."

Susan, who'd been drinking milk, choked—spraying the table, her food and Ed, who happened to be sitting across from her. She and Ed collapsed in quiet hysterics as she began to wipe Ed and the surrounding area with her napkin.

Larissa, who either ignored Susan and Ed or just didn't have a clue, pointed to one of several banners on the wall. "Everyone going to the dance on Friday?"

"Me and Tina are going," Ed said.

"Count me out," Susan droned. "I've been meaning to rotate my T-shirts." Someone from down the table suggested something else she ought to rotate. Susan ignored the comment. "Wailele dances are non-events," she told Raymond. "In face, one might even classify them 'anti-events'."

"Why—are they boring?"

"They are not boring!" Larissa looked past Raymond, at Susan. "Just because you don't like the music—"

"I wouldn't mind them so much if they played music. But what they do play is tuneless rubbish with all the same beat." She reached across Raymond and took Larissa's spork, wiped it on a napkin and put it in the bucket, which she passed on.

"At least they can mix good."

"Yeah, right. They don't even slow down for the slow songs. So instead of getting a series of separate shitty songs, we're forced to hear one long one." She drew out the last three words. Raymond wondered if he should get out from between them before they unsheathed their claws.

Larissa's eyes narrowed even further as she sat straight up on the bench. She flushed slightly. "Well, if you haoles don't like the music, you don't have to come!" She stormed gracefully across the cafeteria and threw her tray away. She had only eaten her cookie and drunk her milk—the rest went in the trash with her burrito.

Raymond had never heard the word haole used with that inflection. "Who's Saul?" he asked.

"He's a Local Blood," Ed explained, "—one of the big ones."

Were any of them little? Raymond wondered. "Which one is he?"

"You probably haven't seen him yet," Ed said. "School is not Saul's number one priority."

"And this Larissa chick is going out with him?"

"Was," Ed corrected.

"And soon will be," Susan added.

The surfer who collected the sporks every day rattled his can. "You'd better be careful with that one, Rain Man. Once a Blood girl, always a Blood girl. And you know what they say about Blood girls …"

Susan crossed her arms and conjured up a smirk. "No—what do they say?"

All heads pivoted and looked at him. When he saw the attention he'd drawn he shrugged and looked down at his lunch. Susan laughed at him and pilfered a Cheet-o.

Raymond was staring at the wall behind Ed, studying one of the banners—red letters on white butcher paper: Music! Dancing! Fun! At least it was something to do, even if it was non-eventful. There didn't seem to be a whole lot else happening on a Friday night on the North Shore.

* * *

Wednesday afternoon, Raymond got home early and checked the mail. Nothing. He went inside and got a banana from the kitchen, intent on ignoring the answering machine's flashing red button for as long as possible. He took his books into his room and threw them on top of his footlocker. Then he made himself a sandwich and sat on the sofa, staring out the louvres of the front window. Outside, a palm frond broke free, bounced off the roof and fell crashing to the ground. Raymond resigned himself. He went inside and pressed the message button.

"Uh, Raymond, this is Julie again. Raymond I really need you. I'm going crazy. Things are crazy, here. If you don't call right now, I'll hate you for the rest of my life. You know my number. I love you." The recording clicked off right as the screen door banged and Sarah came in.

"Howzit, kid?"

"Hi. What are you doing here?" He hadn't seen her since Sunday, when she'd moved to her dorm. Raymond had wondered at first why she was going to stay in a dormitory instead of at home, since the school was just a minute's walk away, but then Sarah explained that if she was going to go to school in Hawaii, she'd be damned if she wasn't going to stay in the dorms "for the total effect." He understood that there was some sort of scholarship involved, and he also assumed that it had something to do with escaping their mother.

"I've got some studying to do." she explained.

"Hmm."

"The student center is too noisy," she explained, "and the library is too quiet. And I'm about to go crazy in that tiny dorm room."

"Have at it," he told her, waving toward the kitchen table. He went before her and punched the rewind button on the telephone machine. The tape fizzed.

"How's everything with you?" she asked.

"Okay."

She fanned her books out in front of her. "How's school?"

"Different."

"Mom told me about the other day."

He nodded his head, not surprised. "What about your school?"

"It's different, which I guess you could expect. But I like it a lot." She smiled. "It's small."

Just then, the phone rang. Raymond edged away and waved Sarah over to answer it. She picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" His sister glanced at him strangely. "Hang on, let me see if he's here." She covered the mouthpiece. "Are you here? It's a girl."

Raymond shook his head. "I don't want to talk to her."

"If it's that Julie girl, I think you'd better." Sarah looked right through him. "I heard one of her messages yesterday. She sounds pretty desperate."

Raymond responded with a wild semaphore, but Sarah held the phone back up to her head and with a wicked smile Raymond knew only a sister could achieve, said, "You're in luck. He just walked in the door. Hang on." She half-covered the mouthpiece and screamed right at him. "Raymond, phone's for you!" As she handed him the phone, she patted his back and puckered her lips at him, kissing the air. Then she pretended to concentrate on French 201.

He sat on the bar stool. "Hello?"

"Hi, Raymond? This is Larissa."

Liquid relief washed over him. "Hi, Larissa. What's up?"

She got right to the point. "Well, I just called to see if you might go with me to the dance on Friday. Um, if you wanted to." While she paused, Raymond thought of Susan and her opinions of Wailele dances. "They only let you in if you've got a ticket, and I've got tickets, and so …"

"Can't cash them back in, huh?" He wondered how she took teasing.

"What?" She sounded startled.

"Just kidding. Sure, I'll go. I was thinking of going, anyway."

There was another dead space on the line. Finally, she asked, "Really?"

Raymond had to laugh. "Sure. Why'd you ask me if you didn't think I'd go with you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Just … well, because, I guess."

Raymond caught Sarah staring at him. She sat there with her books open, looking at him, half-expectantly. He turned away from his sister, back to Larissa.

"What is it, something fancy?"

"What do you mean?"

"The dance. You know, tickets and all."

"Oh. No, not like that. They just make you get tickets so only the folks who're supposed to be there are there."

"Sounds like a good idea."

"Oh, another thing. Can you drive?"

A-ha! he thought. "Sure. I've got a car."

"It's not like I needed a ride." She sounded apologetic. "I could drive myself, but the guy sometimes likes to, yeah?"

He took back his accusation. "I get it. Thanks."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow for specifics." She gave him her phone number, which he wrote on the kitchen chalkboard.

"Sounds great. See you, then."

"Bye." He hung up.

Sarah closed her book and motioned for him to sit down. "Gimme the lowdown. What is this, a hot date?"

He fell on the vinyl cushion. "Yeah, kind of."

"Gimme the dirt, stud."

"Oh, just a dance. A girl from school."

"What's her name?"

"Larissa."

"Hmm." She tried to look pensive. "Her dad must've been named Larry." That had never occurred to Raymond. "She's paying?"

"Yeah, I guess you got to have a ticket to go in." He paused. "But, of course, you heard all of that."

"She gave you her phone number. That was considerate of her."

"I might need to call or something."

"No. She was giving you a courtesy bail-out hatch. Either she's really dumb, or really sure of herself."

Raymond looked again at the number on the board.

Sarah smiled. "She cute?"

"Kind of." You thought so at the beach, he reminded himself. "Yeah, she is."

"White, brown or yellow?"

Ray grimaced. "Um, I guess yellowish brown."

"Compact Asian figure, built for Mach 5?"

Raymond thought about how she'd looked in that leopard-print bathing suit. "That's about right," he said.

Sarah looked down at her ankles. "Je la deteste," she said, and went back to her French.

* * *

Word got around, and Thursday morning Susan teased Raymond in Gruber's class.

"Okay, go," she said finally, "but don't expect very much."

"Of what, the dance or Larissa?"

"The dance," Susan told him. "The way Larissa looks at you, you could probably expect pretty much anything you wanted. She is a Blood girl, after all."

"Was."

"Whatever." Susan smiled. "I guess if you really want to have fun, you'll have it. Around here, you get what you expect, basically."

Raymond shrugged his shoulders. Around here, he never knew what to expect.

© Copyright 2002 by David S. Baker