Bait

  “I like your haircut,” she told him.

  “Um, thanks. I like yours.”

  “Yeah? You don’t think it’s too short?” She flipped down the visor mirror to check herself.

  “No, it looks great. Everything about you, um…looks great.”

  “Thanks.” She handed him an orange gummy. “I just got this shirt yesterday.”

  He’d noticed it looked new. But he thought she looked amazing no matter what she wore. That’s what he meant when he said, “You’d look great even without clothes on.”

  His heart stopped as he realized how bad that sounded.

  “Boy!” Ariel burst out laughing. “You move fast, don’t you?”

  “I’m, I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I just meant…you’re beautiful.”

  “You haven’t seen me when I wake up.” She laughed—a bright, sunny laugh. “Or you’d run away screaming.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” he assured her. “But you would if you saw me.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said quietly, pressing another gummy into his hand.

  When they arrived at the aquarium he paid for their entrance tickets—despite Ariel’s protests—using the few bucks he’d had left after paying restitution, plus some money Kenny had loaned him.

  They began their visit walking though the Amazon exhibit, looking at the thirteen-foot anaconda, the spike-toothed piranhas, and the huge hairy tarantula, big as a man’s hand. At the sight of it, Ariel grabbed hold of Diego’s arm, making his heart spring against his chest.

  For the bottlenose dolphin show, the crowd had to squeeze together in the stands, but Diego didn’t mind. Not one bit. The touch of Ariel’s hip and shoulder pressing against his was far more thrilling than anything the dolphins did.

  He hoped the bird-and-animal show would be equally packed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. The announcer asked for a volunteer to feed the anteater on stage, and Ariel raised her hand. When she got picked, Diego marveled at her bravery. He hated to get in front of groups. But she just laughed while the anteater slurped its long thin tongue across her hand and into the water bottle.

  Next, Diego led her to his favorite exhibit, the huge aquarium that gave an underwater view of oil rig–type reefs in the Gulf of Mexico.

  They wandered slowly past the tank’s windows, and Ariel’s hand kept brushing his. Was she doing it on purpose? Each time their fingers bumped, another little jolt of electricity zapped through his body.

  Stepping close to the glass to peer at the eels and sharks, he summoned his nerve and slowly interlaced his fingers—one after another—between hers. It was his first time to ever hold a girl’s hand in a romantic way. Her palm was soft and tender. And his was sweaty. Very sweaty.

  Trying to think of something to say, he asked, “Do you ever dream about sharks?”

  “No, why?” Her eyes blinked with curiosity. “Do you?”

  “Um, yeah.” He’d never mentioned it to anybody except Kenny.

  “That must be scary,” she replied.

  “Yeah, it can be.” Without realizing it, he grasped her hand a little tighter. “Sometimes I wake up; it seems so real.”

  Ariel gave his hand a squeeze. “Maybe we shouldn’t be looking at sharks.”

  “It’s okay,” Diego said, worried that he may have scared her. “Actually, I like looking at them. I can watch them for hours.”

  “Maybe that’s why you have nightmares.” Ariel laughed.

  He laughed too, wishing he could stay there forever, watching the sharks behind the glass, holding Ariel’s hand, talking, and laughing.

  When it came time to drive her home, a wave of sadness flowed over him. He liked her so much and wanted her to like him. But what would happen when he told her about probation? The question had been weighing on his mind all afternoon. He knew he had to tell her. She was bound to find out somehow. Better to hear it from him.

  “I had a really great time,” he said, parking in her driveway. “You have no idea how great.”

  “Me too,” she answered. The afternoon sun was making her eyes sparkle with little flecks of light.

  “So, um, I need to tell you something,” Diego confessed, gripping the steering wheel for courage. “Um, I’m on court probation…for punching a guy.”

  He waited, staring ahead at the garage, worried that she’d leave now and never go out with him again.

  “I know,” she responded.

  “You do?” He turned to her. She didn’t look shocked at all.

  “My friends told me.” A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Some of them think you’re kind of sketchy.”

  But if she knew, then why had she gone out with him? Why hadn’t she mentioned it?

  As if reading his mind, she continued, “I was waiting to see if you’d tell me.”

  “Well, I guess I was scared,” he explained quickly, “that…you know…you wouldn’t want to go out with me…. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay.” She gave an understanding shrug. “I’m glad you’re being honest now.”

  He regretted that he hadn’t told her sooner. She took hold of his hand between hers, praying-like, and in his excitement he forgot about the cuts.

  “Are you going to tell me about those, too?” she asked, tracing her fingertip beneath the cuff of his long-sleeve shirt.

  His entire body went tense. When had she noticed? What should he tell her? Now he was certain to lose her. “Um, sometimes I…Sometimes I cut myself.”

  “Why?” she asked, pushing his sleeve up to examine the scars.

  “I don’t know. To take my mind off my problems.”

  She stared at him, waiting for him to say more. “Problems like what?”

  He hesitated, feeling like he was getting pulled in over his head. “Well, um…my life has been kind of complicated. I don’t think you really want to hear it.”

  “Complicated like how?” she asked gently.

  “Well, like…” The blood was thudding in his temples. “There are things you don’t know about me, stuff that’s hard to talk about, things in my past.”

  “You mean like your stepdad’s suicide?”

  “Yeah.” He cringed, embarrassed and ashamed. “Stuff like that.” He stared out the windshield, wishing he’d had a different life, one in which he wouldn’t have to deal with all that had happened. “I just want to be normal, that’s all.”

  “And what’s normal?” Ariel said.

  “I don’t know, but I know it’s not me.” In order to prevent her from asking any more, he decided to ask her a question instead.

  “Um, can I ask you something? If you knew all this stuff about me, why’d you go out with me?”

  “Because,” Ariel said, tenderly moving her fingers across his wrist. “You’re shy…you’re sweet…and because…it’s like there’s something hurt inside you that’s calling out to me. I don’t know how to explain it. I’m a little sketchy too, you know?”

  “No, you’re not!” He gave his head a vigorous shake. “You’re like…perfect!”

  “Perfect?” Her lips curled into a smile. “Hardly. There’s stuff in my past that’s hard for me to talk about too.”

  He stared at her, surprised. What stuff did she mean? It couldn’t be as bad as his stuff. Could it?

  “Well,” he said. “If you ever want to…you know…talk about it, I can listen.”

  “Okay,” she told him. “Maybe next time we can both talk more.”

  Next time? After all she knew about him, she actually wanted a next time?

  He gazed nervously across the seat at her. The sunlight through the windshield played off her eyelashes as she gazed back at him. Was she wanting what he wanted?

  Hesitantly, he tilted toward her, bringing his mouth halfway. And there she met him, her lips gently pressing his. They were kissing, just like he’d imagined. Her mouth was soft and tender. And her breath tasted sweet as gummy bears.

  When they finally pulled apart, she gave him a long steady look th
at he didn’t exactly understand. He knew what he wanted it to mean, but he wasn’t certain that’s what she meant.

  “Thanks for a really nice time,” she said. “See you at school tomorrow.” And then she was walking up the sidewalk to her door, waving and smiling.

  As he slowly drove home, he thought about their kiss and how perfect the entire afternoon had been. Maybe—just maybe—he could be normal after all.

  CHAPTER 12

  DIEGO COULD HARDLY WAIT for his next appointment with Vidas, eager to report on his date with Ariel. Before leaving home he grabbed a bag of caramels his mom had bought, and when he got to Vidas’s office, he pulled the bag from his backpack.

  “They’re for your jar,” he told Vidas. “It’s getting low.”

  “Great, thanks.” Vidas filled the jar and listened attentively while Diego told him all about his date—everything except their kiss. That was too personal.

  “She sounds like a nice girl,” Vidas commented.

  “Nice? She’s more than just nice. She’s amazing!”

  “And apparently she likes you,” Vidas added.

  “Don’t know why,” Diego replied, even though she’d told him why.

  “You were honest with her,” Vidas offered. “That’s a good thing. You told her you’re on probation and let her know about your cuts.”

  “Yeah, I told her about probation because my mom made me promise and about my cuts because she’d noticed them. I didn’t want to, I had to.”

  “But you did it,” Vidas argued. “Give yourself some credit. And you paid for her aquarium ticket. That was generous.”

  Diego hadn’t thought of it as generous. He did it because he liked her—and he wanted her to like him.

  “Now, come on,” Vidas persisted. “Name at least one other thing she might like, something you like about yourself.”

  It amazed Diego how easily Vidas could come up with good stuff about him. When he tried to look inside himself, all he saw was the bad stuff. He took a breath and in a low voice confessed to Vidas, “I cut myself again.”

  Why he admitted it, he wasn’t exactly sure. He could have kept it to himself. Vidas would never know.

  “When?” Vidas asked, sounding curious, not angry.

  “Um, right after our last meeting.”

  Vidas thought for a moment, as if attempting to recall what they’d talked about.

  “Are you mad at me?” Diego asked.

  “No, but I’m concerned. I don’t want you to hurt yourself, Diego.”

  Diego slumped down in his seat, kind of wishing Vidas would be angry. Anger gave him something to fight against. Concern made him feel hopeless. “So, what’s going to happen to me?”

  “That’s largely up to you,” Vidas said.

  “Are you going to send me to jail?”

  “No.”

  “But what if I can’t stop cutting?”

  “I believe you can stop. But you’ve got to believe it too. You need to believe in yourself.”

  Diego slipped a little farther down in his chair. How could he believe in himself when he kept screwing up over and over? He felt as though he was sinking, and neither Vidas nor anybody else could save him.

  “What if I asked you to hand over your shark’s tooth?” Vidas said. “Would that stop you?”

  Diego shook his head. He didn’t want to let go of the tooth. “I’ll just use something else,” he told Vidas, expecting an argument.

  But Vidas didn’t argue. He sat silently, seeming to consider what else he could say.

  While Diego waited, he glanced out the window. Several sailboats were tacking across the bay. The sight made him think about his dream—the nightmare. What if he told Vidas about the shark? He’d probably think Diego was crazy. What if he was crazy?

  “Do you, um, know anything about dreams? Like what they mean?”

  “I’m no expert,” Vidas said. “But if you’ve had one you want to tell me, maybe we can figure it out together.”

  “Well”—Diego sat up in his chair—“I keep having this dream…where I’m stranded in the middle of the ocean, all alone, being pulled by a current toward this shark that’s coming at me. It seems so real.”

  He paused to swallow and Vidas asked, “What happens?”

  “The shark charges at me. Then there’s a gunshot. And I wake up…. What do you think it means?”

  Vidas scratched his chest a moment while thinking. “Dreams sometimes express feelings about our waking life. You said the dream starts with you stranded, all alone. Do you ever feel that way in real life?”

  “Yeah.” Even when he was with other people he often felt alone, like no one really knew him. He sometimes thought that if he died, it wouldn’t make any difference. Nobody would care. His whole existence was pointless.

  “In your dream,” Vidas continued, “you say you’re caught in a current. Maybe in real life you feel like you’ve gotten caught up in something you can’t stop.”

  “Like cutting myself?” Diego asked. He figured that’s what Vidas was getting at.

  “Could be,” Vidas said. “Or maybe whatever is beneath your cutting, the pain that’s pulling at you.”

  Diego shifted in his seat. “And what about the shark?”

  “Well…” Vidas pursed his lips. “What do you feel when it comes after you?”

  “Terrified. What would you feel?”

  “Terrified,” Vidas agreed. “Have you ever felt that scared in real life?”

  Diego’s mind flashed to the night in the fishing boat with Mac, trying to get away, with nowhere to go. He’d been stranded.

  “No,” he told Vidas, not wanting to talk about Mac again.

  “Never?” Vidas peered across the office at him.

  Diego shuffled his feet. “What do you think the shark means?”

  Vidas continued staring a moment before finally releasing a sigh. “It could be lots of things…. Feelings swimming around inside you, beneath the surface…Fear. Rage…It might be that destructive part of you…. Or maybe it’s something in your past, pursuing you, eating at you…. A shark is a predator, an attacker. You mentioned a gunshot. Were there times you were around a gun? Mac’s gun?”

  “No.” Diego glanced away, recalling the night before the suicide, in his room with Mac.

  Vidas leaned forward in his chair. “Like I said before, Diego, whatever he did wasn’t your fault. You don’t need to protect him.”

  Diego clenched his jaw as images of Mac flooded into his mind: Mac shuffling into his bedroom at night, waking him, his hot breath, smelling of cigarette smoke and whiskey…Even though he’d torn Mac out of all those photos, his face still haunted him, perfectly clear, hollow-eyed, smiling, wanting him.

  “Protect him from what?” Diego asked. “He’s dead.”

  “Protect him from the truth,” Vidas answered. “Maybe you’re afraid the truth might hurt your family. Or perhaps you’re scared of what you think it would say about you.”

  It almost seemed as if Vidas already somehow knew what had happened with Mac. But how could he know? And if he did, why didn’t he just say so?

  “Sometimes,” Diego replied, “it feels like a shark is really out there somewhere, waiting for me. Do you think that’s crazy?”

  “No,” Vidas said. “People stay with us after they die, through the things they said and did. Even though Mac’s dead, to you he’s still alive.”

  A chill passed through Diego as he thought about the part of the dream he hadn’t told Vidas: of Mac’s body bearing down on him.

  “What else do you want to tell me?” Vidas asked.

  “Nothing,” Diego lied. He wished that Vidas would press him harder, somehow force him to talk. But Vidas kept silent, staring across the room at him for what seemed like forever.

  “Okay,” Vidas said at last. “I’m glad you told me about your cutting. Promise you’ll tell me if you cut yourself again?

  “Sure, but…aren’t you going to, like, punish me?”

  ??
?It seems to me you’re already punishing yourself. Punishing you more isn’t going to make you stop. Is it?”

  Diego stared at him, not knowing what to answer.

  Vidas stood and arched his back, stretching. “And thanks for telling me about that dream. I’ll walk you down the hall.”

  Diego remained in his chair, feeling a sudden urge to tell Vidas everything—all that had happened. But how could he? It would be like reliving it.

  Vidas glanced down at him. “You want to talk more?”

  “No.” Overcoming the urge, Diego quickly stood up.

  When they got to the reception room, Diego recalled the previous time when Vidas had promised not to touch him again. True to his word, this time there was no pat on the back. Although Diego knew he should feel glad, instead he missed it.

  CHAPTER 13

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING Diego arrived at school early, like he had every day since his date with Ariel. While waiting for her, he organized his locker, shuffling books and arranging pens, until she appeared across the hallway.

  He smiled and waved, wanting to ask, When can we go out again? Instead, he ended up exchanging inconsequential conversation about their fish and teachers and classwork. And when the bell rang, his heart gave a pang as he watched her walk away.

  On Saturday, he biked to work as usual and spent the day stocking shelves and helping customers. The following day it rained, so instead of going to the beach, he and Kenny went to a movie—an action pic that Diego enjoyed but that Kenny thought was kind of gore-heavy. Afterward, they grabbed some pizza at the mall food court.

  They’d just finished eating when Kenny announced, “Hey, there’s Guerrero.”

  He was ambling through the crowd with Gomez, one of his buddies, and three girls with mascara-fringed eyes whom Diego had never seen before. They must go to a different school, he figured.

  “Should we say hi?” Kenny asked, sounding a little worried.

  “Nah, I better get home. I’ve got curfew, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Kenny nodded as if relieved.

  Guerrero almost walked past without noticing them, but then he glanced in their direction and shouted, “Yo, guys!” as though they were best friends.