Donna (Girls of Spindrift 2)

“Calm down, Mateo, or you’ll wear yourself out and fall asleep like last time and get eaten by bugs,” Greg warned him.

The others gathered around and laughed—Sandra Cisneros, Damian Rechy, Renata Solis, and Ernie Carty, all seniors like Greg and Mateo. Sandra stood up and began dancing with Mateo, leaning into him very closely. One of the misconceptions about Latinos was that dancing well was something we did naturally. My father liked to dance, and my mother was good, but I always felt awkward and out of step.

I knew I certainly couldn’t be as sexy as these two. They were shouting for us to join them.

Greg leaned over to whisper. “I think they were into the tequila early. Don’t worry. They’ll get sleepy. They always do.”

He carried our picnic basket and put it down a few feet from the others. I dropped my beach bag next to it and helped him spread out our blanket.

“We really need umbrellas, too,” I said, thinking of UV damage.

“You can cover yourself with sand, or Greg can cover you,” Damian said. “I can help.”

“Irish is bad for sun,” Mateo teased. “Not for us Latinos!” he cried. “Right, Señorita Genius?”

“Stop calling her that, Mateo,” Greg said sharply.

Mateo laughed and shrugged as he danced. “That’s what she is, compañero.”

“It’s all right,” I told Greg.

I took out my sunscreen and began applying it to my face. When I took off my cover-up, Greg offered to do my neck and shoulders.

“Don’t miss a spot,” Mateo warned him.

“You’re right about the umbrella,” Greg told me, thinking. “I have an idea. Relax for a minute.”

He turned and hurried back to his father’s truck.

“He’s leaving so soon?” Mateo asked me.

“Maybe you’re making too much noise, like static,” I said, and everyone went “OOOOOH.”

He laughed and continued to dance. Greg returned with a roll of canvas and two metal poles. We watched him dig the poles deep into the sand and then unroll the canvas, draping it over the poles, which expanded when he pulled them up, improvising a tent to cast shade over our blanket.

“That’s very clever,” Mateo said. “Señorita Genius is rubbing off on you.”

“Maybe she is,” Greg said. I moved under the canvas. He bunched up some sand so I’d have a pillow under the blanket and then opened his picnic basket. “Beer, Coke, water?”

“Water,” I said. “Alcohol dehydrates you, and the sun is already doing a good job of that.”

Sandra and Renata moaned.

“Sometimes it’s bad to know too much,” Renata said.

Greg handed me some water and then reached in, thought a moment, and brought out another bottle of water. “I’ll build up some insurance first,” he said.

“She’ll turn you into a real gringo,” Sandra warned him. Before he could respond, she turned the music up louder, and she and Renata continued to dance with Mateo.

Because Greg and I closed our eyes and were half hidden from them, the others began conversations without us. I half listened, mostly intrigued with what the girls were saying. They talked about a new dance club they could get into, new clothes, shampoo, and skin creams, drifting into Spanish occasionally. The boys were arguing about the school’s chances to win the title in baseball this year. Once in a while, Mateo tossed a question at Greg, who responded with monosyllabic answers.

I felt his hand move to mine and take it while we lay there. He turned on his side so he could look down at me.

“My mother prepared cemitas for us. You know what they are?”

“Tortas,” I said. “Sandwiches. My grandmother would have them for us when we visited her. You should have bread covered with sesame seeds. Usually avocado, some meat, cheese, onions, papalo, and salsa.”

“What don’t you know?”