Save Steve Read online

  Dedication

  For Chuck

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Books by Jenni Hendriks and Ted Caplan

  Back Ad

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  Today was the day I would finally ask Kaia Gonzales out.

  I watched as she decorated her freshly painted locker with a sticker to “Save the Wetlands.” It was the first day of our junior year. And that was our sticker.

  Saving the Santa Clara wetlands had been our thing this summer. Along with a bunch of other local activists (most of them much older), we had held vigil on the edge of the nature preserve where a new condominium complex was going to be built. Kaia was always a little late, but she usually brought us Popsicles or spray bottles and was by far the loudest chanter. Watching her scream into a bullhorn at passing traffic was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Together we had endured the blazing sun, melted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and a whole lot of indifference. But we never got much of a chance to talk until that one night. We were chosen along with a small group of adults to squat at the site, in order to prevent a bulldozer from sneaking in while the protest rested. Under the shimmering night sky, mosquitoes ate us alive while we tried to keep each other awake reading The Uninhabitable Earth: Life After Warming. One by one, everyone drifted off to sleep. By midnight, it was just Kaia and me. We finished the book together. Side by side we watched the sun rise over the marsh, wondering how many more humankind would see. I should have asked her out right then. It would have been the perfect moment. But the police showed up and we were all arrested. After, I’d had a bad reaction from all the mosquito bites and had to stay home for a week. By then the courts had stepped in and the condominium project was stopped. Which was great, except that I hadn’t seen Kaia since.

  Until right now. As I’d walked down the hall searching for my new locker, she had spotted me first and run over, her long brown hair brushing the tips of the words on her “March for Our Lives” T-shirt. I’d managed a mumbled “Hi” and she not only returned the greeting but had given me a high five. A freakin’ high five!

  And now our sticker was the first thing Kaia was putting up on her brand-spanking-new locker door. It was proof that it meant as much to her as it had to me. Right? The problem was, she was so active in everything. Another cause might soon eclipse ours. Today was the perfect day to ask her out. And now all I had to do was find the perfect moment.

  2

  Today was the day I would finally ask Kaia Gonzales out.

  She stood at the front of Ms. Hahn’s government classroom, leading the first meeting of the Diversity Alliance. It had been a month since I first chickened out by her locker. The right moment never came.

  I had thought about doing it at the Gay-Straight Alliance meeting, but it felt too heterocentric.

  Then I’d almost asked her at the School Safety Committee, but all that talk about school shootings was hardly romantic.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised when she arrived at the diversity meeting, but still, watching her stride up to the front of the room and call everyone to order sent shivers through me. She saw me in the back (I hadn’t wanted to assert too much privilege) and she gave me a thumbs-up and told me she liked my “White People for Black Lives” shirt. Now she was railing the group about its own lack of inclusion. I could feel the radiant heat of her anger wash over me like a warm Santa Ana breeze.

  That was it. After the meeting, I would tell her how much she inspired me. Then I would find out if she’d seen that new Ava DuVernay documentary. And then I would ask her out. It would be the right moment. The perfect moment.

  3

  Today was the day I would finally ask Kaia Gonzales out.

  I opened a box of posters and taped one to the cinder-block wall in the junior quad. Taking a step back, I admired my design and slogan for a Straw-Free San Buenaventura High—a guilty-looking kid drinking a milkshake through a big plastic straw with the words “Don’t Suck!” It had been selected by the Committee to Reduce Plastics after a grueling competition and would finally be posted all over the school. I set one aside and signed it (ironically, of course). After I gave it to Kaia, she would appreciate my mix of humor and environmentalism and then I would definitely ask her out. All those other times hadn’t quite been right. But winter break was coming, and what could be better than getting to know each other over tamales and eggnog?

  4

  Today was the day I would finally ask Kaia Gonzales out.

  I stood behind her in line at the Earth First Coffee Company. I couldn’t believe my luck running into her over the holiday. We’d just had a three-minute conversation about shade-grown, fair-trade coffee. Once I ordered my iced-blended mochaccino, I would definitely ask her out. It was the perfect moment.

  Though this place was kind of loud. And she seemed like she might be in a little bit of a rush, and . . .

  5

  Today was the day I would finally ask Kaia Gonzales out.

  It was Wednesday. We both liked Wednesdays.

  6

  Today was the day I would finally ask Kaia Gonzales out.

  We were marching in lazy circles to protest the new great white shark exhibit at the Channel Islands Aqua Park. It was like Ventura’s local version of SeaWorld, except smaller and with a worse reputation.

  I watched Kaia’s ponytail swing back and forth hypnotically each time she screamed “Save! The! Shark!” I didn’t think she could get any more beautiful, but the ocean breeze had pulled her curls loose and the sweat from our three-hour-plus protest made her skin glisten. We’d started three chants together (“Liberty, not captivity,” “Hey hey, ho ho, this shark jail has got to go!” “What do we want? Free the shark! When do we want it? Before it gets dark!”). She’d clearly seen the protest sign I had spent all night crafting and I was pretty sure she was impressed. She kept looking at it and then giving me a grin. Was she flirting with me?

  She passed by me again. Wait. Had she just winked? Maybe it was allergies? Did allergies make people close just one eye? No. She winked. She totally winked at me. That had to be a sign that she wanted me to ask her out. Oh god. What if she’d been waiting for me to say something for months? Was it getting weird between us because now there was this huge unsaid thing that, for some reason, I just could not seem to say? I would definitely ask her today. She obviously wanted me to.

  “Hey, Cam, keep moving!” said a voice, and I realized that I had become lost in thought and had forgotten to walk. The group collapsed behind me like an accordion. Todd Moon, a ponytailed aging surfer guy and leader of the Non-Human Rights Group that had organized this event, kindly motioned for me to continue. He was always extra nice to any high schoolers who showed up. He said we gave the protest “an edgy vibe.” No one has ever described me as “edgy,” but I still appreciated it.

  “Sorry,” I apologized, and hurried forward, this time not daring to look up at Kaia. I clearly needed to just focus on marching. “Save! The! Shark!” I sang, and let the winter air cool me down.

&nb
sp; “Dude. Go for it.” Todd gestured to Kaia. “You’ve been checking out that chick for hours. Nothing like protest tail.”

  “‘Tail,’ Todd?” chided Patrice, flipping her braids over her shoulder and glaring. “Really? You’re still using ‘tail’?” Patrice Woodson was the co-chair of the group and put up with zero shit from Todd, or anyone actually.

  The repeated use of the word tail stoked my anxiety and I tried to clarify. “She is not—I’m not trying to—that’s . . . I just want to ask her out.” Todd shrugged, disappointed at my explanation.

  “Hey!” Kaia’s impassioned voice rang out near the park entrance. I turned to find her scolding a middle-aged couple in Disneyland shirts as they walked past her. “That ticket you’re buying is supporting the slow death of a complex and intelligent life-form! You have blood on your hands!” They ignored her and Kaia jousted her sign in their direction for emphasis.

  Oh my god. She was so perfect.

  “You know what? Let’s call it,” Todd announced to the group. They must have been relieved because the marching immediately dispersed.

  Crap. I wasn’t ready. I mean, I had been preparing all day. Actually, the whole school year. But . . . I wasn’t ready. Luckily, Kaia was still scowling at the middle-aged couple as they bought their tickets so I had, at least, another moment. I steadied myself, trying to catch a full breath before she turned around.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? The world’s not getting any colder.” Todd nudged me toward her.

  I took a few tentative steps. Was this the right moment? I examined the setting. Sure, there was a bird-poop-covered giant clam fountain, but the aqua park backed onto a wide bay and the soft crashing waves and seagulls’ cries that filled the air were as smooth and sweet as a Bon Iver song. The sun had nearly disappeared into the sea, deepening the sky to a royal blue with wisps of pink contrails. And Kaia was standing near a planter of flowers whose names I didn’t really know, but they smelled amazing. It was kind of magical. And she had liked my sign. And she had probably winked at me. And we were saving something together again, just like the wetlands.

  But the more I urged myself forward, the more my body tightened as one huge, unanswerable question loomed, the same question that had crashed over me like a tidal wave every other time I’d almost asked her out: What if she said no? I tried to imagine a life after that, but all I came up with was a black endless void. Complete annihilation.

  My stomach clenched. My legs braced. My chest seized. Breathing was going offline. I gritted my teeth. Sunset, flowers, seagulls—I wasn’t going to lose this moment. I would ask her. As soon as I remembered how to move my tongue.

  Then she turned around.

  “Oh, hey, Cam.”

  Words. Say words. “Hey . . .” Okay, not the strongest start, but not unrecoverable.

  “You know, your sign . . . I’ve been wanting to tell you all day . . .”

  “Oh yeah?” That was two words. An improvement!

  “. . . it has a misspelling.” Kaia smiled and motioned up. My eyes followed her gaze until I saw, for the first time, that the words “Save the Shark” had a smudge on them that made it appear to proclaim, “Save the Shart.” What was worse, the shark I had painstakingly drawn to look as harmless and sympathetic as possible now had a stain that, combined with the modified phrase, evoked a billowing, poopy fart!

  Kaia stifled a laugh. “I don’t think anyone else noticed, but it was distracting me all day!” I pulled down the sign, wanting to hide it, destroy it, make it disappear. “It’s kinda funny.”

  “Yeah. So funny.” I tried to play along as I furiously wiped at the smudge. I hoped it was some airborne pollutant that had landed during the march and not a freakin’ typo I had completely missed. But the more I scrubbed, the smudgier it got. And the smudgier it got, the further the moment I had waited for all day . . . all year . . . slipped away.

  Kaia took a big chug from her water bottle and then sighed. “Well, I think I’m screamed out for the day.”

  She was wrapping up the conversation. I had to redeem myself before she left. “Yeah, probably gonna need some honey tea tonight. For your throat.” Great one, Cam. Now you sound like her mom.

  “Not sure they’ll have that at Steve Stevenson’s party. But you never know. Are you going?” she asked as she spun the cap closed on her water bottle.

  “To Steve Stevenson’s? The guy who is incapable of passing a locker without drawing a penis on it? Yeah. I’m not super into alcohol poisoning and date rape.” I laughed and was sure she would, too.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead she just picked up her bag and continued, “Yeah. I know. Not your scene. But, um, you should come? It will give me someone to talk to.”

  Hold on. Was she going to Steve Stevenson’s party? And was she . . . ? Did she . . . want me to go?

  “Your sign . . .” Kaia warned. I looked down and saw that I’d absently let my sign go and a breeze had taken it into the air and right toward the bay.

  “Oh my god. No. Stop!” I pleaded with the sign. But it was too late. It wafted into the chilly water, landing like a toxic shart-covered surfboard.

  “Litterer!” a fellow protestor howled.

  “You should go get that. That bay is already super polluted from runoff.” Kaia winced, clearly embarrassed for me.

  Torn in two directions, I reassured her, “I know! I—Um—I’m going, but yes! I’ll be there . . .” And as I ran toward the bay, I clarified, “At the party! I’ll be at the party . . .”

  On any other day, the thought of going to a party at Steve Stevenson’s house probably would have been as appealing as going to an NRA meeting at a strip club. While his parties were “legendary,” I was pretty certain they were just the usual mix of boring teenage rebellion and horny drunkenness. But with Kaia there, it might actually be the perfect spot for us to bond over feeling out of place and detached from normal high school stupidity. So I laid all my best T-shirt options on my bed and searched for the one that said just the right thing. One that might start a conversation or that she’d tease me about. Or maybe we would even be wearing the same one!

  The obvious choice would be the “Save the Wetlands” shirt. It was our biggest success. We had camped out together. How could she forget? But when I saw that the shirt had a permanent sweat stain from the last time I’d almost asked Kaia out, I thought I should take a different tack.

  I held up my Princess Leia “A Woman’s Place Is in the Resistance” shirt, but since I had never actually seen Star Wars, it might come off as a bit superficial. (My mom wasn’t really a fan of fantasy and sci-fi and steered me toward stories about kids with disabilities or minority voices.)

  “Destroy the Patriarchy, Not the Planet” didn’t feel right for a party. I didn’t imagine we were going to dance on top of any tables, but I also didn’t want to seem like I was there to purposely bum everyone out.

  “Books Not Guns” and my women’s World Cup soccer jersey didn’t feel quite right either.

  I seriously considered my “No Human Is Illegal” shirt, but because Kaia was Latinx, I didn’t want to seem like I was pandering to her.

  Finally, I held up the forest-green shirt with the graphic of a tree and the word “Hugger” underneath. That seemed like the right mix of fun and thoughtful I was looking for. And it also said “Hugger,” which couldn’t hurt.

  Tonight was the night I would finally ask Kaia Gonzales out.

  I’d seen a lot of horrible things in my life—oil spills, riverbeds choked with garbage, baby sea turtles trapped in nets—and I knew all those things were more upsetting than what I was seeing right now, but somehow I couldn’t make my brain accept it. This had to be worse.

  Steve Stevenson stood on the edge of a diving board wearing an American flag Speedo, sunglasses, and a plastic lei, gripping a mic and “rapping” along with . . . was that Cardi B? Through the bass shaking my bones, I heard something about a little bitch and shoes and making money move. Yes. It
was definitely Cardi B. In his other hand, a red Solo cup sloshed beer into the steaming turquoise water below. The rest of the pool was packed with people hanging from various animal-themed floaties, gripping their own Solo cups, whooping and cheering him on. God, he was everything I spent my life trying not to be. What was he adding to the world other than lame SpongeBob memes and a certainty that the beer industry stayed solvent? But everyone loved him. Why?

  “Steve Stevenson is fucking hilarious,” the girl next to me said. I turned. She had a flamingo inner tube hanging off her waist and a lei wrapped around her head.

  “Um, I think you mean vaguely racist.”

  “Huh?” She blinked, confused.

  I gestured to the atrocity bouncing at the end of the diving board as Steve dropped into a half squat and shook his ass at the crowd. “Sure, he’s skipping over certain words but, I mean, this is the embodiment of appropriation. What connection does a rich white boy from Ventura have to the culture of hip-hop?”

  “Maybe he just likes Cardi. She’s my girrrrrl!” She swiveled her hips in the inner tube, knocking the flamingo’s head into me.

  “Really? A former stripper is your role model?” The girl, who I’d had Spanish with sophomore year, just looked confused again. “I mean, have you ever listened to her lyrics? What sort of message is she sending to young women?” Steve was a lost cause, obviously, but maybe I could get through to her. But the girl just rolled her eyes, hitched up her inner tube, and walked away. I sighed. Kaia would understand what I was getting at. I needed to find her. She was probably having a miserable time, too.

  I scanned the crowd. It seemed like most of our class was here. People kept bumping into me, shoving past on their way to the keg. The only illumination was coming from the pool or the twinkle lights wrapped around the palm trees, making it hard to see anyone’s face clearly. Warm water splashed onto my feet and seeped through my shoes as I inched forward. I saw Conner from PE and asked, “Have you seen Kaia?” But he just shrugged, yelled, “Timber!” and fell like a chopped tree into the pool. I continued, creeping along the slick edge of the concrete. Ahead was an empty area where I might have a better view. Still hugging the side of the pool, I pushed my way through the last few bodies. “Kaia?”