Page 43 of On the Beat

“Are you reading aJ-14magazine? Really, Isla, I thought you had better taste.” Ryder snatches the magazine out of my hands, crumpling it in one fist.

“That was a gift from my sister, all the way from New York,” I retort, reaching for the zine. “And it’sTiger Beat. Can I have it back, please?”

“No, I want to read what glowing praise they have for me,” he says, opening the mag to, of course, exactly the right page. “Ten Fun Facts about Ryder Black. Number ten will shock you!”

I stand up, reaching for the magazine. He holds it over his head. “Real mature, Black.”

“Did it, Romero?” His gaze fixes on mine, and I lose what little idea I ever had of what he’s saying.

“What are you talking about?”

“Did number ten shock you?” he says, waving the magazine in the air. The pages rustle.

“I never got to read it, because you grabbed it from me like a thief,” I say, giving an annoyed huff. “What’s number ten?”

His blue eyes narrow as he reads it, and I’m not so sure that it’s a fun fact, after all. “Why are you so obsessed with me?”

“You’re the one who came out here to talk to me.” I give up on snatching back theTiger Beatmagazine. “And aren’tyouthe one who read my journal? I think I’m allowed to read a magazine about your career.”

“Your journal was hardly as interesting as whatTiger Beathas to say about me, I assure you.”

I try not to be hurt by his comment. “Why did you read it, then?”

He lowers the magazine, and I cast a brief—the briefest—glance at his arms, the shoulders I touched only the other day, before Eddie walked in and called us to dinner. The smell of him, all sea salt and musk, something so wild and uncontrolled beneath my fingertips, something in how he looked at me… Through his dark lashes, I thought I saw something, somethinghuman. Not a mere statue or a public figure or a distant star of a celebrity. But a person, just like me, someone who might be closer to me than I would ever understand.

“I just wanted to tell you that your family is here,” he says, ignoring my question.

My brows pinch together. “I know they’re here. Paulo and Tita Evangeline—”

“No. Yourparentsand older brothers. They’re in the beach house right now.”

The way my mouth falls open, I could probably catch not just flies but a whole hummingbird, maybe even an enormous pterodactyl. “What?”

* * *

Ryder isn’t lying. Sitting in the living room of the house, drinking San Miguel beers and chatting with my aunt, are my parents and older brothers. Gabriel has his feet up on the coffee table, running a hand through his messy hair as he surveys the beach house: a stack of newspapers piled next to his slipper-clad feet, the ceiling fan spinning overhead. It’s a place I’ve come to call home, far more than the New York brownstone we once shared nearly a decade ago.

Francisco sits upright with his feet on the floor, drinking his beer and laughing at something Paulo says. A yellow bandana holds his hair back; he’s always been the more disciplined, put-together brother compared to Gabriel. It’s no surprise, then, that he’s the one who qualified for the U.S. swim team and made it to the Olympics, even winning a silver medal three years ago. I still see the faint scar on his temple from when he dove into the swimming pool and nearly drowned.

As I enter, my parents and brothers stand up, swarming me with hugs and cheek kisses. My mom’s familiar scent of vanilla and Glysomed hand cream reminds me of my childhood as always, and she nearly stumbles backward as I hug her with a little too much force. This trip has been a whirlwind, and for a moment, I just want to relax in my mother’s arms and pretend life is simple and carefree again, even if it can’t be. My mother squeezes my hands as she pulls away, slightly shorter than me at five-three, and kisses my cheek. Gabe is next, giving me a too-tight hug that crushes the air out of my lungs, followed by Isko, who demonstrates slightly more restraint in his display of brotherly affection. Finally, my father kisses me on both cheeks, telling me he’s missed me.

I relax and tense up all at once in the way that only family can do to you. Yes, I love my family, but I didn’t just leave New York over a breakup. Another of the factors was my family’s constantly high expectations for me that veered in one direction: the medical field. Gabe and Francisco, the times they flew out to L.A. to see me, would ask me why I didn’t go back into nursing or even try anesthesiology (in Gabe’s words, it’s an easier job than nursing with better pay). They’re closer to my parents, and therefore more easily coerced into doing their bidding. It’s enough to make me wish Analyn, my younger sister and often my only ally in the Romero family, was here.

“Analyn couldn’t make it?” I say. My mom steers me toward the seat next to her on the couch. Ryder doesn’t sit down, though he entered behind me, instead leaning against the doorjamb and observing my family in all its loud, messy glory.

“No, she sent her best wishes,” says my father. “And is that a man’s shirt you’re wearing?”

I look down at my attire: jean shorts and a t-shirt I stole from Kaiden years ago. It used to be white but after he washed it with the coloured clothes, it turned pink and he gave it to me.

“No, it’s mine,” I say because it’s technically true. “What’s with the overprotective father shtick all of a sudden?”

“Isla,” my mother says. Her voice lowers as she whispers in my ear. “Oh, it’s so good to see you! I’ve been so worried about you, I told your father we justhadto come here and see you, and of course, visit Evangeline and everyone else again. But then when I found out that there is amusicianstaying here, well… I was even more worried for you.”

“A musician?” I echo, biting back a laugh as I mirror her quiet tone. “Ryder, you mean?”

“Yes, him,” my mother says dismissively. I forgot about her dismissiveness of all arts-related fields as being nice for a hobby, but terrible as a career. “What happened to the blind date you told me about? The one your friend set you up on?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ryder disappear through the open door into the kitchen.

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