Page 55 of On the Beat

I was only telling myself it didn’t.

“Well, you’re in luck.” I summon a smile perfected for TV cameras and paparazzi. I realize she would probably be more comfortable among their ranks, but as much as I tried to evict her, I don’t think I ever saw her as one of them. I never saw her as one of those cameramen or journalists circling celebrities like vultures, waiting for them to fall from their pedestal. No, I saw her as a girl. Smart, stubborn, and kind. Beautiful. Maybe it’s my vision that’s blinding me now. Causing me to see what I want to see instead of seeing the truth. “I don’t like any of my friends.”

“Next, you’re going to tell me Naoya isn’t really your enemy.” Her smile seems warmer than the one she previously wore, and she lets the towel slide down her shoulders. “What else does the public not know about you?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“Not if the paparazzi or my parents do it first.”

In the elevator, I had almost forgotten that we were on our way to her parents’ hotel room. I let myself believe that we were simply a boy and a girl standing in an elevator.

“Don’t forget about your brothers,” I say with a chuckle. “They’ll probably get to me first.”

Isla shudders. “Don’t remind me.”

“Too late.” The elevator doors open slide apart with a ding, such an innocuous sound that I could almost be cheered by it if I didn’t know what lies beyond them. “Ladies first.”

* * *

I stare at Gabriel Romero. He stares back at me, looking like he’s thinking of ten ways to skin a possum. I only learned seven.

Next to him, his brother Francisco looks like he’s getting ready to polish a shotgun and maybe do a little more than polish it.

The fact that Isla and I are dripping water onto what is likely an expensive carpet and leather couch probably doesn’t help his annoyance, or his parents’.

On the bright side, if it’s a bright side at all, I’m pretty sure they know my real identity now.

Isla helps herself to a waffle robe from the closet and offers me one. I only take it after her father waves a hand for me to do so, wrapping myself in the soft cotton. It does little to comfort my inner turmoil at being found by the paparazzi.

Checking her phone, Isla’s expression looks carefully indifferent. On anyone else, the look might appear casual, like she’s reading a text from a friend or checking the weather. But I think I know her well enough by now to tell that her expression is practiced. Or maybe I’m just too used to fake people and deceiving words. Her phone begins to ring and she jumps out of her seat. “I need to take this. I’ll be right back.”

Before I can so much as say goodbye, she steps into the hallway. And I’m left alone with the rest of the Romeros.

“So, Ryder, has anyone ever told you that your music is terrible?”

I go with the truth. “Yes, your sister, right before I ki–”

“Whatever you’re going to say next, I’d think twice about it if I were you.” Francisco scowls, pushing his bandana further up on his forehead.

“I was going to say,killed a spider,” I say. Another lie. They come far too easily to me these days. “Romantic stuff, I know.”

Isla re-emerges from the ensuite, saving us from committing a murder. “Sorry about that.”

“Who was it?” I ask as she sits next to me again, the smell of chlorine mingling with her scent of oranges and gardenias.

“Kaiden, my roommate.”

“The one whose apartment you burned down?”

“That’s the one,” she says, leaning forward and plucking a small banana off the coffee table before peeling it. She adjusts the robe tie, her hair still damp. A thousand things I want to say to her burn on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them all, not wanting to say any of them in front of her family.

“So, what were you guys doing in the pool? We all know Isla can’t swim.” Gabriel takes a sip of his beer while his parents huddle together on the couch facing the TV, watching some sort of drama in Tagalog.

“I was remedying that problem, since apparently having an Olympic swimmer for a brother doesn’t mean he teaches his sister to swim. You’re welcome.”

“Guys, guys, can’t you talk about sports or something?” Isla says before muttering, “I pity Paulo for dealing with us.”

“We are talking about sports. Swimming is a sport.” Francisco shoots his sister a look. “Unless you’re still dissing myOlympic silver medal.”

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