Castles on the Sand

Seven

The ditch is one of the coolest places to play if you're small enough to fit in the culvert, because that leads to a storm drain that's got little rooms branching off it. Not sure why there are rooms, but they beg to be turned into secret hideouts. The only problem is, if it rains you'll drown, but since that's never happened, generation after generation of elementary schoolers hang out in there.

At the mouth of the culvert are two boulders, just the right height to sit on, facing each other. They allow you to sit low enough that you can't be seen from the sidewalk, and when I get there after school, Jean-Pierre is already sitting on one. I jump down and sit on the other. High pitched kid screams and shouts sound throughout my subdivision. The elementary school kids all got dropped off by the bus half an hour ago, but none are close by.

“How're you feeling?” he asks.

“Been better.”

“Listen, I didn't know whether I should come by or message you on Facebook or what.”

“I think I'm done with Facebook right now.”

“Well, yeah. Look, I knew it wasn't you, okay? I never thought it was you.”

“Tatiana did.”

“Well, now you know another reason I don't do girlfriends.”

“So you can hook up with both me and Tatiana?”

“No. No way. I'm not like that. Tatiana thinks I should date her because she's all into this idea that black people should only date black people and so any white girl who hits on me is encroaching on her turf. Between her and my parents not wanting me to date at all...” he shrugs. “Tatiana and I have been over for months. I helped trash her locker.”

“So when you say you don't want a girlfriend, what does that mean? Do you see other people or-”

“Who cares what he means? He's wasting your time,” says a voice from up on the sidewalk.

I look up but the sun is in my eyes so I don't see who it is until he jumps down. It's the missionary, wearing jeans and his pea coat, his name tag still affixed to his breast.

“Hey,” he says to Jean-Pierre, “I'm her big brother.”

“Um, hi,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

“Got a ride from Bishop Montrose. My mission's over and I've got an hour before I need to leave for Sacramento to catch my flight home.”

“This is your brother?” says Jean-Pierre. “You've got a brother who's a Mormon?”

“Well... yeah. It's kind of a long story, and I don't actually know it.”

“I'm John,” says Elder Britton.

“You're a racist, cultist fanatic is what you are,” says Jean-Pierre.

“I am not a racist.”

“No, just your religion is. Are filthy black people allowed in your temples?”

“Yes, actually. That's why we've built some in Africa.”

“Oh that's riiiiight. 1978. Keeping up with the times. The whole Civil Rights movement looked like it might catch on?”

“What are you guys talkingabout?” I ask.

“Ask your brother.” Jean-Pierre shoots him a look of pure loathing.

“Yeah, okay,” says Elder Britton, “can I just ask what exactly you were saying to my sister when I got here?”

“Mind your own business.”