twenty-two
fold: to stop playing
your hand, give up
Warren Hollingsworth III matches his name in every way. He looks like he belongs on Cape Cod rather than sitting across from me and Hop at Lola’s Coffee Shop. I wonder what dirt Jada has on him to get him to meet up with me.
He takes a sip of his green smoothie. “So, you and Jada must be pretty tight.”
I shrug. Hop begins folding his napkin into a million little creases.
Hollingsworth leans forward. “She called in a favor. She doesn’t do that.”
I make a mental note to bust my ass extra for her the rest of the summer. I say, “Jada’s a cool gal.”
“Let’s get to it.” He leans in, resting his arms on his legs. “What’s the situation with your friend?”< Reew8" /span>
I say, “Hien came over from Vietnam when he was ten, and he’s been living in San Diego ever since.”
Warren says, “Why did his parents come here illegally? Why didn’t they go through the proper channels?” He looks at Hop for an answer. So do I … that hasn’t been a burning question for me.
Hop stares at his sliver of napkin. “Religious persecution.”
I blink, unsure of how to process that information. “What?”
Warren and I sit there waiting. Hop unfolds and refolds the napkin until he finally wads it into a ball and throws it on the table. He looks back and forth between me and Warren, a hard glint in his eyes. “They beat Hien and his parents. They said they had to renounce all religious activities, and they were not allowed to attend any sort of religious gathering.”
My stomach twists into a sickened knot.
Warren drums his finger on the table. “We can work with that. People who come over illegally without persecution from their government are usually up a creek without a paddle in regards to obtaining legal status. They have to move back to wherever they came from and live there for who knows how long until they get approval, if they get approval. But most people don’t leave their country on a whim. They usually are trying to find somewhere safer for their family or an economy that will provide them with better economic or educational opportunities. That’s why some people just stay in the country illegally—it’s in what they consider to be their best interests.”
I’m sitting in my seat, frozen. Jorge didn’t have a chance.
Warren asks Hop, “Do they have proof?”
Hop shrugs. “Other than a wicked scar by Hien’s eye? I don’t know.”
Is that why Hien wears sunglasses all the time or why he dresses the way he does? Survival mode …
Warren says, “Well, that’s the next step. Ask Hien if his parents have any hard proof. What is he—Unified Buddhist?”
“Yes,” Hop says.
Feeling like an idiot, I ask, “How did you know that?”
“That’s one of the main religions persecuted in Vietnam,” Warren explains. “Check out the HRW report for 2005, which I’m guessing is the year Hien and his family arrived in San Diego.”
“HRW?”
Hop fills in the blank. “Human Rights Watch.”
I sink back in my chair, thinking I have way more to learn about immigration issues and laws than I could ever have imagined.
Hien’s situation freaks me out. I don’t know what to do, and I’m really glad Warren knows what’s up. I exit the highway and take the familiar turns that bring me to the glider port by Black’s. I park in the empty lot, grab a beach towel, and hop out. Throwing the towel into the bed of the truck, I hop in after it and lean back against the cab.
It’s not a clear night. There are a few thin clouds in the sky. It was so good to speak with Jorge a couple weeks ago. It felt right. Like things were cleared up a bit between us.
“Hey man. You got a few?”
A slight breeze stirs up and I take that as a yes. Then I lean my head back against Esmerelda, the only reliable girl in my life besides Ma.
“There’s this dude, Hien. I’m trying to help him. You know? And this guy Hop and I met up with a lawyer today. And he knows all about immigration stuff and asked questions I hadn’t considered before. Like why did the guy leave his country? I know you and your Ma came here looking for work. I hadn’t thought about people coming here to escape persecution from the government. I’m trying to imagine someone coming into St. Francis during mass and telling everyone to go home. That they couldn’t worship anymore … I can’t, and I’m all spazzed out worrying about Hien. So those are like real problems, right? Not like my petty, small-ass problems. But dude, those are bugging me too.”
I sigh. “I got troubles. The femme kind. Yeah, I know. It’s shit of me to complain, but you always knew what to do when it came to relationships. Remember Grace? The way-out-of-my-league crush? I thought my chances were pretty much zip, but sometimes she seemed into me. Still does. But I made a deal with her old man, and that makes her off-limits.”
I fidget with the towel a few minutes, collecting my thoughts. “Her old man—he doesn’t want anybody dating his little girl. Period. If I keep them away from her? He’ll hook me up with the right law firm to push me on an early fast-track to law school. To meeting all the right people. Shit. Last week, he cc’d me on an email to Miguel Gutierrez. Said we should meet for coffee. Hooked me up, even though he was pissed about Grace’s accident. I don’t like the way he makes me feel about things. Like he can ruin my career before it ever starts. Like he has the power to take my dreams from me before I even really get a chance to pursue them. That’s messed up. But then he turns around and does me a favor. Says he knows I’ll take better care of Grace.”
I ball my hand into a fist and pound the bed of my truck a few times, until the side of my hands hurts. “It all sounds stupid when I tell you. Okay, I’ll say out loud. I’m a tool, man. Why’d it take me so long to see it? Sometimes, doors slam shut. For a good reason. It’s so obvious now. Her old man doesn’t want anybody dating her, period. And if I ever date her, he’ll have me blacklisted with every firm in town.”
I pound my truck one more time. “That’s it, dude. And you know what’s crazy? There’s a smart, beautiful girl at the office who actually seems into me. She asked me out. And there’s no off-limits signs messing with my dreams if I date her. Sometimes when one door gets slammed shut, another one opens. Brianna’s my open door.fy">pen’