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“Oh, boy. Not even mi padre calls me a thief, and he knows I take some beer and tequila,” Mateo said.
“That’s probably because he’s given up on you,” I said.
Mateo’s smile evaporated, as did the smiles on the others. Greg looked at me and smiled with pride.
“Maybe you really are too smart for yourself,” Mateo said.
“Maybe you should shut up,” Greg said, turning sharply on him.
For a moment, all anyone could hear were the sound of the waves and the screams of the terns. Then Greg closed the lid of his basket, and Mateo got to his feet.
“I changed my mind. Your mom’s food is only good for the birds.” Mateo tossed the sandwich toward the water, causing it to spill open and scatter on the sand.
Greg looked at it.
“Let’s just go, Greg,” I said.
He nodded. “I guess you were right again. I shouldn’t have pushed you to be friends with him.”
He began to take down our improvised tent.
“Where you going, compañero? You need a siesta already?”
“I’m not your compañero, Mateo,” Greg said, and completed rolling up the canvas.
I folded our blanket and put my damp cover-up in my beach bag.
“You can’t leave until you show these other girls your bare ass,” Mateo said. “That’s the deal.”
Greg lifted his basket and put the rolled canvas under his other arm. I picked up the poles. When we started away, Mateo stepped in front of us.
“Let ’em go,” Ernie called.
“Greg never went back on a deal until he started up with Señorita Genius,” Mateo said.
“I told you to stop calling her that,” Greg said. “Her name is Donna. Donna.”
“Yeah, well, thanks to you, she’s going to have a new name: Mexi-Ho,” Mateo said. He looked to the others for a laugh, just as Greg swung his picnic basket at him, catching him smack in the center of his chest. The blow dropped him on his butt.
For a moment, Mateo sat there stunned. Then, as we started away, he rose and reached out for Greg’s shoulder.
As Greg turned, Mateo swung his right hand, cupping the small bottle of tequila, and smashed it into Greg’s left temple so hard that the bottle shattered, a few pieces cutting into Greg’s cheek and left eye. Blood spurted even before his legs buckled, and he hit the ground, unconscious.
I screamed and fell to my knees beside Greg. No one else moved for a few moments. As quickly as I could, I opened my beach bag and took out one of my towels to pat the wounds. I had to be sure he had no fracture, so I kept the pressure light.
“Help me!” I screamed at the other boys.
Mateo, realizing what he had done, wobbled and backed away.
Ernie and Damian got up and hurried to us. Greg was barely conscious and obviously in pain. They looked at me for instructions.
“Pick him up!” I shouted. “And put him carefully in the rear of his truck. We have to get him to the hospital emergency room. Quickly!”
They looked at each other. Damian, who was bigger, scooped Greg up in his arms and carried him toward the truck. I followed. Then I looked at Ernie.
“Can you drive his truck?”
He nodded.
