Are You Still There (17 page)

“Maybe we can invite Mel over sometime,” I suggest. Chloe goes to the back of my hair, apparently satisfied with the bangs.

“You're spending way too much energy worrying about a girl you hardly know. You ought to spend more energy worrying about whether you'll like your hair.”

I'd forgotten about my hair. I hold my breath while I use the handheld mirror to check out the back.

It looks pretty good, actually, but I fake-gasp to freak her out.

“What's wrong? You don't like it?”

I stand up, and little bits of my hair flutter to the floor.

“Relax. I like it.” I toss it over my shoulder and watch how it falls in the mirror. “If Mom and Dad ever disown you, you can work your way through college by cutting hair.”

“I'm not sure whether to say ‘thank you' or hack off the rest of your hair out of spite.”

The next day I bring Miguel over for the first time. “Are you sure your parents won't be home?” He hangs back as I step through the front door. “I hear your daddy has a gun.”

“He's at work,” I promise Miguel, grabbing his hand and pulling him forward. “And my mom is hiding from the cleaning lady.”

“Okay, explain that one to me.”

“I would if I understood it. Just one more example of how my mom is completely nuts.”

“Try me.” Miguel glances at the row of shoes by the door and slips his own off his feet, carefully rolling up his socks and stuffing them inside.

“Okay. So my mom used to clean herself when I was little, and she'd be a raving neat-freak lunatic for hours after. Finally my dad convinced her to hire someone. But it's like she can't admit she needs help. So she leaves these notes out for the cleaning lady. Notes and a check. And then she hides. Usually in her office or something. But today she's volunteering at the free clinic. So the coast is clear.”

I drag him up the stairs. “God, what are you eating these days? Lay off the tamales, okay? I can't believe I'm trying to get you alone in my room, and you're dragging your feet.”

“This feels so wrong.” He hangs on to the banister. “Especially now with your new haircut. It makes you look even more innocent.”

“Just because I've never brought a guy into my room doesn't mean I've never
wanted
to bring a guy into my room.”

“You're talking me into it.”

Lucia is wiping down the counters in the bathroom between my sister's and my room. I call to her back, “Hola, Lucia.” Lucia has been coming to clean our house for the last two years. Before that we had a husband-and-wife team.

She waves the back of her hand toward me, barely looking up from the counter. “Hola, mija.”

But Miguel freezes at the top of the stairs. I'm about to question his manhood, because, come on, how hard should it be to get the guy in my room for a little tongue twister?

“Well,
that
just killed my mood,” he grumbles under his breath.

Apparently he has issues with hired help too. Lucia looks up this time, really looks up, and her eyes brighten.

“Hola, Mamá.” Miguel starts toward the bathroom. “Te
quieres ayuda?”

We spend the next two hours helping Miguel's mother clean my house. Miguel tells me it's nothing personal. That it's about respect. He can't very well roll around on the bed with me while his mother is slaving away with Lysol and disinfectant. I tell him I understand. I do, but I'm definitely bummed.

And our relationship just got a whole hell of a lot more complicated.

25

MID-JANUARY

Janae and I arrive early to our Sunday morning helpline meeting. We're poking small holes in the bottoms of jelly doughnuts and scooping out as much of the jelly as we can.

“Isn't this overkill?” I half ask, half complain.

“No such thing,” Janae assures me.

“How do you know Garth will even eat a doughnut? He's kind of a health nut.”

“Good point. I'm ten steps ahead of you though. These are whole-grain doughnuts. And the jelly is organic.”

“No kidding?”

“Totally kidding, but that's what I'm gonna tell Garth.”

I laugh. “He'll be lucky to make it through a bite.” I suck the doughnut crud off my finger.

Janae brought a turkey baster, and we're replacing the jelly with barbecue sauce. Extra spicy. When Garth and Miguel take bites of their “whole-grain, organic jelly” doughnuts, they won't know what hit them.

Twenty minutes later Garth lumbers into the library, looking like he didn't shower or brush either hair or teeth. Janae practically charges the guy, pushing the doughnut box toward him. “Too early,” he groans. “I can't eat anything so processed this early in the morning.”

Miguel peers over my shoulder. “Oh come on, bro. Live a little.”

Janae wraps her arm around his waist. “I bought them for you, babe. They're organic.”

“I need a helpline!” Garth grabs his chest all dramatic. “It's peer pressure. To eat lard and sugar!”

“Organic
lard and sugar,” Janae reminds him.

“Oh fine. Hand it over.”

“With pleasure,” Janae says.

I lock eyes with Miguel as he bites down, the barbecue sauce dribbling out the back end. I wish I'd thought to video it with my phone. I laugh so hard I can't stand. Our fellow helpliners circle around us, high-fiving and back-slapping.

The guys laugh too. Only later. Much later.

I don't notice until after I get back home that Eric was absent from our meeting today.

I barely survive the most awkward dinner of my life. It goes like this: Lucia feels compelled to inform my parents that her son and I are “friends.” Then Mom feels compelled to break the silence barrier and invite her to dinner. Which means Mom then feels compelled to have a spotless house. And forces me and Chloe to clean the house with her (since we can't very well hire Lucia to clean the house so that
she
can come to dinner). During which Mom's a Nazi-maniac cleaning machine, and I briefly consider leaping out my second-story bedroom window. A broken leg might get me out of this mess.

The dinner conversation alternates between parental interrogation and meaningless small talk. Miguel and I basically keep our mouths full the entire time to avoid having to make conversation. If it hadn't been so uncomfortable, it might have been fun to watch Mom try to connect with the woman she'd been avoiding for the last two years. I almost suggest we bring out note cards so she can get in her comfort zone. They could just write notes back and forth. “So … nice weather, huh?”

I spend most of the dinner chewing and thinking that if this wasn't so epically bizarre, it'd be comical. Chloe certainly seems to find it funny. She keeps kicking my feet under the table, and she nearly chokes on her salad twice.

Janae and I are carrying our trays through the cafeteria when rough hands cover my eyes. The world goes black. There's this moment of panic, where I think,
Omigod, I'm being kidnapped. How loud can I scream?

But then I hear Janae giggle and say, “Unhand me, you beast!” and I know immediately what happened. Garth's got Janae. Miguel's got me. I can smell his fabric softener.

Miguel uncovers my eyes and spins me around. He and Garth have wrapped a cafeteria table. Wrapped it. In gift wrap, with crème-colored wedding bells in diagonal lines. I look up at Janae, who also seems dazed but totally amused.

“Am I missing something?” I ask her. I know Janae and Garth are close, but I'm hoping not that close.

“Don't mind the paper,” Garth apologizes. “It was all I could find at home.”

I tap my fingers on the wedding bells. “So … is this a prank or a date?” I ask.

Miguel and Garth look at each other. “Both,” they decide.

“Well, if it's a date, you've got to work on your presentation,” I tell them. “And if it's a prank, it's not all that funny.”

“You think you can do better?”

“Maybe,” I say. I see Beth walking through the cafeteria with a girl from AP English. My wedding-wrapped cafeteria table makes me pretty hard to miss. But Beth pretends she doesn't see me, and that snags me. I make a mental note to text her later.

“Well, I bet you can't. In fact, I'm ready to argue that Miguel and I can outdo you on practically anything.” Garth nods at Miguel.

“No way.” Janae sways her hips. “Girl power.”

“Just watch. But first, I'm buying you each a soda. What do you want?”

Janae picks Orange Fanta. I pick Diet Coke. Garth disappears into the cafeteria line and returns with our drinks in fountain cups. Plus his own iced tea, and strawberry lemonade for Miguel. He forgets the lids and the straws, but I don't complain.

“I bet you two can't do this.” Garth places his hands palms down, flat on the table. Miguel sets a full fountain drink on the back of each of Garth's hands. They wobble a bit but don't fall. “Here, Janae. Put the other two on Miguel's hands.” She grins and places them on his hands. The cups are sweating condensation and they look slippery. They balance, although I bet Miguel is wishing Garth hadn't filled them quite so high, because they're sloshing around.

“See?” Garth pronounces.

“We can
totally
do that,” Janae says. “In fact, I bet we can do it without spilling any.”

“Oh yeah? Show us.”

“Okay.” Janae takes the cups off Miguel's hands and sets them on the table. She does the same for Garth. The bell rings, and there is a flurry of activity around us, people dumping their leftover trash in cans and laughing.

I'm glad. Fewer people to watch my humiliation. I can find the derivative of a differentiable function in five minutes flat, but I am not sure about balancing a full glass of soda without major spillage. Miguel places the lemonade and Diet Coke on the backs of my hands. They're cold. Garth sets the Fanta and iced tea on Janae's.

Except for feeling like my hands will freeze off, it's all good. They balance. No sloshing. I look up to smirk. Only the smirk on Garth's face is at least ten times as big as the one I feel on my own. My smirk melts.

“Have a nice day, ladies.” Garth pats Janae on her back. “Too bad you picked white jeans.”

And suddenly it hits me.
This
is the prank. We are stuck here with both hands balancing full cups of colored soda. Neither of us can move our hands without spilling all over ourselves. The cafeteria is thinning out. No one I know to come to our rescue. Only bystanders to laugh and point.

“Seriously?” Janae's face is turning red under all that makeup. Then she yells at the guys, “Payback, fellas. Just you wait.”

Ten minutes go by before the custodian rescues us. I earn my first tardy in government.

I flop onto my bed, and take a deep breath. Time to text Beth.
Want to study for physics tonight? I'll bring carrots!

I know she's got her phone by her side, like always, but she waits a full thirty minutes before texting me back.
You sure you want to?

She's still pissed. I text again.
I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to.

She responds,
I might say something mean, you know.

Hmm. How to handle that one?
That came out wrong. Sorry.

I wait five minutes, but she doesn't text back, so I add:
We're still friends, you know. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.

Nothing back.

You're right. I am changing. I think it's good for me. Like positive growth.

Nothing.

If you hung out with us, maybe you'd like them. You're invited. I'm not trying to ditch you.

Nothing.

If you don't want to, it's okay.

Nothing.

I just want you to know that I still want to be your friend.

Nothing for a long time. I almost fall asleep. Then,
Thanks, Gabi.

And shortly after,
I'll keep it in mind.

Stranger's Manifesto

Entry 15

Most people are idiots

They walk around

Locking their car doors

But leaving their keys

Out in the open.

Securing their front and back doors,

But forgetting to latch

The sliding glass door

On the side of the house.

Plugging in combos on their lockers

But leaving the code

In the notes section of their phones.

People pass around their cells in class

All the time

To share pictures

Or funny texts.

If you know where to look

And you're not afraid to try …

You can find out almost anything.

Believe me, I know.

26

EARLY FEBRUARY

I check the mailbox on my way home the next day. Thick manila envelope from Georgetown. I'm in. Early action. Mom will be ecstatic. And I should be bouncing off the walls in elation. So why do I feel like I just ate some bad mayonnaise? Washington, DC, is practically on the other side of the world. I'd have to leave everything I know. I shove the envelope deep in my backpack. I need some time to think.

When I enter the kitchen, Mom's washing vegetables for a salad even though they're prepackaged, prewashed, and organic. Lettuce. Cherry tomatoes. Green onions. Mushrooms. Baby carrots. All “ready to eat,” but she's washing them again.

I sit down and open one of Chloe's trashy teen magazines. I despise this kind of gossip, but lately it's been sucking me in.
Chop-chop-chop
. Mom's turning baby carrots into tiny orange pellets.

Chloe slams into the kitchen with one iPod earbud in and the other one dangling down to bounce against her leg. She pops the top on a Sprite, and carbonated soda spews out like a frothy volcano.