o 922034c59b7eef49 (4 page)

Then I can’t see them anymore because James’s face is in the way. He pulls me close and kisses me. I can tell he wants to really kiss me, deep kiss me. Then I remember the funniest thing: Dr. Scott examining my teeth and saying, “Did you know that jaw muscles are among the strongest in the human body?” (Is this weird or what, Nbook? I’m outside alone with a guy on a crisp night, and I think about my dentist?)

Anyway, Dr. Scott is right. I have no trouble keeping my jaw closed. The kiss, to tell the truth, is pretty wonderful anyway. But I start feeling self-conscious so I pull away. I mean, come on. Mami and Papi are right inside. Besides, I am not ready for that kind of kissing. First things first. Let’s get past the ankle bracelet dilemma.

James pulls away. He’s smiling, but he looks a little puzzled. “Is this all right?” he asks.

“Is what?” I ask back.

“You know...sneaking outside?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

We stand there, silent, for awhile. Then James says it.

“You know, I really love you.”

I cannot believe this. I am stunned. So I just say, “Huh?”

“I said, I—I like you a lot,” James replies. His voice sounds nervous and I can feel he's shaking a little.

Now, maybe my ears are playing tricks, but I know—I know, Nbook—that he did not say like.

But I take his word for it. “I like you too, James,” I say.

We stare into the sky, and I'm thinking, What next? when we hear a car horn blaring in the driveway.

Caught in the headlights! Just like a Hayden Blume movie. James puts his hands in the air and says, “Don't shoot!”

It's the Blumes, who've come to pick up Maggie. Well, they're not driving, their chauffeur is. Which is good, because neither of them looks in any condition to drive. Especially Mrs.

Blume, who can barely walk. She comes out of the car, wobbles a little, holds on to the roof ledge, and calls out to us, “Uh-uh-uh! Inducent piblic display of afflection!”

James shoots me a look. I can tell he's about to laugh.

We follow the Blumes inside into the garage. Mrs. B is slurring her words, and I'm worrying the whole time that she's going to blow chunks all over the floor.

Poor Maggie. She looks embarrassed as she says her good-byes. But we all act as if nothing's wrong.

After that, the party spirit is kind of spoiled. But it's late, and we're all exhausted anyway.

People start going home. Everyone makes me promise to send copies of my portrait. I say good-bye to Justin, who's there with his parents. Then Ducky starts kissign all the girls and saying dramatic farewells. He's driven to the party alone because his parents are overseas on business and his older brother went to a different party. When he reaches me, he thinks he's morphed into Fred Astaire and starts swinging me around the garage, singing “Auld Lang Syne.”

We're all laughing as Ducky breaks away and dances off by himself, blowing more

kisses. The Big Exit. That is so Ducky.

I see Mami and Papi are already putting on their jackets. Mami says she's concerned about Isabel, who has gone to a party at Big Tooth Lover Boy's house. So we say a quick round of thank yous and we head for the door.

James is busy putting away equipment. As I walk up to him and say good-bye, he picks up an amp and walks toward the back of the garage. He looks up, grunts “'Bye,” and disappears.

Oh, well. I'll call him today.

1/1

8:00 P.M.

Nbook, Nbook, I don't know what to do.

Isabel won't stop crying.

Just a little while ago, we're all in a great mood. We're in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

Papi is playing one of his old beloved Tito Puente tapes and we're dancing and laughing.

And then the phone rings. Mami puts her hand on the receiver and tells me to turn the music down.

I run into the living room and turn the volume knob. I hear Mami saying “Happy New Year” to someone, and then “Yes, Isabel's right here.”

When I get back into the kitchen, Isabel is sitting at the desk, the receiver cradled to her ear. Her mouth is open and her eyes are filling with tears. Then she puts the receiver on the desk and runs upstairs. Obviously she's continuing the phone conversation in Mami and Papi's room because she calls down, “Hang up now, please!”

As Mami obeys, I ask if Simon was the one who called. I figured he and Isabel had a fight.

Mami shakes her head. “It wasn't Simon. It was Ms. Hardwick.”

Well, the Tito Puente tape ends and no one bothers to turn it over. Isabel comes

downstairs and her makeup is all wiped off. I can tell she's been crying. But when Papi asks if she's all right, she nods and says, “It's nothing.”

Mami, Papi, and I keep asking her what's the matter. Is someone sick? Did someone die?

Was Isabel fired? (Can you be fired from a volunteer job?)

Finally Isabel says, “Something happened at GAEA, that's all. To one of the residents.”

“What happened?” Mami insists. “Tell us, hija!”

Isabel just shakes her head. “I can't.”

She hasn't said a word more about it all night, Nbook. And now she's sobbing in her room.

What am I supposed to do?

Fri 1 / 2

You know what I wish, Nbook? I wish I could close my eyes, go back to sleep, and wake up this morning again.

This year is not up to a good start.

I'm in my room, trying to relax, and all I hear is Isabel. She's muttering to herself. She's clacking her rosary beads. She's typing something on her computer. She's whimpering.

I finally go into her room. She's sitting at her desk, and her fingers are flying across the keyboard.

I see the words “Dear Linda” at the top of the screen.

Linda.

I'm trying to think who that is. I'm running through the faces of the moms I met at GAEA.

“Hi,” I say. “Who's Linda?”

Isabel whirls around, like I'm some masked intruder. “Who said you could come in here?”

“Sorry,” I reply. “Must have forgotten my invitation.”

I mean that as a joke, but Isabel sure doesn't take it that way. She's sitting in a strange position, with her head covering the screen so I can't see it. “Get out of here!” she yells.

This gets me angry. I've been worrying and worrying. All I want to do is help. And when I reach out, Isabel pushes me away.

“I already saw the name,” I say. “You're writing to Linda. Who's that?”

I try to look around her, but Isabel now drapes a magazine over the monitor, so it covers the screen.

“Amalia, I am not allowed to talk about anyone in the shelter. You know that.”

“But I volunteered there,” I remind her.

“For a day! You're not officially signed up.”

I sit on the bed. “Isabel, I met some of those people. Don't you think I care about them too? You're not the only one with a heart in this family!”

Isabel looks like she's going to cry again. Immediately I feel bad. I start to apologize, but Isabel cuts me off.

“When you volunteer at GAEA,” she says, “you have to sign this confidentiality

statement. You're not supposed to find out residents' last names, just their first names. And you're even discouraged from mentioning those outside the center. It's to protect their identities.”

“Protect against what? Organized crime or something?”

Isabel shakes her head. “Their husbands. Their boyfriends.”

Now it sinks in. I think about TV movies and news reports. About dysfunctional families and battered women. And then I remember Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson in San Diego, how, in the months before they split up, we would hear their screaming fights all the way down the block.

“That bad, huh?” I ask. “I mean, with Linda?”

Isabel's forehead wrinkles up and a tear rolls down her cheek. I put my arm around her shoulder and say, “Look, I don't know who Linda is. I have no idea what she looks like. And I'm not going to go blabbing her name all around town. Won't you feel better if you talk to someone about this?”

Isabel thinks for a moment. Then she nods. “Yesterday one of the residents left the center.

She told Ms. Hardwick she was going to stay with her family in Anaheim. Well, her family was there waiting. But so was her ex-husband. He'd found out where she was going. And...”

My stomach is churning. I say to myself, Linda must be alive. Isabel is writing to her.

The first question I can think to ask is, “Will Linda be able to come back to the shelter?”

Isabel nods. “When she's out of the hospital. I guess the ex-husband doesn't know about GAEA. But it's not only Linda I'm worried about. It's her little boy. He's still at the shelter.”

I think about all the little kids I met. I ask Isabel which boy it was.

“His name's Mikey,” she replies.

1/3

1:17 A.M.

Sorry about all the wet spots, Nbook. It's been a long, emotional night.

I spend all this time comforting Isable, then I go to bed myself and—ZING!--I'm a basket case. I can't stop picturing that poor little boy.

I think about how he called me Mommy. Why? Where was Linda that day?

Finally, around midnight, I can't stand it any longer. I know it's late but I have to talk to someone. So I call Maggie's private number.

Maggie sounds practically dead. But when she hears me crying, she wakes right up.

I tell her everything, taking care not to mention names. Maggie listens carefully

and makes two suggestions:

1. I should go to sleep. 2. I should write to Mikey. Something creative, something that would make him happy. He probably needs all the support he can get.

It's late. Too late. But I have to work on 2.

1/3

7 P.M.

Yo, Nbook. Here I am at a Vanish rehearsal. I am listening to “Fallen Angel” for about the tenth time, and I'm bored.

James is mad at me again. I do not understand him.

About a half hour ago, I'm showing Maggie the comic strip I drew. She's not really getting it. I explain that Max and Mr. Peebles are Mikey's action figures.

But Maggie is such a writer. She writes these meaningful poems and songs, and she

thinks everything has to have hidden meanings and deep thoughts.

“But what does the story mean?” she asks. “How does it end? How is it supposed to make him feel better?”

What I want to say is this: When I was playing with Mikey, I noticed how great he felt whenever Max triumphed. So Mikey identifies with Max. Now that Mikey must be feeling scared and vulnerable, I figure he'd like to see a comic strip in which Max saves the kids in the center.

That's what I want to say. But what comes out is something like this: “See, Mikey's Max and Mikey's scared but Max is strong and saving people, so Mikey might feel that way too.”

Of course, Maggie looks at me as if I'm speaking a foreign language. So I try to explain.

Then James walks into rehearsal and suddenly I'm all distracted. I can see he's looking at my ankle. Checking to see if I'm wearing his bracelet.

I'm not, and he doesn't look too happy about it. Now he's looking over my shoulder.

“What's that?” he says.

Well, I'm feeling bad enough that I showed the drawing to Maggie. I'm already coming close to breaking my promise to Isabel. So I close you right up, Nbook, and I put you in my backpack. “Just a drawing. It's nothing.”

He looks totally insulted. “If it's nothing, why can't your boyfriend see it?”

Your boyfriend. He announces it aloud like that, so everyone can hear.

“Later, maybe,” I say.

“Is it something about me?” James asks.

Maggie laughs at this. “No, James. It's about a younger guy.”

At that point, Rico starts yelling at us because he wants to start rehearsal.

James grabs his guitar, Maggie gets behind the keyboard, and the band starts playing

“Fallen Angel.”

I wish Maggie hadn't said that.

James looks like he wants to throw his guitar at me.

Sun 1/4

Nbook, why is life so complicated?

I do not understand guys. I never will.

Never!

Okay. Let me start from the top.

Rico calls a break in the middle of rehearsal. Everybody heads to the table, where there are soft drinks and snacks.

Except James. He walks outside.