Teófila’s Guide to Saving the Sun

by Cynthia A. Rodriguez

  Elijah hasn’t uttered a word in my direction since.

  The thought of him is like a kick in the gut.

  But it doesn’t come close to seeing him stumble out of the dance, laughing.

  Another kick, this time in the heart.

  And the sight of her trailing right behind him was the K.O. Right in the damn face.

  Her olive skin is perfectly smooth, her hair in an intricate updo. She walks like she was born in high heels and I can’t compare.

  “Then don’t,” I whisper to myself as I straighten my posture.

  Miley’s eyes see it all as she glances back and forth, ready to witness whatever impending doom is headed our way.

  I want to throw up.

  We walk arm-in-arm and when he catches sight of us, he stops short.

  The world doesn’t quite fall away but I’d be lying if I said he isn’t all that I see these days. So maybe it blurs and he’s the focal point.

  Brown eyes trail from the top of my head to my perfectly painted toenails. I can’t stop the goosebumps forming but we don’t stop our synchronized walk. Left, right, left.

  Miley breaks my eye contact with him, leaning toward me, her face wearing a huge smile. “Where is all this fierceness coming from?” she asks.

  My smile matches hers. And then he’s right in front of us.

  “’Sup, Elijah?” Miley says, her long blonde ponytail swinging in her enthusiastic greeting. “I believe you’ve met my date.”

  He nods, offering a quick side hug to Miley. He’s covered in dark blue material that hugs him in a way that rivals the way his date now holds onto him. Open collar, patterned shirt. His shoes are bright pink loafers and I think there isn’t anyone else here that could get away with this.

  I notice his date’s dress.

  The same bright pink.

  His lips quirk just a little as he looks at me.

  There’s a moment when I’m sure that’s all I’m going to get.

  Because, of course; he’s with his girlfriend.

  I stare at her for a breath but then he’s pulling me into a hug. The kind that lines up my soft parts with his hard ones. The kind that uses the whole body and forces me to inhale his scent.

  “You look incredible,” he whispers into my hair.

  My inhale reminds me how tight this bodice is, my breasts only finding reprieve in the deep V.

  “You too,” I tell him just as we come apart.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” Miley says to the girl standing next to him. “I’m Miley, and this is T. Teófila.”

  Her pronunciation is, of course, perfect. But it’s exaggerated and we’re both peering at this stranger’s face I’ve only ever seen in his Facebook posts.

  “Nice to meet you both,” she answers. “I’m Lea.”

  Lea’s stare lingers on me for a moment.

  Elijah clears his voice and places his hand on her waist, and I think I die a little.

  Just a little.

  “We’ll see you two in there,” I say, grabbing hold of Miley’s arm again and pulling her away from the scene of the crime.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Nothing.” The word comes out of my mouth like the dirty little lie it is. Forced and angry.

  “Ooookay. Let me know when you’re ready to be honest.”

  The doorway is crowded with people trying to get in and trying to walk out. Miley makes quick work of guiding us through the throng, and somehow, we’re spit out of the other side, still holding hands.

  It’s dim, with red hearts everywhere. Littering the dance floor and the ceiling in balloon form. I swear the room glitters as couples are seen in near intimate embraces. The song blaring from the speakers is a slow one and everywhere I look, romance mocks me.

  Because February can’t exist without the constant reminder of romantic love. Or the lack of it in my life.

  Nothing makes you feel that gaping hole in your life quite like February. And it shames me because it only takes the mere existence of this month to throw me off in a way it hadn’t before.

  I think of pink loafers that match a pink dress and my heart stills for a moment.

  “I think…I might have feelings for Elijah,” I whisper. But through the noise, the people coming and going, dancing and laughing, Miley doesn’t hear me.

  And I don’t repeat the words that already felt laborious to admit the first time.

  We find a table near the dance floor and Miley is sure to send me a pointed look as I sink into a seat.

  “No camping out at the table like we didn’t spend hours to look this good.”

  I swear Miley has grown in the years I’ve known her. Not in the wide way, the way my hips stretched overnight, but the horizontal way. Her legs seem endless and she stands taller than me. It’s highlighted as I sit while she still stands.

  “You look beautiful,” I tell her, reaching for her hand.

  The song shifts from a ballad to a more frenetic beat and Miley’s eyes widen.

  “Come dance with me, please,” she begs and before I can say anything, she pulls me from the chair and drags me toward the dance floor.

  Miley sways her hips, the lights bouncing around and on her. For a moment, I just stand there, watching as all these bodies move, some to the beat of the song, others to their own.

  She hasn’t let go of my hand and she twirls me around.

  “Show me those moves, mami,” she yells, and I laugh as I twirl back out.

  The music is too energetic not to move to and I start moving my body as I tug at my skirt, making sure nothing is showing that isn’t supposed to be on display.

  “Hey,” someone says into my ear. Someone who isn’t female.

  The breath against my skin gives me goosebumps along my shoulder.

  Miley’s eyes widen as I turn, and I’m not prepared for the sight of Terrence in front of me.

  “Teófila,” he yells, and I nod with a small smile.

  I guess the years taught him how to pronounce my “weird ass name” because he says it with a correctness that rivals Miley’s.

  “Terrence.”

  “Wanna dance?”

  Uhhhhh…

  “It’s just us girls,” Miley starts, and I shake my head and hold my hand out.

  “I just don’t know why you’d want to,” I tell him, and he smiles. He smiles. As if any of this makes sense.

  “Well, when you’re ready to let go of the boy you knew and get to know a better young man, I’ll be around.”

  I never noticed how light his brown eyes were before but they’re all I can keep my eyes on as he pins me with them. It’s intimidating, how strong he must be to come up to me, to ask me to dance, to say what he said, and to keep his eyes on me for as long as he is, his smile not losing any of its luster.

  Miley and I stare after him when he saunters off, but she recovers quicker than I do, nudging me before pulling me close.

  “You didn’t tell me you two were cool. When did this go down?”

  This isn’t the best place to have any kind of conversation considering the dance floor is now full of bodies jumping around and bumping into one another.

  Still, I try.

  “I haven’t spoken to him since the middle school debacle,” I answer, just as I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  Miley’s night seems to be more than she bargained for because her eyes widen again, this time smirking.

  “Was he bothering you?” Elijah asks, his eyes scanning the crowd around us before looking down at mine.

  “Who? Terrence?” My brows are pinched together in frustration, his in concern.

  “Yeah.”

  Bodies move around, pushing at a still Elijah. The songs changes, the tempo slows down, and I glance around.

  “I’m fine,” I say as I’m about to walk away. The attention, the people, the loud music; it’s all too much.

  “Dance with me.”

  I don’t have to look over at Miley to know her eyes are wide again.
Because mine are, too.

  “What are you talking about? Where’s Lea?”

  “She’s over it. Sitting at a table.”

  “I’ll go join her,” Miley interrupts and rushes off.

  There’s so much space on the dance floor now and he’s reaching out for me like this is something we do.

  Like I can go back in my mental file and pull out times when we’d slow danced with each other. As comfortable as he looks in his suit with his hand waiting for mine, you’d think it was something I’d be just as comfortable doing.

  But I’m not.

  Still, I remember the times he held me, the nights he slept next to me, that one time we held hands and screamed as we plummeted.

  And maybe that was the fall that started it all.

  Maybe that was the first domino of many to tip. And here we are, all the tiles scattered.

  I wish there was a way I could pick them all up and clutch every piece against my chest.

  But I place my hand in his and decide to step over them. To pretend that gravity never changed our entire relationship.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” I say as we settle into each other.

  “Neither do I,” he tells me as he leads us into a gentle sway and I’m not entirely sure we’re talking about the same things.

  “She seems nice,” I offer.

  He inhales and I swear I feel his fingers press into me a little more for a second.

  “Yeah. She is.”

  “Where did you two mee…”

  “Can we not…do that?”

  I don’t think there’s any space between us but somehow, we’re even closer. So close, I think I can feel his heart banging against his bones.

  “What if that’s all I can do?” I ask.

  Ask questions like we’re almost strangers. Questions that make us both uncomfortable. That neither of us want me to ask or you to answer.

  “I just want to be best friends again,” he whispers against my hair. “Can we at least be that?”

  My answer is only to squeeze him and ignore the urge to cry.

  We hold our quasi embrace a few seconds more and when he let’s go, I smile.

  “Friends?” I hold out my hand.

  “Best friends,” he says as he clasps it in both of his, just as the beat picks up and people rush to fill the dancefloor again. He keeps a hold of it as we maneuver to make it out of the crowd.

  Lea is still sitting with Miley when we get back to the table. She looks up at Elijah, an easy smile on her face. And maybe she knows about us. Maybe she doesn’t.

  “Have fun?”

  Either way, it doesn’t seem like she cares.

  I hadn’t realized I was waiting for the impending distrust at the sight of me and him on the dance floor together. Because anyone else he’d dealt with had always felt an unnecessary jealousy over what we shared.

  None of this seems to bother Lea. And it shocks me that this bothers me. It’s a dirty little secret I slap my hand over and push deep down where no one will ever find it.

  “Just like old times,” he tells her.

  Only it’s nothing like old times here. And I’m stuck wishing for those old times.

  I look away when he leans down to kiss her. A few blinks and those impending tears settle.

  My heart forces me to look anywhere but at them, to keep my focus away from what’s going on in front of me. While I’m doing this, I guess they make plans to leave because now they’re in front of me saying goodbye.

  My ears feel clogged as I nod and smile. Like I’m underwater and I’m moving just as sluggishly.

  I’m so used to seeing him walk away from me that I should be used to it by now. But seeing him walk away holding someone else’s hand is like setting sadness on fire.

  They’re nearly at the door when he looks back at me. He’s much too far to see whatever it is his eyes are saying, but I smile.

  If happiness is what he needs to see from me, I’ll offer it with hands that are covered in self-inflicted wounds.

  And a heart that looks the same.

  18

  A LITTLE BIT OF AN ASSHOLE

  “How awful was our emo stage?” Miley asks as we leave the cafeteria, while she tosses an apple over and over in the air. Her hair is short again but it’s brilliantly blonde, swinging with her every motion.

  I glance down at my denim shorts and black T-shirt with a smirk. “I think mine has been permanently extended.”

  “Eh, some shit stains you forever, I guess,” she says, pitching the apple into the trash with a bang.

  “That was a waste,” I tell her, my eyes rolling before landing on a pair studying me. I clutch my notebook against my chest at the stare I now feel coming from a few yards away.

  “The only waste is the amount of attention Terrence gives you,” she groans out when she catches sight of him at the end of the hall.

  “What are we talking about?” Elijah asks, rushing to us, out of breath.

  My eyes look past him, as if I could see where he’d come from.

  Part of me wonders where he spent his lunch, but I remind myself that best friends don’t think that way.

  “She’s talking about Terrence. Again,” Miley says.

  My gaze can’t help but wander in his direction, only to see the hallway empty now.

  “I see the way he looks at you,” Miley jokes, bumping her shoulder into mine.

  “Cut it out, Miles. There’s no way she’s into him,” Elijah says before I have the chance to say anything.

  He’s right.

  But he doesn’t know that because I’ve never told him so.

  “I have a mouth, you know,” I say.

  Elijah peeks down at me, his lips in a line.

  “You telling me you’d actually go out with Terrence? The kid I punched in the face for picking on you?”

  “He didn’t pick on me,” I say, my finger raised to drive my point home, “and I’m not saying that at all. Just reminding you that I…could.” Even saying that has me grimacing.

  “Sure,” Elijah answers, rolling his eyes. The bell rings and he kisses my cheek before running off. “See ya,” he calls out.

  “You two are so fucking weird,” Miley tells me as we duck into our free period.

  I shrug but it doesn’t deter her.

  “Sometimes I think you’re just friends and other times…”

  She trails off as we sign in.

  The teacher, Mr. Durmott, tosses Miley a bag of Hot Cheetohs and she catches it before saluting him. I offer a wave and we sit in our usual seats in the back.

  Most of our classmates go off-campus during free period but Miley and I lounge here, away from everyone else.

  I pull out my notebook and pen and she sets her feet on the desk in front of her.

  “What tale of woe will you spin today?” she asks, opening the bag of chips and smiling.

  “Someone finally read Jane Eyre, eh?” I turn page after page of handwritten words, pausing to skim over a passage here and there.

  “I did. That Mr. Rochester sure is delicious.”

  “Someone watched it, too,” I murmur, still rifling through pages. Some of them words that came to me that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else, some short stories, and some poems.

  I’d be buried with this notebook.

  Too many secrets hide between these sheets, staining each one.

  “Any love notes about Terrence in there?” She tries to peek over, but I pull the makeshift diary away from her line of sight.

  “Don’t be gross.”

  “Any about Elijah?”

  The question is quick, and it catches me off-guard. It makes me hot and I’m nearly certain my face betrays me, the little twitch of my lip and momentary lifting of my brows telling more than my mouth ever would.

  I don’t say anything as I shove it under my leg.

  “Admit it, T.”

  “Admit what?”

  “Admit that you love Elijah,” she says, her tone exas
perated.

  As if she’s the one that’s had to endure the years of wondering and feeling and ruining.

  I don’t say anything. I just pick at the frayed edges of my shorts, not making eye contact.

  The crackle of her bag of Hot Cheetohs makes me pause. She eats slowly, chomping and smacking her lips, and I continue to pull at strings and balls of lint.

  “Okay, you win,” she announces, and I finally look up at her.

  “I didn’t realize we were playing anything.”

  “You don’t have to be a liar…”

  “As well as a winner?” I ask, interrupting her. “Calling me names would then make you a sore loser.”

  “Sometimes I think you’re a truly naïve person. And then there are moments like this one, when you can talk circles around me until I forget what we were even talking about.” She lifts a brow and leans forward. “You’re beautiful and smart. What’s your tale of woe?”

  I have feelings for my best friend. And it’s too late to do anything other than watch him love someone else.

  “I wasn’t born rich. What’s yours?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I was.”

  This segues into her complaining about her mom and I offer a nod or a few words in response, but I’m mainly tuning it out.

  Millicent Ambrose is on her own journey and it isn’t my place to judge.

  “Yo,” she says, tipping her chin toward the front of the room.

  I peek up, peeling my eyes away from the notebook still hidden under my thigh. At the front of the room is Terrence, greeting Mr. Durmott before heading toward us. The teacher shrugs, going back to his crossword puzzle.

  “Ladies,” he says, pulling up a chair and sitting in it backwards so he’s facing us. His arms rest on the top of it as he leans forward. “How are we?”

  “We,” Miley starts, gesturing between us, “are perfectly fine. You?”

  “Can’t complain.” The smile he wears doesn’t just sit on his lips. It spreads to his eyes, even making his ears perk just a little.

  And it’s casting its brightness on me like a spotlight.

  Other girls want to feel this special, while I can feel myself shrink away internally.

  “Teófila, mind if I borrow you for a sec?” he asks.

  There’s acid on my tongue. I’m convinced it’s going to burn a hole in my mouth if I keep it inside. It’s going to poison me if I swallow it.