Teófila’s Guide to Saving the Sun

by Cynthia A. Rodriguez

“Because it’s wrong,” I insist. “I’m not supposed to like him. To want him.”

  “Why not? Because of Lea?”

  She says her name the way I try not to think of it. As if she’s inconsequential and the idea of her existence in his life is ridiculous.

  But we’re both wrong.

  She exists and she means something to him.

  In a perfect world, that would make her important to me as well.

  “She’s the biggest reason. I can’t pretend she doesn’t exist because that would make me no different from Vivian.”

  Miley’s hands go up before hitting her lap again. “That’s so different and not even fair to compare yourself to.”

  “The situations are different, of course. But the goal is the same. That would make me the same.”

  My eyes are down when Miley’s hand enters my line of sight and grabs one of mine.

  “What’s the other reason, babe?” she asks.

  I can’t stop the way my vision blurs with tears or the feeling that something bigger than I am has landed on my lungs. “I don’t want to lose him in my life. I already did that, and it was too painful to imagine doing again.”

  She squeezes my hand. I try not to wince at the pain.

  “The only way to keep him is to be honest.”

  Her words sound so illogical to me. As if it should be so easy.

  The more time that passes, the more secrets I keep.

  “That’s the quickest way to lose him.” My tears emphasize every syllable.

  “So, you’re going to keep him in your life, even though it’s hurting you? What about you?”

  I think about love and hurt and hands and suns and moons.

  “One day it won’t hurt as much,” I answer.

  Her reaction is cut short when I reach over, open the door, and get out of the limo.

  The summer air is cool enough to skate over my bare skin in a way that soothes. I stand on the sidewalk and wait for Miley to join me, my eyes flitting around. This is what this evening will be like if I don’t get myself together; me looking for the one person I’ve made every attempt to stay away from tonight.

  Today is his eighteenth birthday.

  Maybe he won’t be here at all.

  “I can’t believe your ass jumped out of the limo like that,” Miley mutters as she tugs at her lapels with a firm jerk. She tucks her arm into mine and pulls me forward. “I’m not going to just sit around and let your life be this shitty sad thing, you know.”

  We’re passing people on our way in and I send a prayer to a higher power that she somehow learns the art of whispering in public.

  “I encourage you to,” I snap back.

  She reaches for my hand and when I try to pull away, she squeezes harder. “We’re going to go in there and have a wonderful time. And if I catch you pouting…”

  “God, you’re so fucking overbearing sometimes!” I yell, finally getting out of her grip. “You think you’re in charge of my life or something.”

  “As many times as I’ve saved your ass, I feel like I should be!”

  We’re in a screaming match at the entrance of our prom and everyone’s looking at us.

  “Go on. Tell me how you really feel.”

  When she crosses her arms, I focus on movement just behind her.

  Elijah.

  Somehow he’s appeared and his timing couldn’t be worse.

  “Why can’t you just cut the shit and tell him how you really feel?” she demands.

  The walls are closing in.

  “Lea doesn’t matter, and you know it!” Her index finger waves through the air like some kind of truth dagger and at the sight of Elijah’s eyes widening, I bolt.

  I hear Miley swear and Elijah call my name.

  The words chase me as I run. One of my ankles buckles and I trip over my dress. I meet the asphalt hard, my hands and knees taking the brunt of the fall.

  I gather my skirt as quickly as I can and keep going.

  I limp to the side of the building and sit on the grass, my breathing labored and my body tired.

  The sight of the ruined satin makes me sob. My skinned knee throbs as I yank off my heels and toss them to the side.

  This is the biggest fight Miley and I have ever had. Elijah and I are in such a weird place.

  I feel more like an island than I ever have before.

  Time slinks on and the sky darkens, the stars and moon coming out to play as I hear my peers arrive and depart.

  I stare up at the crescent in the sky and wonder if the moon ever gets lonely. I read somewhere that the sun lights the moon.

  How strange to never really meet your only friend.

  They’re as far apart as I feel I am to mine, even though they’re probably still inside.

  I think this just as one of them walks past the building, his eyes roving around until they settle on me.

  You came to me, I think to myself. Those words meant one thing to someone else; now they mean something else entirely.

  Something sacred and sweet.

  His bowtie is untied, his face pinched with worry. “You okay?”

  “I think I will be,” I tell him as he sits beside me with a soft thud.

  The moon watches us as we sit next to each other, our hands so close to touching. This is us. So close, but never close enough.

  “I’ve never seen you yell at anyone before,” he murmurs, and I look at his shoes. They’re a deep navy that match the pattern on his bowtie.

  “You have,” I remind him. “The day we met.”

  I chuckle at the memory of pushing him and sober at how awful it made me feel, seeing him have to put on a band-aid.

  I tug up my skirt and check my knee, biting my lip when I notice the sticky blood that dried down the sides of my legs.

  “Woah,” he says before hopping up on his knees to examine my injury.

  “I’m okay,” I insist, but he’s pulling a handkerchief from his suit jacket pocket and dabbing at my knee.

  I am a mess.

  And the people in my life are constantly here, feeling like they have to save me.

  “What? Why do you look like that?” Elijah asks.

  I meet his eyes and shrug. “You’ve saved me so many times. And you never throw it in my face.”

  There’s no hesitation in his smile or his answer to a question that didn’t have to be asked.

  “I’m just lucky to be here.” He adjusts so he’s now sitting across from me, still holding the handkerchief on my knee.

  “I think I lassoed the sun when I met you,” I whisper.

  Here we are, under the glow of the moon, and I feel his warmth and his light. It reaches through me and fills me with a light I never knew I could possess.

  “Coming from anyone else, that would’ve sounded like the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Weirder than a little girl wanting to watch ants instead of playing with kids her age?” I ask, memories of us coming back to me in a way that forces me to smile.

  “What can I say? You set the precedent.”

  My discarded heels are a few feet away, and I wonder how my mom is going to take the fact that I never made it inside the prom.

  I grab my heels and put them on, all while he watches. “I should go,” I say, more to myself and the moon than to Elijah.

  “Don’t go. Please.” His fingers press into my leg. “I feel like we haven’t seen each other in a while.”

  And it does, even though it’s only been a few days.

  “Happy birthday,” I tell him.

  “It’ll be happier if we get out of here.”

  He helps me up and I smooth my skirt before looking at him.

  The way he’s looking at me isn’t screaming friends. More like, I’d take your clothes off with my teeth if you told me it was too hot out here.

  My awkward chuckle is the only sound between us, only to be evaporated by the smoldering look in his eyes.

  Smoldering is too cliché, but I can think of no
other word to explain the heat.

  “What?” I ask, hating the way my knees quake under my insecurity, my dainty heel pointed inward for a moment and then straight again.

  “Nothing.”

  I’m about to grab ahold of my skirt when he speaks again.

  “Just…I’m tired of being a fucking idiot.”

  “Well, we all can’t be perfect.”

  “Don’t,” he utters the word before grabbing my hand, his thumb sweeping over my skin. “Don’t be so casual about the things I’m telling you.”

  “You aren’t really saying anything, Elijah.”

  No eye contact; he’s staring at my lips and licking his own. “Give me a second, Teófila.”

  He uses my full name and my ankle buckles again, only this time, I’m not bracing my weight on my other foot.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  His arms shoot out to catch me and suddenly, I am in his embrace.

  His lips are so close, so damn close, I almost forget who we are and where we are.

  “Please don’t kiss me,” I whisper, my eyes shutting tightly.

  Maybe I’m the only one of the two of us to know but…a kiss will change everything.

  Don’t kiss me if she means anything to you because she doesn’t mean anything to me.

  I feel his hands drop. After a second, I open my eyes.

  “Am I reading you all wrong?” he asks.

  The boy in front of me, with his beautiful brown skin and full lips, wonders if I feel the electricity between us.

  I know him.

  I know what he looks like when he’s trying to solve a puzzle, when he’s disappointed, and when he’s excited.

  It scares me to see all three of those looks mixed on his handsome face.

  “No,” I whisper, and all that electricity volleys between the two of us as he leans in closer.

  “I know,” he says. “I know you better than anyone.”

  “For right now,” I tell him before running the tip of my tongue over my lower lip.

  His eyes follow the slow swipe. “Always.”

  He gives me that one word and before I can respond, his hands are bracing the back of my neck and yanking me forward.

  In this moment, we are two entities fused by our fate.

  And it all seems so poetic, but no more than how perfectly his hands fit on me, how soft his lips are against mine, and how deep his groan is as I part my lips to let him in.

  It makes sense that the first time I ever saw him, the sun was his crown.

  He is every light that I am missing, and my darkness shades him when it all becomes too much.

  We are counterparts, standing across from each other; handed sticks of dynamite the day we met, hoping we don’t blow this whole thing to fucking pieces.

  20

  NAKED

  F irst kisses are uncertainty.

  Second kisses are confirmation.

  We’re sitting in his car, and if I think hard enough, I can still feel his lips on mine. And if I think even harder, I’ll hate myself.

  We’re sitting in his car, and I don’t have to think hard at all to remember that Lea exists.

  It didn’t matter that I didn’t want to be like those girls.

  It didn’t matter that I’d made it this far without hurting anyone else just to keep him.

  All that matters now is how far I was willing to go to feel him…to experience what he tasted like or how I fit against him. And all I can see now is how far I am from the person I always thought I’d be.

  He drives, as if he’s driving me away from the remnants of the old Teófila, and I have no idea where we’re headed but I’m flying way too high to care.

  That’s what I tell myself as my brain starts working, sorting, and pointing fingers. I am not this person. I don’t do these things.

  I don’t kiss boys who belong to other girls.

  Even if they belonged to me first.

  “What about Lea?” I blurt out, unable to hold it in any longer. It aches more than my knee, more than my hands.

  The ache digs too deep, its claws gripping at my attempts to be the best version of myself I can offer.

  “Can I explain when we get…”

  “I’d like to know now, please.” The more the question festers, the colder the breeze coming through the window becomes.

  I’m goosebumps and straining ears.

  “Okay. But don’t judge me,” he begs, his eyes flitting between mine and the road.

  I can’t promise him anything. I don’t move, don’t say a word as I wait for him to explain.

  “Lea is trying to model,” he starts, and I want to roll my eyes.

  I already hate where this is going. This part of me that hates that she’s everything I’m not and maybe I’m the mean girl here. I think I always have been.

  “And you know I’ve been singing for a while, trying to get in front of the right people. Anyway, my dad thought it would be a good idea to date her. She’s more popular than I am.”

  I’d done my homework, checking her social media. I’d seen her professional photos and I saw how perfectly they complemented each other in their pictures. It was almost as painful as watching him leave the Sadie Hawkins dance with her.

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” I tell him.

  He sighs and runs his free hand over his mouth.

  “What is it?” The silence is starting to concern me.

  Worst possible outcome: They’re still together.

  Best possible outcome: They’re never going to see or speak to each other again.

  I’m not this person, I’m not this person.

  But I’m more this person than I ever thought I could be.

  “I don’t know how to tell you that I used her without sounding like a fucking asshole.” He pulls over and I’m surprised that we’re outside my house, my focus having been solely on him. “I don’t want you to see me that way, T. But it wasn’t real for me.”

  “We’re so fucked up,” I whisper.

  “So fucked up,” he agrees, leaning in like our faults are the recipe for something bigger than the both of us. The perfect blend of imperfections creating a spark between us that threatens to ignite us in this confined space.

  I don’t care.

  I am lust tripping over guilt to get to him.

  First kisses are uncertainty.

  Second kisses are confirmation.

  Third kisses are cementing.

  I press my palms into his cheeks, bringing him close so my lips meet his for the third time.

  It’s a slow unwind from the uphill climb that these last ten years have afforded us. A stretch. A sensuous rest.

  “Can we always do that?” I ask against his cheek after we pull apart.

  He laughs and presses a kiss against my palm. “Only if we go inside. I don’t want your parents seeing us making out in my car.”

  I sit back against the passenger seat with a flustered huff, my gaze settling on the stars through his dirty windshield.

  We left the scared and lonely Teófila outside the prom. In her place, I stand, ready to take what I’ve wanted for so long.

  “They aren’t home,” I say, taking my time to turn and look at him.

  They thought I’d be staying over Miley’s tonight, so they went out of town for a little getaway.

  He smiles, a small one that I only notice because I’m staring at him with such focus. The rest of his face remains the same, his eyes still on mine. I wonder what he’s looking for in my eyes; what question he’s asking, searching for an answer to.

  Before I can muster up the courage to ask him what he’s thinking, he tells me to wait in the car while he gets out. I watch as he heads to the passenger side with my lips pressed, trying to stop the smile threatening to eat my whole face.

  He opens the passenger door and reaches in to help me out. I’m gathering my skirt to get out when he bends down to pick me up. I squeal a little at the loss of my bearings and hold on
so we both don’t fall.

  “I’m not severely injured,” I remind him.

  “I’ve been wanting to touch you for too long to pass up any chances,” he tells me.

  Under the shudder of pleasure and nervousness, something pokes at the back of my mind. We’re heading into this empty house where anything could happen.

  And then I think of what’s already happened in his world that I haven’t come close to even orbiting.

  Which leads to me wondering about Lea.

  “Was Lea upset when it ended?” The question sounds so light to me that I wonder if deception is my superpower.

  He sets me down in front of the door so I can unlock it with the spare key under the rock next to the Puerto Rico welcome mat.

  “She’s the one who ended it.”

  She ended it. When? Why didn’t you end it?

  I don’t want to ask either of those questions, afraid of the answers. So, I ask a safer one. One I think I already know the answer to.

  “Were you upset?”

  Elijah places his hands on my shoulders just as I open the front door, pushing me inside. “Do I seem upset?”

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I ask, afraid to face his honesty, afraid to really voice what it is I’m asking.

  But he steps around me, so I have no choice but to look at him.

  “I don’t wanna scare you,” he says, bending a little to meet my eyes. “But I’ve been waiting for you for too damn long.”

  “For how long?” I ask. The question is a secret between us.

  “Since I knew what it was like to really like someone. Since I kissed you the first time. Since I told Vivian you were beautiful.” He lifts my arm and spins me around. “Since I got a month’s detention for following you in the girls’ bathroom just to make sure you were okay.”

  “That’s a long time,” I whisper on an exhale.

  “You’re telling me,” he murmurs, leaning in.

  Fear thrums along with my heartbeat.

  Fourth kisses are soul-snatchers.

  For the second time tonight, I don’t recognize myself. And as my arms go up and around his neck, I decide I like this version of myself. I may even prefer her.

  Fear doesn’t live here.

  “Can we go upstairs?” I ask him.

  Elijah jerks back, his eyes narrowing. “Why?”

  I can’t find the right words, so I reach up for the tie of my dress at the base of my neck.