by Michelle Ray
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Why is what?”
“Why don’t you drink? Is it one of your control things?”
She pursed her lips, and I felt a sense of victory. Sometimes getting under her skin gave me a rush. Followed by a little guilt.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’d like to make sure I don’t die on my way home. That’s so abnormal and controlling.”
I snorted as I threw the towel on the counter. “Everyone else manages to trust their friends.”
“I’m not big on trust.” After a pause she added, “Is it any wonder when you — ”
Instantly my temper flared. “That again? Honestly, B, I have had enough of—”
“What? My pointing out what you did to me? That you were a liar and a cheat?”
The gloves were off. “And you played no part in it, Mother Superior?”
“Are you kidding? It was my fault that you—” She broke off as a classmate walked through the kitchen, laughing at the spectacle of us arguing. Again. I felt like I’d been doused with ice water.
I picked up the towel and waved it at her. “I surrender, B. I surrender. No fighting tonight.”
She hesitated like she was weighing the benefits of continuing, and then turned at the sound of shouting in the TV room. “Love is a Battlefield,” had come on and everyone was screaming and jumping and singing along.
“This is an oldie. I can’t believe people are into it,” she said.
“80s music is great.”
“Not all of it.”
“No. Not all of it.” I could feel my competitive side rising to the challenge, but I wasn’t in the mood for creating a best and worst list or having my opinions put down. Again.
She sipped her soda and tapped her toes to the beat.
“You’re not dancing either?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Maybe later.” We stood in silence for a while and then B mused, “This actually makes me miss my parents’ hometown.”
“Oh yeah?” Talking about anything but our past was good and I wanted to keep that going.
“Yeah. You know we go to Colombia every summer, right?”
I nodded.
“My parents grew up in this little place with cinder block houses and dirt floors. Totally different than what we have here.” She sighed, seeming to forget how mad she had been a few seconds earlier.
I could feel my shoulders relax for the first time since she’d walked in.
“And you’d think I’d hate it, you know? Pumping water and riding in cars with missing bumpers and all. But it’s so fun sometimes. My abuela’s there — my grandmother—”
“I know what that means. I’ve taken Spanish with you for four years.”
She tucked her lips between her perfectly straight, sparkling teeth, almost making me forget how annoying her little translation of a basic word really was.
It had been a sore spot (and not just with me) that she was in grade-level Spanish even though she was a native speaker. She explained she really didn’t want to take French or Chinese, and that she had never learned to read and write Spanish correctly, so the class was the right place for her. I wasn’t so sure that was true. I knew she liked being the best and figured this was no exception. She claimed she had to work at it, but I didn’t believe that either. Whatever. The truth is she messed with the curve.
“Anyway, my grandma, my mom’s mom, she’s, like, so funny but the worst cook ever. Her sisters always come over and bring us food when we’re there ‘cuz they say we’ll starve otherwise.” She stopped a second and wrinkled her brow. “What was I supposed to be talking about?”
“Uh, dancing, I think,” I offered, as I reached for the soda again with some hesitation.
“Right. Anyway, my parents’ old friends like to party on the weekends. And everyone dances. They grow up dancing so they’re not scared of it like people here, who are all stiff and stuff. The guys put on nice jeans and clean boots and the women dress. I mean dress. Tight skirts, sparkles, hair up. The whole thing.” She lost herself in the memory for a second, her fingers holding her long black hair twisted above her neck, a neck I’d once loved kissing. She let the hair fall again, and I felt a twinge of disappointment. “You should see Antonio move. He’s way better than me.”
I straightened up. Antonio dancing? “Oh, this I’ve got to see.”
Beatriz reached out for my sleeve to keep me from leaving the room. “He’ll never do it in front of kids from school.”
“The dude’s drunk as a skunk. I bet he’d do anything right about now.”
Sula Blom Who knew this party would uncover so many hidden talents?
Beatriz
Ben ran out and weaved through the crowd, leaving me to wonder what I’d gotten my brother into. I would have felt bad except that it got Ben to leave the kitchen. Things had started feeling a little too cozy. What was that about?
Soon I saw Ben’s head above the crowd, waving me over. I moved forward suspiciously and the crowd parted at Ben’s command. Antonio was standing, wild eyed and happy in front of me. I couldn’t believe Ben got him to agree to this.
“Let’s show these guys how to really dance,” Antonio said to me.
A chill ran through my body. How did I end up a part of this? Oh right, my stupid story about my grandmother’s house. Damn it! That’s why I never let my guard down.
“Too bad there’s none of our kind of music,” I said. There, a quick end to the madness.
“Radio,” said Antonio, gesturing sloppily toward the stereo.
“It’s all Mexican music.”
“Close enough,” he answered.
“Don’t let Mamá hear you say that.”
Antonio pushed some buttons and started searching through stations, but it was all ranchero music and ballads. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and shoved it in the dock.
“You have Cumbia on there?” I marveled.
“Don’t you?” he asked.
I didn’t. I only had stuff I didn’t mind other people knowing I listened to.
“Come on,” he said, reaching out for me.
I looked around. Our friends had made a circle wide enough for us to dance in and the music had started up. I wanted to resist, but the music grabbed me and I really did want to dance. I missed it. And my brother never wanted to be around me (so much for the connectedness of twins), even more so since our senior year had started. So I raised my arms and let him grab me around the waist.
“No pictures, though. Everyone put away your cell phones,” Antonio yelled.
The crowd murmured in agreement as he bounced his knees to find the rhythm. Our feet had to move fast to keep up with the beat. I stepped back, two, three, shaking my hips the way I was taught. You have to be loose, uninhibited — so contrary to what I was expected to be every day. Antonio spun me and caught my waist and one hand as I came around, his feet moving twice as fast as mine. I kept to the basic rhythm and he caught the extra beats. No wonder he was so good on the soccer field. The crowd cheered again as we spun and twisted. I laughed with abandon when Hope jumped in and Antonio turned to Hope and they spun away. I clapped and swung my hips as I watched, then he reached out and I danced with him again. Until he turned greenish-white and ran off.
“Ooooo,” some people shouted.
Antonio made it outside but not far and ended up puking in a flowerbed.
“Lovely,” I muttered, then turned to Ben. “Well, it was fun while it lasted.”
Ben tipped his chin up and looked down his nose at me. “Very nice.”
His look — flirtatious and approving — freaked me out. He wasn’t supposed to be either anymore. What was he doing?
I looked around for Hope, but she was busy talking to Peter, who looked like he was complimenting her. Hope covered her face and slapped at his arm softly. What was with everyone? And why wasn’t she with Clay? If there was any flirting, it was supposed to have been between them.
The whole evening was disorientin
gly out of whack. To make matters worse, someone put on hip-hop, which is not my thing, and people started jostling me. I headed back to the kitchen for another soda, and could feel Ben trailing me.
Doug Lowe How could Ben have let go of a girl who moves like that?
Ben
B’s dancing was hot. Good God, that hip swaying, head thrown back thing? Damn. I couldn’t think of a time I’d ever seen her so relaxed. If I’d known all it took was music like that, I would have downloaded some — What’d she call it? Cumbia?— back when we were dating.
The party returned to normal with hip-hop blaring and no one touching while they danced, so I followed her. “See why I don’t ask you to dance? That’s so intimidating.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, reaching for a clean cup. “I can jump around and slam into people as well as anyone.”
“You want to?”
She hesitated, her hand on the top of a soda bottle, and I thought she was about to say yes. “Um, that’s okay.” She looked a little sorry after she said it, adding, “I just want to get some air.”
“Yeah, whatever.” I shoved my hands into my pockets and walked away, a little stung.
When I got to the dance floor, I turned back toward the kitchen — and no, I couldn’t keep myself from looking back, but shut up about it — I saw her looking a little sad. Sad. Huh. Who knows what that was about?
Then I felt hands on my lower back and spun to find a junior girl standing next to her friend. The two smiled conspiratorially and both reached out and tried to get me to dance with them. They swayed and giggled, and the one who’d touched me first put her hands on my hips to get our moves in sync. Not that I didn’t spend a great deal of time fantasizing about just such a moment, but I couldn’t get into it. Of all things, I felt the need to look back toward the kitchen. B was still standing there and she saw what was going on — which for some reason I’d hoped she wouldn’t. She shook her head and snarled. Before I could react, one of the girls grabbed my cheeks so I would look at her. She put on some pouty face, which I think she thought looked sexy. It didn’t. I stepped back from her clutches, but when I looked back for B, she was gone.
Clay Chen Sometimes the line between trust and stupidity blurs.
Beatriz
I was so stupid. Why did I care what Ben did or who he danced with? I shouldn’t have. But I did. God, what was wrong with me?
I stormed out to the jasmine-scented air, needing a little girl time. I looked for Sula and Maggie, but didn’t see either of them, so I drifted toward a small crowd sitting in a tight circle of lounge furniture. Though he had his back to me, I could see that John, The King of Mean, was holding court. When I stepped closer, I saw Bryce with his arm around Maggie. The dozen guys and girls were so engrossed in John’s story that no one noticed me approaching. At the sound of my own name, I checked my step.
“Did you see them dancing? Who knew they could move like that?” Maggie said breathily.
“Messina only let in those Mexicans to spice up the place,” John said, his voice pitched low to add authority.
I waited for Maggie — or anyone, for that matter — to say something to defend me, but no one did. My limbs started to tingle and I stood caught between fight and flight. Fight won. I stepped forward, close enough to yank Maggie’s perfect red ponytail. “We’re Colombian, not Mexican,” I said, my words sharp.
The group looked up, most wide-eyed with embarrassment — though I’m not sure if they were embarrassed at being caught or embarrassed by what John said. The only person not the least bit thrown was John.
“Whatever,” he said. “Mexican enough.”
The statement was so absurd I didn’t even know what to make of it. I just knew it made the tingling in my limbs worse and gave me a crazy desire to slap him. I was sick of being called Mexican by everyone in this city who didn’t realize that all brown-skinned people didn’t sneak across the border from Mexico.
“John, I didn’t get into Messina because I’m Hispanic,” I said, adding just a hint of a fake accent to provoke him. “I tested in just like all of you.”
“Sure,” he dismissed.
I looked at Maggie hard. The worst thing about this was not only that Maggie was letting John say these things, but that Maggie was letting John’s best friend keep his arm around her shoulder while he was doing it.
Ben appeared out of nowhere and stood next to me. “Dude, B got in to Messina because she’s smarter than any of us. Certainly smarter than you. How much did your parents donate to get you in with your C average?”
I could have high-fived or kissed Ben just then, but I chose to glare at John instead.
John stood and narrowed his eyes. “Oh yeah, about her perfect grades. Did you see how Miss Priss moved out there with Antonio? Makes me think that there might be other ways to get As at Messina.”
At that, Ben punched John square in the jaw.
I grabbed Ben by the arm as he lunged for John again. “Stop it. Ben, I don’t care what he says.”
“I do.” Ben pulled out of my grasp and charged after John who tripped Ben.
“Stop!” I screamed.
Peter ran across the deck and got between Ben and John. Ben scrambled to his feet, his eyes ablaze, but Peter held him back. Peter looked over his shoulder and yelled at John, “Get out of my house. Now!”
John rubbed at his face and backed away. He pulled out his cell phone. Bryce rose and stretched out his hand toward Maggie, and to my horror, she scampered over and flippin’ took it!
As the three walk away, everyone heard John shouting into his phone, “Police? Yes, I want to report a party with underage drinking. Of course I can give you the address.” His voice faded as they went out the side gate of the yard.
“Crap,” muttered Peter. Then he yelled, “Everyone get out of here! If you’ve been drinking, find someone who hasn’t and let them take you home.” Then he turned to Ben. “Help me get everyone out quick. You remember last time.”
We all did. The police had surprised us and I had argued with one of the officers about how foolish it was to send everyone home when some of the kids who had been drinking were planning on staying over, and how the police would be liable if anything happened as they drove down the winding canyon to their houses. My argument was sound. However, the officer threatened to arrest Peter and me for belligerence.
Lucky for Peter, enough people had been smart this time that the crowd could hustle to their cars and get their friends home safely. Hope told me she wanted to stay and I was so distracted, still thinking about John’s comments and Ben decking him that I didn’t argue. I went looking for Antonio, but didn’t see him anywhere. I ran onto the street to see if anyone had taken him along. I ran up and down the block but to no avail.
I bumped into Ben, who was struggling to haul Clay out to his car. It suddenly occurred to me that my sweet cousin was probably staying back because she thought Clay was still inside.
“I’m gonna kill him,” Clay was saying.
“Who?” Ben asked.
“Peter. Bastard stole my girl.”
“He was talking to Hope for you,” Ben reminded him.
“No, he took her. Friends are loyal except when it comes to girls. I should have talked to her myself. I’m so stupid,” he slurred, slapping his forehead with a dull thud. A car beeped past us, music blaring. “I shouldn’t have trusted anyone. Not even my best friend. Beauty makes guys do selfish things. Well, fine. Screw Hope, then. Peter can have her. She’s not that great.”
His feet twisted under him and he began to stumble. Ben and I caught him.
I said, “You’re crazy, Clay. Hope likes you. You should talk to her.”
“Is she with you?” Clay asked, smoothing strands of black hair awkwardly across his forehead. I was glad for his sake that she wasn’t.
“No, she’s . . .” I hesitated and met Ben’s gaze. “Inside.”
“See?” Clay said throwing his arms wide so quickly he knocked hims
elf off balance.
Sirens could be heard coming up the hill. I looked back at the house, wondering where my brother was.
“Help me with him,” Ben urged, so I worked to get Clay settled in Ben’s car. “Get in, B,” he demanded.
“I have my own car.”
“Down the block,” he reminded me. “Police are coming now. Get in.”
“But I haven’t been drinking.”
“But if you’re here, they’ll hassle you. And if they remember you from last time — God, B, would you just get in?”
I scrambled over Clay and into the back seat of Ben’s sports car, hoping I didn’t just show off my rear end to Ben or anyone else passing by. If he did see anything, he didn’t let on.
Ben
B’s butt had gotten no less fantastic. Not that I got to officially see it even when we were dating, but there were unsanctioned glimpses.
I turned the ignition and sped up the hill.
“Up? Ben, what are you doing?” she said sharply.
“Trust me.”
“I don’t. What are you doing?”
“Quiet, B. For once in your life, shut up,” I said as we took a turn quickly.
She screamed. “Careful!”
My knuckles tightened on the wheel, and even though I slowed down, we were all still thrown to the side at the next curve.
“Are you crazy?” she shrieked. “Some of us would like to make it home alive!”
I hit the brakes. I had just gotten in a fight to defend her honor and all that chivalrous crap and this was how she chose to repay me? The accidental glimpse of underwear was not nearly enough. I turned around to face her. “Get out, Beatriz. I don’t know why I thought you’d let me help you.”
“Help me? I didn’t need any help. My brother did and we left him.”
“Peter will take care of it,” I said.
“That guy,” Clay said, hanging his head out the window and pointing at a random house. “I hate Peter.”
“No, you don’t,” B said as she climbed back over Clay.