Much Ado About Something

by Michelle Ray

  “I . . . did, but . . . w-we decided we weren’t ready.”

  “You bet you’re not ready. Qué mierda es esto?” He kicked at the coffee table and magazines cascaded onto the floor.

  My mother said to me, “You lied. You didn’t tell us you were with Ben.”

  “It wasn’t a lie. It was an omission.” Ballsy for sure.

  My mother stepped closer, finger thrust at my face. “Don’t be smart with me, chiquita.”

  My phone binged and I grabbed it off the arm of the sofa. When I looked, I saw a text from Ben. He was on his way. As quick as I could, I typed “Run” and hit “send” just as my mom swiped the phone out of my hands.

  “He was coming here?” my mother shrieked. “That’s what you do? Wait until we’re gone?”

  My father cursed again.

  I sat in miserable silence. Saying nothing seemed best.

  “Unacceptable. I want to speak to this boy. You tell him we want him here right now,” my mother demanded.

  I popped off the couch. So much for strategic silence. “No!” I shouted. “No way!” My voice sounded too loud in my own head.

  My father crossed his arms across his chest, his jaw tight. “I agree. We need to speak to Ben.”

  A beep sounded out on the street and our heads turned. It couldn’t be Ben. He must have gotten my text. All three of us rushed for the door, but I was the quickest. I opened it and raced onto the porch in time to see Ben standing by his car looking at his phone. If there was a God, I would have been swallowed up by the earth right then.

  Ben

  I looked up from my phone and called out, “What do you mean, ‘Run’?” Then I saw B’s parents over her shoulder. Why were they still here? And why did they look so pissed? “Oh crap,” I mumbled, stuffing the phone into my pocket.

  “Ben,” said B’s father, and I could feel the anger simmering in that one syllable, “would you please join us inside?”

  Those words were like a kick in the stomach. Clearly something had happened. Maybe they found out we were dating. But so what? Maybe they found out I was coming over while they were out. Bad but not tragic. Nothing I could think of made me worry. Unless they’d convinced her to dump me. That would suck.

  B rushed toward me and when we met on the grass, I leaned close and whispered, “You okay?”

  She shook her head. Her voice urgent, she said, “You don’t have to listen to him. You can leave.”

  Her father cleared his throat loudly. Man, if looks could kill. I wanted to run. I totally did. I didn’t know what kind of mess this was, but I just couldn’t leave B to face it alone.

  Hell of a time to develop a conscience.

  Trying to sound confident, I said, “No, let’s go inside.” Her hand was freezing and I used my other hand to try to warm it.

  I wished she’d tell me what was going on, but all she whispered was, “Thanks.”

  We followed her parents and I noticed how nicely dressed they were then remembered they were supposed to be at some work party. B’s mom’s hair flowed in long, black waves down her back, and her father’s was slicked back in a perfect shining dome. His hands were jangling change in his suit pockets, and her mother’s spike heels clacked threateningly.

  In the dining room, B and I sat across from them at the glass and silver table, the only non-white object in the room. Except for something purple in her mother’s hands, which she whacked down and slid across the table. It stopped in front of me. A box of condoms. What the hell? First of all, the box was not mine, and second of all — what was the second of all? I couldn’t think with her parents glaring at me.

  “My daughter,” Mr. Rojas began, his accent thickening, I guess from stress, “bought these. Apparently to use with you.”

  Wouldn’t have seen that coming either. I cleared my super dry throat. “Well, sir,” I began slowly, “I’d like to point out that the box is closed.”

  “I’m not stupid,” her father said, leaning so far forward the table cut into his chest, crushing his tie. “But she bought them. You don’t buy those things unless you plan to use them.”

  This was true. But there was no way I was saying a word.

  Beatriz

  Okay, at this point something in me snapped. I could have continued being meek and embarrassed for the rest of the night, and if Ben hadn’t been dragged into this, maybe I would have.

  Disregarding all the many sane ways I could have answered, I blurted out, “You’d rather we didn’t use protection?”

  Ben dropped my hand and stared at me in disbelief. I could have stopped talking. Maybe I should have. But by now, I was furious. “I already told you, we decided not to have sex. But if we hadn’t, would you rather I got pregnant? Or caught a disease?”

  My father fell back in his chair like I’d hit him.

  My mother stood and then sat. “Díos mío,” she muttered, grabbing at the tiny gold cross she always wore around her neck.

  “Why act so scandalized?” I pressed, my fury intensifying. “Ben has been everything I want — and you would want for me — in a boyfriend. Respectful. Patient. Sweet. He’s actually the one who suggested we wait.”

  Ben put his head in his hands and muttered, “Jesus.”

  “Beatriz!” gasped my father.

  “What?” No way I could stop now. “We’re not children. We’re thinking and talking and trying to be smart!”

  “You are children,” my mother spat. “Sneaking around. Not married.”

  At that word, Ben’s head jerked up. He looked a greenish-white and I really wanted to grab him by the hand and run away.

  “Please trust me that we’re trying to handle this maturely,” I pleaded.

  “Trust you?” my mother asked, hissing like a cobra. “Trust you? After you lie and omit. And sin?”

  The final word hung in the air before poking a hole in me. I slumped, defeated. I was growing up and felt so much that was new, and if I was going to feel new things and do new things, I wanted it to be with someone who cared about me. And Ben did. But my mom was right. It was a sin. The weight of my guilt pressed on me and I put my forehead on my arms, trying not to cry.

  Ben

  We’d moved on from marriage talk, which was good, but the second B’s mom said “sin”, B fell apart. Not good.

  I rested a hand on B’s back, and when I caught her parents staring, I started to take it back. Then I stopped. Let them see that I was nice to their daughter, that I wanted good things for her. B’s honesty made me feel stronger, so I said, “Mr. and Mrs. Rojas, I really like Beatriz.” This occasion called for using her full name. “I want to keep dating her, but I don’t want to sneak around anymore. What do we need to do to fix this?” I’m not sure where that mature phrase came from, but it sounded good.

  Her parents looked at each other, clearly surprised, then suddenly excused themselves.

  When they had left the room, I said quietly, “You okay?”

  B shook her head. I rubbed her neck a little, and every once in a while she’d say quietly, “I’m so sorry.” I think she was talking to me, but maybe not. I kissed her head and we waited for the verdict. If they said we couldn’t see each other, I’d find a way, but would B be willing?

  When her parents finally came back, B’s head flew up. She looked at me and said quietly again, “Sorry.”

  “Here are the rules,” said Mr. Rojas. “Ben, we will be told when you are coming, and if we are out, you may stay only if Antonio will be at the house with you. If you two go out and I call your cell phone, Beatriz, you answer or you will never go out again.” He paused and looked at his wife. “Have I forgotten anything?”

  “You don’t go to his house,” she said, wagging a painted fingernail at her daughter, “unless his parents are there.”

  I wondered how they planned to monitor all this, but I wasn’t going to bring it up. The fifty-ton gorilla in the room, of course, was that I could do whatever I wanted with B pretty much wherever I wanted — some secluded n
ook at school, a bathroom, a car. Honestly, it was a little naïve of them to think otherwise, but I got the point. I would respect their wishes, and more importantly, B’s. If she wanted to blow them off, fine. If not, we would play it by Rojas House Rules. I just wanted this conversation to be over. And to tell B that she ought to hide contraband a little better in the future, including the rockin’ lingerie I was pretty sure her mother hadn’t found yet.

  Beatriz

  “So . . .” Ben said, when my parents were finally done humiliating us. “I guess I’ll be going.”

  “What about the movie?” I asked him, unable to hide the sadness in my voice. I turned to my parents. “We were actually going to watch an Almodovar movie for Spanish class.”

  My parents looked skeptical, but Ben explained, “I have the DVD in my car. Got it from the school media center. If we write a paper about it, we get extra credit. B’s big on extra credit.” He winked at me and I relaxed a little. It seemed he wasn’t going to break up with me over this.

  My mom squinted at him, then nodded. “We’ll stay and watch with you. I love Almodovar.”

  My dad turned and, smoothing his tie, said, “Amor, we have the firm banquet.”

  “We’ve gone every year for the past decade. We can skip it this once. And we wouldn’t want Ben and Beatriz not to get their extra credit, would we Miguel?” My mother reached for her strand of pearls, unclipped it, and let it pour onto the gleaming table. A chilling gesture.

  My dad loosened his tie and grumbled, “Let me go call Ravi. I’ll tell him someone’s sick. I would argue but after twenty-two years . . .” He continued to mutter as he moved out of earshot.

  Ben stood. “Maybe I’ll just leave the DVD—”

  “Don’t be silly, Benjamin,” my mother interrupted. “This’ll be fun.” Her scowl told us both that “fun” was not the most fitting adjective for what she planned.

  My stomach was churning and I felt so exhausted by everything that when I followed Ben to his car, I said, “Ben, just leave. I can take it.”

  “Nah, let’s watch the stupid thing. What else am I gonna do tonight anyway? Tag along with Clay and Hope on their date?” Ben was being unnecessarily good about this.

  He flipped over the case and read the description aloud. “A transvestite prostitute, a pregnant nun, and a lesbian actress help a woman cope with her grief over losing her son.” His shoulders tensed. “Awesome. Just what I would have chosen for movie night with your folks.”

  I tried to lighten the mood. “At least it has Penelope Cruz.” This didn’t seem to make him any happier, so I added, “I’ll make it up to you.”

  Mischief spread across his face. “Uh, not without those condoms.”

  I would have laughed if I didn’t want to throw up so much.

  • • •

  I sat uncomfortably wedged between my parents while Ben was off to the side on an overstuffed white leather chair. My mom kept staring at Ben and tisking, which was totally killing me, until my dad finally paused the movie and said, “Enough, Paola.” Then he switched into Spanish.

  When he was done, I rolled my eyes and said, “Papá, Ben speaks Spanish.”

  “Oh yeah?” he said dismissively to Ben. “What’d I say?”

  Looking at his lap, Ben answered, “He seems like a nice kid so calm yourself or let’s leave and let them enjoy the movie on their own. They won’t touch each other tonight. I think we scared them at least that much.”

  “Well done.” My father nodded with genuine approval, and I felt proud of Ben, even though the content was totally humiliating. My dad continued, “Seems your parents didn’t waste their money on that fancy private education after all.” Then he held his hand out to my mother and they both stood up. “Antonio will be here until nine and then, Ben, you go home.”

  My mother started to argue, but he held up his hand. “Enough.” Then he turned to me. “This isn’t over.”

  Yay. I slid down farther on the cushion and waved feebly.

  Ben

  When they were gone, I sat next to B and put my arm around her. She’d looked miserable since I’d arrived except for the few seconds when she was talking back. The new and improved B was getting us into trouble, but she was a lot more exciting.

  I decided to try joking. “That was fun. We should make this a ritual. A weekly screening of Almodovar and snuggle up, all four of us.”

  B took in her first breath in an hour, which told me I’d chosen right. She leaned into me and said, “Sure. Next week we could watch, ‘Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown.’”

  “Or ‘Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down.’”

  B covered her face.

  I picked up the box and read other Almodovar titles. “Got it! ‘The Flower of My Secret.’ Or — and I think we have a winner — ‘Live Flesh.’”

  She elbowed me and read, too. “Ah, ‘Dark Habits,’ or ‘What Have I Done to Deserve This.’”

  Together we read the title ‘All About My Mother’ and laughed. I reached for the remote and turned the movie back on.

  * * *

  “The boys at Messina Prep have been allowed to behave in every kind of depraved way for years,” Amy Young says to Mrs. Rojas, pulling a shirt off the rack and holding it up for inspection. Amy had called Beatriz’s mom and suggested a little retail therapy given all the stress of the past few weeks, and Beatriz had been forced to tag along. “Luckily my daughter has stayed away from them.”

  Beatriz snickers without meaning to.

  “What?” Amy snaps.

  “Do you have something to say, Beatriz?” Mrs. Rojas asks, looking none too pleased.

  “I’m not sure I care what Ben Richardson’s girlfriend has to say,” Amy sniffs.

  “Ex-girlfriend,” Beatriz says through gritted her teeth. “But I do find it kind of funny. No one ever thinks their kids do anything wrong. Mrs. Young, go home and ask your daughter about last month’s party at Aman’s. There’s a video of her — Well, why don’t you do a little research.” Beatriz walks out of the store even though she can hear her mother calling her back.

  9

  Jana Vaill I can’t wait to be old enough to go to — rather than work at — the dances. Looks like soooo much fun.

  Beatriz

  The afternoon of the dance, I packed up my dress and makeup and drove back to school. Every student council member had a job to do, and I prayed that, for once, everyone would actually follow through. Most of the time, I ended up running around, basically doing everything while everyone else hung out with their friends. What I really wanted this time was to have a chance to dance with Ben. Of course, I wasn’t sure he’d agree to it, what with his professed hatred of dancing, but I’d see if I could work a little magic there.

  As I ran through the list of what needed to happen in my head for the thousandth time, I saw Ben was already in the parking lot. An incredible turn of events. Of course, I knew that if we weren’t dating, he would have come late and spent the entire dance hanging out with his friends, getting more and more amused by my frantic pleas for his help. That’s what had happened when we were the eleventh grade reps. But now here he was, ready and waiting. The theme of our relationship lately, it would seem.

  It had been two weeks since my parents’ little sit-down with us, but I’ll be darned if it hadn’t put the brakes on things for me. Ben was being patient, but I wasn’t sure how long it would last.

  Ben

  I’d been sitting in my car for a while. From the look on B’s face, I knew she didn’t expect me to have followed through. It annoyed me that she still doubted my ability to do what I was supposed to do. Then again, for a long time, I did put effort into being a pain in her ass.

  My stomach did a flip — yes, a real flip, but shut up — when she walked toward me, her fancy dress on a hanger. I got out of the car and she kissed me without first looking around to see who might notice. Progress. I rested my hands on her waist and took a minute to study her face. Lines of worry above the eyebrows. Chec
k. Rapid blinking. Check. Lip biting. Check. “B,” I said, “calm down. It’ll be fine. It’s a dance, not a Presidential Inauguration.”

  “I know, I know, but what if—”

  “Everything will run smoothly.”

  She rubbed her eyes, which had light purple circles under them. “I’m trying not to be insane, but it’s even harder since I’m so tired,” she said.

  “But you had fun last night, right?”

  The tension left her face. “Totally. I’ve never been to a movie premiere. It was so exciting. But all those people trying to get time with your dad. God. It must make him crazy.”

  I shrugged. “He’s used to it.”

  Not only used to it. He actually thrived on it and hated the quiet of our house. At least that was part of what he hated. Not that I planned on telling B that. Not yet, anyway.

  “I guess,” she said. “But the whole thing was . . . incredible. Glamorous. So . . . I don’t know. I’ll never forget it.” She stood on her toes to kiss me again, running her hand down my chest. A simple gesture, but flippin’ perfect.

  I grabbed my own change of clothes and put my arm around her shoulder, then led my lovely bundle of stress to what was supposed to be a fun evening.

  Josh Werner Ah, to be seventeen again.

  Beatriz

  I spotted Mr. Werner, the only chaperone who had dressed up, standing across the gym with Mr. Kerwin, the media arts teacher.

  Mr. Werner was explaining, “You know, I’ve been at this for a long time now. The hair changes, the dresses get longer and shorter, but the ritual stays the same. The girls travel in packs, the boys look like they’d rather be anywhere else, though they wouldn’t think of staying home. Eventually, hormone-driven boys start to push and shove and body slam each other. Then we chaperones step in and security tosses the offenders out.” Mr. Werner straightened his knit tie. “I tell ya, I look forward to watching it all play out as usual. Something comforting in it.”