“This is exactly what I was afraid of, Ri!” Her fingernails dig into the steering wheel. “Those people aren’t good for you.”
My head whips back. “Those people?”
Brittany hits her hand on the steering wheel, and I flinch. “Damnit, Ri, that’s not what—”
“Hmm,” I snap, “so, it’s whatever if Amy and her friends do drugs at Brody’s, but when it happens at Cassie’s party, it’s because of those people?”
“This isn’t a race thing, so stop trying to make it one! Can you just trust me on this?”
I laugh coldly, loud, and I don’t stop for several moments. I get it now. Finally, I see what’s really happening. It shouldn’t have taken doing coke to see Brittany clearly, but now that I have, I can’t keep lying to myself. She thinks I was doing drugs with Carlos. She thinks he gave me the coke, not the white girls who hang out at Brody’s. Not Amy and Stephanie who asked me not to tell my friends—those people—about the coke because they wouldn’t approve.
Brittany gives me a confused look before parking outside my house. She turns the car off and breathes deeply a few times, as though she’s trying to calm herself.
When I finally meet her eye, Brittany recoils at the way I look at her.
“I didn’t do coke with Carlos,” I say through gritted teeth. “Amy and Stephanie gave it to me. They asked me not to tell anyone because they knew Cassie would never let them come to her house again.”
Brittany’s mouth falls open. She stammers, “Oh, I didn’t mean—”
“You never mean anything by the racist shit you say, do you, Brittany?” I interrupt. “Because let’s be real; you immediately assumed that the people who brought coke to the party and shared it with me were brown.”
Brittany’s eyes widen. “I’m not . . .” She huffs. “I’m the least racist—”
I bark out a laugh. “Very believable. Typical.”
Brittany opens her mouth to argue but I talk over her.
“You say passive-aggressive shit, and you separate yourself from Nina and all of them every time you get the chance. Is that how you would treat me if I didn’t look like this?” I wave a hand in front of myself. “Because I’m Latina too. My grandma is Mexican! And what, you aren’t okay with it all of a sudden? Because being around people who don’t look like you makes you uncomfortable?”
“Ri, stop. You don’t mean what you’re saying.” Brittany’s shaking her head like she knows what she’s talking about. But she doesn’t.
“It’s because you’re—”
“Don’t you fucking dare blame it on that,” I roar. “I know how I feel. I’ve known it for a while. How many times have I asked you to think about how you treat Nina and Edgar and Carlos? But it didn’t change anything. If you had it your way, I wouldn’t talk to anyone but you. Or your other friends who are—guess what—also white. And I let you get away with it until now!”
I grab the handle and throw the car door open. “People change. You should too.”
I slam the door and start walking, the heels of my boots clicking on the sidewalk as I go.
Brittany doesn’t follow.
I turn back and see her watching me, still turned in the front seat. As I reach my front door and open it, I look back.
She’s still there.
I lock the door behind me, before sneaking a look through the window blinds.
Brittany finally starts the car and drives away.
Chapter
Thirteen
By Monday morning, Brittany and I still haven’t talked. She can blame the drugs all she wants for me yelling at her. But I’m sober now, and I’d do it again. I’m ashamed it took me so long to confront Brittany for her bullshit. So instead of our normal ride, I walk to school wondering what it will be like when we have to face each other.
Brittany’s nowhere to be seen near our lockers. I wave Cassie and Nina over from across the hall. “Hey, girl!” Cassie says, leaning in to hug me. “Great party, right?”
Nina chuckles. “Way to toot your own horn, Cass.”
Edgar appears at his locker next to us. He eyes me carefully for a moment and then smiles at us all. “The new three musketeers?” he asks. “I like it.”
My chest warms, but outwardly I play it off. “You’re such a dork, Edgar.”
Cassie ruffles his curly hair. “In the best way,” she says.
My phone buzzes and Brittany’s name pops up. I tap on the text.
Ri, you’re my best friend, which is exactly why I have to tell you the truth. You’re not being yourself. I’m sorry, but I can’t just sit by and watch you throw your life away. I hope you come around and see that I’m right.
I shove my phone back in my bag. Throw my life away? It isn’t anything like that. That night, I was still me, only better. My senses were alert, my energy skyrocketed, the world felt open with possibilities. Everything was great. Until Brittany ruined it.
Self-righteous, ridiculous Brittany who of course wants to make this about me doing drugs and not her backwards, racist thinking. I don’t respond to her text.
At lunch, Brittany’s nowhere in sight. She must have gone off campus to eat, with Finn and his friends probably. I spot Nina, Cassie, and Edgar—Carlos hasn’t shown his face at school today—at a nearby table. I ask if the seat’s taken across from Cassie and Edgar, next to Nina. Cassie smiles, lips closed over a mouthful of food, and extends her arm for me to take it.
Nina glances behind me. “No Brittany today?”
I shake my head. “What about Miguel?” I look around, not seeing him. I don’t mention Carlos not being at school today because I prefer it that way.
“He’s got some make-up work to do in geometry,” Nina says. She gives me a knowing smile. “But don’t change the subject. Are you guys in a fight?”
Edgar’s eyebrows furrow as he looks at me. I squirm at all three of them staring, waiting for my reply.
“Something like that.”
Nina grabs my arm and pulls me from my seat. “Leave your backpack,” she says, and then picks up my sack lunch in her other hand. “Let’s go talk.”
I wave at Cassie and Edgar, resigned, as Nina pulls me to an empty spot on the grass.
She sits, sprawling her legs out in front of her, as I plop down on the grass.
“So.” Nina lifts an eyebrow. “What’s up with you and Brittany? I kind of sensed some tension between you both a while ago, but I figured you worked it out. You both seemed happy at Cassie’s party. I actually kind of got why you and Brittany were still friends—she seemed really different from when we were kids.”
I sigh and kick my feet out, so they’re sprawled out like Nina’s.
“Brittany’s mad at me because I’ve been trying new things, or at least that’s how she sees it.” I glare at my feet. “But I . . .” I don’t know what to say, or how to say it.
I watch Cassie chat with a few girls who came by the patio table. Edgar sits at the edge, talking to Miguel, who has now joined them.
Nina’s eyes follow mine, and she holds Miguel’s gaze for a second before she gives a little wave.
I suck in a breath. I need to do this. “But I can tell it’s more than that, which is why I’m mad at her. Brittany’s trying to control who I hang out with. She doesn’t like my new friends.”
“I can’t say that I disagree.”
It feels like I’ve been punched in the gut. After being so nice to me, after the party, after all the times in Spanish class, Nina doesn’t want to be friends with me?
“Wait, what? I thought . . .” I swallow. “I thought we were having fun together. I thought . . .” I look away and take a breath to try to compose myself. Even still, my voice comes out tragically small. “I thought you wanted to be friends with me again.”
Nina squints at me in confusion. “Girl, I meant that Stephanie and Amy are basic. Carlos mentioned you were hanging out with them for a minute at the party.”
I feel the heat of embarrassment wash over me—
I can’t believe I just unloaded all that on Nina—but force my tone to be light. “Oh, um, my bad.”
Nina looks at me for a long moment, and I think she’s going to say something about my pathetic outburst. Instead she says, “But I guess that’s not exactly what you and Brittany are fighting about?”
I hesitate. “No, not really. I think I’m seeing Brittany for who she really is for the first time and it’s not someone I can be friends with if she doesn’t change. I’ve been oblivious to so many things with her.”
Nina pulls her legs up and wraps her arms around them. She looks at me, and I press on, knowing that it’s the right thing to do, even if it makes me uncomfortable.
“A while ago Brittany told me that she thought you didn’t like her when we used to hang out together. At the time, it surprised me, but now I realize that I probably don’t remember things the same way as she does—and maybe you. Is she . . . is she part of the reason we stopped being friends?”
Nina’s eyes widen. “Well, yeah. Brittany used to say microaggressive crap about our neighborhood, my family. Whenever she did, she’d look at you and laugh. Like you were both in on some joke.” Nina shrugs. “It got old fast.”
My stomach clenches. Because I know Nina must be telling the truth; even though I don’t remember laughing, I’m sure I must have.
“That was shitty of me,” I say, forcing myself to look at Nina. “I . . . I’m really sorry. I think . . .” I close my eyes and try to concentrate on what I want to say. “I know it doesn’t make it okay, but I think I’ve been starting to understand how messed up the way I’ve acted has been, the way I saw things.” The way I saw myself, even.
I tuck my hair behind my ear—my straight black hair, just like Nina’s. Our features are similar too. My eyes are big and round like hers.
Nina nods. “It was a long time ago. How you let Brittany treat me didn’t help the situation, I’ll give you that, but there is a lot more to the reason why we stopped being friends. Your grandma told me I had to stay away from you.”
I choke on air and start coughing. “What?” I sputter, thinking about how weird Grandma was when I told her I was hanging out with Nina again.
“She said I was a bad influence, and that I should let you hang out with good girls like Brittany. I told her she was nuts, but your grandma, she doesn’t mess around.” Nina slides her hands in her pockets, shakes her head at Miguel, who’s trying to wave her—or us?—over.
“I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”
My thoughts jumble. I can’t even think that. . . . Not Nina too. Is there anyone Grandma won’t try to take away from me?
The wind has picked up and a few fallen leaves from the trees nearby flutter and blow by our feet. I’m shaking. But I’m not cold.
“Part of me felt blindsided, but you know what? I shouldn’t have been all that surprised,” Nina says. “I could feel her preferring Brittany, not wanting me around as much, being cold, and then she goes—and this is pretty much a direct quote—” Nina deepens her voice to be an impression of my grandma. “‘My granddaughter doesn’t need any trouble, Nina, and that seems to be where you’re set on heading, blowing off church to hang out with older boys. I think you should probably find some new friends who have interests like yours.’”
I gasp. “How could she do that to you?”
How could she do that to me too? There were so many nights I spent crying because Nina was ignoring me, wondering what I did wrong, missing her, feeling like it was my fault. Grandma held me and said it would be okay, that friends come and go. She brushed my hair and cooked my favorite foods. She encouraged me to hang out with Brittany more and to forget about Nina.
“I didn’t want to listen, but your abuela is a pretty persuasive lady when she wants to be.” Nina shakes her head. “She said she’d tell my mom about the older guys I’d been hanging out with—which, by the way, was only the one, Mario, remember? We dated for months after that and he never so much as kissed me on the cheek because we were babies. Anyway, Carmen said she’d make sure my mom kept a better eye on me if I didn’t stay away from you.”
Nina and I were so close back then, like sisters. For no reason other than I feel like I have to do something, I stand and Nina does too, so we’re face-to-face.
“I should have told you.” The wind blows Nina’s long black hair into her face. “But I don’t know, you and Brittany were starting to leave me out of stuff already, and I just thought it would happen eventually. Like you didn’t really belong with me and my friends, because you were this good little girl who always listened to your grandma. I didn’t want you to turn on me, too, like she did.”
Nina pauses, looking far off, like she’s somewhere else and not here with me. “I’d been hanging out with you at your house for years. Years. And I saw your grandma as like a second grandma to me.” Her voice rises. “She was always looking out for me, I thought, sending me home with leftovers and knitting me and my little brother sweaters. She was this nice church lady and my mom respected her.”
I blink quickly. “I . . . I know, I mean, I remember.”
There’s real hurt in Nina’s eyes. “So just for a second imagine how it felt when I could feel her pushing me out, even before she said that stuff.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest and glances at Miguel and the others before looking back at me. “Imagine how that would make me feel. You think I wanted to be around that, be around you? Feeling like crap knowing your grandma didn’t want me around and that soon you probably wouldn’t either? That you’d rather hang out with Brittany because she was rich? Or worse, because she was white?”
A tear slides down my face and I’m shaking my head, not at what she’s saying—because that’s how I acted and that’s how I made Nina feel—but because it was so wrong.
Brittany and her mom treated Nina differently than they treated me, and I paid no attention to it. And when Nina used to hint at me that she didn’t like hanging out at Brittany’s house, I didn’t even bother to figure out why she felt that way. But I think, really, maybe I was just happy Tara seemed to think I was special. I was too young to put together that Tara was treating me better because of my skin tone, but I was old enough to know that her actions were wrong, and I did nothing. When Nina needed me then and every time after, I wasn’t there for her.
“I need to say this because you deserve to hear it, Nina. You were my friend.” I swallow and wipe my face. “My best friend. And I made you feel like . . . like you were less than . . . like you didn’t matter. If I hadn’t ignored the stupid shit Brittany or her mom said, if I hadn’t stood by and watched when they treated me like I was special, like I was different from you . . . if I hadn’t let them push you away, maybe you wouldn’t have let my grandma finish the job. This . . . it’s my fault. I wasn’t the friend you deserved.”
Nina’s throat bobs and she nods. A solitary tear slides down my face painfully slow, and Nina laughs, pushing my shoulder softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t cry. You’re going to make me cry.” She looks around awkwardly for a moment, and then hugs me, quickly. I only have a second to feel her bony back as my arms wrap around her, then she pulls away.
My heart pounds as time stretches between us.
“It wasn’t just back then. I know I shouldn’t have kept going along with Brittany, whenever she said stupid stuff, over the years, even after we weren’t friends. I should have said something.”
Nina looks at me. “Yeah. You should have,” she says. There isn’t malice there, or pity. Just a statement, a matter of fact.
I do all I can to keep eye contact, even though it’s hard. “I’m sorry. Things are different now. I am. I won’t let it happen again.”
Nina exhales heavily and gives me a small smile. “Noted. Now, get it together, Ri.” She rolls her eyes and smiles, as if we’ve maxed out on emotional stuff for this conversation.
She starts walking toward the table where everyone else is and beckons me to follow. “Can we talk?” Edgar
asks as I squeeze into the seat beside him. “We could meet up after school?” Still out of sorts from everything Nina and I just talked about, I take a breath, but that doesn’t keep my stomach from clenching at Edgar’s serious demeanor. I’ve had a suspicion that he noticed I was acting differently at Cassie’s party, and it looks like he wants to talk to me about it.
Nina turns to us. “Actually, I have an idea.” She smiles at Edgar. “Didn’t you say you want to shoot photos of me painting for your website? And Ri, you would make a great model!”
“Are you still painting?” I ask Nina. “You were always so good at it when we were kids.” I have the paintings you made for me in my closet to prove it.
“She’s amazing,” Edgar says. Nina grins appreciatively at him, and I do too. Edgar smiles at my smile, and I feel lighter.
“Ortega Park, four o’clock. That work for you guys?” Nina asks.
Miguel faux scoffs. “What about me? I’m not cool enough to get an invite?”
Nina bumps shoulders with him. “Nope,” she says, looking at me. “I work better without an audience. Necessary personnel only.”
Miguel opens his mouth and widens his eyes dramatically, putting his hand to his chest as if he just got shot in the heart.
“Boy, you know she’s doing us a favor,” Cassie says. “Nina would have us posing for her or would boss us around to move props the whole time.” Cassie tilts her head in my direction and laughs. “But you have fun.”
The bell rings. Edgar, Cassie, and Miguel dump the trash from their lunches as I grab my backpack.
Edgar and I lag behind the others. He walks a little closer to me, unless I’m imagining it. “See you at four. I’ll bring my camera.”
Nina takes Miguel’s hand. “I’ll bring my painting stuff.”
I smile, look back and forth. “And I’ll bring . . . me.”
I wave goodbye to everyone but Edgar as they pass our lockers, my heart happy. I actually get to hang out with Nina this afternoon, on purpose. Because she wants to.
But then Brittany catches my eye from her locker. I turn away. Can’t stand to look at her. All I see is my grandma and how she makes choices for me. I won’t let Brittany do that too.
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