Her hair tickles my arm as she shakes her head. “No. Tell me.”
“Es better than your school now?” she asks, when I finish.
“Yes,” I tell her. “Almost all the students get into good colleges.”
Mami stops dancing. She lifts her face to look at me. “That’s what you want? You no want to play ball?”
“I’ll still play.” I tell her about the Haeres team. About how they’re in a different division but they’re just as good as AHH.
The chorus of the song comes back on. Mami sings it, and this time her voice trembles with extra emotion. “Estando con ella y pensando en ti.” She hugs me and sways back and forth again. I wait for the song to finish before I ask the question that will determine everything.
“Do you think Papi would let me apply?”
Mami chuckles. “He will ask which professional player graduated from there. If you can find any, he will let you.”
I start to tell her about Division I schools like Vanderbilt and LSU. She holds up her hand. She moves it to the merengue beat of “La Cosquillita” and sits back down in her chair. She crosses her legs and takes a sip of her Brugal.
“What tu papi thinks isn’t important,” she says finally. “You do what you want.”
FRIDAY, MAY 26
ISA
Dad is a bundle of blankets and mussed hair on the great room couch when I get up—a larger version of what’s on the inflatable mattress beside him. Even though Merrit and I are supposed to be sharing a room, Dad insisted Merrit sleep out here. Dad’s been trying to hide that he’s been sleeping out here too, instead of with Mom. But this morning Mom’s standing by the couch looking down at Dad, pale fingers cradling a steaming mug of tea.
What’s she doing up? Mornings are easier when it’s just me. There are no strained smiles or sharpening of words into knives. No sudden laughter that makes me jump. Or sobs that follow me onto the street.
Mom sees me but turns and gazes out the window onto the Metro-North tracks. Does that mean I can go? I grab my breakfast, planning to eat on the train. I’d woken in a warm bubble, dreaming about meeting Alex in his apartment. The bubble’s gone; the warmth too. Sometimes I can get it back if I think hard enough. If I think only about him.
I bend for my bag but Mom walks toward me, frowning. My spark of hope winks out. Is she going to ask why I sometimes come home late? Is she going to ask who I’m with? Last week out of nowhere she brought up Danny, only to her he’s just someone I should avoid. It made me wonder if one of her friends had seen me and Alex in the park.
“I want you to look at this,” she whispers. Her cup clinks onto the pass-through that connects the kitchen and the only other room that’s not a bedroom or a bath. She pushes a large packet toward me. The words University Medical Center are in the upper left corner. My throat closes. My old fears come roaring back. Last week, we met with a therapist together as a family. The doctor had us all fill out questionnaires. Are my results in that envelope? Is Mom going to tell me I’m like her and Merrit, that I’ve inherited what she got from her dad? This is worse. This is so much worse than demands about who I should and should not spend time with.
Mom taps the countertop. Half her unpainted nails hit the envelope, half strike the gold-and-black granite that’s the reason we’re in this apartment. Dad wanted the top floor that had a view and light and more space. Mom said we needed to save money, to cover the cost of medical insurance now that we’ve lost Dad’s employer’s subsidy. Mom liked this kitchen. Even though it’s only the size of the bathroom, the fixtures and appliances are new. She planned to cook because ordering in costs more. Last night Mom was too tired and Dad was out meeting an old contact for drinks. So I made picadillo—Dad’s favorite—following abuela’s recipe. I was happy to cook. No one can be strong all the time. I told myself I can take care of Dad—of all of them—until he finds a job. Once Dad is good, he’ll help me make everyone better. Then maybe, just maybe, I can bring Alex to meet them. But what if I was wrong? What if I’m sick too?
“I got this for you at the hospital last night.” Mom’s voice is still froggy from sleep. “It’s a volunteer application for summer. You need something more than dance on your college application.”
I’m too frozen with fear to be relieved. I don’t want to work at a hospital. I don’t want to think about college. I just want to go to school. I want to make it through this single day.
“Thanks,” I whisper back. I pretend to read the return address again. “I’ll fill it out later.” I’m good at saying yes, when what I mean is no.
Mom brings the mug to her mouth. It shakes as she takes a sip. “It would be good to have a doctor in the family. Someone to help take care of Merrit.” The mug thunks as it hits the stone. She presses her trembling hand onto the top of mine.
I take a bite of my apple. I swallow again and again to get it to go down. Still it gets stuck. My eyes tear, my body crying out for water. Only water isn’t what I really need. I need to get out. I need air. I need Alex.
The blankets on the couch covering Dad shift. Merrit doesn’t move. Once he’s out, he can sleep through anything.
“I’ve got to go to class.”
Mom doesn’t nod. She only takes away her hand.
SATURDAY, MAY 27
ISA
Alex has a view of the river. He never told me that. He’s at treetop level, and the leaves outside his windows are just unfurling. His apartment is warm and inviting, like he is. It smells of cinnamon and vanilla. His mom was baking in preparation for my visit. Pictures of his family, of him as a child, decorate walls and tables. I miss that in our apartment. And there are books everywhere, whole shelves of them in the living room but also pulled out—strewn across chairs, the couch, even next to the TV.
I thought I’d be nervous, but his home, the way it feels like him, puts me at ease. Alex is nervous, though. He takes me to the kitchen, offers me milk or juice or tonic with either chocolate syrup or lemon or lime. When I don’t answer right away, he opens another cabinet, takes out a bottle of rum. I’m not sure if he’s kidding.
“Um, no thanks. But you can go ahead.”
He puts the bottle away, not meeting my eyes. But then he turns and looks at me. “Even if I did drink, I wouldn’t. Not now. I wouldn’t do anything that might make me forget even a single moment of today.”
I swallow hard.
“Do you have water?” Of course he does. Maybe I am a little nervous. A grade-school Alex grins at me from under a magnet on the fridge. His hair was super cute when it was that long. “¡Qué papichulo!” I tell him.
We drain our water in a few gulps. Alex puts out his hand for my empty. He rests our glasses in the sink. He crosses the room and kisses me. I’m suddenly aware of how alone we are. Before—on the train and in the park—we did what we wanted, but only to a point; the boundaries were invisible but always there. Now there’s no one watching, no one to hold us back. The rules have changed, and I don’t know what to do with myself.
I breathe in the soap and pine scent of him. He’s wearing a T-shirt and I’m in a tank. The feel of our bare arms shocks me. I want—no—I need more of his skin on mine. I don’t let go of him—I don’t dare lift my mouth from his—but I pull him out of the kitchen, into the hall. I don’t know where we’re going so we stand in the darkness, the walls close, as if to catch us if we fall. His hands are in my hair. Mine are on his back, at his waist, on his abdomen that shivers under my touch. I gasp and Alex shudders and then we’re moving into a room, his bedroom. I yank his shirt up toward his head. He eases free to shrug out of it. He gently closes the door. He studies the mass of gray cotton in his hand, like he’s deciding whether to fold it. I’m staring at him, at the raw beauty of his shoulders and arms, the muscles that course over him, the subtle pound of his pulse at his neck. It brings on an ache inside me. His eyes lift and study mine. They’re rainforest bright, a jungle. His chest works like he ran up five flights of stairs. But he waits. He sear
ches my face, the question plain in his.
When it’s just us, just our bodies, I’ve got nothing to hide, nothing to pretend. My lips, my hands, the whole of me speaks in ways my words can’t. And I want this. I want him. I’ve wanted him since that very first kiss on the train. I’ve never wanted anything more.
I smile and back toward the bed. I slip a small square of foil out of my pocket and tuck it into my hand. I reach up and pull off my top.
Alex’s chest halts midrise. His throat bobs.
We’re both nervous, then. But we’re nervous together. We’re bared to each other and honest, completely honest, for the first time. That’s all that matters.
SUNDAY, MAY 28
ALEX
I want to remember you,
standing by my window,
the gray of a clouded city sky brightening as it hit your shoulder,
your back,
the blanket of your hair.
I couldn’t breathe,
Watching you.
When you touched me,
I was blinded.
After, you sat beside mi mamá,
You laughed at her stories of Baní,
You wolfed down her asopado.
You glanced at me and sideways smiled,
reminding me who was responsible for your appetite.
Our knees kissed under the dining room table.
FRIDAY, JUNE 9
ISA
Chrissy races me down the steps. We’re both shrieking. I dash out of the stairwell first. Chrissy releases a great sigh of disgust.
“Catch!” She throws her bag at me then bolts through the front doors. Outside, on the terrace, she opens her arms and does a slow twirl. Her face lifts to the sun. She fans herself, accepting her victory.
I use the revolving door like we’re supposed to. “First of all, you said, and I quote, ‘Race you to the bottom of the stairs.’” I pull the blue-and-red strap of her bag higher on my shoulder. “Second, even if the finish line were outside, tossing your belongings at me to slow me down is totally cheating.”
Chrissy takes her bag. She unzips one of the five outer pockets and takes out two lollipops. She hands me the one with the red wrapper. I accept the peace offering. She knows cherry is my favorite. We stroll over to the fountain and sit on the wide granite bench encircling it. Neither of us minds getting wet.
“Sore loser.” She snickers.
I lean over and flick water at her. She squeals, clamps down on her lollipop, and splashes me back. Our shirts are soaked by the time we call a truce. Chrissy lies down on the smooth black stone, stretches out her legs, and rests her head in my lap. I pull damp curls from her face, careful not to knock the stick protruding from her mouth.
“I’m so effed for tonight. Who ever heard of ninety-five degrees in the beginning of June? Mom asked our super, but they can’t get our window units in until next week. I’m going to sweat to death.”
Chrissy complains about this every year. In the past, she’d sleep over when it got too hot. Our co-op had central air. Our rental does too, but there’s no extra room. Chrissy hasn’t been to my new place. I haven’t even told her about Merrit getting kicked out of school.
“You can always stay at Kevin’s. He has AC, right?”
She slaps my leg. “I can’t do that. His parents will be there. It’s one thing to do a sleepover when they’re out of town. It’s another to do it right under their noses. Gross!”
“You told me you ran up to Kevin’s place during lunch the other day.”
“That’s different. His mom and dad were at work. They didn’t even know.” Her T-shirt rides up, showing her flat, pale stomach. She pulls the lollipop out of her mouth again. Artificial orange flavor wafts up to me. “God, I wish my mom worked. It would be epic if her schedule were more predictable. My place is so much closer than Kevin’s. We could probably get away two or three times a day, which, honestly, is what my body needs. I keep having to remind myself to keep it in check so I don’t blow my newbie cover.”
I think about telling her. About me and Alex. She’ll want every detail, from the color of his walls to the feel of his sheets and what happened between them. But I’m not ready to let go of the secret of what Alex and I shared.
Chrissy stretches and groans. “But thank the gods, Kevin and I are making progress. I don’t know how I lasted so long without a pe—” She snaps the orange sucker back in her mouth. She lifts her sunglasses and peers up at me all bashful.
Now even saying the p-word makes her blush?
“Were you going to say p—?”
She shrieks even before I can get it out. I wait for her to quiet, then yell, “¡Pepino!”
A few guys walking on the other side of the fountain turn to look at us. They’re probably wondering why I shouted the word cucumber across the plaza.
Chrissy sits up and play-slaps my arms. I play-slap her back. We grin at each other around our lollipop sticks.
She slumps onto her back again. I pull down her shirt. “You’re going to get burned.”
She yawns, unconcerned. “How are things going with your hottie by the way? Haven’t seen him in a while.”
“Me neither,” I admit. It’s been twelve days. TWELVE. What I feel for him dwarfs everything else. I can’t forget that. And I can’t let anything threaten it—especially not the stress I’ve been feeling lately. I want to be happy when I’m with him, to make the most of our time together. I don’t want to show him my cracks. Which is why I missed his game last week. Merrit had a bad night—a bad four nights, really. He hadn’t slept at all, and he wound up in the hospital. The doctors kept him there for a full day to adjust his meds. He’s doing better now. But I didn’t want Alex to see my worry. I didn’t want to risk it affecting his playing.
Chrissy knows about Mom’s and Merrit’s histories. I could tell her what’s going on. How this college thing pushed Merrit into another rough patch and that he’s having a tough time climbing out of it. How that and my dad’s job and the move are sending Mom into her own tailspin. But I don’t want to talk about any of that with her either. It’s hard enough convincing myself everything is going to be fine. I’d rather talk to Chrissy about Kevin, about dance and kisses and cucumbers. I’d rather just talk about Alex.
“He’s been messaging me a lot,” I tell Chrissy. “He’s amazing. His team made it to the championships—did I tell you?”
Chrissy shakes her head, grinning up at me. “Nope. You haven’t gushed one bit.” She winks—I’ve been talking about him every chance I get. Just not about being alone with him in his apartment.
“Practice for his travel team started up,” I go on. “He’s training long hours and heading to Brooklyn to work with his dad. And I know he feels bad that he’s not spending more time with his brother. It’s been hectic.” I motion around us and shrug. “We’ve been so busy too.”
Chrissy nods. We have two performances coming up, and we lost time when our Technique instructor went out with another injury. Her replacement is this killer Russian woman who holds a lot of extra rehearsals.
“So that’s why I haven’t seen him,” I tell her. “I miss him.”
“I know you do.” Chrissy touches my arm. She knows exactly how I feel about Alex, how when I’m with him, everything else fades away. She gets how happy he makes me—it’s the same with her and Kevin. “Wait, isn’t your big date tonight?” Chrissy props herself on her elbows. “Leo Xiao at Barclays?”
I suck at the last bit of the lollipop. It’s down to a tiny cherry-flavored nubbin. “You didn’t notice my big bag?” I point to the pillowed duffel I dropped outside the spray of the fountain. I’ve been counting down the hours. I felt like I’d downed five espressos when Alex told me about the tickets. He makes fun of my pop-music obsession, but he went through a lot of trouble to get us these seats. The concert isn’t what I’m most excited about, though. I’m really only excited to see him. The best part is, I’m spending the night in Brooklyn. I’ll sleep in Alex’
s room and he’ll sleep with Robi. Or at least, that’s what he’s told his parents. I told mine I was going to Chrissy’s. I didn’t want to get into it with them, with everything else that’s going on. Mom said fine but asked if I could come home for a few hours this afternoon to watch Merrit. She doesn’t like to leave him alone. I usually don’t mind—it’s not like I have to take him on the subway. Only, I don’t want to take time away from being with Alex. I told Mom we had rehearsals until late. Lying doesn’t bother me as much as it used to.
I don’t bother telling Chrissy she’s my alibi for tonight, because my parents will never check. All I do is grin and ask if I can borrow her cornflower-blue strap dress. I’ve got about forty-five minutes before I’m meeting Alex, so I have time to change.
Chrissy slips into her mother’s southern accent. “Why hell yes, you can!” She crunches the rest of her lollipop, sits up and swings her legs off the shiny black bench.
A sharp whistle cuts through the air. Chrissy whips around. She shoots to her feet and waves. Kevin waves back, the glass door swinging shut behind him. Chrissy grand jetés across the plaza to Kevin. He drops his bags before she reaches him. He catches her then fake-falls on his butt, keeping her above him. Hoots of laughter peal across the plaza.
The sun is setting behind the opera house as I wait for my friend. Paintings more than three stories long hang behind the arched glass column windows. Their vibrant colors will be more visible once night has fallen. Even with the competing light of the sunset, the butterflies stand out. One painting has the abstract outline of a girl in a kimono.
My phone vibrates, and Mom’s name appears on the screen.
“Hey, guess what I’m looking at?” I say into the phone, before she can say hello. “Puccini’s the composer you like, right? He does Madame Butterfly? Maybe we can get half-price tickets the day of—”
“Isabelle.” It’s not Mom. It’s Dad.
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