by Maya William
Such a liar.
“Oh! Okay.” I shrug, hoping to make a quick escape before—
She grabs my arm and intertwines hers with it as if we’re best buddies.
Nuts! Too, late.
“I love the dress. You look so elegant and classy.” She gets ahold of the skirt and runs her hand over it. “It must have cost a fortune.”
“A friend of mine loaned it to me,” I explain, trying to keep her from the entrance while I think of a plausible reason to split.
“You know, there seems to be an issue with my ID. The people at the entrance say they can’t read the barcode and they think it might be a fake.” She quickly pulls a card from her bra and shows it to me. “Which is totally not the case. Can you get me in?”
No, I can’t.
“Uhm, Portia, there’s a small situation…” I calmly explain, hoping to get this through her head. “I’m not in charge of the party. I can’t get you in.”
She comes to a complete stop, nearly making me fall over.
“Oh, I know for a fact you can.” She squeezes my arm and glares at me. “Or, you know the organizing committee, so you can probably talk to some people, pull some strings.”
For you? No way.
“Portia, I’m sorry,” I answer, determined.
Her smile turns into a scowl. “You won’t or you can’t?”
Actually, a bit of both.
“Sorry.” I jerk my arm from her hold and grab my skirt.
“I don’t understand. Why are you being so mean to me?” She catches up with me and blocks my way. “All you need to do is talk with the people at the entrance. I know you know them, because according to Twitter, you and Captain Jack Sparrow killed it on the dance floor.” She pulls her cell phone out of her bra, turns it on, and shows me a video of Samuel and me.
“And your sister and brother were part of the entertainment as well, together with the rest of your friends.” She raises her eyebrows, all hostile now. “I believe you can get me in if you care enough. Aren’t we friends?”
I shake my head and turn, preparing to leave her behind. If I can reach a crowded area, I can lose her.
“After all the things I did for you!” She spits out the words, making me stop. “I welcomed you to the ballet table; I defended you from the guys who made fun of you! And this is how you repay me! By turning around and leaving me alone on a cold night to fend for myself?”
And the Oscar should go to…not Portia.
I turn to face her. “You want to talk about the things you did to me?” My stomach boils with anger at her guilt-tripping words. “You invited yourself to the original party! You insulted my friend, Darcy! You get mad if I don’t follow your orders! And you ruined Joy’s party because you invited the entire school!”
Her mouth slams shut, her nostrils flare, and her arms shake.
Yeah, this is my cue to leave, Big Guy.
“Sorry, Portia, but I can’t get you in. Have a lovely evening!” I turn and flee the scene.
A few steps later, someone shoves me in the back. My feet fail me, and my head strikes the side mirror of a car. On instinct, my hands fly forward, stopping my face from hitting the ground, unlike the rest of my body.
Ouch!
The stars decorating my vision aren’t from the night sky.
My hand flies to the side of my head that struck the mirror. When I pull it back, there’s no blood, but I know I’ll have a big bump there tomorrow.
As I turn around and sit on the curb, my eyes go straight to the big, black stain on the once-pristine white dress Miranda loaned me.
Big Guy, please let the stain come out.
“Not so fast on your feet now, are you?” Portia yells. “Clumsy as your friend—”
“Samantha?” Father Gomez steps into view, hurrying toward me.
My eyes well with tears, but I hold them back, not wanting to give Portia the satisfaction.
“Oh, honey!” Portia’s suddenly all fake innocence, just like she was when she was harassing the girl earlier. “Let me help you up!” She steps closer, extends her hand, and my body flinches on instinct. Her eyes narrow in warning. “Just look at you, you poor thing.”
Father Gomez reaches us. “Are you all right?”
I nod, not daring to anger Portia further.
“The poor girl hit her head.” Portia points at my forehead, her own furrowing in concern. “I can help her get inside and locate her family, if you like.”
Oh, my Lord, the lengths this girl goes to, to get her way.
Father Gomez’s eyes widen as he gets a good look at me. Taking advantage of his full attention, I give him a slight shake of my head, warning him. Knowing Portia, she’ll go inside and escape from me at the first chance to socialize. If I got lucky, she’d put me on a chair first.
His eyes narrow, and he frowns.
“I didn’t hit my head that hard, Portia.” With any luck, he’ll notice the emphasis on her name.
Father Gomez’s features come alive, his lips forming an O.
He steps closer to her. “Thank you, Miss…uh…”
“Miss Collins,” she replies with a curt nod and a smile.
“Miss Portia Collins.” His smile widens. “Your name sounds familiar…” He rubs his chin and repeats her name. “It’s been such a hectic night, but an excellent one, I might add, with the party being such a success,” he mentions in a distracted way. “We achieved all our goals: raising money for charity and providing the kids with a safe place to have a good time. It’ll probably be the talk of the school for the next month. Unfortunately, a few glitches came up, one of them being my car getting an unwanted redecoration.”
Oh, nuts! It was his car with the swearword. Oh, my Lord!
“But your name does ring a bell.” He focuses on Portia. “Got it!” He snaps his fingers. “A lot of the people mentioned it was your party. They kept rambling something about a big sign posted outside your house redirecting them here. What a coincidence, wouldn’t you agree?”
If my head didn’t hurt terribly, I wouldn’t be able to control my laughter at the way Father Gomez rubs in her face what a big event this turned out to be, and how he’s on to her.
Portia blanches.
“You’re welcome, Father.” She quickly recovers. “I thought you’d be happy at how many students I sent this way. You know, to help charity.”
Of course, she has a comeback.
“Unfortunately, most of those students didn’t want to pay the entrance fee, brought the wrong ID, or forgot it. We didn’t allow them in, you know, for safety reasons.” He shrugs. “Wouldn’t want students who don’t attend Calvary, or worse, troublemakers, ruining the fun. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Portia opens her mouth, but Father Gomez quickly puts her in place, as he did with Mrs. Tribecca.
“Now, I’d highly recommend you go home. A lot of the kids we turned down didn’t take the news very well. The last thing I’d wish upon you, being a recent victim of vandalism myself, is for them to do the same to your house or car.” His brows furrow.
“But, my friend needs me,” she squeaks out, pointing at me. “There are priorities.”
“Indeed, there are. But don’t worry, she’s in good hands. I’ll take care of your friend and inform her family about what happened.” He offers his hand, and once I take it, he gently helps me up. “Now, run along and explain to the kids we had to turn down about the whole mix-up, before you need to tell your parents about the damage done to your private property.” He points toward the main parking lot.
Keeping an eye on the retreating figure of my alleged friend, he says, “Samantha, how about you join me to assess the damage to my car and help me come up with a creative way to make this bad situation into a good one?”
The moment we get to the first lamppost, he asks me to explain what happened and shakes his head when he learns about me wandering around alone, although he understands I never intended to be on my own.
He then insists on chec
king the bump. It’s now doubled in size, but according to him, it’s a good sign that I’m lucid. I don’t want to lie, especially to the priest, so I confess I have a splitting headache and my feet ache.
“You need to rest, Little Dove,” he concludes. “Your headache won’t improve in such a crowded and loud room. Let me make some quick arrangements to get you somewhere where they can keep an eye on you, in case you need to get the bump checked.”
No, no, no.
“But I don’t want to ruin Joy’s party again.” I put my hands together in prayer. “Didn’t you see Joy beaming when the show ended? And after all the hard work they put into organizing it, they deserved to enjoy it. The last thing they should do right now is run out to help me when it’s just a small bump.”
He taps his finger on his lip, looking at the bump and raising his eyebrows, as if saying, It’s not so small.
Please don’t tell Abigail. After her warning before the show, she’ll ground me again.
“We sure know how to throw a party,” he agrees at last with a wicked smile. “Okay, Little Dove, this will be the plan. I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well and got a ride to Samuel’s house.”
What? How is this any better?
“Miranda and Maria won’t mind taking care of you for the night.”
“But they also had such a long day. I bet they’re tired,” I complain.
His face hardens. “It’s either this option or telling your siblings,” he warns me. “I can’t think of a better person to look after you who isn’t currently at this party, and who I know they trust.”
Oh, darn it. I hate that he’s so logical.
I sigh loudly. “Alright, Father Gomez.”
“Now, according to my security staff, a couple of cockatoos caught me a little bird for our Phoenix group.” He claps his hands, then rubs them together. “Let’s go and take a look at the fresh meat.”
What is Father Gomez even talking about? It might be the hit on the head, but he’s not making any sense, Big Guy. He might as well be speaking in Spanish if you ask me.
Shake It Up
By the time I arrive at Miranda’s house, my bump has grown significantly, along with my splitting headache, and my feet continue to hurt terribly. With Father Gomez arranging for me to come here, I completely forgot about my shoes and returning the car keys.
After Vicente and Rodrigo took their prisoner to Father Gomez’s office, he insisted they bring me here while he waited for a police officer to settle the matter.
When Miranda opens the door, her hand flies up to cover her mouth.
The bump might be a little bigger than I thought.
“He’s in so much trouble,” she exclaims while they bring me inside. “I told him he needed to be careful with the turns.”
What? Oh! No, no.
Vicente and Rodrigo’s laughter, together with Miranda’s furious rant, makes it hard for my words to reach her.
“¡Santo Dios! Mi pobrecita Nuera. ¿Mi hijo, le hizo esto a una chica? Me va a volver loca, tanta confianza que le das para que te haga algo así. Lo voy a hacer que pague caro por esto.”
And this is what I hear…
“La, la, la, la, la, la, la, Nuera, la, la, la my son, la, la, la, la, la crazy, la, la, la, you, la, la, la, la.”
It might come in handy to learn the spelling bee list. If I did, probably half of what she said would make sense.
“She tripped and fell,” Rodrigo explains in English.
I’m not about to explain that Portia purposely pushed me to the ground. What, Big Guy? Don’t judge me!
Miranda immediately jumps to the next conclusion while ushering us to the dining table. “I knew it! We got cocky and presented the dance earlier than we should.”
“The dance was a success,” I explain, trying to calm her down. “But I fell in the parking lot when I went to retrieve my shoes and hit my head on a car.” I extend the skirt to show her the dirty spot on it. “Sorry, Miranda. I promise to pay for the dry cleaning, and if it’s damaged beyond repair, I’ll pay for the dress after I get a job.”
Miranda’s face momentarily falls as she studies the dress, but then she looks at my face and her expression changes to a smile. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get the stain out. I’d rather you tell me about the dance while I examine that nasty bump of yours.” She pulls a chair out for me. “Vicente, bring me a bag of frozen peas from the freezer,” she commands. “I’ll go and get some arnica cream for it.”
She leaves the dining room.
“And some aspirin or ibuprofen. Father Gomez said her head hurt,” Rodrigo calls after her, which only makes my head throb harder.
“Okay,” Miranda replies.
Vicente quickly returns from the kitchen and hands me the frozen bag of peas. When I put it on my head, the coldness makes me shiver, but it will help with the swelling.
Maria enters the dining room. Her eyes narrow when she sees me, and she shakes her head
“We need to leave.” Rodrigo checks his watch. “We’re running late to our other commitment.”
“Don’t worry. We appreciated your help. The crowd loved it,” she says with a smile.
They give me their well-wishes and say a quick goodbye before letting themselves out of the house.
“Let me see,” Maria orders, stepping closer to me.
After removing the bag of peas to reveal the bump, she winces.
“Well, you won’t be doing any dancing tomorrow,” she says with a loud sigh.
My heart drops to the pit of my stomach.
But, but, but… I wanna dance.
“It’s just a bump, nothing major,” I insist. “I can dance.”
“Probably on Sunday, but we’ll see,” Maria says. “Plus, Miranda has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. I’d like to join her. That way, Samuel can stay here with David.”
“But the presentation…” I argue, disappointed.
“Samuel has other choreography he can work on while you’re not able to dance. Don’t worry about it,” she says.
Yeah, but I won’t be with him during those days.
Miranda steps into the dining room, holding an orange bottle with a white cap.
“David said these were the painkillers.” She squints, reading the label.
“Are you sure?” Maria raises an eyebrow. “The bottle looks exactly like your medicine.”
Miranda sighs. “David put all of my medicine into similar containers, and labeled them.” She opens the bottle. “He can’t stand seeing mismatched bottles and different tags. I simply allow it.”
She hands me two tablets and puts the container on the table while Maria gets me some water. I pop the pills into my mouth and swallow them the moment Maria hands me the glass, hoping the pounding in my head will stop.
“Did you have any dinner?” Miranda asks, full of concern.
“No.” The color goes straight to my face as I wait for her to get mad and lecture me like Samuel usually does when I skip meals.
“Would you like some quesadillas?” she asks with a smile.
Phew, seems I’m safe.
She heads for the kitchen, and good manners kick in.
“Let me help you.” As I stand, the entire room moves. “Whoa.” I grab the table and slowly sit.
“What’s wrong?” Maria’s head tilts to one side, her brows furrowing.
My eyes snap shut, and I rest my head in my hands, a strange sensation overpowering me.
Ironically, the headache magically disappears, along with the pain in my feet.
Wow! Those are some high-quality aspirins.
When my eyes open, I feel like I can take on the world… The moment it stops spinning, obviously.
“I don’t know.” My voice sounds distant and kind of funny.
The sound of footsteps distracts me. However, I don’t know if they’re coming or going until David magically appears in the dining room.
“Mom, did you finish with the painkillers? They need to go back in
the medicine cabinet.” David’s voice sounds distant even though he stands a few feet away.
He seems more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him, wearing his pajamas instead of his perfectly starched clothes. One can easily picture him grown up, his features more masculine, leaving behind the baby fat and giving Samuel a run for his money.
“You’re cute,” I blabber out before I can process what I’m saying. “You look great in those pajama bottoms.”
David momentarily stares at me, brows furrowed, and he gives me a curt nod.
I try to return the gesture, but fear that, if I take my hand out from under my chin, it might fall on the table.
Ah, who cares. I won’t feel a thing.
David’s eyes focus on the top of my head.
“I decided to redecorate the shape of my head.” I point with my free hand at where the lump might be. The angle of my finger doesn’t seem the right one, but honestly, who cares?
My war scar!
He raises an eyebrow.
“You’re going to become such a handsome man, just like your brother.” My tone of voice sounds silly, yet my stomach boils at the thought of any girl who would dare to break his heart.
Bring it! I can take her head-on!
“Samantha?” Maria steps in front of me, her eyes narrowing and her expression severe.
“Maria, do you know you look beautiful when you smile?” I blurt out. “You should smile more often. It lights up your face.” I plaster on a big smile, hoping she’ll copy me.
She covers her mouth, grabs the bottle of pills from the table, and reads the label.
“Why is Samantha behaving so stupid?” David steps closer to me. “Is this how a person with a high blood-alcohol level behaves? She’s underage. She should not be drinking.”
Alcohol? Pff, you should ask Sister Josie how reckless I got when my younger self stole the eggnog and got drunk.
I snigger at the memory.
One only needs to take some aspirin for all the pains and inhibitions to go out the window.
David sniffs the air. “She doesn’t smell like she’s intoxicated. However, a person who consumed any kind of narcotic drug could potentially behave like one with a high blood-alcohol level, depending on the narcotic he or she consumed.”