The Victoria in My Head

by Janelle Milanes

  “Want to trade places?” he asks me.

  Gladly, I want to say.

  When my parents make comments like that, I feel like a colossal bitch. They would have done anything for the chance I have. What’s wrong with me that I don’t want this? Why don’t I just suck it up and do it for them?

  Our last stop is the Harvard gift shop, where my parents buy themselves overpriced crimson sweaters with giant Hs on them.

  “I want to go to Harvard too,” Matty says with a certainty I’ll never have. My parents glance at each other, and I see the happiness on their faces wane. Matty is smart, but he’s not exactly school smart. Which sucks, because he works harder than I do at practically everything. They buy him a T-shirt anyway.

  “What about you, Ria?” Dad asks me.

  “I’m good,” I reply.

  “You have to get something. We’re at Harvard!”

  “It’s so overpriced.”

  “Don’t worry about the price.”

  This means something, coming from Jorge Cruz. He’s one of the stingiest people alive. Reluctantly, I pick out the cheapest T-shirt I can find. It’s gray.

  “Family picture,” Mom says before we leave.

  I bite down on my lip to keep from screaming. Mom hands my phone to a student in glasses. The girl probably has way more important things to do than take a picture of us, but she agrees anyway.

  “Smile,” Harvard girl says, holding the phone out in front of her. She looks studious and nice, like the daughter my parents deserve.

  I try to smile, and my eyes sting with tears. All the guilt I’ve been holding in all day—no, scratch that, for fifteen years, threatens to spill out of me.

  Do not cry in front of the Harvard girl. Do not cry in front of your parents or they will flip a shit. Go to your happy place.

  My mind goes to Jessica’s living room, and I think about Strand’s arms around my waist, and then I feel guilty for entirely different reasons.

  Click, goes my camera phone.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “PAY ATTENTION”

  —COLLEEN GREEN

  The rest of the break comes and goes in a blur of video games, TV marathons, and Noche Buena at my aunt Rita’s house in Union City. Fifty of my relatives crammed into Aunt Rita’s small slab of backyard. I cringed at the helpless pig injected with mojo juice and splayed inside a roasting box known as La Caja China. The entire process is what led me to turn vegetarian three years back. Then I had to deal with Abi chasing me around with a forkful of pork to try to get me to fatten up. Abi is relentlessly stubborn about my vegetarianism. Luckily, Aunt Rita bought a block of tofu especially for me, and I had that with my rice and beans instead. I told Abi it was chicken, which met her approval.

  In the midst of the chaos, I wondered what Strand would think of this crazy Cuban version of Christmas Eve. I shuddered to think about Levi’s opinion. He didn’t call me that night or the day after. I could excuse it because he’s Jewish, after all.

  But then New Year’s came and went. Abi served us each twelve grapes, one for each month of the year. We gathered around the TV to watch the ball drop in Times Square, and I was so sure Levi would call to wish me a happy New Year. Instead, I got a mass text and a smiley face emoji.

  It’s the first day of school since break ended, and I’m nervous about seeing my own boyfriend. It makes zero sense. He should be the one person who makes me feel safe and comfortable, but I haven’t talked to him since our failed make-out session before he left for Vermont.

  Has he changed his mind about me? Maybe he realized during his time away that he’s too busy for a girlfriend, and I’ll have to face the new year as a single woman. The thought turns my blood cold. Levi is the only boy who’s ever shown a real interest in me. He may be the only one who ever will.

  I spot him as soon as Annie and I enter the cafeteria, and in that second I see him, I forget every question I had about us. All thoughts of Strand’s sexiness and that fleeting bedroom moment vanish. I don’t know what I expected Levi to morph into during his time away, but he’s the same Levi, sitting there with Krina and Strand, munching on his tuna sandwich. He’s so cute with his glasses and short hair that I want to cry. I really did miss him.

  When Annie and I get to the table, he stands up and pulls me into him. I’m still his girlfriend. I feel it in the way he grips my waist so tightly. Being touched like this after two weeks apart makes it feel like the first time. I inhale the scent of his hair gel and it reminds me of holding hands and Carnegie Hall. We kiss in front of the others, without shame. Krina and Annie aww, while Strand groans.

  “Jesus, enough,” he says.

  I break away from Levi and take a seat at the table. “Strand, I’ve seen far worse from you.”

  As the king of inappropriate PDA, he can’t argue with that. He mutters something under his breath and takes a bite of his wrap.

  “So, I got you some stuff,” Levi says, dragging a gift bag out from under his chair.

  “You did?” How could I have doubted this man?

  “It’s all maple syrup related,” he says, handing the bag to me. “That’s pretty much Vermont’s main thing.”

  I pull out the items. There’s a bottle of maple syrup, maple sugar candy, and . . . a wrapped maple-cured sausage. Phallic imagery aside, I’m not sure what to say. It seems too late in the game to tell Levi I’m a vegetarian, especially since I didn’t tell him when I went to his house for dinner.

  Then Strand opens his big mouth and does it for me. “Dude, Victoria can’t eat that.”

  “What?” Levi looks at me. “Why not?”

  Annie and Krina exchange a glance, and I can practically hear Annie’s lecture in my mind.

  Levi doesn’t even know you’re a vegetarian? Everyone knows you’re a vegetarian! How do you think you’re ready to get intimate with this guy when he doesn’t know the basics about you?

  Even in my head, she’s shrill. I place the items back into the gift bag, avoiding eye contact with everyone at the table. “I, um . . . I don’t really eat meat.”

  “You what?” And even though I’m not looking at him, I can already picture his baffled expression as he adjusts his glasses.

  “I’m kind of a vegetarian.” I look up now, and add, “But thanks for the gifts . . .”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Levi asks in an accusatory tone.

  “Duh, man. She’s mentioned it before,” Strand says. “And she eats pizza for lunch every day. You should have known.” I look at him, and he can’t even conceal his enjoyment of this moment. So much for our newfound friendship.

  “But you ate veal at my apartment,” Levi says.

  Annie’s hands fly up to her mouth. “Vi, you didn’t!” Her words are soaked in disapproval.

  “What is this, a firing squad?” I ask. “You guys are all meat eaters!”

  “But you’re not,” Annie says.

  “Is that why you got sick?” Levi asks. “Were you actually sick?”

  “Yes,” I admit. “I didn’t want to insult your mom.”

  Levi shakes his head. “I feel terrible.”

  I put my hand over his. “It’s my fault. I should have said something.”

  “You have,” Strand says, and I cut him off with a glare.

  Krina casts a strange look over all of us, like she’s suddenly found herself sitting with a group of strangers. “So . . . I’ll take that sausage if you don’t want it, Vi.”

  “Oh, Krina, you have no interest in sausage,” Strand says. Krina punches him on the shoulder.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “CUT YOUR HAIR”

  —PAVEMENT

  At band practice Levi mentions that Kaitlyn Fielding invited the band to play at her party next Saturday.

  Kaitlyn is a senior at Evanston, and probably the most untouchably beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in person. She has auburn hair the color of fall leaves, and it spills in perfect layers around her face. Kaitlyn’s parties are a big dea
l. There’s a hot tub and catered food, and someone is always cheating on someone else. I’ve never been invited to a Kaitlyn Fielding party. No sophomore has.

  At the sound of Kaitlyn’s name, though, Krina’s head springs up from behind her drum set. Her face turns a violent shade of crimson, perfectly matching Harvard’s school color.

  “What the fuck, Levi,” she says.

  “She offered to let us play a short set,” he replies as we pack up to leave.

  “Why are you even talking to her?”

  “She came to me. Besides, we should play whatever we can get.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask. “What’s wrong with Kaitlyn?”

  Strand sets his guitar against the wall and wipes his forehead with the back of his shirtsleeve. “We won’t do it if you don’t want to, Krina.”

  “It’s been a year,” Levi says. “Kaitlyn’s extending an olive branch.”

  Krina glares at him. “Fuck her branch.”

  “What happened last year?” I interrupt.

  “Kaitlyn revealed herself to be the spawn of Satan,” Krina replies, then she promptly turns back to Levi. “I love this band, Levi, but I’m not lowering myself to play at Kaitlyn’s request.”

  I shoot Strand a confused look and he motions me over.

  “Kaitlyn sang for Debaser before you,” he whispers, keeping his eyes on Krina.

  “What?” I whisper back. “As in Kaitlyn Fielding?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perfect hair, legs that don’t quit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Kaitlyn Fielding, of the Fielding Dining Hall?”

  “Yes.”

  Girls like Kaitlyn Fielding don’t sing lead for rock bands. They just don’t.

  “Why the bad blood?” I ask.

  “CliffsNotes version? They dated, Kaitlyn didn’t want to come out, dumped Krina, quit the band, fucked the wrestling coach.”

  “What?!” I shriek. Krina and Levi glance over at me before resuming their conversation, which seems to have grown progressively more heated, based on the way Krina is waving her drumsticks around.

  I should have figured it out long before now.

  Krina’s a lesbian. Out of all the rumors spread about her, this is the one thing I hadn’t heard or even considered.

  How could I have missed this? What’s wrong with me? All the signs were right there, glaring and bright. The rainbow bracelets adorning her wrist, Strand’s joke earlier that week about her having no interest in sausage, the fact that she’s never, in all the time that I’ve known her, mentioned an interest in boys.

  “The answer is no!” Krina yells at Levi, and I duck as a drumstick flies over my head and crashes against the wall behind me.

  “Aaand, that’s our cue,” Strand says, strapping his guitar onto his shoulder. He places a hand on my back and guides me out of the band room as the second drumstick goes flying.

  We don’t say anything as we walk down the stairs and out of the building. I feel a million miles away from Krina all of a sudden. We’ve been friends for months, and I didn’t know this giant part of her life.

  “No idea, huh?” Strand says in his weird psychic way, and I’m ready to snap at him until I look at his face and see that he’s not laughing at me. He’s simply stating a fact.

  I sigh. “I’m an idiot.”

  “Hey now. No one talks about my partner like that.” Strand sticks his hands in his pockets and stares at something straight ahead. “You’re not an idiot, Victoria. You’re just . . . sheltered.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “That’s not an insult. I like that about you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because. Things are new to you. Things surprise you. That’s a good quality to have. You’re sheltered, but you’re still open to trying things.”

  “You’re basically describing a child. And I’m not open to trying things. I’m a wuss.”

  Strand rolls his eyes. “Will you stop doing that, please?”

  “What?”

  “Insulting yourself. Take a damn compliment.”

  “I’m being honest!”

  “You tried out for a band. You performed in front of a bunch of strangers. A wuss wouldn’t do that.”

  My instinct is to disagree with him, but when he says it out loud, it does sound brave. Impressively brave. Maybe I don’t give myself enough credit.

  “Fine,” I say begrudgingly. “So I’m not a total wuss.”

  “That’s better.”

  We walk a couple blocks and when I see the subway entrance, I suddenly wish it were farther away.

  “Is Krina going to be all right?” I ask.

  “I have no doubt.”

  “I don’t know why Levi would agree to it.”

  “He was thinking of the band.”

  “But what about Krina?”

  “You know Levi,” Strand says. “He can lose sight of things.”

  Boy, do I know this.

  “Can I ask you something?” Strand says, not looking at me. My heart palpitates like it’s been jump-started.

  “Okay . . . ,” I say in my best casual voice.

  “When you’re kissing Levi, and you try to run your hand through his hair . . . does it get caught in his hair gel?”

  “Strand!” My heart slows back to its normal rate.

  “What?” he asks, eyebrows raised in innocence. “It’s an honest question.”

  I suck in my cheeks to keep from smiling, because making fun of Levi’s hair is not a girlfriend-y thing to do. “It’s more crunchy than sticky.”

  We’ve reached the subway, but Strand leans against the entrance without making any move to leave.

  “Once on a field trip,” he says, “our class went into this tornado simulator. We had to wear protective goggles and everything. So we get into this simulator, and it’s, like, hundred-miles-per-hour winds. Everyone’s clothes are rippling, hair is flying everywhere. And I swear to God, not one hair on Levi’s head ever moves.”

  “That can’t be true,” I say, letting myself smile this time.

  “I’m serious.” Strand looks pleased at my reaction. “Levi’s hair is like the eighth wonder of the world.”

  “I’m sure it looked better than yours,” I say. “Do you even brush it?”

  I reach up to tousle his hair, which is soft and miraculously untangled despite its messy appearance. My fingers slide right through it.

  Strand clamps his hand around my wrist, and when he looks at me, his smile fades. I pull my hand away from his grip, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

  “You need a haircut,” I say, to relieve the tension.

  He shakes his hair out so it flops from side to side. “Girls like something to hold on to.”

  I shove him on the shoulder, and the spell is broken.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “SUPERSTAR”

  —SONIC YOUTH

  My parents insist on having Levi over for dinner, both to get to know him better and to return the favor after Shira had me over. Mom thinks it’s rude if we don’t. She’s really concerned with what the Schusters will think of us. Heaven forbid they consider us middle-class immigrants. She makes spaghetti with canned tomato sauce and heats frozen garlic bread in the oven. For her, this is the pinnacle of culinary ambition. Tonight we use our special occasion matching plates with little blue flowers along the borders.

  With Levi coming over, I see our apartment through a rich person’s lens. I see the chip on the edge of my glass, the worn fabric of our dining room chairs, all kinds of things I never noticed before. I’m ashamed that I feel ashamed.

  Levi wears a button-down shirt and khakis while everyone else in my family wears jeans. I wish I’d made them dress up a little. He gives me a quick kiss in greeting, as quick as possible under Dad’s hawk-eyed stare.

  “Mr. Cruz, Mrs. Cruz,” Levi says, shaking everyone’s hand again even though they’ve met before.

  He’s so polite that my family becomes stiff. They’re all
on their best behavior, including Matty. He eats the spaghetti without complaining, and he doesn’t even bring his 3DS to the table. Each of them is pretending to be someone they’re not, someone more in line with the typical Evanston family.

  When we’re all seated, Mom nudges me to pour everyone’s drink, which is something we never do. Usually each person in our family fills their own glass.

  “So, Levi,” Dad says as I pour him a glass, trying not to splash. “Victoria said you play the bass guitar?”

  “Yes, sir,” Levi replies.

  He doesn’t elaborate, and Dad doesn’t really know what to say to that.

  Mom jumps in. “How long have you been playing?”

  “About five years,” Levi says.

  “He’s really good,” I tell my parents. “He’s going to regionals with the school band in February.”

  “What songs do you know?” Matty asks him.

  “Well . . . ,” Levi says. “A lot . . . too many to name.” He talks to Matty in a slow, measured way, like he’s dealing with a foreign species instead of a ten-year-old kid.

  “Can you play any AC/DC?” Matty asks.

  “Sure.”

  “Like, which songs?”

  I sit down next to Levi. “Matty, stop badgering him. He can probably learn any AC/DC song.”

  “Cool!” Matty says. “Can you bring your bass over and play next time?”

  Levi takes a sip of water and looks to me for help.

  “We’ll see,” I tell Matty, which usually works in getting him to shut up.

  Mom asks Levi what his parents do, and Levi answers. The entire dinner is a strange interview. The conversation isn’t flowing, and there are moments of silence that last too long. It bothers me that Mom isn’t more taken with Levi. I can tell she approves of him, but she doesn’t laugh and joke around with him the way she does with Strand. It’s like everyone’s too busy trying to impress him to act like themselves.

  When we finish dinner, I show Levi my room. I don’t tell him that Strand’s already been inside. Not that it’s a secret or anything. I just decide not to. I keep the door open, and Mom and Dad find any excuse to pass by and poke their heads in to make sure we’re not up to anything scandalous.