“Yeah, we go way back,” Moises teases. “Never pictured you a Boogaloo lover. Can’t seem to figure you out.”
“Well, you’re not the only one with eclectic musical tastes.” I smile despite myself.
“Margot’s not a fan. I am.” Elizabeth reaches her hand out and introduces herself to Moises. This is a first. She’s never been so bold when it comes to guys. Is this because Paloma is here? Maybe Elizabeth feels fearless with her new friend.
Moises introduces us to his friends. I recognize a couple of them from the pictures hanging on his bedroom mirror. Freddie works with Moises at the South Bronx Family Mission. Willie I met before. He works at the community garden. He’s the oldest of the bunch but he doesn’t talk much. They’re all a little rough around the edges, like him. Paloma knows Moises from elementary school. Small world. Too small.
“How do you know each other?” Elizabeth asks. She’s trying to figure out if this is the same guy I was with that night.
To smooth Elizabeth’s confused state, I explain: “Moises mans a table by the supermarket.”
“The supermarket?” Paloma asks.
“Margot’s family owns the Sanchez & Sons supermarket by Third Avenue,” Elizabeth explains to Paloma.
“Oh! Your family owns that?” Paloma exclaims. “My mom shops there every day. Your family practically feeds us.”
Paloma goes on about how the supermarket was part of her childhood. No one else seems fazed by this except for me. I feel weird. I don’t want to be connected to the supermarket, for that to dictate how they see me.
“You mean the one across from St. Mary’s Park?” Freddie asks. “I go there all the time, bro. I know everybody. My boy Dominic works there. So does Papo but he goes by the name of P-Nice. You know ’em?”
I do but I only talk to Dominic and that’s barely.
“What about the fine sisters Wanda and Lourdes?” he asks. “They still work there? Them girls are like . . . damn.” He closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip. Paloma playfully hits him with her tote bag.
“What do you do there?” Elizabeth asks Moises.
“I collect signatures to stop the Eagle Avenue tenant building from being torn down to make room for condos,” Moises says. He leans in to me and takes some grapes.
“Rich white people,” Freddie says.
“The owners of that building aren’t white,” I say. The group goes quiet.
“The Carrillos haven’t lived in that neighborhood for ages,” Moises says. “They’ve lost touch with their own people.”
“Yeah, they might as well be white,” Freddie says.
I roll my eyes. Why doesn’t Elizabeth chime in? She could at least try to back me up.
“This is about business. And stop generalizing about groups of people. Not all white people are bad,” I say. It’s hard to express myself when I’m used to following Serena and Camille’s leads. I also hear Papi’s voice in my head, how a condo helps everyone. Helps us. He can’t be wrong.
“Yeah, I’m half white.” Paloma pushes Freddie. “What does that make me?”
“Beautiful.” Freddie jumps on Paloma, who squeals in protest.
“Business is business,” Moises says. “But looking out for those who can’t speak for themselves is everyone’s business.”
“My father’s supermarket has been there for years so he’s seen the neighborhood go through many changes.” I shouldn’t feel bad for defending my family’s stance but I do. This uneasiness is hard to brush off. “This is just one more thing.”
“Where did you buy that cup of coffee you’re drinking? Starbucks, right?” Yes. Elizabeth goes in after Freddie. “What existed in that place before Starbucks? I bet you it was a mom-and-pop store.”
“Yeah,” Paloma says. “Hypocrite.”
Moises glares at Freddie until Freddie trashes his Starbucks drink.
“Damn, bro,” Freddie says. “Thanks for ruining my latte swag.”
“Not all change is good,” Moises says. He hands Freddie a bottle of water. “If everyone has that same mentality you might as well give up and let the corporations win. What if Whole Foods opened up right by your family’s supermarket? What then?”
I can see the domino effect if that were to happen. I complain about working there but the supermarket is my family’s livelihood. How do you move forward without crushing others around you? I’ve never thought about how a new store can ruin another person’s life. Our supermarkets are a fixture in the community but what if the community becomes unrecognizable? There are no easy answers. The longer I listen to Moises the more I see that not everything is painted black-and-white the way my father tells me.
A friend interrupts the conversation and the topic is dropped.
While we wait for the band to start, friends from the neighborhood stop by to say hello and to give the rundown of where others sit and what they plan to do afterwards. Moises knows them and it’s like he’s the top dog of this squad. They gravitate around him and listen to his every word. He is so confident. They all are, each in their own way.
Someone in the group asks him why he wasn’t at the demonstration against police brutality the other night.
“I was busy,” he says. He stares at me and my face burns up. We never agreed on the terms but he must know that what went down that night is not open for discussion. The guys goof on Moises and ask for the girl’s name but he doesn’t tell. I pop more grapes in my mouth.
Freddie lights up a joint and passes it around. Moises takes a long hit.
“Where did you get this shit from? Washington Square? This is oregano, papa. Don’t hold out on the good shit, motherfucker.” Moises’s curses are jarring to hear. This is how he is with his friends. This is where he’s the most comfortable. When he passes the joint over to Elizabeth, I expect her to say no but she doesn’t. Elizabeth inhales as if she’s smoked weed for years. I’m the only one who doesn’t take a hit. In this crowd, I’m the weirdo.
There are too many people. I don’t pull my conversational weight. Everyone is an artist or a poet. I’m just the girl who goes to Somerset whose father owns the supermarket. Even Elizabeth gets more play from the guys, including Moises, who is interested in her art. She shares photos of her latest work with him. Moises states how many times he’s seen the Boogaloo perform. Elizabeth has their rare live tracks that only true hard-core fans know about. It’s hard to watch them.
“Are you okay?” Moises nudges me after a lull in the conversation.
“I’m good.”
We’re barely friends. I’m fine if he speaks to Elizabeth. They seem to hit it off. He doesn’t seem intent on educating her on bad corporations and poetry.
“This is the song!” Paloma yells. “Come dance with me.”
She tries to convince Freddie to get up but he wants to smoke. The others aren’t interested, including Elizabeth, who seems content talking to Moises. Paloma looks at me.
“C’mon.” She takes my hand and drags me toward the stage. I don’t want to dance but I’d rather do that than watch Moises and Elizabeth. Paloma pushes her way to the front of the stage and carves out a space for us. I stand behind her.
The song is a slow reggaeton and Paloma gyrates to the beat without any qualm or sense that people are staring. Men watch in awe until one brave soul ventures into her space and starts to freak her from behind. She doesn’t acknowledge the boy. I keep to my safe but boring two-step dance: one step to the left, one to the right. There’s nothing suggestive or sexy in the way I move. Sure, I bust out in my bedroom when I’m alone, but at school parties, I watch from the sidelines until Serena eventually drags me out for a pity dance. This could be what Paloma did. A pity dance.
I’m jealous of how she can shut out what’s around her and enjoy the music. I’m aware of everything. My clumsy moves. How Moises gets along with Elizabeth. I should be happy. They make total sense but I can’t shake off his kiss.
An older man with a large nose and a bandana wrapped around his
head touches my arm. I tell him no. He tries again, totally not understanding that I don’t want to dance with him. He starts to force the issue but Moises appears and puts his arm around my waist. He pulls me toward him. The jilted man gets the hint and walks.
“How are you gonna dance with that guy?” Moises asks.
Before I can defend myself, Moises places my arm around his neck. His knee presses in between my legs. Both our arms glisten with sweat. With his help, I finally find the right groove. I let the steady rhythmic beat of the bass and Moises guide me. I search for Elizabeth but she’s nowhere to be found. I don’t want her to think I’m cutting into her new man. This is only a dance.
“If you wanted to see me so badly,” Moises says, “you could have told me.”
“What? I didn’t plan this.”
“It’s okay, relax,” he says. “You don’t have to keep your true feelings to yourself.”
He laughs but it’s not funny. I didn’t orchestrate this meeting. It’s a coincidence. I don’t want any misunderstandings. There’s nothing between us, even though he grinds into me and I smell his deep musk oil.
“Your friend is cool. Elizabeth, right?” he continues. “We should hang out together. Check out other concerts.”
His mouth is so close to my ear. I’m glad he’s interested in her. I won’t let this tinge of jealousy bother me. I’m going to bury it deep because Elizabeth and Moises is a good thing.
“We don’t need to hang out,” I say. “Elizabeth will be more than happy to go with you to concerts.”
His hand drops. What is wrong with me? I can be so cold but I can’t let my emotions show, especially when they don’t make sense. I want Elizabeth to get to know Moises. I do.
“Cool. Then you don’t mind if I call her,” he says. “We’re good.”
He walks away. I force myself to dance alone until the song finishes.
When I walk back to the group, Moises is sitting by Elizabeth. And although Elizabeth is not talking directly to him, I’m still upset at the seating dynamics. I sit next to Freddie.
“Can I have some?” Freddie passes the joint to me and I take the smallest hit from it. I don’t even like it but I can be like the rest of them. Moises pays me no mind. None. I check my phone and leave a comment on a picture of Nick on the beach. Nothing too obvious or desperate, just a couple of swimming emojis. I scroll for another image and see a picture of Serena and Camille hanging out with Nick and friends. More than ever I wish I were there with them.
“That girl is fine.” Freddie grabs my phone and ogles the picture of Serena. “Hook a brother up.”
“I don’t think so,” I say.
Elizabeth chimes in. “She goes to Somerset. She might be out of your league.”
Again, there’s that tone. Even if it’s true, why does she bring it up?
“Once I give off my papi chulo swag, that girl will be cooking me chuletas in no time,” he says. “Pass me her number.”
I grab the phone from him.
“The only thing that girl is going to do is call Five-O,” Moises says. “Them girls don’t want to have anything to do with you or me. Am I right?”
Moises looks at me with an expression full of accusations. I’m done with this scene.
“I’m going,” I say.
“Why?” Elizabeth jumps up. She’s genuinely hurt but I don’t want to be here, not while Moises hates on me. She starts to pick up her stuff but she doesn’t have to go.
“No. Stay,” I tell her. “Have fun.”
“Are you sure? You don’t mind?”
“I’m positive. Call me later.”
I say good-bye to everyone, except Moises. I ignore him.
Chapter 15
My curves bulge out. Too many Cuban sandwiches. I’ll never look good enough for the Hamptons, not at this rate anyway. Countdown to the party. Only two more weeks. So far I’ve made about seventeen hundred dollars, which is a lot but I have seen absolutely none of it. Every cent Papi has gladly taken and he still refuses to give me some of it to buy a dress for a party that he hasn’t completely committed to.
I’m heading toward aisle four, where Dominic is, when my phone buzzes with a text from Camille to urgently call her.
“Nick asked for you,” Camille says when she answers the phone. “He needs to speak to you. Can you talk?”
“Why does he want to speak to me?”
“Shut up. Just get ready. He’s calling you,” Camille says. She practically pants on the phone. This is some craziness. “And Margot, it’s on FaceTime so you better look good.”
“But why? What does he want?”
Camille breathes heavily into the phone. She is irked. “He wants to ask you something. When he calls, let it ring three times, then answer it.”
She hangs up without saying good-bye. Shit. I’m not ready for whatever this is. I run to the bathroom and take a quick inventory. I didn’t blow out my hair. The curls spill out. I have no eye makeup. I put on lipstick and pinch my cheeks. My hands are already sweating. Maybe he’s going to ask me out. The girls probably chatted him up and he’s decided that the time is right for us. Finally, something good is about to happen. I can stop obsessing over Moises and Elizabeth with Nick on my line.
Waiting is hard. I look at the phone to make sure it’s on. Reapply lipstick. Fix my hair.
“Hey, are you going to help me or what?” Dominic asks as he replenishes the boxes of pasta. I take one box and place it on the shelf.
“I am helping.” I check the phone again.
When it rings, I run outside. Daylight will be a better look than artificial indoor lighting. One ring. Two rings. On the third ring, I pick up. Nick appears fuzzy on the tiny screen.
“Hi, Margot?” he says. There’s a slight delay so when he says something, it doesn’t quite sync.
“Hi, Nick.” The sound of an ambulance siren screeches by. “Can you hear me? I’m outside so it might be noisy. Sorry about that.”
“No problem. How’s your summer?” He’s calling from inside a room. His bedroom? Even though his hair is long and messy he looks good in a blue shirt. My heart races and I try my best not to talk over him or fiddle with my charm necklace. Composure. Be still.
“My summer’s been amazing. And you? I mean, and yours?” I try to confine my answers to one or two syllables.
“Good. Haven’t seen you at the beach. What’s up with that?”
He’s been looking for me.
“Been working,” I say.
“Hope it hasn’t been all work.”
My cackle of a laugh hurts my own ears. Pull it together. There’s a pause and I’m not sure if it’s the connection or if I should say something.
“Playing soccer?” I ask, and immediately regret it. What a stupid question. Who cares? I sound like an idiot.
“Sometimes.”
Another siren passes and I apologize again. I’m so embarrassed.
“So, Serena and Camille told me you have some sort of supermarket connection.”
“Oh.” My face drops. What did they say? I’m scared of what he must think of me. A supermarket connection. What does that even mean? It sounds ridiculous.
“Yeah, we’re throwing the party and I thought maybe . . . You’re definitely coming. Right?”
“Yes, I’m definitely going to be there.” He wants me there!
“I was thinking.” He looks away from the phone as if he’s shy. It’s cute. “Since you have a supermarket connection you might be able to get us a deal on some beer.”
“Beer?” I repeat. He wants me to score him some beer. How random. And why would he be worried about money? I thought his father was some boss at a tech company.
“My father is cracking down on me this summer. You know how it is.” He leaves it at that and I nod. It surprises me to hear that he has to deal with money problems. They’re probably cutting down his allowance from a whole lot to just a lot.
“Just thought I would ask,” he says. “But if you can’t
it’s not a big deal. I can figure something out.”
“No, no. I can totally help,” I say. “I would love to.”
How am I supposed to get beer? Sure, my parents own a supermarket but things are really tight. I wouldn’t be able to ask them. Not only that, I’m a minor. Just because my parents own a store doesn’t mean I can take whatever I want. I can’t even grab a pack of M&M’s without being forced to pay. I share none of this.
“Great,” Nick says. “We just need about three cases. Let me know how you want to handle it.”
“Sure, I can send you a text or something.”
“The party is going to be epic,” Nick says. “Can’t wait.”
“Me too.” And we smile at each other.
Papi storms out of the supermarket and into the parking lot. His face is red. Junior follows close behind.
“Enough already!” Papi yells at Junior.
I try to find a quieter area but the blare of a car horn adds to the confusion.
“You know these guys. I introduced you to them!” Junior yells to Papi. There’s a tinge of panic in his voice. “Let’s take a drive over there right now so I can show you.”
“What I need from you is to focus on the supermarket instead of wasting my time with your maldita bar idea!” screams Papi.
“Is everything okay?” Nick asks. “Where are you?”
“Yes, everything is fine,” I say as I duck into a corner and try to keep Nick from witnessing the family drama unfolding in public. “Just some random crazy people.”
“Let me crunch the numbers for you. I know this bar would be a good investment,” Junior says.
“You can’t even crunch the supermarket numbers,” Papi says. “What makes you think I’ll trust you with some bar?”
“This is about the supermarket,” Junior says. “I’m trying to help. Can’t you see that? Let me do this for the family.”
Papi shakes his head. He is not giving in even with Junior begging.
“As usual, you don’t trust me. When are you going to stop treating me like a boy? I’m going to get that fucking money,” Junior says. “With or without you!”
“Sorry,” I say to Nick. My ears burn up from shame. “I’ll text you when I have details.”
The Education of Margot Sanchez Page 12