by Kristin Rae
“Maybe it was an immaculate conception,” Tiffany says. “Like Mary when she got pregnant with Jesus.”
Angela smacks her on the arm. “Don’t make jokes. She’s upset. How’d you like to be reminded that your parents . . . ?” Her voice trails off and she shudders.
“Please,” Tiffany says. “How do you think you got here? How did any of us get here? It’s what happens.” She raises her cup. “To nature . . . and all that implies.” No one clinks glasses with her so she guzzles the last bit of milk and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“What does your brother think?” Angela asks, stacking our paper plates and tossing them into the trash under the sink.
“Hold up,” Tiffany says. “You have a brother?”
“Rider. He goes to Texas State. He’s a freshman.” I pull out my phone to check for missed messages. Nothing. “I haven’t talked to him yet.”
“Texas State? In San Marcos? Partaaay! Let’s go see him.” Her expression brightens. “Next weekend! It’s not far. Is he hot? If he looks like you, he must be.”
Angela returns to the table, frowning. “She won’t think her own brother’s hot. That’s sick.”
“Like you don’t know yours is hot,” Tiffany shoots back, looking to me for support.
I shrug and look at Angela. “He isn’t even close to my type, but he’s not exactly terrible to look at.”
Angela and Tiffany both go silent, looking over my head with wide eyes. Tiffany bites her lip.
A soft laugh rings out just behind me. “Thanks? I think.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I can’t bring myself to look at him. Improvise. Improvise. I stand and go to rinse our empty glasses. “Don’t you wish I was talking about you.”
“Weren’t you?” Tiffany has to open her stupid mouth. “Because I don’t have a brother.”
I slide the glasses onto the top rack of the dishwasher and risk a glance at Jesse. He leans his shoulder casually against the wall, untucked black collared shirt, hands in the pockets of his black slacks. Bare feet. He smirks like he just beat me at a game. I can’t believe I just added to his clearly large ego.
“I knew you had a thing for stars, mi reina,” he says, tapping the top of his cheek.
I’m pretty sure he just called me his queen, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. I reach up to touch my cheek, and realize I didn’t wear my star today.
“Get over yourself. You must have missed the part where she said you aren’t her type,” Angela says to him as she switches on the washer. “He always comes home in Spanish mode después del trabajo.”
“Well, that’s why he works there, right?” I clarify. “To learn Spanish? It’s good he’s using it.”
Tiffany snorts as she tries to contain a laugh, and Angela’s jaw slacks. I glance at each of them, confused. Jesse’s eyes widen in surprise, staring me down before he retreats into the darkness behind him. My stomach full of cake feels heavy.
“What did I say?” I ask Angela once I’m sure he’s out of earshot.
She shakes her head. “I can’t believe he told you that’s why he works there.”
“I didn’t know he couldn’t speak Spanish,” Tiffany says. “I assumed he was just as good at it as you are, Ange.”
Oh, no. I totally forgot he said it was embarrassing. He told me that in confidence, which I didn’t realize until this very second.
“I actually try, though. I want to be fluent.” Angela finishes cleaning up the mess on the table, folding the empty pizza box and clearing away crumbs from the cake. “If I’m bilingual, I’ll have so many more opportunities, like for scholarships, jobs, whatever. I’d be dumb to let all that go.”
Tiffany stands at the window watching Mrs. Morales pull up the drive. “Yeah, but you’re such a daddy’s girl. He wants his children to go to UT; you’re probably the only one who will do it. He wants you to marry a Latino, and you probably will.”
“I’m already the doomed middle child; I’ve gotta do something right.”
“The doomed middle child. No, no, no.” I drop into a chair and lay my upper body on the table, head down. I can’t believe for a whole five minutes I actually forgot. “I’m not going to be the baby of the family anymore. There’ll be a newer version, a better version. She’ll grow up like an only child, too, because she won’t understand that her siblings can be adults. Yes, I said ‘she’ because I refuse to accept another brother.” We laugh, but mine comes out a little delirious. All that sugar I ingested is hitting me and I can’t stop. “To her, we’ll just be like the cool aunt and uncle who swoop in with presents on holidays and birthdays. But I’ll always know. I’ll always feel like the middle child from here on out. I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
“Oh, no. Are you crying?” Tiffany asks, and I can feel her eyes roll.
“Rude,” Angela says to her from behind me. She squeezes my shoulders. “It’s not all bad. There’s a little more freedom, since all the attention goes to the little one. Well, unless you’re babysitting. There’s no freedom in that. But you’ll be in college soon enough, so really you won’t even notice.” She taps me on top of the head and I look up at her through blurry eyes. “I hate to say this, but you may love it. The whole thing. I was upset when Elise was born, but look at her. How could I stay mad? Now I don’t even remember what it was like without her around.”
Mrs. Morales enters the kitchen, dropping a stack of mail and her purse on the counter. “Hey, girls. Everything okay?”
You’d think I could improvise in front of my theatre teacher, but I’ve got nothing, and I’m worried what Angela and Tiffany might say. I’m not ready for anyone to know, especially an adult. Too mortifying.
“Maddie doesn’t have a date to homecoming yet,” Tiffany supplies, and it happens to be the truth. “We’re discussing potentials.” That’s not the truth, but it can be remedied. “Hey, what about Jesse?”
“Dad suggested he take his friend’s daughter Gabby, remember?” Angela catches eyes with her mom, who shrugs. “So that’s a done deal.”
“Well”—Mrs. Morales leans in close, talking low—“I may have overheard something I’m not supposed to know.” The girls perk up. “But I won’t ruin the surprise for Maddie.”
Now I perk up too.
“Mom, you have to spill now,” Angela whines. “Is someone going to ask her?”
She pulls her lips in and tilts her head. “All I can say is you shouldn’t pout. You don’t want to get wrinkles prematurely. Trust me.” She stretches out the skin around her eyes. “ ‘Stay gold, Ponyboy.’ ” And with that, she hums the tune from the credits of The Outsiders and sneaks off to the dark part of the house.
I have the coolest teacher in the world. A smile takes over my face, but quickly fades at the realization that someone is making it known that he wants me as a date to the dance. What are the chances he’ll ask me in some epically memorable way? Why am I already preparing how I’m going to say no?
“Should we watch a movie or something?” Angela asks.
I shake my head wildly in a figure eight. “I have too much energy. I could run a marathon.”
“The pool feels like a bathtub, but we could swim. Might not be too bad now that the sun’s down.”
“Or we could jump it out,” Tiffany suggests.
“Yes!” I turn to Angela. “To the trampoline!”
Every Christmas and birthday for as long as I can remember, I’ve asked for one. But no, they’re too dangerous. It’s not like I was asking for a Red Ryder BB gun I might accidentally shoot my eye out with.
We run past the pool and outdoor kitchen in our bare feet, through a patch of tall, cool grass, and crawl over the springs of the trampoline through the slit in the protective netting. Keeping my feet on the taut black fabric, I bounce a few times to get the feel of it. It’s been years since I’ve been on one of these. Every time I’ve come over here, I’ve eyed it with jealousy, but I’ve always been afraid to ask Angela
if we could play on it. I mean, we are nearly adults.
Angela and Tiffany are already flying high into the air, and I work up the nerve to join them, allowing myself to go higher and higher. With each jump, I get looser, throwing my arms wide and arching my back, face to the sky. Freer and freer.
Right now, I’m nobody’s sister, nobody’s daughter. Nobody’s potential homecoming date. I’m just me, working to tear away from gravity and failing, but loving every second of it.
We challenge each other to a toe-touch competition, which Tiffany wins with her gift for all things athletic, and promptly collapse on the bounce mat on our backs. We lie in silence save for our ragged breathing, heads together in the middle, legs stretched out like a pinwheel. I notice a light turn on in a room upstairs and my eyes automatically shift toward it.
Jesse’s silhouette is framed by the window. He pulls his shirt over his head and lets it drop to the floor, then ruffles his hair with his hands, no idea we’re out here. Tiffany must not see because she wouldn’t be quiet about it. I’m sure not going to tell her. This show is for me. I deserve this. Though it’s doing the opposite of lifting my spirits.
After the way he looked at me tonight when I unknowingly revealed one of his secrets, I’ll be lucky if he speaks to me at all when he brings me home from school next week, assuming he even continues doing that. He may be afraid to tell me anything ever again.
I may have permanently stunted our friendship.
Jesse and I are at school by my locker, and he offers to carry my stack of books. Then suddenly we’re riding in his truck, except the seats are beanbag chairs and he can hardly see over the steering wheel. The sun sets at the snap of his fingers, and it begins to rain. The windshield wipers don’t work, so he pulls over. Then the rain turns into a blizzard, trapping us inside without a heater because he says the engine might overheat if he turns it on. I’m shivering so hard my teeth clank together, and he squeezes next to me on my beanbag chair, running his hands down my arms to warm me. I tell him I’m scared we’ll never get out, and he sings softly to me in Spanish. The most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard in a language I don’t understand. The most beautiful voice . . .
The high-pitched whir of a motor jolts me awake. I blink in the bright sunlight and roll over, my body rising and falling. I’m on a water bed. I open my eyes fully and see Jesse wielding a Weed Eater around the flagstone of the pool. Not a water bed. I’m still on the trampoline. And he was the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes.
Which would explain my completely wacky and unwelcome dream.
A groan sounds next to me and I realize all three of us must have fallen asleep after our jumping spree, and after our sugar crash. An all-night buffet for mosquitoes with their West Nile virus. I see a couple bites on my arms and at least one on my leg, and feel around on my face in a panic. I need a mirror.
“I can’t believe we slept out here all night,” Tiffany says, rubbing her neck. “How stupid. I feel so stiff. And I have a game this afternoon. Unless it is afternoon and I slept through it.”
“Jesse and Red like to do the yard early in the morning before it gets hot,” Angela says as we come down the three-rung ladder and step into the dew-covered grass. “It’s probably, like, eight.”
“It’s seven thirty,” calls a man’s voice from the table by the pool. “Did y’all get banished from the castle last night or something?”
“Dad!” Angela rushes to him for a hug. “When did you get home?”
“This morning. I brought breakfast.” Mr. Morales motions to a white box with a red stripe that says Shipley Do-Nuts. I don’t know about Shipley, but just the sight of the pastries makes my mouth water for the goodness that comes from the orange-and-pink box that is Dunkin’ Donuts. Apparently they aren’t very common around here.
“Thanks, Mr. M.” Tiffany high-fives him before snatching a glazed and pulling out a chair.
“Help yourself.” Mr. Morales smiles at her, then looks at me. “Maddie, how are you and your family settling in?”
I’ve met him once before, briefly, but I’m surprised he remembers my name. Maybe Angela talks about me.
“Slowly,” I say. “Mom’s tearing apart the house to fix it up.”
“Been there,” he says through a sympathetic laugh. “Sherri and I want to have y’all over for dinner sometime. I’ll have her call your mom.”
“That’s so nice, thank you.” I brave a smile, but all I can think is that my parents should wait for Ma’s barfing stage to be over before making new friends.
“Boys!” Mr. Morales shouts over the string trimmer. “Donuts!”
Jesse abandons his task as Red finishes filling the lawn mower with gas, and they join us by the pool. I hear Angela quietly suck in a slow breath like through a straw, and I turn just in time to see her gaze linger on Red’s arms. In his sleeveless white shirt, his muscles are more massive than I thought. He could probably lift either of us with a pinkie.
Red shakes hands with Mr. Morales before sitting and snatching two donuts, sliding the extra one onto his thumb.
“Hey, Dad.” Jesse brushes off his hands on his shirt. “The Weed Eater’s acting—”
“I’m sure you can fix it,” Mr. Morales dismisses, nudging Jesse’s shoulder with a fist. “So, since I’m finally home this weekend, I can work with you on your curveball.” He selects a donut at random for Jesse, who puts it back and takes a different kind.
“I’ve been working on my curveball, Dad.” Jesse’s eyes dart to mine for a second. “Can we talk about this later?”
I glance at Tiffany as she shifts in her seat and bites her lip. Red continues chomping on his breakfast, unaffected by the conversation going on around him.
“All I’m saying is, we need to get it consistent before the preseason games start. It’s not too soon to get in some extra practice.” He waits for a response, but doesn’t get more than a nod.
I expect Jesse to give me one of those annoyed eye rolls that says Parents, but he keeps himself from looking at me again, and returns to his yard work without another word.
“Well, come find me when you’re done. I’ll catch for you,” Mr. Morales calls to him before turning to Red. “I pay you to sit on the mower, not a chair,” he teases. “Get back to it.”
Angela asks her dad about his trip to see her grandmother, and he answers in Spanish, the two of them chatting as she follows him inside the house. Tiffany snatches a second donut—chocolate-iced—and watches Red unashamedly as he climbs onto the mower.
Using the band around my wrist, I pile my hair up into a loopy bun to get it off my neck. “So you’re just gonna sit here eating donuts, watching the guys work in the yard?” I ask Tiffany.
“Uh, yeah,” she says, like I’m stupid for asking.
The trimmer makes a strangled sound and I find Jesse attacking a thick patch of grass creeping into a flower bed. I’ve never seen him dressed so casually before—blue shirt with ripped-off sleeves and bright red athletic shorts that cling to his legs. His muscular, tan legs. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were dancers’ legs.
And now I’m staring. I reach for a donut and take a bite, officially joining the sport of spectating. Still struggling with the trimmer, Jesse smacks the end of it against the ground to get it to spin again. He looks in our direction as if to check to see if he has an audience, and holds my gaze with an unreadable expression and no hint of a smile.
Then he decapitates the seedpod of a weed, and I can’t help thinking he imagined that it was me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I wish I could say Rica was forced to see the light after that first day, but she’s just mean. People like her shouldn’t be allowed to be talented. She can outperform almost everyone in class. And I’ve heard her sing-humming to herself in a disgustingly pretty tone. If she can dance too, she’ll have me beat. And that simply won’t do.
I need to sign up with a dance studio ASAP before I lose all my groove ability.
; Sarah is Rica’s opposite, which is probably why I get along with her so well. We gravitate toward each other, performing a lot of the in-class exercises together. And where Sarah goes, Ryan follows, with Brian close behind. But Brian’s never sat next to me before today.
“Nervous about auditions on Monday?” he asks.
We’re doing Barefoot in the Park mid-December. Part of me feels like I already had my audition, in the middle of the street, no less. And it was basically my idea to do this play in the first place. I mean, if I hadn’t started reciting lines from it that day, we’d probably be doing something else. Something less awesome.
I shake my head. “Trying not to be.”
“I’m sure you’ll be amazing,” he says, smiling. “It’s like that part was written for you, even though it was probably written before our parents were even born.” We laugh.
Not one to discourage a compliment, I ask, “You really think so?”
“Oh, yeah. You’ve got that same spunk. Quick wit.”
It’s too bad I don’t blush. He’s working really hard for it.
Offering a smile, I tilt my head to the side and study Brian’s face. He has a few freckles on the ridge of his nose and the tips of his cheeks. At first glance, his hair looks about the same brown as mine, but there’s a coppery undertone to it that gives it a zing of personality. He’s not unattractive, but, well, I haven’t really thought about him that way before. I’m not sure if that says more about me or him.
“I’ve officially decided you shall be Corie and therefore I must be Paul.”
“Oh, are we a package deal now?”
“Yes!” Brian leans in close like he’s about to hug me. “Maddie.” He swallows. “Let’s audition together.”
The gears in my head automatically start turning. I’ve never done a scene with him in class, but I’ve seen him. He’s a natural. The type of acting where you can’t really tell if he’s reciting lines or making them up. And in real life he’s relatively funny and quick-witted himself. This could work. We could practice to perfection and completely blow the casting directors away. They’d have no choice but to cast us both. Assuming we have chemistry. Chemistry is key. The movie wouldn’t have been quite so memorable without the perfect pairing of Robert Redford and Jane Fonda.