Who's Your Daddy?

by Lynda Sandoval

Plus, Caressa and I were both preoccupied with worry that Lila would be grounded for life! How could we possibly focus on finding boys to date when she was going to be in so much trouble? We should’ve seen it coming. Well, in truth, we HAD seen it coming, but when Lila Moreno gets an idea in her mind, there is no deterring her. It’s definitely one of her charms, but if she doesn’t rein it in, it could also be her downfall.

  I sat on the bottom step of the sweeping marble staircase in Caressa’s entryway and laid the side of my face on the polished wood banister. My stomach felt tight and jittery. “That was purely awful.”

  Caressa nodded, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. She hugged her long legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees, then blew out a big sigh. “Mer, I knew Lila was pushing her luck with this latest scheme. If I did half the things she did, my parents would kill me. She’s going to give me gray hair before I’m twenty.”

  “Yeah. But that’s one of the things I like about Lila the most. She jumps in with both feet.” Without looking first!

  “True. I just wish—” She pressed her lips together.

  “What?” I asked Caressa. Her eyes looked sad.

  “Eh, nothing. I just wish we’d finished.”

  I knew Caressa was really let down about the whole dateless thing. She wanted to know who her prospects were. Well, we all did. But Caressa had an extra strike against her that Lila and I didn’t. She’s GORGEOUS. Her mom’s Hawaiian and her dad’s African American, and let me tell you, she got the very best of both of their genes. She has this amazing, smooth, caramel-colored skin, as though she’s always kissed by the sun; long wavy brown hair naturally highlighted with deep copper; and vivid green, slightly tilted eyes. Plus she’s supersweet.

  Don’t misunderstand me, I think Lila and I are both cute enough girls (though I could do without my red hair and pale skin), but Caressa’s in a whole other league. Lucky her, right? Not really. Lila and I aren’t subjected to much cattiness from the other girls, because they don’t see us as competition. Poor Caressa intimidates both the boys and the girls, but the girls really take it out on her. If only they could step back and see how truly vulnerable, humble, and genuine she is …

  But, anyway.

  The whole dumb supper debacle was depressing, and I didn’t want to dwell on everything that could’ve been. Instead, I stood. “Well, let’s clean up. I just have a creepy feeling now and I kind of want to go home. I hope that’s okay.”

  “You go ahead, Mer.” Caressa smiled sadly at me. “I’ll clean up. It’ll give me something to do since you won’t be spending the night after all.”

  I have to say, I was glad she offered. Something told me I should go home right then. I felt compelled. “Are you sure?”

  “Uh-huh. Go on. I like cleaning. It calms me.”

  “Okay, then.” She stood as I put on my coat, then hugged me good-bye. I squeezed back.

  “Drive carefully.”

  “I always do.”

  Caressa raised one of her perfect eyebrows in a skeptical expression and planted her fists on her hips. “That’s not what Lila told me about the drive over here earlier tonight.”

  I giggled. “Yeah, yeah. ’Night, Caressa.” And with that, I jogged across the portico and got into my trusty Volvo.

  The drive from Caressa’s to my house is always pitch black. There aren’t streetlights up here in the mountains unless you are on the main roads. I mean, I had my headlights, but driving home always felt like being inside a fragile bubble of light that could pop at any moment and leave you choking on pure, unending blackness. That lovely thought made me shiver, so I turned up my radio for company. I was cheered to hear they were playing Beethoven’s “Triple” Concerto in C Major, Op. 56. It has always been one of my favorites.

  I usually choose to listen to the classical station from Vail, because the music is beautiful and uplifting. I know people think I’m strange because I don’t listen to the regular music most kids do. Really, if I wanted to switch to the pop station, all I had to do was press a button. My parents weren’t there to admonish me, and it wasn’t as if I’ve never heard pop music. When I spend time with Lila and Caressa, I listen to what they want to hear. But they’re also respectful of my family’s way of life and open to new experiences, so sometimes we listen to classical. That’s what I love about my best friends. They don’t try to make me into someone I’m not, even though I must seem like a space alien to them at times, and they try to show enthusiasm for my interests, too.

  The whole point is this: my parents might have raised us in a nontraditional way, but I don’t mind it. In fact, I like it for so many reasons. My parents never seem as harried and stressed out as other adults, and our house is always a haven.

  Sure, I used to feel left out when I was little and all my friends were watching cartoons that were off-limits to me, but I got over it. Now I don’t even have the urge to watch television. No. Really. I don’t.

  I don’t judge other people for how they choose to spend their free time, but the whole television thing seems like an egregious waste of time to me.

  That’s just me. Life is a choice.

  I swear, though, sometimes I feel like my peers’ heads are so full of this television show or that movie, this new hot star or that reality show (a concept I can’t quite grasp, even though Lila has tried to explain it to me on more than one occasion), that they forget to just sit back and think about things. Life, themselves, world events, the future, the universe, goals. I know I’m eccentric, but I like being different, and I like thinking about all these subjects and more.

  So, anyway, I was driving down Meadow Brook Road, watching carefully for deer or elk on the road and doing exactly that—thinking about stuff—when all of a sudden I heard this big POW, and my car screeched and swerved a little. A surge of adrenaline pushed my heart into my throat, and I steered the car over to the rocky shoulder. I could hear the flap-flap-flapping as I drew to a stop, and there was no mistaking the unusual lopsidedness to my car. Damn, a flat.

  I’d never had a flat before. Why now?

  My palms started to sweat and tears stung my eyes. It wasn’t because I was afraid of changing a tire, per se. I just wasn’t too thrilled to have to change my tire on a pitch black mountain road, alone, in the middle of the night. Naturally, I heard an animal howl off in the distance, because it was just the perfect thing to feed my fears. Right at that moment, I wished like crazy that my parents believed in cell phones.

  I knew the tire wasn’t going to change itself, but I still couldn’t bring myself to get out of the car. What a chicken! I had been born and raised in the mountains, and I usually liked the silence and the darkness. Usually. The inky sky made a much better backdrop for the stars than the light-polluted city sky down in Denver. But the same inky sky felt foreboding as I sat there with a flat tire and a fast heartbeat.

  Trying to steady myself and squelch my fears, I glanced up into the sky and tried to convince myself of how much I loved the darkness. I took a deep breath and picked out some of my favorite constellations. Ursa Major was easy to find. Always is. I think of it as the layman’s constellation, because even though it’s the third largest, it’s mainly known as the home of the Big Dipper, which makes me feel kind of sad for it. All that vastness and really only one claim to fame.

  I was happy to see Orion, master of the winter skies, already, considering it was only late September. I’ve always liked the mythological story behind Orion and the picture it puts in my head. Orion is said to lord over the heavens from late fall to early spring, with his hunting dog, Sirius, trailing at his feet.

  How cute. I love dogs.

  I smiled as I picked out the three stars which form Orion’s belt: Mintaka, Alnilam, and Alnitak. As always, I felt awed by their presence. I just think it’s amazing that even the Bible makes reference to these stars, and yet here they are, steadfast in the twenty-first century. That constancy over thousands of years makes me realize what a minuscule part of the uni
verse my little life is.

  Stargazing was making me feel better, though I still had a flat to deal with. I knew I’d deal with it better if I was calm, so I kept my eyes aimed upward. Tonight was the transit date of the principal star of Andromeda, so I searched for and found it as well. That was a mistake, though, because it made me think of the story behind it, which made me think of Lila getting busted, which got me all upset and worried once again.

  See, Andromeda was the daughter of Cepheus and Cassiopeia, and Cassiopeia was totally vain. Even more vain than Lila’s brother’s girlfriend, Miffany, if you can believe it. Get this: Cassiopeia believed she and Andromeda were more beautiful than any of Poseidon’s many nymphs, and she taunted the God of the Seas until he just couldn’t deal. (What kind of dummy would be so shortsighted as to taunt the God of the Seas?) Infuriated, Poseidon punished Cassiopeia by tying her daughter to a rock. Naked. Yep, naked. And, he left poor, naked Andromeda there to be sacrificed to some dreadful sea monster.

  Can you say harsh?

  I know it’s a stretch, but I couldn’t help but think of Lila and how totally in for it she was with this last stunt. She’d taunted her dad with disobedience just like Cassiopeia had taunted the God of the Seas. I sure hoped Chief Moreno didn’t pull a Poseidon on her and tie her naked to the proverbial rock as punishment. Enough of that. Worry never made the future better, it just stole energy from the present.

  Unfortunately, the present included me, a desolate mountain road, and a flat tire. Swell.

  Just as I was getting ready to suck it up and deal with the dilemma, two headlights blazed through my back window into my rearview mirror and blinded me. For a split second, I felt relieved … but then I got scared. We all hear stories about creepy guys who victimize stranded motorists, and I was spooked to begin with. I quickly locked all my doors, slipped my car into drive, then sat there with my foot on the brake pedal but ready to move to the gas pedal just in case I needed to make a squealing getaway. If anyone scary approached the car, I was GONE, flat tire or not.

  I kept my eyes glued on the side mirror, trying to ignore the OBJECTS IN MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR warning, which was hard. First, I saw a silhouette of a person getting out of the car and heading toward me. I didn’t move, don’t even think I drew a single breath. But I lucked out! When he finally got close enough for me to see his features, I recognized the guy approaching as a fellow student from school.

  It was That Bosnian Guy. Isn’t that awful? I didn’t even know his name, because everyone at school referred to him as That Bosnian Guy. All we knew was, he and his family came here as refugees (a word with an undeserved negative connotation), and now he was attending WPHS.

  I’ve never paid him much attention, but I was SO relieved to see him. At least I didn’t feel like I’d be axmurdered in my car. I put the car in park, engaged the emergency brake, then rolled down my window a crack.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.” He smiled and ran one hand through his golden blond hair, from front to back. The motion made my throat dry, for some strange reason. “Do you need some help?”

  I twisted my mouth to the side. “I have a flat tire.” I probably didn’t have to demonstrate my keen grasp of the obvious with that statement, what with my car dipping to one side and my rear tire completely devoid of air, but I felt all fluttery-nervous around him. The words had just come out in a blurt.

  “I will change it for you if you like,” he said. He speaks perfect English, but he has this yummy accent that makes even a mundane statement sound exotic.

  “I’d be really grateful if you’d help me with it.”

  “No problem.” He shrugged out of his ski parka and laid it on the roof of my Volvo. “Unpop the trunk, please.”

  I bit my lip to hold back the smile, then UNpopped the trunk as he asked. I have to say, he looked GREAT with that T-shirt stretched across his chest. He wasn’t a musclebound guy. More tall and lanky, with long, lean muscles. But he looked fantastic in jeans and a T-shirt. “You go to WPHS, right?” I asked, just so he’d know I recognized him.

  He nodded. “I am Ismet.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Meryl.”

  “Meryl”—he said my name in that REALLY cute accent, and it made my tummy swirl in the most delicious way—“yes. I think I have seen you in the halls. Are you in grade eleven?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am, too. Your father, he is a teacher, yes?”

  “And the football coach,” I said, rolling my eyes. “And also the school disciplinarian.”

  He pulled this fake scared face that was so adorable. “I am lucky to have never met him, then.”

  I laughed at that, finally feeling safe, but his comment made me think. Wasn’t it just an example of how virtually ALL the guys who knew my dad felt? No wonder I’ve never had a date.

  He pointed to my tire then and got down to business. “If you want to come out of the car, I will change it. I would lift the car with you inside, but it is not so safe.”

  I must’ve looked uncertain, even though I felt fine, because he hiked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating his car. “My sister, Shefka, is here with me if that makes you feel better. I will bring her up with me.”

  I didn’t want him to think I was some skittish, ethnocentric American who was afraid of foreigners, so I said, “Oh, it’s okay. I’m not afraid of you. I was just … sort of afraid in general, to have a flat on this dark road, this late at night. I’ve been sitting here for who knows how long, just trying to get up the courage to get out of the car.”

  “Ah. I can understand. I was not too confident to approach your car, either,” he joked.

  Is that not so sweet? Most guys act so annoyingly macho, and he was the antithesis of that. For him to admit that he wasn’t immune to the heebie-jeebies made me like him even more.

  I got out of the car and met him around back, where he was rooting around in the trunk. He fished out a flashlight and handed it to me. I turned it on, said a silent prayer of thanksgiving that the batteries were fresh, and then held it over the trunk to help him see better.

  “It is late,” he said, just making small talk while he got out the jack and spare. “Did you go to the homecoming?”

  HOW EMBARRASSING. I actually looked away from him when I shook my head no, but then he said, “I did not go either,” and I felt instantly better.

  “What are you doing out so late?” I asked, though it was none of my business.

  “My sister and I, we visit friends from where I used to live—”

  “Bosnia?”

  He smiled. “Yes. They live in Idaho Springs now.” He shrugged. “We were watching DVDs.”

  I nodded, not really sure what to say next. I could ask him what DVDs they’d been watching, but I wouldn’t recognize any of the titles anyway, and the conversation would fizzle. I decided, instead, to focus on the tire. It looked more than flat, it looked shredded. “I can’t believe the tire did that.”

  “It looks bad. You are a good driver to keep the car on the road after such a blowup.” He smiled again.

  I smiled back, because he’d called it a blowup instead of a blowout, which was supercute. “Thank you. My dad would be happy to hear that.”

  We both laughed, and then he got to work on the flat.

  I know it was probably the typical, unfeminist girl thing to do—say yes to the GUY changing the tire for me—but hey. It was, as I’ve said, the middle of the night, pitch dark, and I’ve never changed a tire except for practicing with my dad. But that had been in a heated garage with fluorescent lights, and he talked me through every step.

  Things got more comfortable between Ismet and me after that. I held the flashlight, and we chatted about school while he worked. Eventually his sister, Shefka, came up and hung out while Ismet finished. Shefka is a freshman, but she seems very smart and mature for her age. She was friendly.

  Ismet had removed the shredded tire and he was lifting the spare into place just as I glanced down
at him. The muscles of his back flexed with his effort and my awareness of him just sort of prickled up my spine. The realization struck me like a lightning bolt: HEY, THIS GUY’S REALLYDATEABLE CUTE, in an exotic, foreign sort of way.

  Exotic and foreign were good things!

  Just like that, with one split second of fresh insight, I started looking at Ismet in a completely different light. I mean, it never crossed my mind to think of That Bosnian Guy as a dating prospect, and now I couldn’t think of him in any other way. He’d sort of fallen into my life at the precise moment when I needed help, just MOMENTS after I’d left the dumb supper, and—

  Wait a minute. The dumb supper!

  Shock riddled through me.

  Ismet was the first guy I’d seen, and there was all this unexpected but interesting electricity between us. Could it be that Lila’s, Caressa’s, and my intent with the dumb supper was strong enough to have set things in motion, even without finishing the ceremony?

  I blinked down at him, and my heart did this exhilarating pitter-pat. Why hadn’t I ever noticed how adorable he was before??? I recalled how compelled I’d felt to leave Caressa’s, even though my parents thought I’d be spending the night there. Why WAS that? Fate? The same fate, perhaps, that brought Ismet and Shefka down Meadow Brook Road exactly when I needed them?

  Excitement zinged through me, obliterating all the bad feelings I’d had earlier. I bit my bottom lip and hugged one arm around my torso to hold back the shivers.

  This was it! Destiny had come knocking.

  I couldn’t wait to get home to email Lila and Caressa!

  five

  caressa

  After my girls were gone, the house didn’t look all festive and mysterious to me anymore, like it had when we still nursed hope that the dumb supper would give us some much-needed insight. It just looked like a mess, and it felt really empty with Mom and Dad gone for the night, too. I couldn’t face cleaning up the feast room yet. UGH! Seeing all the decorations, candles, and food would only bum me out even more than I already was.