by Carol Weston
so r u going 2 dump him?
i don’t know if we’re even going out. r we going out or hanging out?
he did NOT fly over 2 see the Statue of Liberty. he came 2 see the Beauty of Melanie LOL
hehe but u know what? he also came becz his parents r separated and r trying to work on their marriage
really?? i didn’t know that. poor miguel!! :-(
maybe he came 2 practice English 2
quizás. that’s maybe in Spanish, right?
sí. but what should i do??
maybe nothing?
what if he tries 2 kiss me?
follow your gut
it’s as confused as my brain!
lol
but really mel if you’re confused, don’t do anything
that’s probably good advice
good????
brillllliant! :-)
don’t worry, k?
k but what about 2night at suze’s w/ miguel and justin both there??
sorry g2g my dad is calling ttyl
k bye
bye
P.S. I feel a little better. I’m glad Cecily would never cut and paste or forward or print out our conversation. If Suze and I ever IMed like that, I bet Suze would show the whole world (or at least Cecily) the first chance she got. But Cecily is a good friend. I’m lucky she’s my best friend!
back home around ten
Dear Diary,
Miguel and I met in Suze’s lobby and went up to her party together in the elevator. It was a long ride and Miguel thought it was funny that the floors jumped from 12 to 14, skipping 13, simply because some people imagine that living on the 13th floor could bring bad luck. “Don’t they realize the 14th floor is the 13th floor?” he asked.
Suze lives on the top floor, in a fancy penthouse with great views from the window.
We live on the second floor, which means no waits for the elevator but no views either. It also means we barely know our neighbors because we never make elevator chitchat.
Anyway, Suze let us in, and Miguel double-kissed her, and I could tell she liked that. A lot of kids from my class were standing around, and pizza arrived and everybody dived in. Suze gobbled two slices and let out a really loud burp, which was truly gross. (Miguel thought so too—I could tell.) I mean, we’re not seven anymore! But Christopher burped back and said, “Aaahhh!” which was doubly gross. Maybe Suze and my old crush are meant for each other!
Suze asked Miguel if they have pizza in Spain. He said yes, but they eat it with a knife and fork. She said, “No offense, but I don’t like spicy Spanish tacos.”
Miguel smiled and said, “No offense, but Mexican food is spicy. Spanish food is not spicy. And in Spain, taco (Tah Coe) is not a food. It is what you call a ‘curse word.’ ”
I felt like applauding! (hee, hee)
A girl named Ashley came up and introduced herself, saying, “Hola, me llamo (Oh La May Yom Oh) Ashley.” She was sort of flirting, and at first I felt jealous, but I tried to remind myself that I don’t own Miguel and he’s not truly my bf anyway. She asked, “Is your name Michael in English?” He laughed and said, “I suppose so.”
Suze must have seen me looking at them because she came over, motioned for me to step aside, then loudly whispered, “I heard about your sleepover with Miguel.” She gave me a sicko smile that was really irritating.
I said, “It wasn’t like that.” Cecily might have told Suze about my plans with Miguel, but she would never have twisted things around or started a rumor.
“Mel, I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“Suze, he’s a friend of my whole family.” She smirked as if she didn’t believe me, so I added, “You think you know everything, but I think you should butt out of my business.”
She arched one eyebrow. “You have a business? You’re a businesswoman?”
I couldn’t believe we were getting into a fight—at her party! But she was making me so so so mad! “I just mean: my friends are my business, not yours.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your attitude,” I said. My heart was hammering inside me. “You’ve been trying to steal Cecily, and you asked Justin if he liked me, and now you’re assuming stuff about Miguel.” Even though I was upset, I was still trying to speak quietly, which was more than I can say for Suze. Instead of whispering, she was talking in her regular voice. I wished she had a volume knob that I could turn down—or off!
“Trying to steal Cecily?! First of all, she’s a person not a thing, so she’s not stealable. Second, she’s allowed to have friends besides you. Third—wait, why am I even defending myself? You’re the one who always acts like you have better things to do than to talk to me. Which is fine. It’s a free country. But still, your attitude can be annoying, you know.”
“What are you talking about?” I definitely hadn’t expected her to call me annoying.
“You’re always avoiding me. I invite you to a party, and you make it seem like you’re doing me this huge favor just showing up. I’m not a horrible person.”
“I never said you were a horrible person.” (Not to her face anyway!)
“You act like you think it.”
I had no clue what to say, so I just poured myself some juice.
“Look,” Suze continued, “I moved here and I didn’t know anybody. Our class is pretty small, and some of the nicest kids were already your friends. That doesn’t mean I was trying to take them away from you. Everything is not about you, you know.”
Now I was truly speechless. Or in shock or something.
“Really, Melanie,” she continued, “I’m nice to you! If I didn’t like you, I would not have invited you tonight. And I would have asked Justin out without asking you first. Remember?”
I should have said: “How could I forget?” Or: “You didn’t ask me thoughtfully. You asked me trickily!” Instead, I mumbled, “I guess.”
She made a face as if to say, “See!”
I asked, “So did you ask him out?”
She lowered her voice—finally. “Yeah. He said no. But he’s supposed to come tonight—on the late side. I bet he will show up because I told him you’d be here.” My heart did a flip-flop and I hoped she couldn’t tell. “I still think he likes you.”
“Really? Why? Did he say anything?” I couldn’t believe Suze had somehow gotten me to change the subject from her meanness to Justin’s niceness.
“I just think so.” Suze leaned forward, glanced at Miguel, and said, “Even though you said you didn’t like Justin, I think you do and don’t want to admit it, not even to yourself. No offense. I mean, you know you better than I know you.”
It was the kind of oozy comment that would usually drive me insane, but this time it didn’t. Because I knew she had a tiny point.
“Have you heard from Cecily?” I asked.
“No. She gets back in three days,” Suze said. “Maybe we can all go shopping.”
“Maybe.” But I knew I wasn’t going to be the one to call her. The doorbell rang, and Suze flounced off to let more people in.
I wasn’t sure if I’d actually want to go shopping with Cecily and Suze, but I did like feeling included. And I figured maybe I could tryyyy to appreciate Suze’s okay side. She must have one or Cecily wouldn’t like her, right?
Well, since I’d thought the party would be more awkward than fun, I’d asked Mom to pick us up early—at 8:30. Of course I didn’t know Justin would be arriving late!
I found Miguel and told him we had to go. He double-kissed all the girls and they ate it up, especially Ashley, who said, “Adiós, Michael,” and giggled. I thanked Suze and she said, “I’ll call you.”
I said, “Okay,” which felt weird. Then we left and she closed the door behind us.
In the hallway, Miguel said, “That was a fun fiesta,” and I agreed. I was half disappointed not to have seen Justin, but half relieved that Justin and Miguel hadn’t met.
We were in front of the elevators, and I pressed the down button.
The doors popped open and guess who walked out?
“Bad timing!” I said.
“No. Just-in-time Justin timing!”
His eyes were smiling, and mine smiled back, but I didn’t want to smile too much with Miguel right there.
Justin got out of the elevator and Miguel got in, but that seemed abrupt, so I said, “Wait, Miguel. Come out. I want you to meet Justin.”
Miguel came out and extended his hand—which Justin was not expecting. “Hello. I am Miguel.”
“Miguel!” Justin said, and shook his hand. “Suze said you’d be here: The Boyfriend from Barcelona.”
“Valencia,” Miguel corrected, though neither of us commented on the other B word. I could, however, feel myself getting pinker by the second.
“Melanie told our whole class about Spain,” Justin said. “The bonfires and the bullfight.”
Guess whose mouth once again stopped working?
“Perhaps you will visit my country someday,” Miguel said.
“Perhaps,” Justin said, and smiled at me because kids don’t usually say the word “perhaps.”
I just stood there, quiet as MouseMouse.
Then Christopher came out of Suze’s apartment and joined us in the narrow hallway. He asked Miguel what he liked best about New York. Miguel said, “Above the ground, the skyscrapers. Beneath the ground, the subway.” He described riding in the front subway car and looking into the huge black tunnel.
Funny. Tonight’s party and our subway ride were the only truly unplanned parts of Miguel’s whole trip. And he loved them. I’d always thought of the subway as a way to get somewhere, not an amazing experience.
Miguel was describing everything we saw underground and said, “It was stupen— No, it was awesome! It was cool!”
Everyone laughed.
“Did Mel’s family take you to a Mets game?” Christopher asked, and he and Miguel started discussing béisbol.
I took a step toward Justin and finally got my mouth to work, but barely. You won’t believe what it said. This is what it said: “Suze mentioned that you have a girlfriend too.” I don’t know what made it say that! It was worse than standing there mute.
“Girlfriend?”
“From camp?”
He looked at me like I was crazy, so I mumbled, “Never mind,” and tried to become invisible. Which didn’t work.
I wish wish wished I had just gone down in the elevator that Justin came up in!
“Oh! Wait! I know what you mean!” he finally said.
“I told Suze I had a special friend at camp who is a girl. And I do. My sister!”
“Your sister?” I didn’t want Justin or Miguel to be able to read my face.
“My sister, Katie.” Justin leaned toward me. “Suze is okay, but you know how loud she can be. I didn’t think it was any of her business if I did or didn’t have a girlfriend.”
Another elevator came and Christopher got in. “C’mon, Melanie. C’mon, Miguel.”
We got in, and I called out to Justin, “Have a great rest-of-the-summer.”
“Maybe I’ll see you,” he said.
I didn’t answer. But inside I smiled.
Dear Diary,
“I’m going to the corner,” Mom said. “We’re out of milk.” Mom and Dad like milk in their morning coffee.
“Can I come?”
“It’s pretty late.”
“It’s summer.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
On the corner, we saw a man with a scraggly beard and a shopping cart full of books, plastic bags, empty cans, and blankets. He was wearing too many clothes for a warm night, but Mom said he doesn’t have a home (or closet) to put them in. She said homelessness is a problem that can’t be easily fixed but that when I’m older, I can volunteer at a soup kitchen in our neighborhood. I watched as the man searched inside a garbage can and found part of a sandwich that someone else had thrown away. Since we were buying food, Mom bought him a bagel and an apple. He said, “God bless you.”
New York has millions of people in it, not even counting all the tourists. And some of them are a lot less lucky than others.
Sadly,
M.
Sunday June 24
Dear Diary,
This morning Uncle Angel wanted to go to church in Harlem.
“Church?” Matt said, because it’s not like we usually go to church.
“Harlem?” I said, because it’s not like we usually go to Harlem.
“Do we have to?” we both asked Mom and Dad, and they said yes, because it was Miguel and Angel’s last day here. Mom even started singing a jazz song called “Take the A Train.”
We got up early and met Uncle Angel and Miguel and went up to West 138th Street to hear a gospel service at the most famous church in Harlem, the Abyssinian Baptist Church. According to Uncle Angel’s guidebook, the ABC was founded in 1808.
His book says a lot about Harlem. How Duke Ellington and Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong made music, and Langston Hughes wrote poems, and Fidel Castro and the Beatles visited, and Bill Clinton has an office there.
I realize race and religion are both touchy subjects, but if I can’t be honest in my own diary, where can I be honest?
So here goes: Where I live, there are more white people than black people. In Harlem, there are more black people than white people. We were the minority!
Actually, I don’t know why I’m even writing “white” and “black.” We’re all different shades of beige and brown. No one’s white or black. Miguel and Uncle Angel have been amazed at how if you look around New York, you see all different colors of skin and hair and eyes. You hear lots of Spanish too!
As for religion, in school we’re always learning about people who believe in God but who, next thing you know, start a big war with people who believe in God in a different way.
Well, I’m not completely sure what I believe. But I don’t think God would want people to be constantly fighting over Him (or Her).
I also hope that He—or She—wouldn’t mind that on most Sunday mornings, I’m in bed fast asleep.
Today at 9:00 A.M., we were in the ABC. It was packed! It is a very popular church. And welcoming. A man held open the red door for us, and a lady wearing a white dress and white gloves ushered us in, and a man next to me shared his open songbook when everyone started singing.
The singing was beautiful! Organ music filled the room, and dozens of men and women wearing flowing crimson robes were standing and swaying and clapping in the choir loft above the preacher. Their voices were so rich and spirited it made me want to sing along!
The preacher had a great voice too. Dad said he was the Reverend Dr. Calvin O. Butts III. I could tell that Matt was dying to make a joke. For once, though, he didn’t. Which made me kind of proud of Little DumDum.
Dr. Butts stood in front of the big stained-glass windows and said nobody’s perfect but everyone can try to be inclusive even if you once felt excluded. He said the church is a community and a home where everyone can belong. “The doors of the church are always open. If you are a visitor and this is your first time here, we are glad you came and please stand up.”
Matt hopped up! Mom, Dad, Angel, and Miguel did too! If I’d had a sign that said I DON’T KNOW THESE PEOPLE, I would have held it, but I didn’t. And since everyone was looking anyway, I realized I had to stand up. So I did.
The lady in front of me, an older black woman with a pretty pink hat, turned and said “Welcome,” and held out her right hand for me to shake. A man behind me smiled with dark eyes and extended his hand. So did the man next to me. And another lady in front of me. Everyone was shaking my hand and smiling kindly and welcoming me, and suddenly it wasn’t embarrassing, it was sort of warm and comforting.
To tell you the truth, I’d walked into the church feeling a tiny bit alone, maybe because it’s Miguel’s last day here. But after the reverend talked about us all as brothers and sisters and family and everyone shook my hand, well, I felt less alone. More
like smothered, but in a good way. Like a pork chop in apple sauce!
The reverend was also saying that everyone has a gift and that we can be generous and give what we can to help others in need. People started saying “Amen” and “That’s right.” Even the people up in the back balconies.
“You have to figure out what you have to offer,” Dr. Butts continued. “Some of you may have the gift of time. Or the gift of singing. Or the gift of cooking. Or the gift of writing.”
Was he talking to me? Do I have the gift of writing? And if so, am I supposed to figure out how to be generous with that gift?
Maybe. Maybe I’m not supposed to just send IMs and e-mails and worry about them. Maybe I’m supposed to realize the world isn’t only me and my friends. It’s huge. In fact, there are whole worlds I didn’t even know of right here in Manhattan!
I bet I’ll always obsess about friends and boys. But maybe I can obsess a teensy weensy bit less. And instead of getting so upset, maybe I can keep trying to remember how lucky I am.
“God has smiled on me,” the chorus started singing. “God’s been good to me.” I listened and reminded myself that I’ve been very fortunate, even though I sometimes forget.
For instance, I’m not homeless. Some people don’t have a family who cares about them, but I definitely do. When Mom and Dad take us places, or even when they just make pancakes or drop us off and pick us up, those are grown-up ways of showing love.
And many of the grown-ups in the pews today probably have never been to Europe, but I’ve even been to Haarlem, the pretty town in Holland that gave our Harlem its name.
Soon it was time for the offering. A brass bowl got passed around so people could put in money for the church and for sick or hungry people. I was sitting between Dad and Mom, and Dad reached into his pocket and put a ten-dollar bill in the shiny bowl. He was about to pass it directly to Mom.
“Wait,” I whispered, and dug deep down inside my pocket. I pulled out three crinkled-up dollar bills (which was all I had) and added it to the little pile of money.
Mom nodded at me, and Dad put his arm around me and gave my shoulder a squeeze. You know what? It felt good. And Dad’s arm didn’t make me nervous or anxious or jumpy at all.