Hallway Diaries
Page 27
“Why jou no tell me jou like Alex?” she asked, with her voice shaking. “I don’t kiss him if I know.”
“What?” Giselle shrieked. “I don’t like him! I have better taste in guys than you do. I have better taste in a lot of things, are you kidding me?” She walked over to the closet. “Look at this skirt,” she said, pulling out the skirt Juanita had been wearing when they picked her up from the airport just weeks ago. “Can you not see how ugly this is? Are you freakin’ blind?” Juanita grabbed the skirt from Giselle’s hands and gave her a deadly look. They stared at each other silently for a few seconds and then Giselle stormed out of the room. Juanita grabbed her purple suitcase and stuffed it with all her “tacky” clothes. She ran around the room looking for her things with a desperation—she wanted to get out of that house immediately.
Brian had heard the commotion and went upstairs to the room. He saw her packing her things and demanded to know what was going on. Juanita didn’t stop.
“I want to go in my coh-sing house, in Washington Heights.”
“No, Juanita,” he said, taking the bag away from her. “Please stop this. Just tell me what’s going on.”
She tried to talk but she started to cry instead.
“What is it?” he asked again. “Did you two girls get into a fight?”
Juanita tried hard to control her breathing so she could speak, but all that came out was “I want to go…please.”
Brian let her finish packing and went to find Giselle to see if he could get to the bottom of this. But when he found her, she was even more hysterical and incoherent than Juanita.
Brian gave up. He called Rosita in Washington Heights and told her that he and Juanita were on their way. About an hour later Giselle heard them leave the house. She looked out the window as they drove away. They didn’t even say goodbye.
CHAPTER 19
Giselle was used to a quiet house, but it had never felt as quiet and lonely as it did now. Her head was pounding from crying so much, and she had to take two Motrin to stop the pain. She wished it would take away that empty feeling in her gut, too. Giselle picked up Juanita’s new outfits that were thrown on the bed. She knew her cousin had left them here on purpose. Giselle probably would have done the same thing. As she folded them, she heard her father pull into the driveway. Maybe Juanita had changed her mind and come back with him. She looked out the window, but her father was walking back to the house by himself.
Brian walked up the stairs determined to find out what had happened. Juanita had been silent for the whole ride and wouldn’t answer any of his questions. Brian was not used to getting involved with his daughter’s affairs—that had always been the nanny’s job. But he now understood more than ever that Giselle needed him. When she had cried in his arms that day in the park, he knew he could no longer pass the responsibility of raising his daughter to someone else. He needed to be more present and active in her life, as uncomfortable and awkward as that might be.
“Can I come in?” he asked, knocking on the door.
“No.”
He opened the door anyway and sat on her bed. “Why did Juanita leave?” he asked. Giselle folded her arms without saying a word.
“Giselle, you can talk to me. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t,” she said, starting to cry. “You’re going to be mad.” He held her close to him and let her cry in his arms.
“It’s okay if I’m a little mad. It doesn’t mean I’m going to love you any less. Tell me what happened…. Why are you so upset?”
“I said horrible things,” she confessed between frantic, tearful breaths. “She has every right to hate me right now.”
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t mean to,” she said. “I called her a slut because she kissed Alex Nixon at his party.” Before her father had a chance to respond, she spilled everything out. She was feeling like a dark rain cloud, ripe and ready to pour down.
“He was supposed to kiss me,” she cried, “but nobody is ever going to kiss me because I’m ugly.”
“Giselle—”
“It’s true! No one ever looks at me that way. I always thought it was because I was too dark for the boys in my school. And when I finally meet someone who I think likes me, he goes and kisses her. What’s wrong with me?”
“Hey,” he said, making her look at him. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” He smiled and wiped her tears with his hands. “Are you kidding me? You’re beautiful. You look just like your mother. You don’t need a boy to kiss you to make that true, it already is. You’re beautiful.” He kissed her on the forehead. “One day—hopefully not too soon—but one day someone is going to fall in love with you the same way I fell in love with your mother. There’s nothing wrong with you, Gigi, you’re terrific. Just be who you are and don’t worry about what other people think.”
Giselle sniffled. “I don’t think I know who I am.”
Brian took a moment to think about what she had just said. He’d often felt the same way about himself.
“That’s okay, Gigi. Maybe you don’t have to know everything about yourself right now. I don’t think anyone has themselves figured out one hundred percent.” Brian thought a little bit more and then had an idea. “You know, Gigi, moments like these are perfect times to start figuring out the kind of person you really are. You have a choice. You could be the person who runs away from a relationship, or you could be the one who fights for it. Trust me. You’ll regret it when it’s gone.”
Giselle looked at him with a knowing smile as she wiped away the last of her tears. He rubbed her back. “I don’t mind taking another trip to Washington Heights,” he said.
Giselle wanted to, but part of her was afraid.
“Oh, Dad, I don’t know if she can forgive me for what I said. She must be so mad at me right now. I really said a lot of bad things.”
“That’s up to her,” he said, getting up. “But it’s up to you to make the first step and apologize.”
The trip to Washington Height was the longest ride ever. Giselle was imagining the worst. What if Juanita had told everyone what she had said and they all hated her? So many times she wanted to tell her father to forget about it and go back home. But she wanted to prove to herself who she was capable of being. She wanted to be the person who did the right thing, no matter how uncomfortable it was.
Brian parked the car, and soon they were ringing the buzzer to Rosita’s home. They climbed up the stairs to the apartment, and this time Giselle didn’t mind how many there were. As she stood by the door, she wished she were still climbing stairs instead. Brian knocked and they waited. She could feel her blood pulsing under her skin. Juanita opened the door as if she knew it was for her.
“You left this,” Giselle said, extending the bag of clothes they had bought Juanita while in Long Island.
Rosita stepped in by the door with her warm, friendly face. “Hey, guys, come on in.” She led them into the apartment. “Are you guys hungry? I was making some empanadas for my girls when they come back. I could make a few more.” Brian and Rosita disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Giselle and Juanita alone in the small living room.
They both sat down on the plastic couch. Crunch.
“Juanita,” Giselle said slowly.
“I know, Prima,” Juanita said, touching her cousin’s back. Giselle felt a weight of guilt lifted off and she hugged Juanita tighter than she ever had before.
“That was easier than I thought,” Giselle said, laughing and wiping away her tears.
“We’re family,” Juanita said. “Mami and Tía Jackie fight many time, but they always keep dee love.”
Rosita came out, served them their empanadas, and left them alone to talk again. They spoke about Alex, her nanny Erin, Giselle’s friends, her grandmother, her insecurities, her talk with her father. She wanted to make sure Juanita understood her life, and more importantly, she wanted to make sure her cousin understood how much better her l
ife was now that Juanita was in it.
Juanita didn’t go back to Long Island to finish off her visit in the United States. Instead, Giselle stayed with her cousin in Washington Heights. Together, they slept on the pullout couch in the living room, bought gaudy New York souvenirs for the family back in the Dominican Republic, rolled their eyes at the boys who’d whistle at them in the street, learned to make Jackie’s famous dish of sancocho, and danced merengue every day.
“Okay, honey, have a great day,” Brian said as he switched the gear to park. Giselle hugged her father and stepped out of the car. It was her first day back at school.
Her hair was still dark but it was pin straight that day. Yesterday it was curly, and a week before it was in two hundred tiny braids. One of the many things she had learned about herself that summer was that she liked to change her hair. She was even thinking about going red, and maybe on the next visit to the salon she’d cut it all the way up to her shoulders. As she walked to class, her purple boots clicked on the floor like tap shoes. It was an unconventional color for the people in her school, but she loved her new shoes and didn’t care what anyone else thought about them. That morning she’d tried on the flowery shawl that her grandmother and Tía Milagros had made for her. As she looked in the mirror, she came to the conclusion that she still thought it was really ugly. If she had liked it, she would have worn it, but she decided it would serve better as a comfy throw for watching movies on chilly nights.
Giselle carried herself differently, and everyone would notice the change. Even Alex no longer felt the need to give her forced compliments to boost her ego. She held her head a little higher; she walked with a confidence that she vowed no one could ever take away—not her grandmother, not her friends, not even the boys on the football team. Giselle still didn’t know who she was. But she was determined that just like learning meringue in the park, she would have fun as she figured it out.
HALLWAY DIARIES
ISBN: 978-1-4268-0523-3
© 2007 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
HOW TO BE DOWN
© 2007 by Felicia Pride
DOUBLE ACT
© 2007 by Debbie M. Rigaud
THE SUMMER SHE LEARNED TO DANCE
© 2007 by Karen Valentin
All rights reserved. The reproduction, transmission or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission. For permission please contact Kimani Press, Editorial Office, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
® and TM are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and/or other countries.
www.KimaniTRU.com