“Mami, I’m going to Luz’s.”
Mami was at the kitchen table, wrapped up in one of her celebrity-gossip tabloids. She tried to hide it as I entered the room, but I knew that she read those things. She left them all over the house. They were filled with stories of fallen stars—celebrities who’d gotten caught up in scandals, strung out on drugs and alcohol and all sorts of things that I thought were mostly lies. But Mami believed all of the smut that she read in those magazines. It was obvious that she enjoyed reading about how stardom had led some celebrity down a road of destruction, and it was why she didn’t want me to become a star. She was afraid that I’d get caught up in a glamorous Hollywood lifestyle, and before long I’d sell my soul to the devil, lose all self-esteem and get strung out on drugs. She didn’t want me to end up the same as the people she read about in those magazines.
“Look at that child star, Miley Cyrus. Look what happened to her.” That was always her favorite argument. “Her father just tossed her to the wolves.”
I had to make her see that not all celebrities were fallen—they weren’t all involved in scandals and they didn’t all need rehab. Some of them actually made something of their lives and had wonderful careers. It was going to be hard to convince her, but I would if it took the rest of my life.
She walked over to the stove and stirred something in a pot. “Be back before dinner.”
Dinner was ritually at six o’clock. My father usually made it home from the construction site by five-thirty, took a long shower and came straight to the dinner table, where the rest of us awaited. Since my mother worked only part-time as an elementary school teacher, she spent most of her days keeping house and preparing meals for us. It was important to my parents that we ate dinner together as a family. Around the dining room table, we prayed and then shared food and the details of our day. For Nico and me, being late was punishable, so we made it a point of making it on time every single day. My parents taught us that our time together as a family should be a priority, and nothing was more important.
As I made my way across the street, Nico was already in a game of basketball with Alejandro, Fernando and a few boys from another neighborhood.
“Hey, Mari,” Fernando said and grinned. He’d had a crush on me since the beginning of time. Although he was cute, he was more like a brother to me. He had spent too many nights at my house with Nico. I could never date him.
“Hola, Fernando,” I said.
“What’s it like at that artsy school?” he asked.
“Are you gonna start acting like you’re better than all of us now?” asked Alejandro.
“I’ll always be the same Mari.”
“You were always a little stuck-up. You’re gonna continue to be that girl?” Alejandro asked with a grin. He had always been a thorn in my side.
“Leave her alone, and take the ball out, man.” Nico tossed Alejandro the ball.
“It was nice to see you, Mari,” Fernando said with dreamy eyes. “You look as beautiful as ever.”
“Spell beautiful, stupid,” said Alejandro as he threw the ball at Fernando, slamming it into his chest.
Soon they were all lost in the game. I stepped onto Luz’s porch, rang the doorbell.
“What took you so long?” Luz asked and yanked me inside before I could answer.
The smell of something burning hit me in the nose as we walked past the kitchen. Luz’s mom was fanning smoke with a dish towel.
“Hola, Mrs. Hernandez.”
“Hola, Mari. ¿Cómo estás?” Luz’s mom asked how I was doing as she opened the back door and let the smoke out.
“Estoy, bien.” I told her that I was okay.
Luz quickly ushered me upstairs to her room, for fear that her mother might ask us to help in the kitchen. Grace was reclined on Luz’s bed, flipping through a Latina teen magazine. Demi Lovato graced the cover. Kristina was sitting at the foot of the bed, snacking on potato chips.
“She can’t cook!” Luz exclaimed after we were behind her closed bedroom door. “My dad is the cook in the family. I don’t even know why she insists on trying. She’s burning things up, and then she’ll insist that we all sit at the table together and eat it.”
“Give her a break. At least she’s trying.” I felt sorry for Mrs. Hernandez.
“Your mother did this to me!” Luz exclaimed. “Talking about how you guys eat dinner around the freaking table every day and discuss your problems. Now my mom wants us to do it again! Nobody wants to eat together. And I don’t care how anybody’s day went. I’d much rather just grab a bowl of Froot Loops and eat it in my room.”
I laughed.
“Where’s my blue eye shadow!” Anarosa, Luz’s younger sister, burst through the door.
“I didn’t have it,” Luz snapped.
“Well, it’s not where I left it, and I want it back now!” Anarosa demanded.
It was always lively at Luz’s house. She argued a lot with her younger sister, and their parents argued a lot with each other, too. If they weren’t devout Catholics, they probably would’ve divorced years ago. When they were in public, they pretended to be this normal, happy family. But behind closed doors, they were far from normal. Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez believed that their daughters were good, wholesome teenagers who could do no wrong. But the truth was, Anarosa was the girl whom the football team and basketball team had tossed around since she was twelve. If Carlos Hernandez knew that his baby girl climbed out of her bedroom window on a regular basis, he’d probably have a heart attack and die. And Luz—who was a tomboy—totally transformed into a different person when her parents weren’t around. She loved to challenge authority and take the wrong kinds of risks that the rest of us weren’t comfortable with taking. It was Luz who’d convinced us all to take the subway into the Bronx when we were ten years old. We weren’t even allowed to leave our neighborhood, let alone ride the subway into another borough.
“Get out of my room,” Luz commanded. “You look like a natural-born puta when you wear that stuff on your eyes.”
“You’re a whore!” Anarosa returned the sentiment, and then stormed out of Luz’s room, slamming the door behind her.
“Puta!” Luz yelled. “Come on, Mari, let’s get started before Senora Loca starts calling me for dinner.”
I washed Luz’s hair in their bathtub, and then blow-dried and curled it. When I was done, she checked it out in the mirror.
“You missed this part,” she said, holding on to a small piece of hair that I’d missed.
“You’re so hard to please, Luz,” I said and grabbed the curling iron to finish her hair.
“You wouldn’t leave your hair undone, Chica. So don’t leave mine that way,” she said. “Whatever.”
“Guess what?” She changed the subject. “Pedro Vargas is walking me to class tomorrow.”
“What?” I was surprised. Luz never gave any boy the time of day. Several boys liked her. Why wouldn’t they? She was gorgeous: a perfect size seven, long legs, shoulder-length brown hair and beautiful olive-colored skin. “Nerdy Pedro?”
“He’s not so nerdy this year. You should see him, Mari. He grew a few inches taller over the summer. And it really looks like he’s been working out.”
“Pedro Vargas has been working out?” I couldn’t help but laugh. Grace laughed, too.
“Okay, laugh, you two. But he’s different. He’s not the same Pedro that you remember,” she said. “We were in American history class this morning and he asked me if I had an extra pencil. As I handed him the pencil, I looked into those eyes. I don’t know…I never knew that his eyes were so beautiful until then.”
It was weird hearing my best friend talk about a boy this way. She usually described boys as being stupid, brainless or ugly. Never in a romantic sense. And definitely not Pedro Vargas, who was shorter than average and wore thick glasses. I couldn’t understand how she could’ve possibly seen his eyes through those bifocals.
“Remember those thick glasses he used to wear?” she asked.
“Well, he got contacts.”
“Wow” is all I could say. “Well, let’s get your hair done right then, girlfriend.”
“That’s what I said in the beginning,” she said with a smile. “So, any cuties at your school, Mari?”
“I haven’t really been looking. I mean…I don’t know. There’s this one guy that I bumped into at the auditions. Drew Bishop. He’s a drama major. Good-looking,” I told her. I was surprised at my own assessment of Drew.
“You like him, don’t you?” Luz asked and grinned.
“He’s okay,” I lied.
“He’s okay? Seriously? Come on, Chica, it’s me…Luz. Don’t lie to me!”
“Okay, I like him. But he doesn’t know it,” I said. “Besides, I’m sure he has a girlfriend. She showed up at Manny’s one day. She’s tall and beautiful…”
“So?”
“And then there’s this girl, Celine.”
“Who’s Celine?”
“She’s a snob…a very beautiful snob, who also likes Drew.”
“Sounds like he’s up for grabs,” Grace said.
“I’m not interested,” I said as I finished styling Luz’s hair. “I’m more interested in Dance America.”
“What’s that?” Luz asked.
“It’s that dance competition,” Grace interjected. “Kids from all over the country compete.”
“Oh, yeah, I think I heard something about that last year. The girl who won got to be in a movie or something,” said Luz.
“I’m thinking about trying out.” I smiled, looking for Luz’s approval.
“Your parents won’t let you.”
“They might.”
“Come on, Mari. They didn’t even want you to audition at Premiere.”
“Well, they don’t have to know…not initially. If I’m selected, they’ll be so excited for me that they won’t be able to say no.”
“You’re dreaming,” Luz said.
“You should try out, too, Luz. We could do it together.”
“Who? No, not me. I like dancing, but I’m not as good as some of the people who will be competing.”
“Luz, you’re one of the best dancers I know. You have to try out! You have to,” I begged. “If you do it, I’ll do it. And our parents won’t even have to know.”
“Where are these auditions held?” she asked.
“At my school.”
“I don’t know, Mari.”
“Come on. This is an opportunity of a lifetime, Luz. This is our chance.”
Grace’s head was bouncing back and forth between us. Luz took a look at herself in the mirror. She must’ve been satisfied with her hair, because she didn’t complain anymore.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll audition with you.”
“Yes!” I exclaimed.
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things,” she said and then opened her closet and started looking for an outfit for school. “What do you think of these jeans with this top?”
“Cute,” I told her. “I gotta go. It’s almost six o’clock, and I have to be home for dinner.”
“We gotta come up with a routine for this…this…Dance America thing.”
“We’ll start tomorrow,” I said and started gathering my hair products. “As soon I get home from school.”
“After pizza at Manny’s, of course,” she said sarcastically.
“Of course,” I grinned and then gave my best friend a hug. “See you tomorrow.”
“Okay, Chica,” she said and smiled. “Why don’t you sneak me some dinner from your house later. I’m sure I’ll still be hungry. Besides, your mom’s a much better cook.”
“You’re sick.”
“I’m honest.”
“Bye, Gracie,” I said.
“See ya, Mari.”
I pulled Luz’s bedroom door shut behind me; jogged down the stairs and out the front door. The thought of us auditioning for Dance America made me want to skip all the way home. And I did.
six
Drew
My alarm went off and Hot 97 disc jockey Cipha Sound’s voice shook me out of my sleep. When I heard a Timbaland song, I turned the radio up as loud as it would go and rolled out of bed, wearing a pair of boxers but no shirt. I went into the bathroom, splashed water onto my face and turned on the shower. As I stepped into the shower, I started rehearsing my lines for the school’s production of A Raisin in the Sun. Today, I would be auditioning for the role of Walter Lee Younger. It was the role that P. Diddy portrayed in the modern version of the play. The old version premiered in 1959. It was a Broadway play, and the role of Walter Lee Younger was played by Sidney Poitier. I had gone to Blockbuster and rented the 1961 version of the film, which also starred Sydney Poitier. For a few days, I studied my scenes in the hopes I could get my lines, tight as Mr. Poitier’s. He was so smooth. And if I landed the role, the production would take place in an off-off-Broadway stage in the city. It was that thought that made it all worthwhile.
Freshly dressed, and with cologne dabbed on my neck, I grabbed my keys from the kitchen bar and headed for the garage. I hopped into my car. I could’ve walked the twelve blocks from our apartment to school, but occasionally I liked to take my car out for a spin. I knew that my father would probably flip a lid if he found out, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. I let the top down just to catch a little bit of the New York City morning breeze. I popped in a Keri Hilson CD and tried to visualize her beautiful body moving to the music. She was exactly what I needed first thing in the morning. Keri was someone of interest to me. Besides writing songs for people like Britney Spears, Ludacris and Usher, she also attended Oxford University, where she majored in theater. I was somewhat of a songwriter; I had spiral notebooks filled with songs that I’d written. I used songwriting as a way of expressing my feelings. Whether I had a good day or a bad one, I could write a song about it. We had so much in common—Keri and me. All she had to do was recognize that I was alive.
I bounced to the music as I sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic on Fifth Avenue. The drive should’ve taken only a few minutes, but during New York’s rush-hour traffic, it was the worst drive ever. But I took it in stride; I tried to make the best of each day, no matter the challenge. It wasn’t always easy, but at least I tried. Some days I didn’t do so well. The cab driver in the car next to mine blew his horn and shouted profanity to someone in the car in front of him. Loud horns sounded throughout the city as people made their way to wherever their destination was. The car in front of me stalled, and just as I put my blinker on to go around him, cars began to pile up in the lane next to mine. It seemed there was no way out, and if traffic didn’t start moving soon, I’d be late for school.
Being late for drama class was unacceptable. Harold Winters, my instructor, made it very clear that attendance and grades determined which roles you received in certain productions. The slackers almost always ended up being understudies. I wasn’t interested in being anyone’s understudy. I wanted the lead. I took acting seriously, especially since I had something to prove to my father. There was no time for half stepping. I had to make him believe that his only son hadn’t become soft. That acting didn’t make me any less of a man. In fact, it brought out the best in me. I could act just as well—maybe even better—than I could play basketball. I needed for him to respect my choice.
Finally pulling into the school’s parking lot, I stopped at the security gate and let my window down.
“Where’s your parking pass?” the heavy female security guard asked.
“Um…I…” I pretended to search for it in my wallet.
“You won’t find it in your wallet. It’s too big to fit in there. It goes on the dash of your car.” Her dark brown face frowned at me. She looked as if she might actually be pretty if she took the time to apply a little makeup, curl her hair and possibly lose a few pounds.
“I must’ve forgotten to get it.” I gave her that awardwinning smile that usually charmed women. “It’s probably at the house
…”
“Well, I would suggest you go back to the house and get it,” she said, “’cause you can’t park here without it.”
Did she have to be so mean? I wondered what she would look like if she smiled. She obviously didn’t know who I was. My father was a local celebrity—a sportscaster for a major New York radio station. He had his own show between the hours of six and eight in the morning, Monday through Friday. And he’d made guest appearances on ESPN’s SportsCenter. He’d interviewed Eddy Curry, Amar’e Stoudemire and other great Knicks basketball players over the years.
“I know…you probably don’t know who I am. I am the son of New York’s very own morning sportscaster, Big ‘D’ Bishop. If you look at the tag on the front of the car, it says BISHOP 2. This one’s mine. He drives the Lexus…the lucky dog. He’s BISHOP 1…”
She took a look at the tag on the front of the car, as if she was really considering what I’d just said.
“Does your father also attend Premiere High School?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then why do I care what car he drives and what his tag says?” She frowned again. “Now, what I need for you to do is turn this little car around…go back home and find your parking pass.”
“Can you let me go just this one time?”
“No can do,” she stated. “Now, if you don’t mind…there are others behind you.”
I took a glance into my rearview mirror, and sure enough, there were four cars behind me waiting to get into the parking lot. They started blowing their horns. I did just as the security officer asked me to do and turned the car around. I didn’t have a parking pass at the house. There was no need for one. Actually, there was no need for me to drive to school at all. I circled the block a few times, in search of a parking meter; somewhere I could park for a few hours until I figured something else out. I finally found an empty space and parallel-parked in between two cars. I stepped out of the car and dug deep into my pockets in search of spare change. I filled the meter with enough change for three hours—enough time to make it to my audition and to make it back outside around lunchtime to pump more change into it. I grabbed my backpack from the backseat and sprinted toward the school.
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