Ambitious

by Monica McKayhan

  When I accidentally knocked over Mari’s glass of Wild Purple Smash Hawaiian Punch, it splattered all over her white blouse and khaki pants. After apologizing until I was blue in the face, I offered her one of my dress shirts and a pair of my boxer shorts—the new ones with the purple and yellow stripes. She was hesitant at first but then crept into the guest bathroom and changed. When she came out, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. It was weird, but my shirt made her look so much more attractive. I grabbed my Yankees cap, placed it backward on her head. I loved a girl in a baseball cap. After that, somehow we ended up playing a game of sock basketball.

  “I can’t stay long,” she reminded me as we both collapsed on the bed. “I have to get home soon.”

  “Okay, as soon as your clothes are done, I’ll walk you to the subway.”

  I escorted her into the family room; turned on my dad’s old stereo—the one that he’d found at a rummage sale one Saturday afternoon. It was his pride and joy. He loved the fact that he could play his old albums and records on it. His albums were so different than my collection of CDs. They looked ancient, but I was interested in them. The first time he showed me how to play one on his turntable, I watched it spin around in a circle; it was fascinating. Sometimes when he wasn’t home, I’d listen to his old music—rappers like Doug E. Fresh, Eric B. and Rakim, and Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. Some of their stuff was corny at first, but eventually it grew on me. Now it was the music that I preferred.

  I placed my dad’s Grandmaster Flash album on the turntable, turned up the volume on the stereo.

  “What’s that?” Mari asked.

  “Grandmaster Flash.” I handed her the album cover.

  She stared at the picture of guys wearing Kangol hats and carrying around a huge boom box. She laughed as she handed it back to me.

  “It’s my dad’s old stuff,” I explained.

  “It sounds like some music that Jasmine’s dad played when he taught us how to pop-lock for the dance contest.” She laughed and then gave me a demonstration; started pop-locking.

  I followed suit and soon we were both pop-locking—almost challenging each other. She showed me her moves, and I showed her what I had. I had to admit, she was a great dancer. I wasn’t surprised that she was a finalist in this year’s Dance America contest. She deserved it.

  After becoming bored with dancing, we decided on another game of one-on-one while her clothes dried. This time with a real basketball. She didn’t know very much about basketball, so I had to give her a crash course. She could barely bounce the basketball at first, but eventually she picked it up. I couldn’t help but laugh as she dribbled with two hands at first, and double dribbled a few times.

  “Okay, so let’s see your jump shot,” I told Mari. “If you’re gonna be Arroyo, you gotta have a nice outside jump shot.”

  She gave her jump shot a try, but it was bad—terrible even, but I hid my laughter. Didn’t want to embarrass her. I was enjoying her company and wanted to prolong her visit as much as possible. She managed to get the ball back in her possession, attempted to dribble and went up for a shot. I don’t know what came over me, but I grabbed her by the waist; gave her a tight squeeze. Her arms suddenly wrapped themselves around my neck and I took in her smell. I could feel my heart pounding as I glanced at her lips. They were purple from the Wild Purple Smash Hawaiian Punch. I wanted to kiss them. Just as my lips were headed toward hers, my cell phone buzzed. I let go of Mari’s waist; pulled the phone out of the pocket of my basketball shorts; looked at the screen. Preston. His timing was terrible.

  “I’d better go…um…check on my clothes,” Mari said and headed for our laundry room as if she already knew her way around. She came back with her dried clothes in her hand; stepped into the guest bathroom to change.

  I turned off the stereo and grabbed the television remote control; flipped to ESPN. Relaxing on the sofa in the living room, I caught a glimpse of SportsCenter while Mari changed back into her school clothes. I wondered what would’ve happened if Preston hadn’t interrupted.

  When she stepped out of the bathroom fully dressed, I looked at her face. Hoped I hadn’t scared her too bad. I wanted to know what it was like to kiss her, but I knew that the moment had slipped away. To go back would be awkward.

  There was an uncomfortable silence in the air as I walked Mari to the subway station. I knew that I had to break the tension; otherwise we’d never be the same.

  “You really suck at basketball,” I told her. “You really have a lot to learn.”

  “Well, thank you very much,” she said with a smile.

  “You’re a pretty good dancer though. I can’t believe you can pop-lock like that. You’re almost as good as me.”

  “Almost as good?”

  “You got a lot to learn, kid. About basketball, and about pop-locking,” I told her.

  “And I guess you’re going to teach me.”

  “Thought you’d never ask,” I said. “Tomorrow after school…same time, same place?”

  As we stood in front of the subway station, I stared at Mari; waiting for her answer.

  “Okay, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  “I guess so,” I said. “Text me when you get home.”

  “I’ll think about it.” She giggled and then headed into the station; never looked back.

  My heart was doing weird things as I watched her leave. I didn’t know what it meant, so I ignored it. It was probably just heartburn.

  nineteen

  Marisol

  Dressed in a gray suit and gray high heels, J.C. introduced one of the producers for Dance America. He was the epitome of Hollywood with a pair of mirrored sunglasses on top of his head. Wearing a silk white shirt and a pair of expensive slacks, he explained in detail what would take place in Los Angeles. The final Dance America contestants and our parents sat around a table in one of the school’s conference rooms. I watched as my parents carefully read over every single detail of my contract. They had so many questions for the producer—so many comments. Way more than the other parents. I thought that they’d never sign the contract and give the green light for me to go to Hollywood. But eventually, they were satisfied. And with a blue ballpoint pen, my father carefully signed each page.

  My heart danced as I watched my mother’s face soften a little. She was starting to feel more comfortable with J.C. and finally realized that she’d have to ease up a little. And although the producer seemed a bit superficial at first, he showed true concern for my mother’s feelings when she expressed them. With my mother feeling better about the trip, I became excited. I glanced over at Jasmine, who sat next to her father. He had a few questions of his own, but he also seemed satisfied with the details as he signed her contract. Jasmine gave me a smile and a thumbs-up.

  As I watched the black town car with the tinted windows pull up next to the curb, I remembered thinking this day would never come. My bags stood next to the door—an upright black suitcase on wheels and a small, bright yellow duffel bag with a broken zipper. The yellow duffel bag was stuffed with makeup and hair products that I would need for the weekend in Hollywood.

  “Mari, your ride is here,” Mami called from downstairs.

  The Dance America competition had sent a chauffer-driven town car to pick up all the contestants at their homes. I’d been looking out my bedroom window for the past two hours, waiting for the car to pull up. Too excited to eat the breakfast that Mami had prepared for me. Who could eat at a time like this?

  “On my way!” I yelled to her.

  I gave myself another glance in the mirror; checked my hair and my makeup. All was well. I grabbed a jacket as my dad stepped into the room.

  “Is your bag ready?” he asked and grabbed the handle of my suitcase.

  “Yeah.” I took a deep breath.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “I think so,” I said.

  I followed Poppy down the stairs as we met the driver at the front door. Poppy handed the slender ma
n my suitcase, and I held on tightly to my makeup bag. Mami stood there with tears in her eyes.

  “I guess this is it, huh?” I asked.

  “I’m so proud of you, Marisol. But I feel like you’re going away forever.”

  “It’s just for a few days, Mami. I’ll be back on Sunday. Unless I win the competition. Then I’ll be back next Wednesday.”

  “And you packed everything, sí?” she asked.

  “Sí, Mami. Everything.”

  “Shower gel, lotion, toothpaste, clean underwear?”

  “Sí, Mami!” I said. “You’re worrying too much.”

  “This is hard for me, Mari. You’ve never been outside of New York or Jersey.”

  “I know, Mami, but I’ll be fine.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek and then kissed my dad. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “Don’t forget to hide your ugly face, so they won’t think that you’re a terrorist.” Nico sat at the top of the stairs in a pair of pajama pants and an old T-shirt. He wiped sleep from his eyes.

  I gave him a grin; quickly walked up the stairs and gave my brother a kiss on the cheek. “See ya, stupid.”

  “You should go, bebé,” Poppy said. “Don’t want to miss your flight.”

  I stepped out into the cool air, zipped my jacket and headed for the Lincoln town car. My friends and neighbors had gathered.

  “We love you, Mari,” said Mrs. Vasquez from two houses down.

  “Make us proud!” someone yelled.

  “Send me a text the minute you get to Cali, Chica!” yelled Kristina.

  “Me, too,” Grace said, and they both gave me a big hug.

  I stepped into the backseat of the car as the driver held the door open for me. I smiled as we slowly pulled away from the curb. It was all so surreal.

  Waiting for my flight to board, I sat slouched in my seat at LaGuardia Airport. I wondered where Jasmine was. Our flight was due to board at any moment, and there was no sign of her. I pulled my cell phone out and sent her another text message.

  Where RU? Boarding soon.

  Can’t go, Mari. My dad had a heart attack.

  What? OMG!

  I’m scared.

  I’m so sorry! What about Dance America?

  They sent someone else in my place.

  Who?

  I dunno. Wildcard contestant.

  I can’t do this without you.

  Yes U can. U don’t need me.

  Be strong Jazz.

  I will. U too.

  I was numb. The news of Jasmine’s father had me thrown off. So many thoughts raced through my head. I hoped that Jasmine’s dad would pull through, and I softly said a little prayer for him. I thought of my own father. Poppy. And how I would feel if he had a heart attack. I would be scared, too. Then I thought of Dance America. It wouldn’t be the same without Jasmine. We’d started this thing together, and won it—together. Everything would be different without her.

  I looked at my watch as the attendant announced that we would begin boarding in ten minutes. As I glanced toward the ticket counter, I noticed a familiar face. Luz stood there; a carry-on bag draped across her shoulder and her fingers wrapped around a cup from Starbucks. She wore a white bubble coat—the one with the fur around the hood. I recognized it because it was my coat. I’d let her borrow it last winter and she never returned it. And the jeans I had on belonged to her. It wasn’t unusual for us to swap clothing. That’s what best friends did.

  I needed to know why Luz was at LaGuardia Airport, in the same boarding area; waiting for the same flight. I stood and headed her way.

  “Hey,” I said to her.

  She didn’t look surprised to see me. She just took a sip from her cup and said, “Hey.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m going to California,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Dance America called me up, said that one of the contestants had an emergency family issue, and they needed someone to go in her place,” she said.

  “Jasmine.” I whispered it; sort of to myself. “Wow, so you were the wildcard contestant.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Well, I’m glad. If I had to go with anybody, Luz, it would be you,” I told her. I really meant it.

  “You mean that?” she asked. Surprised.

  “Of course. You are my best friend.”

  “I thought Jasmine was your new best friend.”

  “I like Jasmine. She’s cool,” I explained, “and yes, she’s my friend, but you and I have history.”

  “I thought you had tossed me aside.”

  “I thought you’d tossed me aside,” I said. “It was like you hated me or something.”

  “I don’t hate you, Mari. I felt hurt and kind of left out when you and Jasmine started dancing together. It was like, you and I had decided to dance together, and suddenly I was, like, the third wheel.”

  “It wasn’t even like that,” I explained. “I know that we both thought a bunch of things that were wrong, Luz. Can we just start over?”

  She took another sip from her cup. It was as if she was giving my comment some thought.

  “Okay, yeah. We can start over, Chica,” she finally said and then smiled.

  I gave my friend a hug, right there in the midst of the crowd of passengers waiting for our flight. They simply watched; giving us strange looks as we embraced. I didn’t care. I had my friend back, and that was all that mattered.

  As we drove down Hollywood Boulevard, we breathed in the fresh California air. Our windows were rolled all the way down as we sat on the edges of our seats in the back of the town car. The palm trees were beautiful. Los Angeles was way different from our home in Brooklyn. In Brooklyn, there was nothing pretty to see—only smog and garbage. But in Los Angeles, the streets were clean, the grass was green and you could breathe in the fresh air.

  There weren’t any cab drivers yelling profanity out the windows of their cars. Instead, there were people jogging along the sidewalks and people walking their dogs. There were strange people strolling down Hollywood Boulevard—such as the transvestite wearing a bleach-blond wig, a tight-fitting dress and hot-pink stilettos. I looked over at Luz to see if she’d seen it, too. With raised eyebrows, we both giggled at the same time. We were used to seeing strange people in New York, but this was a different sort of strange.

  The driver of our car was listening to Gnarls Barkley’s “Crazy” on his radio. Our excitement got the best of us and we started singing along with the song.

  “Can you turn that up, please?” Luz asked. I couldn’t believe she’d asked that.

  The blond-haired man caught a glimpse of us in his rearview mirror before turning up the volume on the radio. We started dancing in our seats. It felt so good to be in L.A. It was as if we’d traveled to another world. After the long flight from New York, it felt that way, too. It was exciting to be in another part of the country—to see a place that I’d only seen on television. I’d often dreamed of what California was like when I watched shows like 90210 and MTV’s reality show The Hills. It was interesting to see how kids my age lived in California.

  All I knew was New York. I’d never been outside New York or New Jersey and had never even flown before. It was all so new to me that it was hard to sit still in my seat. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs and stick my head out the window; let the wind blow through my hair. As we drove down Wilshire Boulevard, I wondered how many stars we’d spot before we made it to our Beverly Hills hotel. Luz and I were speechless as we took in the breathtaking sights of the city. I was glad that we got to experience it together.

  The car pulled into the circular drive of our hotel, and Luz and I stepped out of the car. The driver lifted our bags out of the trunk and set them on the ground. A red-haired woman with a spiked haircut rushed toward us carrying a clipboard.

  “You must be Marisol Garcia and Luz Hernandez,” she announced.

  “Yes,” we said in unison.

  “Welcome
to Los Angeles. I’m Gloria, your chaperone. I am here to make sure you have everything that you need to make your trip fabulous,” she said and smiled. “Now, follow me. I’ll show you to your room.”

  We were silent as we followed Gloria to the mirrored elevators.

  “Congratulations, by the way,” Gloria said. “You both should be very proud.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “Very,” I answered for Luz and me. It suddenly dawned on me that I’d missed breakfast, and in that instant, my stomach started making all sorts of grumbling noises. It was as if it heard my conversation.

  “Okay, great. Once we get you settled into your room, we’ll trample over to the Hard Rock Cafe for burgers. How’s that?”

  Fantastic! I wanted to yell, but instead I said, “Cool.”

  With our backs against the wall of the elevator, Luz and I grabbed each other’s hand and squeezed tight. It was our way of screaming without actually screaming. We didn’t want Gloria to think that we’d lost our minds.

  The suite was massive, with two separate bedrooms, a full-size kitchen and a sofa and love seat in the living room. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I wondered when the rest of the contestants would arrive and if we got first dibs on the bedrooms.

  “You can toss a coin for whichever bedroom you want. April and Tiana, the other two female contestants, are right next door. And Todd, the male contestant, is right down the hall. A special dinner has been planned for you this evening. You will be dining with the producers of the film. Some of the actors will be there, too. Justin may even make an appearance…”

  Did she say Justin might show up? This was way too much—too soon. I wasn’t expecting to see Justin until tomorrow. My hair was a mess, and I hadn’t packed a fabulous dinner outfit.

  “…and after that, a very hot party has been planned in your honor at a local teen club.” She walked over to the picture window and opened the blinds. “I urge you to get a good night’s sleep tonight, because tomorrow morning, we’re on location at Universal Studios, where you will dance for the producers and one of you will be selected to star in the film.”