Smash It!

  A laugh sounds in the other room. We’re safe. I glance at Cleo before going back to packing away the mac ’n’ cheese. This is the first time we’ve talked about it—well, at least out loud with each other. We normally just give each other looks and do our best to not be in the same room at the same time with our moms.

  “Sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.

  She’s looking at the floor like she’s choosing her next words carefully. “Just know I’m in your corner. And it’s not the theatre department without drama. If you’re not careful about who you’re hanging out with, you can get swept up in a bunch of unnecessary nonsense. I just—I know you like Jackie and Rodney, but they’re always stirring the pot, and I don’t want you to get caught up.”

  Okay, that took a left turn. “Thanks. I’ll keep an eye out.”

  As far as I’m concerned, they’re not pot stirrers as much as a little loud and opinionated, which isn’t a crime. But Cleo’s still not really looking at me, and I can tell not going to her for “theatre advice” really hurt her feelings, so I placate her instead. “Any other advice? I can use all I can get.”

  She relaxes and starts scooping stuffing into another container. She goes into download mode and dumps a bunch of rules about never showing up late for rehearsals, never talking onstage during blocking, and the biggest sin, never drop character.

  I’m on my second piece of sock-it-to-me cake when I hear Keith start up the Xbox in the garage. I really don’t want to hear any more of Cleo’s obvious tips, but then she says something that wakes me out of my impending food coma.

  “Never date anyone in theatre. It’s probably the best advice I can give you. You’ll just end up looking like a ho with no class, and all your dirty laundry will be aired. It’s unavoidable.” She’s raking a fork across a plate of half-eaten sweet potato pie when she looks up. “And no offense, but Lennox isn’t exactly the best role model when it comes to not sleeping around.”

  So now my friends are loudmouth hos. Okay. Tell me how you really feel, Cleo. “I think sexual liberation is beautiful.” I’ve never said shit like that in my life, but I feel like I have to say something. I can’t let her think I feel like she does. I can’t let her dump on my friends, who are so much more than some tired stereotype of what a girl can and can’t do with her own body.

  Cleo scoffs. “Whatever. I’m just saying you don’t want to be the talk of the department, and thanks to me, you won’t be.” She’s smiling. “You know, I’m glad we talked, because I’ve always felt like we should be closer.”

  I get what she means. It would have been nice to have someone my age to do everything with without that cloud of suspicion. Is she trying to show everyone she’s smarter than me? More talented? Faster? Now that I think about it, we were hella dysfunctional growing up. But we can change that.

  “Well, we aren’t dead yet,” I say, and we finish putting away the food before slipping out to the garage to watch everyone play games with glazed eyes.

  Cleo and I will be fine...as long as she doesn’t find out I plan to break a few of her cardinal rules.

  * * *

  As if timing couldn’t be better to really mess with Cleo’s tips for theatre success, a day later Kai messages me, asking if I’m free for a date. I have to admit, I thought he might have been blowing smoke up my ass, but he legit comes through with a day and time. He wants to take me to Jump Time—the trampoline place.

  I’m not about to pass up a real opportunity with a guy because Cleo told me not to date anyone in theatre, so I hop all over it like he’s the only puddle of water in the desert—which he kinda is. Plus, I finally get to cross off number four on my list.

  I’m going on a freaking date.

  I head outside early to avoid him knocking on the door—I refuse for it to be a whole thing with my mom—and just as he’s pulling in, I see Dré and Eli walking around the street corner.

  Eli’s got his keyboard in his hand, so I’m assuming they were practicing for Battle of the Bands since they found a drummer, but they go from laughing to eyeing Kai’s car.

  Kai sticks his head out of the window and waves at them. “Hey. I didn’t know you guys lived so close.”

  Eli points at his house. “I live next door.”

  Dré nods at Kai, and I’m just thankful he’s not saying, Sup, Big Hawaii.

  “Cool,” Kai says.

  The boys stop a few feet away. I’m standing between them and the car, and I know for sure I’m not making up this weird vibe. It feels like they’re asking if I’m really going to get in the car with this guy.

  “Y’all hang out now?” Dré says. He’s got a smile on his face, but it’s tight, and I want to know why they’re making this so awkward and weird. Why, Lord Jesus, are they like this?

  Kai looks at me. “Yeah, I hope so.”

  Dré looks at me, and I can sorta tell he’s holding back some slick remarks, because he’s tapping his thigh with his thumb. “So, you coming or going? We were gonna see if you wanted to come over and hang.”

  I’m staring him down, because I know that’s a full-blown lie. Dré always texts me at least an hour before anything, because as our big blowup freshman year, when he showed up unannounced and complained that it took me forty-six minutes to get ready, proved, I need time to get ready mentally and physically before going anywhere with him. I got no such text from him.

  Dré’s staring back at me and laughs. “Chill. If you’re busy that’s cool.”

  Eli exhales and waves with his free hand. “Have fun.” He looks at Dré and they do that silent code nonsense.

  Kai’s watching the three of us, and I totally get why he thinks Dré is a dick.

  I can’t stand this. “See you guys later,” I mumble, and I get in the car.

  Kai gives me a small, knowing smile as he pulls out.

  We talk about safe, obvious topics, like whether we’re ready for stage rehearsals to start next month. So far, we’ve done four roundtable reads, and we’re supposed to have everything memorized for stage rehearsals, which are looming.

  Kai’s a safe driver, keeps his eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel, all the safe stuff. Without eye contact, I just stare at the cars ahead as I say, “I am so out of my depth.”

  I have my lines memorized, but the songs need work—my song is pretty much a duet with Dré that we haven’t practiced at all. Worse, when the understudies get a run-through, Angelina’s version usually sounds better than mine—more confident—but I don’t want to make the mood weird and self-pitying, so I keep that to myself.

  “Don’t sweat it. Everyone feels like that at first.” Kai’s focus is on the car behind us as he changes lanes. “Sorry, I’m still getting used to driving here. It’s crazy.”

  I nod. But then add, “Yeah.” Tourists make the roads a nightmare.

  When we get to Jump Time, I’m not exactly sure what to do. Obviously we’re here to jump, but I’ve got boobs. They aren’t huge, but they will jiggle around if I start hopping around like Peter Rabbit. I’ve got on a hoodie, and I had imagined I’d just keep it on, but it’s kinda hot inside and the more I think about it, jumping around in a hoodie is going to make me sweat like a pig wrapped in twenty blankets.

  Kai’s taking off his shoes and putting his keys in them. He takes my shoes, too. “You’ve got small feet,” he says.

  “Only compared to yours.” He’s tall and his feet are big—and I’m staring at his crotch because of that one saying and I think he notices, because he laughs.

  He takes my hand. Oh. My. God. I’m on a date. He’s holding my hand, leading me up the stairs to some crazy obstacle course. We pass that—thank god—and head to an extreme dodgeball net. The place is pretty vacant for a Sunday—at least, I assume it is. I’ve never been here before; maybe jumping isn’t on trend.

  “You ever play dodgeball?” He says it while picki
ng up a foam ball. He’s smiling deviously, and I run away as he pelts me with it.

  “You know I’m competitive, right?” I say, picking up two balls.

  He’s already got another lined up. “You’re already down by one.” We chase each other around the pit. I’m so concerned with winning, I don’t even care that I’m bouncing around in a tank top that keeps riding up. I’m giggling, ducking and dodging until he’s trying to steal balls out of my hand. It’s a smooth move, because he’s holding me from behind, and then—we aren’t jumping anymore.

  We’re kissing.

  Hot damn. He’s a good kisser. I haven’t kissed anyone since the tenth grade, and that was all right...but I know this is good. He’s got soft lips and a tongue that just knows what to do in my mouth. My throat aches—that aching that tells me I need more of this. I’m turning around into him and his hands are around my waist, and I don’t care that I’m that girl, making out in a very public place. No one is around anyway—I hope.

  He pulls away a little, and then we’re right back in it. I don’t know how much time goes by, but we spend it throwing foam balls and kissing.

  I’m different with Kai. Free. It’s not the same freeness I feel when I sing in front of my family—thank god, because I’m not trying to feel family vibes while we’re locking lips. But I do feel a different kind of free. I’m a girl, and he’s a guy who sees me as just that.

  A full-on girl.

  A girl he wants to talk to, kiss, and play with. But we’re not playing like Eli, Dré, and I play around. We’re not saying stupid shit. We’re—I don’t know exactly, but I really like it.

  After Jump Time, we go to a taco truck. I kind of freak him out when I see it, because I scream, “We gotta get those tacos!” He’s never been to this truck before, but it’s a food truck you can only ever find by actually seeing it. They’re the freaking leprechaun of taco trucks. The owners don’t have social media or anything. You find the truck, and there’s a pot of gold at the end—or is that rainbows? Whatever, these tacos are to die for.

  I order us the fried chicken tacos—don’t judge me, they’re good and everyone thinks so, not just black people—two carnitas, and two shrimp. I pay, since he paid for Jump Time, and then we’re sitting next to each other, bumping our knees back and forth. Eating tacos and flirting reminds me of that movie Selena. My sister used to watch it nonstop, and I remember thinking that thing Selena had with Chris Pérez was solid.

  When Kai drops me off at home, there’s no hesitation. He pulls up in front of my house, he cups the side of my face and kisses me. It isn’t long and gratuitous, but I can feel the want behind it.

  Hot. Damn. To sorta quote Selena, I could totally fall in love with this guy.

  Chapter 18

  I’m lying on my bed, making sure that really happened to me. Kai’s body pressed against mine was euphoric, and if I close my eyes, I can still feel the warmth of his lips. He’s so gentle and solid at the same time.

  Twinks jumps on my bed, thoroughly ruining the moment with her pawing and drool, but my phone is buzzing in my hand anyway.

  It’s Eli. For the first time since I’ve known him, I don’t know if I want to answer. Annoyed, I sit up and stare out my window, and he’s sitting on his bed, too, blinds wide-open. We get horrible lighting as the sun sets, so his light is already on. We’re staring at each other with our phones in hand. We’re so creepy.

  I turn on my lamp. The purple lamp shade is covered in an orange neck scarf that I’ve never worn in my life. I grab it, needing something to fiddle with in my hands.

  “Hey,” I say. I feel like I’ve been caught, but he already knew I was going on a date. I think back to when I left, when I stalled because I was momentarily stuck between two worlds.

  I chose Kai. Whatever. Why is it even an either-or situation? Friends or potential boyfriend?

  Ugh. I feel like old me again, and not the cool middle schooler who didn’t give two shits and did her thing. I feel like weird, super self-conscious me who wore khakis to a Halloween party—but the skin doesn’t fit.

  “How was your date?”

  I grip the phone. Everything in me wants to scream and throw it. Why is he asking me this? This is the kind of thing Eli is good at—pretending there isn’t this awkward thing happening right now. I know he feels it; his lips are kind of tight, and he’s got his bushy brows raised like he’s aggravated and knows something but won’t tell me because I, too, should just know it. This is how all our non-fighting fights start. Except this time, I really have no idea why he’s mad.

  Maybe it bothers him that I’m not here to be his emotional cheerleader and boost his self-esteem while he waits for his real dream girl. But I’m tired of him toying with me and making me feel crazy for thinking there was something between us in the first place.

  OH. MY. GOD. Nothing should be this complicated.

  “Fun.” I don’t give him details, and he doesn’t ask.

  He just says, “I bet.” And it’s not like he’s saying it with attitude, but it’s how he’s not saying anything else. Why the hell did he call me if he’s not going to say anything anyway?

  I don’t even know what he’s doing home right now. He’s supposed to be with his mom; they always go antiques shopping Sunday evenings. It’s weird. Mrs. Peretz has a freaky obsession for Spanish conquistador antiques, and she and Eli spend every Sunday in search of them like it’s their church.

  Almost every Sunday, that is—he’s been practicing for Battle of the Bands with Dré for the last two Sundays. In fact I haven’t seen Mrs. Peretz for a while now. Normally she’s always in and out.

  I remember the way Gloria and his dad were acting that day at Dré’s house. I’m not going to bring that up. I’m so not getting into their family business, especially because it’s probably nothing to begin with.

  “Why aren’t you with your mom?”

  “I got to go.” He hangs up. I’m still watching from my window when he gets up and closes his blinds.

  Okay. Obviously, he’s pissed that I’m hanging out with Kai. What was I supposed to do? Tell Kai no, because Eli’s single and needs me to keep him from feeling lonely and unwanted by Kara, the girl who sucks up spit from her mouthpiece?

  I’ve daydreamed this scenario more times than I’m comfortable admitting. Eli, struck with jealousy as another guy sweeps me off my feet. I didn’t think it would actually happen, and I’d imagined it as a case of jealousy because he was in love with me, not jealousy because he selfishly doesn’t want to be single and alone.

  Fuck it. I’ve officially moved on.

  * * *

  I spend the night thinking about what I’m going to say to Eli the next day. But he doesn’t call in the morning, and when I call him, he doesn’t answer. I’m kind of freaking out. He is one of my best friends. And to be fair, we all have our selfish moments.

  Losing Eli’s friendship isn’t the problem—that’s pretty far-fetched and overdramatic—I just don’t like this space between us. It hovers, ominous, like the hour before a hurricane hits.

  He’s not outside when Dré pulls in to pick us up, and he doesn’t answer his phone or come out. He does text Dré. Not me, the one who called, but—cool. Cool. Yeah, that’s cool. Anyway, he’s staying home.

  Eli almost never skips school. He has to be pressured by both Dré and me at the same time and bribed with pasta. So, when I’m at lunch, sitting on the big staircase with Dré, I can’t stop looking for him in the crowd. I can picture him somewhere, tapping his foot while casually scrolling through his phone and biting into a Snickers bar.

  But he’s not here.

  I’m checking out every head of dark hair in the clusters of hunched-over kids eating and talking nonstop when I hear someone behind me.

  “Hey, Dré. You gon’ hook me up with that discount or what?” It’s Oscar. He’s in band, too, but he’s like us.
We’re the kids who play instruments, but you’d never know it because we don’t announce it to the world. I don’t care if people think I’m a band geek—that’s what my mom calls us, but I don’t even think that’s a thing anymore—I just don’t mesh with the vibe most kids in band put out. They’re all way too happy to be there and think we’re all one big family. They say things like, Oh my god, you’re my band mom. No, bitch, I’m not.

  Anyway, I’m staring at Dré, trying to figure out what the hell Oscar is talking about. Dré works at the Kmart up the street, and he doesn’t get a discount. Dré’s gesturing for Oscar to drop it, and then I realize he’s up to no good, because Oscar looks at me. “Yeah, brah. I’ll hit you up later.”

  “What’s he talking about?” I ask when Oscar’s gone. I’ve got this weird feeling in my gut. More and more lately, he’s been hanging around a bunch of people who are pretty much using him for his popularity, which is half the reason he never has time to do his own homework.

  “Nothing.” Dré won’t look me in the eye, and when he finally does, he laughs and puts his finger on my cheek to turn my face away.

  I slap his hand. “I’m serious.” If he’s stealing for his fake-ass friends, I swear I will choke the stupid out of him.

  “So am I. When are we gonna practice our song?” I don’t even have to say anything, because his shifty ass laughs again. “Damn, Liv. I’m serious, it’s nothing.”

  I drop it. He’s a vault. When he doesn’t want me to know something, he clamps down on it for life. Besides, we do need to practice. Stage rehearsals start in two weeks, and I didn’t need Cleo to tell me that Mrs. G isn’t the kind of teacher you can screw around with. She’s real respectful, but she’ll also respectfully ask you to take your ass offstage and stay off if you don’t take her craft seriously.