The Closest I've Come

by Fred Aceves

  I can’t help smiling as I jet back outside where the four of them are laughing on the dusty grass—Ruben halfway into the reenactment, the others staggering around from how funny it is. I tackle Art who’s cracking up too much to fight back. I punch him hard on the shoulder and get up.

  Then I sit on the bucket and wait for him to get professional again.

  17

  WE ON our way to the party looking our best—fresh haircuts, clean sneakers, least ugly clothes, Art with a new Heat cap, and Ruben rocking his dead father’s gold chain. I scrubbed my kicks with an old toothbrush, used Comet for the sides of the soles. The laces I washed by hand and hung outside the window to dry in the sun.

  Besides the hole in my left sneaker, still growing bigger, my kicks don’t look so old.

  We smelling good too. We stopped at Ruben’s house to spray on some Montblanc cologne, using the same method. What you do is shoot the mist in front of you and walk through it, so the scent gets all over but not too strong. You do that four times.

  Walking outta Maesta, through the last pool of orangey light coming from a streetlamp, we hear, “Yo! Wait up!”

  Uppercut raises his hand all excited, like a student with the right answer, and jogs over to us. Me and my boys ain’t ever invited Uppercut nowhere. We try avoiding him, but sometimes he tags along, like now, falling in step without knowing or asking where we going.

  “Where you been this week?” Ruben asks him. “Ain’t seen you at school.”

  “Ain’t going no more.”

  Another one bites the dust, as they say. Uppercut looks poorer than usual, his Puerto Rican flag shirt unwashed, the green camouflage shorts clashing bad with it, but I won’t worry about him.

  I’m getting me a girl tonight, or at least a number. By tomorrow Amy will be a memory.

  Hip-hop’s thumping inside the party room above the gated pool. On the balcony, Kevin’s hugged up with Shanice while two boys are leaning over the rail to see whose gob of spit can stretch down the longest.

  We step into the spot like we own it. People turn to us, about sixty kids, most of them from our school and clustered in the corners. A few sophomores. A few from Springview High, where Asha’s cousin goes.

  A spinning black box fixed to the center of the ceiling beams colored lights onto the empty floor. Nobody ever wants to be the first to dance.

  Art leads us through the room like we looking for someone in particular. The walk-around lets everybody know we here—Yeah, the party can pop off now, you very welcome—and also to evaluate every girl in the room. We nod at the guys from school, hug the girls we know, me and Ruben kiss the Latinas, and we keep walking. Uppercut moving all hard, like a steamroller with eyes.

  Asha spots us and screams. She leaves her group of friends and hurries over, arms spreading just before she gets to Art. Then she quick-hugs the rest of us and says, “Thank you all for coming to my party.”

  Sometimes kids surprise you with their grown-up behavior.

  She grabs Art by the hand and hauls him over to her friends. The other guys go talk to Miguel and them from school. I wanna check out the pool, which has been filthy and unusable for as long as I remember. I look through the back window and down at it, empty except for some trash at the bottom, all of it lit by a disk of yellow light in the deep end. Last year it was full of slimy green water.

  Turning from the window I step on something. A kid’s shoe.

  “Sorry, man.”

  Gotta be from Springview. He’s looking at his black kicks like a stain might show up. Now he gives me the up-and-down to know if messing with me’s a good idea. We the same size.

  Man, he’s got the angry-psychopath look down pat.

  I apologize again, turn, and start walking away. That’s when I hear, “Watch where the fuck ya walking!”

  Not even five minutes here and already problems.

  Keep going, Marcos. He knows he can take you and your boys ain’t around.

  To show I ain’t scared I do my easy walk, taking my time.

  But maybe this is already a fight! Maybe a sucker punch is coming!

  I check behind me. He’s standing right where he was. Besides the nice clothes, the silver chain over a clean white tee, he’s like somebody I know. The squinty dark stare. The way he stands, head tilted back.

  Yeah, he’s another Uppercut who lives for fights.

  “It was an accident, bro,” I say, putting more distance between us.

  Three apologies in a row? Plus a bro at the end? What’s wrong with me? Any of my boys, except maybe Obie, would consider that a pussy move. But go ahead, try acting different. The Uppercuts of the world don’t need a good excuse to fight, so you need a good one not to—like you sorry or got more friends.

  If only my boys were there.

  I join Jason and Ruben on the other side of the room. They can’t agree on the hottest girl from Springview and ask my opinion, got it narrowed down to the one in the red skirt and the one in black shorts. A tough call, I gotta admit, and I can’t make it. Even here, at a party packed with girls, my mind’s on Amy.

  But not the same way it used to be. I keep thinking about us two by the bike rack. Me yelling and her just standing there in shock.

  The room’s really live now, a few people dancing, two guys coming through the arc of balloons over the door. We need one good banger for this to get wild, a new radio joint that Asha will save for later ’cause that girl knows how to throw a party.

  We talking to some girls from school when Hardstare crosses the room, a thuggish, stiff-shouldered walk, with his two friends who look annoyed to be alive. His stare holds me until he notices my boys.

  Jason asks, “Who’s that guy?” He always thinking people are fucking with him for being white. They usually are.

  “I stepped on his shoe,” I say. Then, like an idiot, “By mistake.”

  You’d think Ruben heard good news with how fired up he gets. “Then what happened?”

  “I said sorry.”

  The fire fizzles out. “Fuck him.”

  Which means I shouldn’t have done that. Jason’s shaking his head.

  “Who?” Uppercut’s here now, his eyes brightening like someone’s handing out iPads. “I’ll step to him right now!”

  I know he will. And if the guy’s five times as tall and all muscles, Uppercut will go fetch a brick or a bat.

  Art tells him to relax, that if somebody’s gonna step to him, it’ll be Marcos. Then they turn to me, the man of the moment, eyes all, What ya gonna do?

  That’s the difference between me and my boys. Some kid acts hard, my boys act harder. Stupid if you ask me. And you might think I’m a wuss for saying that, and maybe I’m a little bit wussy, but that don’t mean it ain’t stupid.

  I shrug it off. “I ain’t worried about that guy.”

  Which satisfies everybody except Uppercut, who’s shaking his head.

  Asha’s cousin walks up. “Which one of you’s wearing all that cologne?”

  We pretend we don’t know what she’s talking about, but our acting ain’t gonna win us any Oscars. Too many shrugs. Asha and Tammy come over, lean in to smell us one by one. They howl with laughter like we the most hilarious comedians ever. Back with their friends, they say we smell the same and the others bust up laughing too.

  Then it happens. A new song drops. That new banger we already know by heart. The one that starts with a teaser, a light rhythm you can sorta dance to, but it’s coming, just wait for it, the sick beat that makes sure nobody stands still. Some people hoot and holler as they bum-rush the dance floor, and the white girl next to me shouts “This is my song!” when the truth is it belongs to all of us.

  We getting our swerve on, my boys over here, Asha with her girls, all of us in a big circle but doing our own thing. Soon the circle shrinks with everybody crowding under the spinning dots of light and soon Art and Asha are moving together with the music, her braids swinging like things alive.

  Some girls are dancing sexy
, music video moves and all, but it don’t mean they want to get sexy, you know? Vanessa dances that way but wouldn’t do anything with Devon when they went out for a month, and Nayeli ain’t even had a boyfriend.

  Somehow I’m facing one of the Springview girls as I dance. A gold nameplate, Janessa, hangs from a thin gold chain. The dark-skinned Puerto Rican who laughed the hardest over our cologne and here she is now, black liquid eyes, killer smile, and even better body.

  Got no idea if her in front of me is some mistake, but when the next joint drops she’s still here dancing.

  Looking down I notice it’s too dark to see the hole in my shoe. How perfect is that? Plus she keeps looking at me so we really are dancing together! She likes me!

  Janessa stops dancing when a poppy song starts. I don’t like it neither. Now’s the time. Here’s my one chance.

  I tell myself that she ain’t Amy but I can still talk to her. Come on, Marcos. Say something to keep her here, or don’t and hate yourself when she’s gone.

  I’m a useless ball of nerves at times like this, especially with my boys looking on.

  Just as it seems she might step I say, “Ya go to Springview?”

  For the first time Janessa looks straight at me. “Yeah.”

  “How ya know Asha?”

  Since she don’t hear me, I lean in to ask her again. I catch a whiff of her scent and wonder what it would be like to move a few inches closer and kiss her shiny red lips.

  “Her cousin is my best friend.”

  Another question from me and this becomes a cop interrogation.

  Then she leans in, blue dots from the lights above sliding over her face and curly hair. “Did ya come last year?”

  We talking for real now and she don’t do the ants in the pants, the look-away eyes like she rather be somewhere else. We take turns leaning in to hear each other. As Janessa talks about the last party she went to, how there’s always so many to choose from, her soft breath tickles my ear.

  Here’s an actual girl who likes talking to me. It ain’t just in my head like Amy, all those hopes and daydreams, worrying for weeks if she’ll talk to me. It’s already happening. The moment’s perfect, except that under these twirling lights, surrounded by dancing, it’s the worst place to talk. I’m about to suggest moving somewhere else when I see Hardstare pushing through the swarm of bodies. Shouldering past a girl, shoving a guy outta his way. My heart speeds up. The girl notices him and steps aside.

  He’s in my face. “Why ya talking to my girl?”

  Janessa cuts between us and I let her. She pushes him away. “Maybe we ain’t together no more!”

  “Oh, it’s like that?” he asks her.

  They got something going on for sure. I take another step back while they argue. It takes just a few seconds to realize Janessa’s definitely his girlfriend. She’s angry at him and using me to make him jealous.

  Not that I can walk away now. That would make me look like a bitch. I stand here, shoulders squared, head up, too tough for words. A regular Chuck Norris. So much of my life’s got to do with pretending.

  He steps to me again.

  “Chill, Ivan!” she shouts over the music.

  When he notices something to my left and right, he stiffens and takes a step back. It’s my boys, plus the crew from school. About thirty guys against their three. Uppercut tries to step to Hardstare, but Ruben bear-hugs him from behind and drags him back.

  I sorta hope Ruben lets go of that tight grip.

  Hardstare looks at his two friends for some guidance.

  Janessa says, “These are all Asha’s friends.”

  “Who the fuck’s Asha?” he says.

  “You at her party!”

  She’s making him feel dumb, which might make him madder. Then she does something worse. Touches the side of her head with two fingers, like duh. At least three phones are recording this scene and I don’t wanna check around to see how many more.

  Hardstare’s boys ain’t giving him the easy out, the Come on, man, or the Forget it. He’s still standing wide and tall, pretending he ain’t shook. I hope he’s pretending.

  Eyes on me is the only reason I’ve ever fought. With kids around, not fighting ain’t an option. Bruises go away. Bitch-ass reps don’t. Especially with evidence on YouTube.

  I step to Hardstare and shove him. “Do something, bitch.” I say it with steelier eyes than he’s got.

  Behind me people shout instructions, Punch him, Fuck him up, saying my name at the end. With every comment I’m less scared. Don’t mean to, but I look left, then right, hoping to see Obie.

  “Ya got this,” Art tells me.

  Asha busts through furious and gets in the kid’s face. “Get the fuck out!”

  Something we all hear ’cause the music just stopped. If anyone here didn’t notice a fight about to go down, they expecting one now, right here under the spinning lights.

  Hardstare’s a tied-up pit bull. You can almost see the pointy ears and hear the growling.

  Asha’s sister pushes him hard. “Out!”

  When he pushes her back, I run up and punch him in the jaw, all knuckles connecting. He staggers back. Before the tall friend can come at me Jason busts him in the face.

  The third kid throws his hands up. “Chill, y’all. Chill the fuck out.”

  Art tells everybody the same thing as Ruben holds tight to Uppercut.

  Hardstare gets up, licking his teeth to check for blood. Nothing. He straightens his shirt and pats his chain before turning to leave. “Let’s go, Janessa.”

  Later that night I’m lying in bed, brain buzzing with what coulda been. I wish I could say Janessa didn’t go with him, that she brushed him off and stayed with me, that we danced and talked for hours, at a party so dope that I woulda been all, “Amy who?”

  Here’s what really went down. Art spent the rest of the night hugged up or dancing with Asha. Jason kissed the loud white girl and got her number, did it all on the down low. Ruben chatted up Josefina.

  Me, I danced by myself, got Uppercut to loosen up, laughed when a kid named Sammy busted his ass trying a front flip, and took swigs from bottles of St. Ides Berry when one got passed my way. But I wasn’t feeling none of it. Really, I was thinking about Amy and how bad I feel for snapping at her. How I miss hanging out with her.

  18

  NOWHERE TO hide. I’m in the school parking lot with dipshit Brian who, waist up, could pass for one of the Tampa Bay Rays. He’s rocking a white and blue jersey with a matching cap. That cap’s fine, but the cap plus the shirt makes him (and me ’cause he’s with me) look like a total dork.

  He’s the one that asked to come, actually knocked on my door to say, “So I hear you got some tickets to a game.” I wondered for a second if I could tell him no. Then I figured he might like me more after hanging out with me, so all fake-happy I said, “Sure, ya wanna come?”

  I’m keeping my eyes open for Zach. I haven’t passed him in the halls these last two days, didn’t see him at the drama table during lunch, and he ain’t with the other kids by the bus. I thought maybe something happened with his mom, but Zach could be home sick. Why am I automatically worried about his mom? Kids get colds and stuff, even in the spring. He could totally be sick.

  I’m hoping Amy will show up ’cause she said her mom was a big Rays fan. I need to see her and make things right. Maybe I can learn to like her boyfriend.

  Breckner smiles at something Brian tells him and they shake hands. Brian ain’t gotta be an asshole all the time. He takes small breaks. I’ve heard him small talk cashiers and once he discussed carburetor troubles with a neighbor’s Cuban boyfriend.

  Brian musta mentioned he’s my guardian ’cause Breckner’s waving me over.

  I head to where he’s standing by the school bus. “Hi, Mr. Breckner.”

  “Marcos, I hope you pay attention to the talk in the stadium today. I haven’t been able to reach you but I hope somebody else can.”

  Those words hit me hard and the look he�
��s giving me is worse. I guess he found out my last study reports were bullshit and he’s taking it all personal. What does he care?

  “I’ve talked to your teachers, and I know you aren’t doing any work.”

  When he walks away I get sad, feel like a total loser.

  An old red Ford Ranger pulls in and I see Amy’s face in the passenger window gliding past me. Although I’ve felt broken inside since the night of the play, something more breaks in me every time I see her. There’s always something more that can break.

  Amy crosses the parking lot with a lighter-haired version of herself. A young aunt? A cousin? She’s pretty and beachy in shorts and a tank top, long brown hair ponytailed, and big sunglasses.

  Everybody notices the lady, especially Brian. A thirsty look on his face like she’s a two-liter bottle of Pepsi.

  At least the attention’s off me. While the other kids and grown-ups sorta match, me and Brian could be some weird joke.

  Amy and the beachy lady walk over to Breckner who’s jotting something down on the clipboard. He looks worried, says something I can’t make out. I move closer.

  Some lady sporting a touristy green visor tells him, “We got enough adults here to chaperone all the kids.”

  Breckner lowers his checklist and tells her, “It is more than just the supervision. There is information to share with parents, and everyone was given six weeks of anticipation.”

  I realize that the group of kids is bigger than the group of grown-ups.

  Beach Girl says, “It was hard for me to come and it’s pro’lly just as hard for the other moms.”

  A mom? Amy’s mom? This lady looks even younger than my mom, who people mistake for my sister. Back in the day when I went to the supermarket with her, men would eye us both, doing the math.

  That accent’s another surprise. Though you can’t get deeper south than Florida, in Tampa you don’t hear the southern drawl every day. But drive in any direction for a while and you run smack into some redneck town—barefoot racists sitting on their porches, spitting tobacco juice into empty Mountain Dew cans, shotguns or banjos on their laps. At least that’s how I imagine them.