Late to the Party

by Kelly Quindlen

  “We should learn how to kayak,” Maritza said, squinting ahead. “It looks like one of those things you do to ‘feel alive.’”

  “Absolutely not,” JaKory said, stretching his gangly legs in front of him. “It creeps me out, how you have to hide half your body in that little boat.”

  “You’re a weirdo.”

  “I have anxiety.”

  “About weird things.”

  It was a gentle day with a breeze coming off the water. I leaned back onto my hands and felt the warm stone beneath my skin. JaKory looked just as content as me, his chin tilted toward the sky, the sunlight gleaming off his new fade. Maritza, however, seemed restless and agitated. She kept tapping a stick against her knee.

  “I’m thinking about girls,” she announced.

  “Gross,” JaKory said, with his eyes still closed.

  “Are you not thinking about guys?”

  “No, I was thinking about kayaking accidents.”

  “You’re fucked up,” Maritza said breezily. She pivoted to face us better, shielding her eyes with her hand. “So what’s gonna be our next move to meet people? I say we go scouting around this park.”

  I snorted without meaning to.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You want to meet someone here? It’s two o’clock on a Thursday. Everyone here is either retired or parents with preschoolers.”

  “No, I’ve seen a bunch of hot girls.”

  “Okay, well, they’re probably all in college.”

  “So? I could date someone college-age.”

  “No, no, hell no,” JaKory said, shaking his head. “I can’t date up that far. Too nerve-racking.”

  “JaKory, of course you could,” Maritza said. “You’re handsome and smart and—well, sometimes you’re funny—”

  “Shut up.”

  “We can’t force something that’s supposed to be organic,” I said. “It’s creepy to just go up to someone in the park.”

  “We wouldn’t be creepy about it,” Maritza said, though she looked doubtful. “We’d just try to make friends first. How are we supposed to meet someone if we’re not trying?”

  JaKory and I huffed and whined, but, as usual, Maritza had her way. We walked the park for half an hour, shooting awkward glances at every person we came across. I’d been mostly right: Nearly everyone we passed looked like they were either in retirement or their early child-rearing years. There was one guy who looked like he could be near our age, but JaKory refused to go up to him, much to Maritza’s annoyance.

  “Sweet salvation,” JaKory said as we came upon a taco truck. He turned to Maritza. “Let’s accept that this particular experiment failed and it’s time to eat our feelings.”

  “Fine,” Maritza sighed. “I should have known this was a stupid idea. There must be something I’m doing wrong…”

  She trailed off, lost in her thoughts, and I patted her back and steered her toward the taco truck. We got in line behind a gaggle of people who were craning their necks to read the menu board. JaKory grabbed my shoulders and started chanting Sriracha under his breath. Maritza, however, was suddenly distracted by something else.

  “Dude, look, she’s hot,” she whispered, nudging me to check out the girl inside the taco truck.

  She was a cute girl, it was true: somewhere around our age, with long dark hair beneath a hunter-green baseball cap. Maritza grinned at her like an idiot.

  “Let’s talk to her,” she whispered again.

  My stomach jumped with a tiny thrill, but the rational part of me knew how this would turn out. “You go ahead,” I told her. “I’ll just watch, try to pick up some pointers.”

  I grinned, trying to show her I was teasing, but Maritza frowned.

  “You’re gonna make me do this alone?”

  She sounded serious, like I was truly abandoning her.

  “Come on, Maritza, I can’t just flirt with someone I don’t know.”

  “But that’s the whole point of this exercise. How else would we get to know her?”

  “But she’s probably not even—I mean, look at her, she looks straight.”

  “You’re stereotyping,” Maritza said, crossing her arms, but there was the slightest trace of doubt in her voice.

  We reached the truck window. The girl was even prettier up close, and I struggled to hold eye contact as I placed my order, feeling Maritza’s and JaKory’s eyes on me. JaKory ordered next, smug and cocky, impervious to a gorgeous girl’s charm. Then it was Maritza’s turn.

  “Do you like the chorizo?” she asked the girl in a strange voice.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty good,” the girl said nonchalantly.

  “Cool.” Maritza hesitated. “Um … do you like the carne asada?”

  “Yep, that one’s good, too.”

  “Sweet,” Maritza said, attempting a brave smile. The girl smiled blandly back. “Um—what about the veggie?”

  “Yeah, it’s … full of great veggies,” the girl said. She tapped her fingers, waiting expectantly. Maritza’s cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink.

  “I’ll just have a shredded chicken,” she said quickly, ducking her head to busy herself with her wallet.

  JaKory and I said nothing as the three of us traipsed to a picnic table. Maritza seemed embarrassed, and we ate our tacos with subdued energy. JaKory overcompensated by exclaiming over every part of his meal.

  “Wow, this lettuce is fresh,” he said. “So green, so verdant—”

  Maritza swallowed and looked back to the food truck. The line had dwindled and the cute girl was still in the window.

  “I’m gonna try again,” she said with a steely look in her eye. She turned to me. “Will you come?”

  I grimaced. JaKory shot me a look that said You’re fucked.

  “Sorry, Maritza, but I don’t think we stand a chance,” I said quietly.

  Maritza crossed her arms and looked at the girl, then at us, then back at the girl again. For a moment I thought she was going to give in, but then she got up and stalked off toward the food truck, her posture upright and cool.

  “What is she doing,” JaKory moaned.

  We watched anxiously as Maritza approached the girl at the window. The girl looked up with a politely puzzled expression when Maritza started talking.

  The whole thing took less than thirty seconds. Maritza was wearing her forced-confidence smile, and the girl was forced-laughing, and my chest was locked with stress, and then Maritza was heading back toward us.

  JaKory and I looked at each other, waiting for her to sit down, but she marched right past us. We got up and chased after her, flanking her on either side as the grass turned into asphalt.

  “What happened?” JaKory asked.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  Maritza stormed all the way to her car, turning to us only once she’d grabbed the door handle. “She wasn’t interested.”

  JaKory and I fell back, looking at each other.

  “Why not?” I tried.

  Maritza exhaled, long and pained. “She has a boyfriend.”

  I offered her a sympathetic look. “Was she mean about it?”

  “No,” she said, avoiding eye contact. She crossed her arms over her chest. “She was really nice.”

  We stood in a circle, an awkward silence hovering between us. Everything felt stilted and weird.

  JaKory wrapped one of his long, lanky arms around Maritza’s shoulders. “You tried,” he said. “Now you won’t spend the rest of the day wondering what if, and that’s more than Codi and I can say.”

  Maritza didn’t let herself sink into JaKory’s hug. She squeezed her arms together and said, “Sorry I tried to force that on you guys. I’m just—I’m so tired of feeling like this.”

  “Like what?” JaKory asked gently.

  “Like … like I don’t know how to do the whole girls thing.”

  I swallowed. I’d never heard Maritza describe it that way. “I’m sorry,” I told her in a small voice.

  “For what?”
she asked, rolling her eyes at herself. “For not making a fool out of yourself? Forget it, Codi-kid.”

  I couldn’t come up with any words of comfort for her. We climbed into her car and left the park in silence.

  * * *

  “What do you want out of this summer?” Ricky asked the following afternoon. We were sitting at Starbucks, drinking iced coffees with extra sweetener. Ricky had been up at six A.M. the last few days in a row; he’d had some early trainings for his software sales internship, and it was a long haul down to the city, especially with rush-hour traffic. He seemed tired, but the coffee was bringing him around.

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “Well, I mean, you’ve already tried shotgunning…” He grinned. “What else are you gonna try? Bungee jumping? Cow tipping?”

  “Jewelry heists, maybe.”

  “Good one.”

  “I don’t know, who says I need to try more stuff?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m starting to figure you out, Codi Teller, and I know you want more out of this summer than just working at Purses-n-Pigs.”

  “Totes-n-Goats,” I laughed.

  He raised his eyebrows, waiting for my answer. “I’m asking because you seem kind of down today. Restless, almost. What’s going on?”

  I sighed and scooted my chair closer to his, making sure we wouldn’t be overheard. “Maritza tried to hit on this girl in the park yesterday, but she got shot down,” I told him in a low voice. “And Maritza’s pretty. Like, a lot prettier than me.”

  Ricky looked confused, so I elaborated.

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever meet a girl,” I told him. “The odds are impossible.”

  “Says who?”

  I stared him down. “Come on, don’t patronize me.”

  “I’m not. Why can’t you meet a girl?”

  I scoffed. “First of all, how many girls like other girls? Not many, at least compared to the number of girls who like boys. And then how am I supposed to find those girls? I mean, sometimes it’s obvious, but sometimes it’s not! Like that girl in the park yesterday—I told Maritza she seemed straight, and it turned out she was, but that can’t always be the case, right? Like, if I didn’t know Maritza, I would have no idea she was into girls. She’s been my best friend since sixth grade, but I didn’t pick up on it until she flat-out told me. It was obvious with JaKory, but I literally had no idea with her. And then, even if I find a girl who likes girls, what are the odds she’s gonna like me? What if I’m not her type? What if I’m too boring, or quiet, or—”

  “Or kind? Or interesting? Or earnest? Come on, Codi, you’re being too hard on yourself. And why are you worried about being her type? What if she’s not your type?”

  I met his eyes. “How did you meet Tucker?”

  He glanced away, shaking his head. “That’s different. It’s not a real thing.”

  “But you’ve still kissed him.”

  He looked wildly around, making sure no one had overheard us. “I’m telling you, it’s not a thing,” he said in a low, hard voice. “I only know him through my friend Samuel because they were on the baseball team together. He and Samuel got to be really tight this year, so we’d hang out with him at parties. That’s it.”

  “Wait. So you’ve only hung out with him at parties?”

  Ricky wasn’t looking at me. “Pretty much.”

  “How did you end up kissing him?”

  “What’s with the inquisition, Codi?”

  He asked it with an edge to his voice, and I shrunk back in my seat.

  “Sorry,” I said quietly. “I was just wondering.”

  That defensive look stayed in his eyes for a minute, but then it faded and he shook his head rapidly. “No, that’s okay. I’m just not used to…”

  He trailed off, and there was a swell of pressure between us.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just don’t think you should base anything off my random hookups with Tucker. We barely know each other. The most he ever talked to me was this one day at Sonic, when Samuel went off to call his girlfriend. We sat there by ourselves for a few minutes, and he told me he felt like he didn’t fit in on the baseball team, and I was blown away by that. Tucker’s the best baseball player our school has, you know? It took me forever to realize what he was talking about. But I didn’t even have his phone number until the other day, and it’s only because he texted me to make sure you hadn’t told anyone what you saw.”

  It was jarring for me to hear that; I hadn’t even considered that Tucker would worry about it afterward. “Is that all he said?”

  “Yep,” Ricky said bitterly. He fidgeted, tapping the lid on his coffee.

  “Well…” I said, trying to fill the silence between us. “You’re right about me wanting something out of this summer.”

  He chanced a look at me. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, I mean…” I trailed off, shaking my head. It was embarrassing to admit this to him, but I pushed myself to do it anyway. “I want to grow,” I said slowly. “I want to become a braver, more outgoing person. I want to scare myself, you know? I’m tired of being the quiet artist type.”

  Ricky blinked, considering me. “What’s wrong with being an artist?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I love painting. I love my creative side; I’m grateful for it. But I also don’t want that to be the only way that I … you know … engage with the world.”

  Ricky frowned. “What do Maritza and JaKory think about this?”

  I jammed my straw up and down in the coffee. “I haven’t talked to them about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they … they could never believe that I would be anything more than who I am right now.”

  Ricky fell quiet, watching me. “Shouldn’t your friends see your potential more than anyone?”

  I hesitated, trying to decide whether I wanted to have this conversation. I’d never spoken of Maritza and JaKory’s shortcomings to anyone, especially not another person our age, but I’d also never had anyone else I could confide in.

  I took a deep breath and made up my mind.

  “Look, do you know what my favorite thing to paint is?”

  “What?” Ricky asked.

  “Portraits. I love painting people, trying to capture those little details that make them who they are. Chicken pox scars, or a certain way they move their eyebrows, whatever. I used to paint Maritza’s and JaKory’s portraits every year when we were in middle school.”

  “That’s really sweet—”

  “But a few months ago, we found the very first portraits I painted of them, and they were totally wrong. Maritza and JaKory thought it was hilarious, but I was embarrassed.”

  Ricky frowned. “But how old were you when you painted those?”

  “Twelve, but that’s not the point. It wasn’t the technical skill that was embarrassing, it was my perception. I painted them like they were perfect. I didn’t capture any of their flaws. But you know what I found later that night? I found a self-portrait I’d done around the same time, and I had painted myself with so many flaws. The longer I looked at it, the better I remembered how I felt that day, when I was looking in the mirror and painting what I saw. I felt like shit.”

  I paused, taking another breath. Ricky watched me heavily.

  “I never even told Maritza and JaKory about it. And now I just keep thinking, like, what kind of twelve-year-old knows herself so poorly, or has such low self-esteem, that she glorifies her friends in her artwork but can’t even really see herself? And I think maybe that—that I’m still doing that.” I took a deep breath. “I’ve been holding on to Maritza and JaKory so tightly, like they’re all I could ever have, when deep down I really want the space to try something new, to make new friends, to meet a girl who sees a side of me they’ll never see.”

  Ricky looked steadfastly at me. “Damn,” he said quietly. “That’s a lot to keep bottled up.”

  I looked away from him, self-conscious. “It’s all
hitting me recently. I feel so torn about it. I love Maritza and JaKory, but I also feel this … this…”

  “Resentment?”

  “Yeah,” I said, like it was the most shameful thing I could imagine.

  Ricky reached across the table and squeezed my wrist. “I think that’s okay, Codi. Sounds normal to me.”

  I snorted humorlessly. “You said it feels like you’ve known your friends since kindergarten.”

  His expression changed; he looked solemn and thoughtful. “I do feel like that,” he said, “but there are still things I need to work through with them. Fears and insecurities I have around them.”

  I waited for him to continue, but he said nothing else. I let the silence grow around us.

  “Ricky?”

  “Yeah?”

  I breathed in, knowing my question was risky. “Do your friends … do they know about Tucker?”

  He looked at the ground. I didn’t know him well enough to say for sure, but he almost looked embarrassed.

  “No,” he said.

  I nodded. I knew not to press the issue.

  “Do Maritza and JaKory know about me?” he asked. He didn’t bother hiding the apprehension in his voice.

  “No. They don’t even know we hang out.”

  “At all?”

  “At all.”

  He searched my expression. “Trying to keep something for yourself?”

  “Yeah,” I said apologetically.

  He nodded. “I get that. I mean, I keep certain things for myself, too.”

  I knew he was talking about Tucker, and I took that as his way of telling me not to press him about it any more.

  We slipped into silence, taking long drags from our coffee. Then Ricky looked over at me.

  “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a pretty cool person, and I think you can grow into whomever you want to be. Maybe you’ll do it with Maritza and JaKory on the sidelines, or maybe they’ll be right there on the field with you, but either way, you’ll figure it out. I know they have to be good people, because they’re friends with you.”

  I breathed deep into my stomach. “Thanks, Ricky.”

  He smiled a soft, knowing smile. “Now, about the girl thing…”