Chapter 20
I
sat on the front porch swing with Teresa as she waited for Carlos to pick her up. My aunts and uncles left before dessert. My father's storming off seemed to signify the end of the evening. My Uncle Diego never apologized, and my father never said good-bye to his guests. This was my model of maturity.
“I hope you're not too upset,” I stated softly.
“No, it's okay. I kind of expected something like this to happen,” Teresa said as we gazed out at my dark suburban street.
“Then why'd you come?”
She shrugged, saying nothing.
A couple of flies hovered around our faux antique porch light as I swayed on the wooden swing. Something about the scene reminded me of my great aunt and great uncle's place in Utuado. I half expected to hear the coquis sing. Teresa said that my cousin Alonzo had moved to San Juan with José not long after we left the island, and that Aunt Carmen and Uncle Miguel were bragging to the entire town about how well my family was doing in the States. I missed them.
“You should know that your father invited me to your birthday
fiesta
,” Teresa stated. “But that was before tonight. And now I'm not sure if it's a good idea... .”
I didn't know how to respond. Part of me didn't want her to attend. Realistically, my Sweet Sixteen would go a whole lot smoother without her there. (An Uncle Diego death match was not exactly on my list of entertainment.) But if I couldn't muster up the courage to disinvite the two hundred-plus students crashing my party, then I couldn't exactly rescind her invitation.
“You're more than welcome to come... .”
“Really?” she asked quickly.
I didn't expect her to be so eager.
“Sure.” I nodded, a little taken aback.
“Thanks. I'd really like everyone to meet Carlos.” She smiled wide. “And the party sounds like fun.”
“Actually, I could care less about it,” I admitted.
“Why?”
“Because I didn't want to have a party.”
“So, why are you?”
Teresa looked at me without the slightest bit of judgment. Almost as if she were a psychiatrist there to listen. I took a deep breath.
“It was so important to everyone else that I have a Sweet Sixteen. My mom acted like I would be denying myself this great adolescent experience. My friends acted like I would be denying
them
this great party experience... .”
“What about Lilly?”
“She really didn't care either way. She's the only one who probably understood,” I explained.
Lilly was currently upstairs finishing her algebra homework. And I was glad she wasn't around. It gave me time to vent.
“She didn't want her
Quinceañera
anymore than I want a Sweet Sixteen. But even still, she talked me into having something with this whole Puerto Rican theme. And now it's being blown out of proportion. All these kids are coming who I didn't inviteâprobably just to be near Lilly. She's been hanging around with these jocks. I mean, I want her to have her own friends and all, but I also don't want to have to hang out with them, you know?”
Teresa nodded calmly as she absorbed my words. Then she took a slow breath.
“Mariana, you know what it's like to be the stranger in a strange place. That's how Lilly feels right now. She might not show it, but I'm sure being here, in your school, scares her.”
“Lilly's not scared of anything. She became the most popular girl in Spring Mills within an hour.”
“Even still. Even with all those friends,
you're
the one she wants to spend time with. You're the reason she moved here.”
Her chocolate eyes fell slightly as she spoke, and a chill ran down my forearm.
Just then, a set of headlights appeared at the end of the dark street. Teresa stood up. It was Carlos. She grabbed her purse and walked toward my driveway.
“Tell your parents I said goodnight,” she said, clutching the car door handle.
Carlos smiled and waved at me from inside the vehicle. His gray hair surprised me. He looked older than I expected, maybe in his late forties, with a salt and pepper beard and mustache, and weathered lines around his eyes. I grinned back.
“Teresa, I'm glad you came,” I called after her.
She looked into the car at her new boyfriend.
“So am I.”
Â
I logged onto my e-mail after Teresa left. There was a message from Vince with three photo attachments. I quickly opened it up.
The first picture showed my Ivy League-educated brother standing in front of a muddy pond, buck naked with one hand in front of his crotch and the other holding a bottle of wine to his mouth as he guzzled. The second image showed him hoisting a beautiful blond girl on his shoulders as they âchicken fought' another couple on the grounds of an exquisitely maintained vineyard. The third photo showed him on a bus with dozens of guys (who I could only assume were his fraternity brothers) while he puked into a Doritos bag.
I laughed as my hand covered my mouth. It boggled my mind that he wanted me to see this stuff, and it seriously concerned me that these boys represented some of the smartest students in the country. These were our nation's future presidents, CEOs, and lawyers. And with all this technology, I was guessing that these soon-to-be high-powered professionals would one day find themselves hit with a lot of blackmail.
His message read:
Wineries rock! The fraternity I'm rushing took us on this tour of the Seneca Lake Wineries. We finished a case of chardonnay on the bus before we even got to the second vineyard. I was sooo tanked. We had these chicken fights on the lawn and some girl almost broke her nose. She yacked up red merlot and it splashed all over my leg. So me and this dude jumped in the irrigation ditch naked. It was freezing! And I soo sliced up my foot on a rock. The winery totally kicked us out.
But the brothers got me a bottle of wine because of it. I seriously shouldn't have drunk it, 'cause I spewed chunks on the bus all the way back to campus. It was awesome, though. I can't wait 'til I'm initiated!
Later!
âVince
I smiled as I stared at the screen. After the night I'd had, this was exactly what I needed. It was like he knew.
Chapter 21
T
he next night we headed over to Bobby's to view his documentary debut. Prior to leaving, I had assumed that Lilly, Madison, Emily, and I would be among dozens of other Spring Mills students supporting his Dublin masterpiece. Only we were now seated on the couch in his basement in between his Grandma Abigail and his Uncle Lester. There was a gathering of other aunts, uncles, and cousins plopped around us on the floor and only two other students from our high schoolâphotography club presidents Wyatt Benson and Jackson Dilks.
Madison hadn't stopped digging her nails into my arm since we had arrived, and Emily just looked embarrassed to be included. Her face fell when I told her that Bobby had invited me to the screening, even when I insisted that he had extended the invitation to all of us. I almost had to drag her through his front door earlier, and now she was seated on the couch, not speaking, and staring at her folded hands.
Lilly, however, was taking the whole thing in stride. She sat on an armchair, engrossed in a conversation with Wyatt over whether digital photography could ever really replace the quality of print images. This coming from a girl who still uses disposable drugstore cameras.
“But with Photoshop, don't you think you have more range with digital pictures?” Lilly asked, chomping a handful of pretzels.
“Not necessarily. You can have any roll of film made into a CD these days, still giving you those options. But with film, you have more natural colors and skin tones. And don't even get me started on black and white. The mood you can create with darkroom techniques ...”
Lilly nodded like she understood his views to the point that I thought she should really consider a career in the theatrical arts. I'd have to mention it to Bobby, in case he ever made the switch from documentaries to major motion pictures.
“When is this thing going to start?” Madison droned as she nibbled on a chip. I knew she was desperate if she was eating junk food to keep busy.
“Soon, I guess.”
“Do you even know what the film is about?”
“I'd assume it's about Ireland, right?”
Bobby's two preteen cousins were playing foosball in the “playroom” off to the left of where we were seated. Half his relatives were packed in the tiny room cheering with a level of excitement most actual soccer games would not be worthy of, let alone a bunch of plastic figures on metal sticks. Only right now I was half-tempted to join them. If it weren't for Madison's nails in my forearm, I probably would have dozed off long ago.
“When can we leave?” she grumbled, her nails plunging deeper. I wiggled my arm free and rubbed my skin.
“It's not my fault this is boring,” I said softly. “He made it seem like it would be some big movie premiere with lots of people.”
“Yeah, lots of old people.”
She scanned the room, waving her hands around. “Check out his grandmother. I think she is going to the bathroom in her pants,” she whispered, pointing. “Look at her face.”
His gray-haired grandma was sitting serenely on a wingback chair with an expression of pure contentment.
“She's either peeing or she's medicated.” Madison chuckled.
“Shut up.” I smiled and covered my mouth.
“Could you imagine wearing granny diapers and just peeing whenever, wherever you wanted?” Madison continued with a mischievous grin.
“Shhh!” I murmured, a giggle slipping through my fingers.
“Just think of all the time you'd save not waiting in line for the bathroom.”
“But do you think they change them each time they go?” Emily chimed in. “Because it's kinda gross just to sit there in your own pee.”
“Or worse ...”
“Oh, that's disgusting!” I groaned.
“But it does explain why old people smell funny.”
“Madison!” I half-whispered, half-yelled.
The three of us were giggling so hard tears spurted down our cheeks.
“What'd I miss?” Lilly asked, diving into our conversation. “Please tell me, because it seems a lot more fun than 35-mm film exposures.”
I was so giddy I couldn't get out the words before Bobby's dad sauntered down the stairs toward his mother.
“Nanna, is everything going all right? You need any help?” he asked.
Madison and I broke into another round of hysterics. I wiped at my eyes and tried to swallow the snorts, but I couldn't control myself. Emily had a much better grasp on her composure. She chewed her lip and rapidly turned away.
“You girls seem to be having a good time,” Bobby's dad said as he approached.
He looked so much like his son, with a tall, thin build and a pointy nose; only his blond curls were darker and cropped short against his head. He wore wire-frame glasses with jeans and a corduroy blazer. Even if I didn't already know he was a German professor at Penn, it would not have been hard to figure out.
“Um, we're fine,” I choked as I tried to calm down.
“Yeah, it was just, uh, Emily said something funny,” Madison lied.
Emily instantly covered her face with her hands, and I could feel the embarrassment pulsating off her.
“Emily?” Mr. McNabb muttered, peering at her.
She slowly lowered her palms and gazed at him through her long eyelashes.
“Um, it was nothing,” she mumbled. “I just said something stupid.”
Mr. McNabb stared at her with such intensity that I wondered if Bobby had mentioned Emily's name before. Maybe he had told his dad about their date this past summer. Or maybe he did really have feelings for her. My gaze shifted between the two of them.
“Um, uh,” his dad stuttered, his shoulders squirming. “I, uh, hope you girls have a good time tonight.”
“Thanks for inviting me,” she said politely, her brown eyes fixed on his face.
“Yeah, me too. Your house is really nice,” I added.
Madison and Lilly nodded in agreement.
“No problem.”
Mr. McNabb spun off towards the playroom just as Bobby entered the room. The mood instantly lifted as everyone simultaneously ceased what they were doing to look at him. Their expressions seemed more like those of fans gawking at a celebrity, than relatives bored by a kid's low-budget student film.
“Hello, everyone,” Bobby said, sounding very official. “Glad you could make it.”
Guests immediately filed out of the playroom to take their seats on folding chairs and pillow cushions plopped on the plush-carpeted basement floor. Bobby's mom and dad sat alongside his grandmother, right beside the jumbo flat-screen TV.
Bobby ran his hand through his curls, tilting his head toward the recessed lights, before letting his fingers slide slowly down his neck. It almost looked like a prerehearsed pose, and if it was, it was rather effective. For a moment, he appeared deep and artistically tormented. When his green eyes turned to me and he smiled, I felt oddly drawn to him in a way I usually felt when watching male dancers execute intense ballet moves with effortless power. It was the look of talent. And I had never seen such confidence in my locker buddy before.
“I'd like to take this time to thank you all for being here, since this is probably the closest I'll ever get to a real audience. Thanks, Mom.” Everyone smiled and laughed on cue. “Tonight I'm going to debut the documentary I made in Ireland featuring the struggle between the Catholics and Protestants as shown through the lives of two very real teenagers. Having grown up in a country where God is a controversial word, it was interesting to see two people, my age, who believe so strongly in opposing religious views, views that to most of us don't seem a whole lot different. God's a big deal.”
Everyone cheered and applauded.
“Please don't. You're wasting your time. God doesn't oversee the upper middle class. We pray to Bill Gates,” Bobby stated with a deadpan expression.
Everyone roared again.
It was a pure blend of self-deprecating humor and thought-provoking insight. My heart melted. I didn't even need to see the movie to know it would be great. He was great. He had already sold me on the film.
“Now if my stage hand could dim the lights.
Mom.”
Bobby waved toward the switch, and everyone chuckled. “We'll begin. I hope you enjoy
God Save Ireland.”
Â
The documentary was amazing. The way Bobby was able get those teens to open up was impressive. Plus his use of historical footage with current Irish music perfectly illustrated the situation, but with a modern, youthful perspective. Even the editing was remarkable, just fast enough to keep the viewer engaged, but not so fast that it felt like an MTV segment. It more than made up for the hour of foosball and granny panty discussions we had to endure waiting for it.
“I can't believe Bobby, Locker Buddy Bobby, made that,” I muttered.
“Apparently, there's more to him than just his locker,” Lilly stated.
“I've always seen him with his camera. I guess I always thought it was just a geeky hobby,” Madison added.
“He's really talented,” Emily stated.
I looked at her. She smiled and shrugged.
“I mean, didn't
you
think it was good?” Emily asked quietly, staring at her black boots.
“Good? It was freakin' amazing! He's going to be famous one dayâfull out Oscar nomination. Without a doubt.”
“What was that?” Bobby asked, startling me.
He was standing so close, I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. A shivery thrill crept through me, and I spun around.
“I said that you are America's next great cinematic genius. Scorsese better watch out.”
“I prefer Woody Allen.”
“Professionally or socially? Because I don't think you want to follow his lead and marry your stepdaughter,” I joked.
“So, I have children now!”
“Of course, you're a famous filmmaker with a mansion in Bel Air.”
“What happened to my being a starving artist in the Lower East Side?”
“I thought that before I saw your movie. Now I think you're going to be a fat, pampered Hollywood director tormented by his sudden fame and the pressure to please his investors.”
Bobby chuckled. “I'm glad you liked it.”
“No, I loved it.”
He gazed into my eyes, saying nothing. I couldn't stop smiling. That is until Lilly indiscreetly coughed beside me.
“Oh, right,” I shook my head. “We
all
loved it. Right, girls? Em, why don't you tell Bobby what you thought of the movie?”
“Oh, um, I, uh, I really liked it,” she stammered. “You did a great job.”
“Thanks.” He nodded at her.
“So, Bobby, are you gonna show this to other people? Because it's really good,” Madison asked.
“I don't know. I might enter it in a few contests or something.. . .”
“What about showing it at school? I mean, if we can have an assembly to celebrate our losing football team, I don't see why we can't have a screening of your film. Maybe we should talk to Dean Pruitt?” I suggested.
“We?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You mean you'd help me?”
“Totally. Dean Pruitt and my dad are tight. How do you think Lilly got here?”
I caught Madison and Emily exchanging an odd stare.
“You guys wanna help?” I asked.
“No, I think you've got it handled,” Emily stated quickly.
“You sure? It could be a cool project. And I bet I could talk the soon-to-be-famous director into thanking us in the program.” I smiled at Bobby.
“I'm sure you could,” Madison mumbled under her breath.
“Well, I'll help!” Lilly cheered. “Clearly tennis isn't my calling, so I need to start looking into some other activities before I lose all self-esteem.”
“Great. I'll stop by the office on Monday and see if Pruitt'll meet with us. We can discuss strategy tomorrow... .”
“We're going shopping tomorrow,” Madison interjected. “Your Sweet Sixteen dress, remember?”
“Oh, crap. Well, then we'll figure something out,” I said before turning to Bobby. “I'll give you the lowdown at the lockers Monday morning.”
“Great. Thanks for your help. Seriously.”
“No problem. But if I ever get the urge to don a tutu and perform
Swan Lake
center stage in the Spring Mills auditorium, you better help me hook that up.”