“Well, close ... Teresa's moving here. Like soon. She met some guy on the Internet ... from Jersey.”
“Seriously? That was quick.”
“I know, right? But get this. Dad already knew about it. She told him this summer when we were in Utuado.”
“And let me guess, he didn't tell you?”
“Of course not. Teresa e-mailed Lilly.”
“Man, Dad's gotten shady.” Vince chuckled.
“It's not funny. You saw Uncle Diego at the barbeque. He totally spazzed.”
“Yeah, but what are you gonna do? Grandpop had another kid. End of story.”
“But it's not just that. It's
Dad
,” I hissed in a burst of frustration. “You should have heard him tonight. âMariana this has nothing to do with you. You're so
dramatic
.' Like I don't exist. Like I don't have a right to have an opinion on my own family.”
Vince's voice swelled with amusement. “Well, finally! Welcome to my world. You've been some sort of Daddy's girl your whole life. It's about time you got a taste of the real him.”
“Oh, please. He made himself very clear when he shipped me off to Puerto Rico.”
“But, still. You didn't believe me all those years I fought with him. You thought
I
was the jerk. Trust me, it goes both ways.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. I didn't want to fight with my dad the way Vince did, but I also couldn't stop the hostility that was slowly poisoning our relationship.
“Mariana, you're almost sixteen. You've got two more years before you go off to college. My advice: figure out a way to live with Mom and Dad 'til then.”
“So, this Teresa thing? What, I should just let it go?”
“Yup,” Vince answered assertively. “You are not gonna change Dad's mind. I learned that the hard way. Just find a way to deal.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Hey, you can come visit me and get away from it all. I promise, a half-case of beer, and you'll forget all about Dad.”
It didn't sound like a bad idea. Any place was better than here at the moment.
Chapter 10
B
y Friday, I had found new reasons to be annoyed with my parents. Along with lying (by omission) about the impending arrival of my illegitimate half aunt, my mother was beginning to act as if she liked Lilly more than she liked me. In the past forty-eight hours, my mom had not only suggested that I be more like my cousin (“Mariana, you should hang out with some of Lilly's friends.” “Mariana, maybe you should try tennis again.”), she was also insisting I encourage Lilly's newfound fame.
Over breakfast this morning, she not-so-subtly recommended that I stop by Lilly's tennis practice to “offer support,” which was interesting because in fifteen years, I couldn't remember anyone swinging by a ballet rehearsal on my behalf. But I didn't say that. And of course, my mother knew I'd do what she asked. I always did.
The trick was getting my friends to do it too.
“I don't see why we're being dragged into this,” Madison protested as she slammed her locker shut.
“To make my mom happy.”
“Why do
I
need to make your mom happy?” She cocked her head.
“You don't, but I do. And you're my ride to ballet practice.”
In an hour, I'd be putting on my ballet shoes for the first time since I got back from Puerto Rico. I didn't want to think about the pain I'd feel tomorrow. Two months and I was already out of shape.
“You're lucky I'm such a good friend,” Madison grumbled as we strolled toward the tennis courts.
“You're right. I am.”
I nodded politely at her before discreetly rolling my eyes at Emily. She smiled.
“So how long has Little Miss Puertorriqueña been playing tennis?” Madison asked.
“A week.”
“Are you serious?” she shouted. “This is ridiculous.”
“Hey, we'll pop in, watch her hit a few balls, and go. My mom thinks I've been ditching her all week.”
“Whatever! She's the one who's up Betsy Sumner's butt,” Madison corrected nastily.
“I know, but try telling my mom that.”
“Uh, guys, what the heck is that?” Emily stopped and pointed toward the bleachers.
A crowd of freshmen boys sat behind Lilly's court, hooting and hollering at the action. I watched, motionless, as Lilly dove for balls, her chest heaving as she swung violently at the fuzzy green targets. Each ball she rocketed into the parking lot only made her legion of fans cheer louder. My mouth hung open. I had never seen anyone make a lack of talent appear so endearing.
“Oh. My. God,” Madison choked. We watched as Lilly bent to pick up a tennis ball and delight the crowd of spectators. “I don't get it.”
“She has a fan club,” Emily stated.
“It's not even a real match. It's just practice,” I noted.
“How? Why?” Madison asked in a muffled voice, clearly dumbfounded.
I silently grappled with the spectacle, my insecurities surfacing with unprecedented force. I didn't draw this much attention from my own parents, let alone a pack of teenage boys. I couldn't imagine what that felt like.
Finally, Emily swung toward us.
“She's the new girl. That's it. We go through this every year, especially with exchange students. Don't you remember that French chick from last year?”
“Oh, Micheline. You have a point,” I said softly, as I watched my cousin wave to her fans. “Vince had a shrine to her.”
“I think every boy had a shrine to Micheline. The football team practically erected a statue in her honor,” Emily added.
“They erected a lot more than that.” I giggled.
“Still, it's different. She's your
cousin
.” Madison tossed her hand towards Lilly, who was preparing for a serve. “She looks just like you.”
“So? What's that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. It's just, I don't see why everyone's going all gaga over Version 2.0, when they have the real thing right here,” Madison covered, smiling innocently at me.
I watched Lilly bat two serves out of bounds. The boys in the crowd applauded her effort with a standing ovation. She pretended to remain focused. She pretended not to notice their reactions. But I knew she was loving the attention. How could she not be?
“You know, I really don't think Lilly needs your support right now,” Emily stated as my cousin tossed a tennis ball into the stands and a half-dozen guys dove for it.
“Yeah, I think the Spring Mills Kournikova has enough of a cheering section,” Madison spat as she grabbed her car keys from her bag. “Let's go.”
I didn't fight her. Actually, I agreed. I had seen enough.
We marched to Madison's car and piled in. Emily immediately settled into shotgun. She didn't even pause a moment before clutching the handle. Like it didn't occur to her that I might want to sit up front.
“You know, it makes sense,” I said as I slammed the car door closed. “You should have seen the guys in Puerto Rico. They tripped over themselves to get near her. All of them ... Well, except for Alex.”
“Alex is the guy you made out with, right?” Emily asked.
“Well, yeah. But it was more than that,” I mumbled.
“Have you heard from him?”
“We e-mail each otherâ”
“Whatever,” Madison abruptly interrupted, changing the subject. “I'm sick of talking about your cousin and anyone associated with her. Let's move on.”
I glared at the back of Madison's head. Though my cousin had just created a bit of a scene, I knew Madison's reaction had nothing to do with her. She hated hearing any nugget about my trip that generated even a speck of happiness in my voice, including any mention of Alex. For weeks, I'd been pretending not to notice, but lately I was getting a little sick of trying so hard to be friends with my own best friends.
“So, it sucks you missed ballet camp,” Emily stated, easing the tension in the car. “Madame Colbert is gonna be thrilled to see you back.”
“Yeah, camp was awesome,” Madison said as she pulled out of the parking lot. “You should have seen Emily's solo.”
“And Madison was in the best company. Their performance got a standing ovation.”
I could tell from Emily's tone that Madison had danced a very small part (like always), and that she was trying to make her feel better by complimenting the company. It amazed me that Madison didn't quit ballet and find something she was more suited for. But Madison kept on dancing, even if she was always overlooked.
Â
It felt good to have my practice clothes on again. I missed the ballet slippers and tights, the taut buns and burning blisters. I missed feeling like a ballerina, feeling tall and strong, like I excelled at something.
More than a dozen girls were sprawled on the hardwood floor intensely stretching their legs, backs, and feet. But as soon as Madame Colbert floated in, we hustled to the barre, found our centers, aligned our feet, and waited for the music. Gracefully, we bent our knees in first position and raised our arms in a demi-plié. Our instructor never said a word, yet we were in perfect unison. We had been doing this for years.
The class continued as usual, moving from the barre to center floor work. My muscles flamed from holding positions they'd forgotten about during two months of salsa dancing and plantain eating. Emily looked amazing, however. I could tell she had learned a lot in Manhattan this summer. She'd always had bad feetâlow arches and thin, tapered toes that forced all her weight onto her big toe (she got killer ingrown nails and often hated wearing flip-flops). But her turnout was flawless and her back flexibility had gone from beautiful to unbelievable.
Madison, however, didn't have a dancer's body. She was thin as a rail, but also cursed with short legs and a short neck. No matter how much she practiced, she could never move like a dancer. Her posture looked off, though, technically, she was doing nothing wrong. She just hadn't been born with the physical attributes of a ballerina. I had. And sometimes I felt guilty for not appreciating my frame enough, especially when I watched Madison struggle to extend her leg behind her in an arabesque. Her movements would never soar as high as the rest of the class, and most of us were barely trying.
When class ended, our faces were flushed and sticky, and our hairlines were drenched in sweat.
“Hey, your jumps were pretty good for being out of practice,” Emily said, as we changed into our street clothes.
“Omigod! You were incredible! I can't believe I missed camp. You look like you got a lot out of it.” I smiled at Emily as I dabbed my forehead with a towel. Madison sat silently behind her, changing her shoes. “You too, Mad. Your flexibility looks good.”
I didn't look her in the eye; neither did Emily.
“Yeah, sure,” she mumbled.
A lull fell over the conversation. I stood up and slid my feet into my sandals.
“You know, my dad can probably get us tickets to
Firebird
next week,” Madison stated, breaking the silence. “His boss has season tickets to the Academy, and he's not using them.”
“No way,” I stated, perking up.
“Yeah, he mentioned it last night.”
“That's awesome. Count me in,” Emily cheered.
“All right, three tickets to the ballet.” Madison peered intently at me as she spoke.
I knew she was subtly excluding Lilly, but I doubted my cousin would mind. It's not as if she had any interest in ballet. Plus, she already had her own friends (with some fan club members to boot). Still, it would have been nice to extend the invitation and to expose her to my dance world, since I had spent most of the summer engrossed in hers.
But that really wasn't the reason I wanted her included. Right now, she was the only person who truly understood what I was going through on a daily basisâwith my friends, with my parents, with Teresa. It was like I finally had a sister who would always be on my side, no questions asked. (Not that I didn't appreciate my brother, but let's face it, a sister would have been nice.)
“Miss RuÃz, nice to see you back,” said Madame Colbert as she popped her classical CD from the stereo. “Work on your feet. And Miss Montgomery, I see real improvement. Keep at it.”
Our instructor grabbed her purse and left without a glance in Madison's direction. It was like she didn't even see her standing next to us. I smiled sympathetically, but Madison simply clutched her duffle bag and walked out. Emily and I followed her lead.