She's Got Game (6 page)

When the others joined them for a few songs, Jamie's mood stayed high. Binky's dancing was as hopeless as her Spanish, but there was a certain charm to her total lack of rhythm that carried her through.

Jamie would have been happy if the night never ended. But at ten forty-five, Alicia looked at her watch and sighed. “I'm about to turn into a pumpkin. My dad will be here in fifteen minutes to pick Gaz and me up. Who else needs a ride?”

“I'm exhausted,” Carmen said.

“Me, too,” Binky agreed. “What about you, Jamie?”

Jamie looked at Dash quickly, out of the corner of her eye. She wanted to stay, but she didn't want to assume he'd take her home.

“I'll make sure Jamie gets back safely,” Dash said, as if reading her mind. He turned to her. “If that's okay with you.”

She nodded. It felt as if her head were no longer connected to her neck. As if reality had gone out the window.

Binky smiled knowingly. Then she gave her brother a big hug and reached for Jamie's hand. But Jamie was too quick to get caught in a hug. Looking down at her dress, she said, “I'm too sweaty,” and gave Binky a double-cheek kiss instead.

An hour after everyone had left, Jamie and Dash were still enjoying each other's company. She'd taken off her high heels and was enthusiastically dancing barefoot. The DJ shifted into
cumbia
, and Dash took her in his arms and began to swing her around with the finesse of an old Dominican
abuelo
who had been a professional dancer back in the day.

Jamie had never been the biggest fan of traditional music, because she really abhorred the notion prevalent in Latin dance that the man had to lead and the woman had to follow. She loved dancing with her father, and when she was a kid, she had loved dancing with her grandfather before he passed away. But letting some pimply teenage boy—a guy her own age—“lead”…Well, forgive the cliché, but no way, José.

Still, as with everything else, dancing with Dash was…different. It wasn't so much that he was leading, though he was obviously the better dancer. But what it suddenly felt like to Jamie, what she now understood for maybe the first time as he spun and dipped her and glided her from one side of the dance floor to the other, was that dancing was a conversation. And the things she couldn't—wouldn't—tell him yet in words, she could say with her moves.

In honors English that year, their class had read James Joyce's
Ulysses
. Jamie, who had found it interminable, had pretty much skimmed it, despite her teacher's assertion that assigning them Joyce had been like giving them Christmas and Easter and the Fourth of July all rolled into one.

Now, dancing with Dash, feeling the back and forth of his steps, all she could think of was the last line of Joyce's book, from Molly Bloom's soliloquy. The prose told about a girl who wasn't sure how to let herself fall in love. A girl who finally decided to take a leap and just say yes. Just as Jamie was deciding now. Yes, Jamie kept thinking, yes, I said yes, I will, yes.

IT WAS NEARLY
two
a.m.
when Dash pulled up in front of the Sosa house. Jamie sat in his mini Cooper convertible and tried to keep the silly grin off her face.

“Well, I had a nice time,” Dash said after a moment of silence.

Understatement of the year, Jamie thought, catching a glimpse of herself in the car's side mirror. Her face was still sweaty—Carmen would have said, “dewy,” but Jamie called it what it was: sweaty. Dash, on the other hand, looked as if he'd just come from a leisurely day at the beach.

“I had a nice time, too,” Jamie said, looking out the window, and praying that her mother had gotten her text message that she was out late, but hadn't sat up waiting.

Dash looked at her, as if contemplating what he would say next. For a moment, Jamie wondered if the amazing night had all been in her imagination. And then he asked, “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

Jamie sighed, stalling as she remembered the first time she had kissed a boy. Her mind flashed back to the Bronx. It had been so embarrassing. Fifth grade. Spin the bottle. Reinaldo Lopez. The moment had left a lot to be desired. Now she tried to think of something smart-alecky and clever to reply. But she couldn't. So she just said the word that had been in her mind all night: “Yes.”

Then his lips were on hers. They were pillow-soft, and Jamie felt herself get lost in the moment. This was unlike any kiss she'd had before—not that there had been many of those.

Dash was an excellent kisser. So much so that Jamie soon found that trying to kiss him just once was like opening a bag of M&M's and trying to eat just one. She kissed him again and again, happy, surprised that she'd found this person who could make her feel so comfortable and so good.

Then she heard it. She felt it. Dash had unsnapped her bra.

She pulled away. “What do you think you're doing?” she asked.

“I'm sorry.” Dash held up his hands. “It was an accident.”

“Bras are actually intricate pieces of technology,” Jamie said, growing furious. “They don't come off by accident.”

“I mean, it was an accident because I wasn't thinking when I did it,” Dash said. Jamie couldn't tell from the aggrieved expression on his face if he were genuinely sorry or just annoyed that she had pulled back.

“Clearly you weren't,” Jamie said, her voice barely containing the rage she now felt. How could everything have been so perfect five seconds ago? She felt as if she'd been thrown back into boarding school. “Just because I don't have money like you, just because I'm from the Bronx, you think you can slide to second just like that? I bet you wouldn't try that with one of the girls from your fancy prep school.”

Reaching for the handle, she flung the car door open and jumped out. She slammed it behind her, not caring if it woke up the neighborhood.

Dash jumped out after her. “It was stupid. You're just so beautiful, and I was so in the moment.…”

“Well, guess what?” Jamie hissed. “That moment is gone, and you'll never see the likes of it again.” Turning, she walked up the path to her house, leaving a flustered Dash behind her.

Jamie opened the front door as quietly as she could. It was completely dark except for the light over the kitchen table. On it was a note from her mother:

Late night, hija. Don't make it a habit. Wake me when you get in, so I know you're okay.

Jamie went in and said good night to her parents and then went to her room and changed into her pajamas. She brushed her teeth and, as she always did, ever since she was a little girl, double-checked the locks on the front door. Through the peephole, she could see that Dash was still sitting in his car out front. It was a futile exercise. A cow would jump over the moon before she gave him a second chance.

But as she climbed into her bed, she couldn't help wondering, if Dash was the one who had messed up, why did it feel as though, in walking away, she was not hurting him but punishing herself? Why was
she
the one crying herself to sleep in bed?

The next morning, Jamie woke up to the sound of her phone alarm playing an old Pitbull tune. The pulsating beat brought all of the memories of the evening before back. Groaning, she turned it off and stuck her head under her pillow.

She'd had
such
a good time with Dash. Too bad it had turned out that she'd had him figured out correctly the first time. He was an entitled, golf-club-swinging prepster. And he'd thought he could get into her pants just because she was from the hood.

She let out a big sigh. There was no time for dwelling on it. She was supposed to meet Binky and the girls in—she looked at her phone—twenty minutes ago! She jumped out of bed, brushed her teeth, took the world's quickest shower, and begged her mother for a ride.

Walking into Bongos, she began apologizing as soon as she saw her girls. “
Discúlpenme, chicas
. I kept hitting snooze, and, well, you know the way that movie ends.”

There was a seat open next to Binky, but Jamie squeezed into the booth with Carmen instead.

“My future sister-in-law!” Binky squealed, getting up to give Jamie a giant hug. “I told Alicia and Carmen that you were bound to be late. Dash didn't get home until almost five.”

“And since we know the club closed at one…” Carmen began.

“We couldn't help but wonder what you were doing for four hours!” Alicia gave Jamie a probing glance. “Is there something that you want to tell us?”

There was a part of Jamie that really wanted to talk to her friends about the evening, tell them how confusing it had been, and get their help in figuring out why spending time with Dash had reminded her of great novels. Last night, she had felt like Molly Bloom in
Ulysses
. This morning, after all that fun dancing followed by Dash's totally lecherous pass at her, the phrase that came to mind was from Dickens
:
the best of times and the worst of times. But she couldn't say anything. It was her own fault. She had let vulnerable Jamie out to play, and that Jamie had ended up with a heart that, while not broken, was definitely bruised. She was going to have to go back to being Jamie from the block. Much safer that way. And much safer not to let the girls in on something that would amount to nothing in the future anyway.

Luckily, she was saved from further discussion when Domingo approached them, dressed in his waiter uniform of crisp white shirt, black tie, and black pants. It was here at Bongos, unofficial Amigas headquarters, that Carmen and Domingo had met. He was already thick as thieves with the rest of the group, helping them to create a Web site and advising them on all things technical.

“
Hola
, gorgeous,” he said, winking at Carmen. “
Hola
,
amigas
. I would ask for your order, but I think I know—crab empanadas,
plátanos
, black beans, and rice.”

“Exactly,” Carmen said. “Dom, meet our newest client, Binky Mortimer.”

“Encantado,”
Domingo said, shaking her hand.

Binky flushed. “I love
la vida loca
!”

Domingo looked confused.

“Binky's mother was Venezuelan, and she's on a—how should I put it?—
journey
to explore her Latin roots,” Carmen explained.

Domingo shrugged good-naturedly. “Got it. One more thing: virgin
mojitos
all around?”

“You know how we roll,” Alicia said.

“Thanks, sweetie,” Carmen said.

“Claro,”
Domingo said, walking away.

“He's cute,” Binky said to Carmen. “Speaking of cute, where's Gaz?”

Alicia sighed. “Where he always is—rehearsing with his band or working at the Gap.”

Jamie narrowed her eyes. “You know he has to work to help his mother out. We don't all have the luxury of rich parents.” Her tone was sharper than she intended, and Alicia took note.

“You don't have to tell me how hard he works,” Alicia said. “I just miss him sometimes, that's all.”

“Hey, are you guys coming to the Everglades–C. G. High game Wednesday?” Binky asked, changing the subject.

The three friends exchanged glances. None of them was exactly the rah-rah football-game type.

“Uh, we hadn't planned on it,” Alicia replied for them all.

“You've
got
to come; I'm a cheerleader, and our new routine is
sick
,” Binky pleaded. “Besides, it'll be fun.”

“Well,” Carmen said, “Domingo is actually a big football fan and had said something about wanting to go. And, like they say, the customer is always right.”

“I'll be there,” Alicia said.

“I guess that means me, too,” Jamie said.

Binky beamed. “You guys are going to love it.”

She launched into something about routines and pyramids, giving Jamie a much-needed chance to zone. She looked off into the distance. Had she overreacted with Dash? It wasn't like a boy had never unsnapped her bra before. There had been the guy at Fitzgibbons. He had had a bet with one of his prep-school pals that he could get to second base with her, and Jamie had found out and been heartbroken. But Dash was different. He wasn't a boy, he was a young man, a gentleman, or so she had thought. And the evening had been so…so perfect. It just infuriated her that she didn't have enough experience to tell whether the bad was in Dash's court or hers.

Again she wished she could talk to the girls. But even if Binky hadn't been there, she wasn't sure she would have felt comfortable telling Alicia and Carmen the truth. She felt a little like the boy who cried wolf. She'd spent so much time talking about the Bronx and how hard-core she was and how wack the rest of the world was that she'd somewhat lost the ability to talk about feeling vulnerable. And she wasn't sure that if she took the chance and opened up to them her friends would really hear her when she said that she
knew
some guys thought girls from the hood were easy. She had never told them about her past. Was now the time to start?

Jamie was pondering the matter so intensely that she didn't realize that Alicia was trying to get her attention.

“Hello, space cadet,” she said, waving a hand. “Talking business here. I met with Padre Hottie, and he's totally cool with doing the
quince
ceremony on the boat. And Carmen had the best idea for the shoe change.”

Jamie shook off her sad thoughts and focused.

“After the priest blesses the
quince
, your dad changes your shoes from flats to heels to symbolize your transition to womanhood,” Carmen explained to Binky. “What I was thinking was that when you take off your flats, the captain of the yacht could run them up the flagpole. It could be really funny.”

Binky shook her head. “Cute, but I haven't worn flats off the tennis court since eighth grade, and I'm not going to start now.”

“Are you serious?” Alicia asked. “The changing of the shoes is a critical part of the
quinceañera
ceremony. It's an important part of the tradition.”

“Symbolic,” Carmen added.

“No can do,
chicas
,” Binky said, tossing her blond hair so it fell perfectly over her sequined one-shouldered top. “Mortimer women don't do flats.”

Typical, Jamie thought. Would Dash have been all handsy with a girl from the Mortimers' exclusive West Side Country Club? She didn't think so. Mortimer women didn't do flats, and Mortimer guys didn't have any manners.

But Binky was a client. And Amigas Inc. was a serious business. Jamie was a part of that business, and she had to stay focused. She started to tap at her phone, then pulled up her Style.com app and showed the picture to Binky. “Not even Lanvin ballet flats?”

Binky looked surprised. Then she smiled. “Those I could do.”

Nice,
Alicia mouthed to Jamie.

Jamie smiled and, for a second, forgot how anxious and humiliated she felt about Dash.

Alicia continued through her checklist. “Carmen. Binky's dress—what are your thoughts?”

Carmen pulled out her notebook. “I was thinking that we could do something really different for Binky. Something that would kind of harken back to another era. You have such a classic look, so sleek and stylish.”

“I have always wished I'd grown up in the era of ball gowns and horse-drawn carriages,” Binky admitted.

Carmen switched places with Alicia in the booth so that she could sit next to Binky. “Well, I wasn't going back in time as far as horse-drawn carriages,” she said, “but every time I look at you, all I think of is pictures from the Jazz Age. The nineteen twenties. So, what I've designed is a twenty-first century take on something from that era. Take a look while I quickly get some measurements.”

Binky stood up and took the sketchbook. She silently flipped through the sketches as Carmen moved around her with a measuring tape. The drawings made Binky even taller and thinner than she already was. And the dress: there must have been a dozen sketches of it, and it was to die for. Floor-length, with a fish-tail skirt. A ballerina neckline with ruffled details, princess seams. It was an Oscars show dress. It was a “Girl, you're a woman now” dress. And the color, a perfect tangerine, with a pink lining, was bright but elegant at the same time. Binky, who had turned shopping into an Olympic sport and had easily owned hundreds of dresses in her lifetime, was speechless.