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by Lisa Allen-Agostini

  “Of course, baby,” she said, ruefully putting the clothes back on their hangers and turning for the exit.

  Outside of the shop, I spotted another store. Regular jeans and shirts were on the mannequins in this window.

  “What if we try this one?” I said.

  We walked around in there and still there wasn’t anything I liked. Nothing screamed This Is What to Wear in Case You Lime with the Most Gorgeous Boy in the World.

  We tried a third store and finally hit the jackpot. It was a soft lilac dress; Aunt Jillian said it had cap sleeves and an empire waistline, falling in an A-line skirt just below my knees. It wasn’t too girly-girl but it wasn’t severe, either. Against my dark skin it looked divine. The Birkenstocks didn’t look so hot with it, though. And the socks definitely had to go.

  “We need to get you some sandals. I mean nice sandals,” she said, grimacing at the ones I had on. They were comfy and practical but not exactly cute.

  I got some white sandals with low heels. They fit okay, though not as comfortably as the clunky Birkenstocks. But these sandals were adorable. They made my toes look long and elegant, I noted with pride and some awe. Jillian was so excited about the whole ensemble I didn’t have the heart to tell her I planned to wear the dress over a pair of skinny jeans. On the way out we passed a kiosk with cosmetics. I lagged behind, throwing meaningful glances at the makeup, and Jillian gave in with mock exasperation. A tube of lip gloss later, we were out in the car and speeding back home so we could keep preparing.

  * * *

  —

  People started coming over at about two in the afternoon. Jillian fired up the big grill on the deck in the warm sunshine and Julie laid out some chips and salads while the meat sizzled. By four o’clock the place was full. A blur of faces passed me by. I stuck to the living room, playing DJ with Jillian’s old iPad and an aux cord connecting it to the stereo system. I was reading the track list on a Prince greatest hits collection when I heard a husky voice say hello.

  I jumped about a foot.

  Josh was wearing a white T-shirt and black skinny jeans strategically ripped at the knees. He had on a bandanna, too, tied like a headband. And a thick gold chain. Really? He looked like a young thug. I was a little disappointed. The boys I knew at home who dressed like that usually had nothing to say except dumb things they picked up off of hip-hop and dancehall music, stuff they didn’t really understand the meaning of but mindlessly repeated after they heard it in some song. And they had really limited tastes. His next words, therefore, came as a complete surprise to me.

  “Oh, snap! Is that a greatest hits? See if it has ‘I Wanna Be Your Lover’ on it. Oh, man. That is the baddest love song ever. RIP to the Artist.”

  “RIP,” I murmured back. I was thinking that I didn’t know if I agreed with him on that song’s position as the greatest love song ever. In fact, I think I definitely disagreed with him. But who would have thought that he would know the works of my favorite singer? Not me. I was thrilled.

  Okay, maybe Prince wasn’t my very favorite singer. But he was up there with the top ones.

  “You like Prince?”

  “Oh, yeah. No doubt. He was the best musician of his time, bar none,” he said, stooping to my level, literally if not metaphorically. Taking the tablet from me, he read off the titles on the album’s track list. “You gotta run this track!” he said, pointing to ‘When Doves Cry’ on the list. “I have loved this since I was a kid watching that old movie with my mom. We do it every year.”

  Hmm. You never know about people from just looking at them.

  I must have looked at him funny because he suddenly got self-conscious. “What? It’s my moms, yo,” he muttered.

  “Uh. Nothing.”

  “Okay. Hey, nice to see you by the way.”

  Zing! Pow! Pop! That was my heart exploding, if you didn’t get it. I mumbled something in response, too busy blushing to be able to actually speak. For once, I wasn’t completely freaked out by the possibility that I was saying or doing the wrong thing. I had a huge smile on my face. My heart was bucking like a rodeo bull but gradually it calmed itself. As we played the music, the funky falsetto took away my nervousness. Track followed track and we were perfectly chill with letting them play on shuffle. In about twenty minutes we said maybe five words to each other, but it was a friendly kind of silence. I was about as relaxed as ever when my aunt came in with Nathan.

  “You kids having fun? Can we get something other than Prince now?”

  “One more song,” Josh and I said at the very same time, breaking into laughter as we said it.

  “One more!” Nathan sighed. “There must be something else you guys can agree on.”

  “How about this?” Josh, who had been riffling through her music library, highlighted Santana’s Supernatural. I raised one eyebrow and nodded approvingly. He had good taste in music as far as I was concerned. But I wasn’t entirely convinced; could be he was making the best of a bad situation and didn’t really like this stuff. It was just that the most recent dancehall Jillian had in her library was some Super Cat circa 1990, and as for hip-hop, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill was the most up-to-date of the lot. Her tastes ranged to the old and romantic, rather than the young and urban. She had a lot of folk and jazz music, some calypso, and, of course, Bob Marley, which was practically a prerequisite for any music collection. But the stuff that I listened to at home—Rihanna, Beyoncé, Drake, Popcaan, Kendrick Lamar, Machel Montano, Bunji Garlin—was conspicuously absent from Jillian’s iPad.

  I seemed to be wrong in my judgment of Josh’s tastes. He continued to pull stuff out that gave further lie to his gangsta uniform. The Beatles; Simon & Garfunkel; Earth, Wind & Fire; and Parliament-Funkadelic joined Santana in a growing playlist. His sparkling gray-green eyes squinted in concentration as he checked more music out. I got to my feet and stretched. “Hey, want some sweetdrink?” I asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Soda. Pop. Want some?”

  “Yeah, sure. Coke, if you have it. What did you call it?”

  “Sweetdrink. It’s what my mom always calls it. It’s a Trini thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Sure I would,” he scoffed. “Unnu nah recognize me a fi ’alf Jamaican, mon?” It was a pretty bad accent but he seemed proud of it. If his mom lived in the States, it wasn’t a stretch to consider that he’d probably never seen Jamaica.

  “Riiiight,” I said. “Let me get that Coke.”

  Julie was in the kitchen, wearing an apron that said “Kiss the cook,” so I did.

  “You’re in a good mood,” she observed as I poured two glasses of soda.

  Santana’s old duet with Rob Thomas, “Smooth,” came on. “Uh-huh, I sure am! We’re playing back-in-times music,” I said as I did a little three-step.

  Julie grimaced in fake agony. “Is this considered ‘back in times’ already? God, I’m old. How are the burgers?” There was a tall stack of them next to her. Red meat wasn’t a big mover that afternoon; all the bean patties and other vegan stuff were gone already. I grinned in response, licking my lips hungrily at the perfectly cooked meat nestled in fresh, soft buns. I gathered up a paper plate of three along with the drinks. It was a precarious arrangement. As soon as Josh saw me carrying the wobbling freight, he sprang to his feet and took the plate and a glass from me.

  “Hope you eat beef,” I told him over his thanks. I settled next to him on the couch and bit into my sandwich. Burger juice spurted out and spattered on my lap, right on my new dress. “Oh, man!” I whined. Now I’d have to change it. And of course, I had nothing else to wear.

  “Oh, come on, it’s just a little spot,” he said, whipping off his bandanna and dabbing at the stain. It was cute. I was blushing so hard I was nearly glowing. He unfolded the bandanna and draped it on my lap like a napkin. “So you don’t mess up your nice outfit anymore,” he
added.

  He thought my outfit was nice? Yay!

  We listened to more music, talking little, and ate some chips and salsa. By nine o’clock his dad came around again, a glass of wine in hand. Nathan was pretty drunk, by the sound of it. He slurred his words a lot and took much longer than usual to finish his sentences.

  “Looks like I’m spending the night here,” Josh said. “Hope your couch is comfortable.”

  The way he said it made me feel he had been in this position before, but I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t have to, as it turned out.

  “He’s drunk a lot these days. He’s breaking up with his girlfriend.” He shook his head. “Man, you must be so glad your aunts are in a stable relationship.”

  I nodded, rendered mute for the moment. Hearing the words coming from his mouth made me feel a bit surreal. These aren’t things we talk about at home home. I thought that, at home, Jillian and Julie would have probably passed as just close friends or roommates. And no matter how drunk somebody’s dad was, they never would have said a word about it.

  “It sucks that my dad is in this up-and-down thing. I never know if she’s going to be at the apartment when I get home or not. Some vacation.”

  “I’m sorry. That sounds like it sucks.”

  “Yeah,” Josh agreed, “it kind of sucks. I only get to see him once a year and he doesn’t realize that he’s wasting our two months together by being drunk all the time.”

  “Your dad has been drunk every day since you’ve been here?” I asked, incredulous. That sounded a bit intense.

  “Well,” he considered, “maybe not every day. But often. At least he doesn’t get violent or anything, just…so boring. I have to hear about every girlfriend he ever had when he gets into it,” he said with a little laugh, shaking his head. “Your aunt was the one that got away.” He paused, passing his hands idly through his curly hair and momentarily distracting me from our very serious conversation. “How do you like living with your aunts, anyway? Julie told us the other night that you might be moving here permanently.”

  My heart skipped a beat. I might be moving here permanently? That was news to me. But there had been Dr. Khan’s “immigrant” comment. I shoved the thought aside for the moment. It was too distracting. Instead I focused on answering his question. “I don’t know. I like it a lot, I guess. But I’m not in school, and it’s not like real life yet, you know? I don’t have any friends here.”

  I paused. Mentally I added that I didn’t have any friends at home either. I just had nothing in common with most of the kids I knew. That started me worrying that I was weird, and that Josh would never want to hang out with me under normal circumstances, say if we weren’t the only teenagers trapped together at my aunts’ barbecue. Akilah was the only one I could talk to without feeling like a complete extraterrestrial.

  As if she had heard her name called in my mind half a world away, the bubbling ringtone began.

  “What is that noise?” Josh asked. “Wait, is that Skype? My dad uses that!”

  I grabbed the phone, excused myself, and took the call in the bathroom.

  The first thing I did when I answered was to shriek silently. Akilah saw me freaking out and was immediately worried. “What? What? What?”

  “Relax,” I said. “It’s just that I’m. With. The. Cute. Boy.”

  “What!!!”

  “Oh my God, you have to meet him. Ki-ki! Help me! I don’t know what to say! I’m so dumb and awkward. What if he—”

  Akilah interrupted my rant right there. “Come on, remember you’re supposed to say positive things about yourself. You’re not dumb. Awkward, yes. But that’s where I come in. Let’s go meet your man,” she teased. I shot her a look, but took the phone back to the living room and introduced Akilah to Josh, turning the screen so he could see her and she could see him.

  “Hey, nice to meet you,” he said in that very velvety voice. “Could you please explain why you don’t just WhatsApp like regular people?”

  “She turned off all her social apps,” Akilah said without any further explanation. “She only has Skype.” When I turned the phone back to myself Akilah’s expression showed that she was very impressed with Josh, very impressed indeed. She gave me two thumbs up. I made a monkey face like a child, sticking out my tongue and waggling it enthusiastically.

  “What?” Josh asked, grinning but obviously puzzled. I guess monkey face is not a good look for me. Darn it.

  “Babes, it’s really loud over there,” Akilah complained, shifting attention from my doctor-recommended-social-media-hermit situation.

  “Can we go to your room or something?” Josh suggested.

  Decamping, we left the adults to the mercy of Jillian’s iTunes. I led the way to my little bedroom. It was perfectly tidy and I was glad I hadn’t left the contents of my closet out on the bed after my earlier flap about what to wear. We sat on the floor, backs against the bed. I held the phone up so both Josh and I could see Akilah.

  “So,” she said, breaking the silence, “how did you guys meet?”

  Josh told her the story. He left out the part about how I got sick in the middle of dinner. She already knew about it, though. “I’m glad my dad is friends with your aunts,” he concluded, chuckling.

  Which reminded me. “I really need to talk about my situation with Julie and Jillian. They are great, but I’m still not used to them as a couple,” I confessed to Josh and Akilah.

  “Country bookie to the bone!” Akilah said.

  “Like a country bumpkin,” I jumped in and translated for Josh because, from the look on his face, he was clearly confused by the Trinidadian expression.

  “Josh,” Akilah continued, “to be honest, where we come from you never see a gay couple. And if you do, you’ll never see them show PDA. There are places where that will earn you and your lover a beatdown.”

  “True?” he murmured. “I hear things like that about Jamaica but we never go there.”

  “For reals. Can I tell you something?” I asked. He glanced up at me with those stunning eyes. I melted a little inside but then steeled myself to continue to talk about my living situation. “It’s great. They’re great. But I just don’t know how to feel about them being…well, you know.”

  He raised an eyebrow and lifted his palms in puzzlement.

  I sighed. “You know. Gay.” I said it low, spat it out like a bad word.

  Akilah cackled on her end of the phone call. “You can say the word, chile! I know you can! Say it loud, say it proud!”

  We all laughed, and then Josh said, “You can say ‘gay.’ Kids I know say ‘queer’ sometimes. It doesn’t change who people are, if they’re gay or straight. I mean, yeah it does, but a good person is a good person. You know what I mean? Folks are just folks.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. Where I’m from, you just don’t call people that word unless it’s a joke or an insult. Nobody’s out as gay. I can’t think of one single gay couple at home, not even like a celebrity couple. I don’t know. People just hide it. For me this is…” With my hands I mimed my head exploding. We all laughed again.

  “It’s not important, trust me.” He looked over at me meaningfully. “Can I tell you something?”

  I nodded.

  “My mom has had a boyfriend but when I was little she had a girlfriend. Some of the times she seemed the happiest were with her girlfriend, I think. Being gay or bi or whatever doesn’t change who she is or how she treats me. That’s the important thing: your aunts love you, don’t they? And they show it.” He looked frustrated, and fiddled with his own phone as he talked. “I just wish my dad was more…caring. Sounds dumb, coming from a guy, right?”

  “Are you gay?” Akilah joked lamely.

  He glared. “That’s not funny.”

  “Yeah, I know. Sorry.” She looked abashed. He grinned and waved it away. I liked h
im even more.

  Josh and Nathan weren’t the only ones staying overnight. A couple of other people did too. Most of the adults stayed up late into the night, taking over the living room, drinking wine or coffee and watching movies. Some ended up sleeping on the carpet, and some on the sofa.

  We talked to Akilah for hours. Josh had music on his phone and I had a Bluetooth speaker so we listened to songs on that. It was mostly hip-hop and dancehall, but there was some rock music in there too. Akilah ratted me out, telling him that I was an old fan of Justin Bieber and he said he understood and liked me anyway. My heart sang.

  “What about your school?” Akilah asked him.

  “What about it? It’s normal. You know.”

  “Well, actually, I don’t. Remember I live in Trinidad. School here is much different from what I see on American TV.”

  He laughed out loud. “School everywhere is different from what you see on American TV. Nobody looks that good.”

  I refrained from pointing out that he looked like a super-cute extra on The Vampire Diaries.

  He continued, “I’m going to be a senior at Audre Lorde Charter School.”

  “Where’s that?” Akilah was asking all the questions I wanted to ask but was too shy to speak out loud.

  “Oh, in New York.”

  “Duh,” she said. We cracked up again.

  “Brooklyn, to be specific. Close to where my mom and I live. It’s okay, I guess. I’m doing a bunch of pre-pre-law stuff, like about the constitution and society, for extra credit. I’m applying to Columbia and I want to go to law school there eventually….But I don’t know if I’m going to transfer and spend my senior year up here with my dad before college.” He turned those hazel eyes on me. “What about you?”

  “I’m in third form, which is like”—I did some quick math in my head—“about ninth grade?”

  “You’re that young?” he said, surprised. “Thought you were about sixteen.”

  I ducked my head. “Nah. Fifteen in two months. I’m kind of tall for my age.”