“That’s not true!”
“Believe what you want.”
“Well, I still want one. What about this place? Tony’s?” Emily pointed to a sketchy parlor ahead with a tacky neon sign.
“Yeah, I think those are real tattoos,” I noted, as I stopped in front and pulled my plastic tortoise-shell sunglasses down my nose to peer inside the window.
The shop’s white walls were decorated with brightly colored cartoon images. I assumed a customer just picked a design for their skin straight off the wall, like I do when selecting iron-on T shirt patterns from the cheap souvenir shops at the Jersey shore.
“You know what? Forget it,” Emily said, looking at Madison. “I don’t want to risk ruining your party.”
“You won’t. But this freakin’ event planner might if she doesn’t find the cake I want,” Madison huffed as her fingers flew over the keys on her phone. “I mean, it’s her job. Just find the cake!”
“Maybe you could just stick a real Louis Vuitton bag on top of the cake as decoration?” I suggested.
“No, I want the entire thing to look like ‘LV’ purses, and I’m paying this idiot to do what I want!”
Emily shook her head at me as if to imply I shouldn’t press this any further.
“Fine,” I muttered.
We crossed the pothole-filled street in our flip-flops, our ankles twisting on the uneven surface. The air smelled of cooked beef from the cheesesteak stand on the corner. For a sandwich that tasted so addictively good, it suddenly struck me that it smelled a lot like my giant poodle Tootsie’s gourmet dog food. Cheesesteaks were definitely one of those foods that smelled better when you were eating them than when you were just catching a whiff—probably because the saliva-inducing taste outweighed the funky smell.
“Hey, Mad, if I can’t get a henna tattoo, how about a belly ring?” Emily smirked. “I’m sure no one will see that under my dress.”
“Are you kidding? The stud will protrude through the fabric !” Madison shrieked.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. . . .”
We stopped and stared through the dirty front window of a piercing shop, which looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. At first all I could see was the reflection of my stringy hair and baggy-jeaned silhouette, but as soon as my eyes adjusted to the dim light inside, the air sucked from my lungs.
“You’ve gotta freakin’ be kidding me,” I grunted, charging toward the entrance.
I swung open the glass door, triggering the sound of tinkling bells above. My brother immediately flung his head around. I swear he knew it was me before he even caught a glimpse of my figure.
“Vincent Ruíz, what the hell are you doing here?” I whispered in my sternest voice, pushing my sunglasses onto the crown of my head.
“Dude, you sound like Dad,” he responded, lifting his bushy eyebrows.
“No, I’m fairly certain that if you stick a hole anywhere in your body, Dad’s reaction will be a lot louder than mine.”
“Relax, I’m just getting a tongue ring,” he said, shrugging his shoulders in his store-bought rock-and-roll T shirt like his plans were no big deal.
“A tongue ring! Are you crazy? What the heck is wrong with you?”
I could see his friends glaring at me like I was the field trip supervisor who had just busted them smoking in the boys’ bathroom.
“Mariana, loosen up.You gotta stop acting like you’re 80.” His muddy brown eyes glared at me with fake sympathy.
“If being eighty means knowing better than to let some stranger dig a piece of cheap metal through my tongue, then yes, call me Grandma.”
“Well, if it’s just the tongue ring you have a problem with, he could get a Prince Albert,” his friend chimed in with a chuckle.
All his buddies instantly laughed and threw up high-fives in every direction. I had no idea what he was talking about, but from the way he was grabbing the crotch of his filthy jeans I didn’t even want to begin to imagine where he was suggesting that the spike go.
“Luke, shut up. You’re not helping,” Vince huffed, shooting his friend a look before turning his gaze back in my direction.
“Look, Vince, I know you’re pissed at Dad . . . but piercing your tongue is stupid. You don’t want to go off to Cornell being ‘that guy with the stud in his tongue.’ The guys in your dorm will think you’re gay and girls won’t hook up with you.” I tilted my head to the side and swished my red hair over my shoulder.
Vince slowly stared toward the halogen lights on the ceiling. I could tell he was contemplating my last statement by the way he was chewing his lip.
“Fine, whatever. I won’t do it,” he conceded.
His friends instantly booed at him like angry football fans.
“God, you’re so annoying. You always gotta ruin the fun.”
“It’s a gift,” I joked.
“Little Miss Responsible,” he snipped.
“Whatever.”
My brother could grow up to be a corporate raider with a beautiful wife and five kids and he’d still be immature. It was a permanent character flaw and despite my best efforts to lessen the damage it caused, he still often found a way to drive our family crazy—like when he got arrested.
He had told our parents he was sleeping at a friend’s house and they were getting up early the next day to go fishing somewhere in Delaware. It was two years ago and I hadn’t yet learned to distrust my brother. Unfortunately, neither had our parents.
Around one-thirty in the morning the phone rang. My eyes instantly flicked open. I heard my father run to the phone, briefly speak, then hang up. He thumped down the steps and peeled out of the driveway before I could even get my slippers on. By the time I opened my bedroom door, my mom was standing in the hallway in her nightgown; she always wore a robe on top of it in front of us, so the sight of her barely dressed and without it freaked me out more than the phone call. She told me that Vince was at the police station.
They didn’t get home for another two hours, and my father was still yelling when he opened the front door. I hid at the top of the stairs and watched him scorn my barely conscious brother—his eyes were lifeless, his hair was matted, his shirt was wet and his head was flopped on the back of the couch like he hadn’t the energy to hold it up. Dad paced back and forth hollering about how disappointed he was, and I remember thinking that there wasn’t a worse thing in the world he could have said. But Vince didn’t react.
He told me later that if I ever got myself into trouble that bad I should just shut my mouth and let Dad yell. It was easier than fighting back because eventually Dad would tire and think he’d won—problem solved. Only I never wanted to see my father look at me the way he looked at my brother that night. And he never has.
“When I come home tonight, I’m inspecting your tongue,” I warned, before turning back toward my girlfriends to leave the piercing shop.
“Don’t worry, Mariana, we’ll look after him,” one of his buddies called after me.
“Yeah, ’cause you guys are such great influences.”
“I sure hope not,” he responded.
I pulled my sunglasses back down onto my nose and gave my brother one last look. He peered into my brown eyes and shook his head knowingly. I knew he wouldn’t go through with it.
Chapter 6
As soon as I opened the heavy red door to our house, I was struck with an eerie vibe. There were no strange noises or items out of place—the knickknacks were where they were supposed to be, the furniture was dusted and fluffed—but something felt off, like that moment right before the guest of honor realizes there’s a houseful of people waiting to yell “surprise !”
“Mom? Dad!” I shouted as I walked into the marble foyer.
I wiped my sandals on the doormat, walked toward the spiral staircase and yelled up. “Vince, you here?”
No one responded.
I walked through the living room and glimpsed the spotless kitchen ahead. There were no dishes in the sink or seasoni
ng scents in the air. It didn’t make sense. It was six o’clock, my mom should be cooking dinner. She cooked every night at this time. She loved to cook.
I continued toward the back porch and gazed into our freshly landscaped yard. There sat my brother, my mother and my father on the wrought iron patio furniture drinking iced tea like a cheesy commercial. I tilted my head as I slid the glass door open.
“What’s going on?” I asked as their heads swiveled to face me.
“Mariana, sit down,” my dad said, patting the navy blue cushion on the chair beside him.
My brother was smiling—not a happy smile, more like a sneaky “I know something you don’t know” grin.
“Okay, what’s up?” I asked, my eyes darting from side to side.
“Iced tea?” my mom asked, grabbing the crystal pitcher and a tall glass from the bamboo tray beside her.
“Um, okay. Uh, will someone please tell me what the heck is going on?”
“Dad and I came to an arrangement,” Vince said as he stared at his designer sneakers.
“You’re going to Europe!” I squeaked, my hand shooting toward my mouth.
“Not exactly. But I am traveling.”
“Okay, then what? Where are you going?”
I grabbed the glass of iced tea from my mother.
“Lemon? Sugar?” she asked in her sweetest voice.
“Sure.”
My mom was smiling so wide that it almost looked robotic, like her face was programmed to stay in that position. It wasn’t a good sign.
“All right, why are you all being so weird?”
“We’re not being weird,” my mom said in a flat, peaceful tone. She was bracing herself for an argument. I could tell. She was setting a mood.
“Look, Mariana.Your brother and I talked,” my dad started. “I knew he was serious about wanting to travel. But I didn’t think it was safe for him to be so far away unchaperoned. So I came up with a compromise.”
“I’m spending the summer in Puerto Rico,”Vince interjected, glowing.
“That’s awesome! Good for you!”
My mom and dad exchanged a look.
“I still have family there,” my dad added slowly. “And an aunt and uncle of mine have agreed to be hosts for Vince . . . and you.”
“And me! What do you mean, and me?” I coughed as I choked on a gulp of sweetened tea.
“I thought it would be a good learning experience for both of you,” he stated as he stared at the recently manicured bushes rather than my horrified eyes.
“What? What are you talking about? I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“Mariana . . .” my father continued sternly.
“Don’t ‘Mariana’ me. Didn’t it occur to you to ask me first? This is ridiculous. Mom!”
“Honey, look, it’ll be fun,” she offered. “You’ll get to go to the beach.You’ll meet your relatives, be in a different country.”
“But I have friends here! I have Madison’s party! I can’t miss that. I won’t miss that!”
“Your friends will still be here when you get back,” my dad added gruffly.
“Dad, are you nuts? I can’t do this to Madison. She’s counting on me!”
“She has an entire staff to count on,” he huffed.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it! It’s her sixteenth birthday! That’s a once in a lifetime thing. I have to be there for her. She’s my best friend!”
“Mariana, I realize you’re upset now,” my mother cooed. “But once you get to Puerto Rico, you’ll forget all about this and have fun. Really, you will.”
“You honestly think I want to forget all about my best friend? Are you mental? Have you ever had a friend in your life?”
“Oh, come on, Mariana! You’re missing some stuck-up, superficial party for a spoiled little rich girl. Who cares? You’re better off.” Vince pumped his eyebrows.
“I don’t care what you think of her. Like you have room to talk. Trust me, I could say a lot worse about your friends,” I snipped, my eyes frozen. “Madison’s a good person. And she’s my best friend. This party is the most important thing in her life. I’m not going to miss it. Why the heck am I even being dragged into your mess?”
I jumped up from my chair and swung around to face my parents.
“I am not going.”
“Mariana, you have plenty of summers and birthdays to spend with your friends. It’s not the end of the world,” my dad said, unsympathetically.
For the first time, I understood just how Vince felt when he fought with our father; Dad didn’t hear a word we said, nor did he care what we thought. His mind was made up before our mouths even opened. We were in two totally different realities.
“You really think this is just a birthday? No big deal? God, you really have no idea what goes on in my life! What type of parents are you? I’ve done nothing wrong!”
My dad blew a puff of air from his cheeks and glared at my mother, the vein pulsing on his forehead. She immediately stood up and rested her hand gently on my shoulder—a move I’ve seen her do a thousand times.
“Mari, it’ll be fun. Trust me. A tropical island.Your parents nowhere in sight. You can hang out with Vince. You’ll do all kinds of stuff, together . . .”
A spotlight suddenly lit up in my brain. I finally understood what was happening here. I had to go with Vince, but not as his traveling buddy. I was his fifteen-year-old watchdog.
“Oh, this is great! You act like an irresponsible idiot and now I have to go babysit you from across the ocean! Thanks for ruining my life,Vince!” I screamed.
“You are not babysitting me!”Vince jumped to his feet.
“Like hell I’m not!”
“Mariana, listen to me!” my father shouted, slamming his hand on the iron armrest as he stood. “You are going to Puerto Rico with your brother. It’ll be safer if the two of you are there together. Plus, your Spanish is better.”
“Says who? I got a ‘B’ in Spanish last quarter.” Tears filled my eyes. “And you never even talk about Puerto Rico. You don’t speak to anyone from there. Since when do you care about any of those people? I care about my friends here.”
My father looked into my teary eyes. He paused for several seconds, and I actually didn’t think he was going to respond until he added, “You have a lot of family there you should meet. I probably should’ve gone back, with all of you, a long time ago. I think this’ll be good for all of us. At the end of the summer, your mom and I will come visit. We’ll all travel back together. Mariana, it’s done. It’s settled.”
I swallowed a knotted lump in my throat. He already had the plans made. He probably had them made before he even told Vince. Anything I said at this point would be futile. My father had no intention of taking my feelings into account. He didn’t care about my friends or Madison’s party or what I wanted. I had no choice. He was sending me off to slaughter (or Puerto Rico) whether I wanted to go or not.
Chapter 7
Emily and Madison accompanied us to the Philadelphia International Airport. They cried hysterically the entire twenty-minute drive while my father shook his head and glared at them through the rearview mirror. Over the past two weeks, before school had officially let out, I begged my parents nonstop. I had never done anything to upset them before in my life. I assumed that all those years of obedience had to amount to something. I was wrong.
My father was determined to ship us off to some island he hadn’t laid eyes on in thirty-five years. It was a literal “guilt trip”—his twisted way of making up for ignoring his family there—and even worse, for having been successful here. Like shipping us off to stay with them would prove he didn’t think he was better than they are, that he still thought of them, and that he was still one of them. Only it wasn’t true. He had left and never looked back. If he really cared about a single one of the people he and my grandparents had left behind to “seek a better life,” then he’d be visiting them with us, not just schlepping us off first class.
“I can’t be-be-believe you’re really go-going. I can’t believe y-you’re really gonna miss my p-paaarty!” sobbed Madison, her pale skin red and blotchy. She was already on her second box of tissues and her hair was sweaty from hours of crying.
She didn’t take the news well. Actually, it was safe to say that if she had access to my father and a guillotine she would have ordered “off with his head.” It was a rampage worthy of an epic legend. Not to mention poor Gayle, who had to reconfigure the seating charts, the grand “best friend processional” (which was to be choreographed to some club song I’d never even heard of), redistribute the flowers dedicated to my bouquet, alert the photographer of one less “friend” for the staged Kodak moments, and of course, deal with a hysterical Madison.
At least now, Madison finally believed there was truly nothing more I could have done to change my father’s mind, and that I really was an unwitting pawn in his evil plot to ruin my life. Last night, she and Emily slept over and helped me pack. They spent so much time trying to convince my father he was making a mistake (Madison tried to show him her entire three-ring binder full of Sweet Sixteen party plans, down to the colored swatch of her dress) that I almost thought he was going to kick them out. No bother, he just tuned them out the same way he tuned me out. He was mentally incapable of understanding how much I would be missing, how two months away from my two best friends, whom I had spent every day with since kindergarten, felt like a death sentence. I had no desire to miss out on the biggest and most important day in my friend’s life just to visit some “Puerto Rican paradise” I had no interest in.
I didn’t want to turn into some freakish JLo wannabe, eating rice and beans and speaking in some language that I couldn’t even comprehend in my classes, let alone in an actual foreign environment. I wanted cheeseburgers and American top forty and people who spoke English fluently. This whole island was going to be a bizarro world. We weren’t even staying in the city. We were staying in some mountain hick town where my dad grew up, and where no tourist ever ventured. Everyone was going to be old and wrinkled and . . . foreign. And back home, the world was going to go on without me; Madison’s party was going to happen without me.
Amor and Summer Secrets Page 3
