“Are you still thinking about Alex?” Lilly huffed as she plopped a sandwich in front of me.
Ham and cheese with mustard served on a paper towel. It was a staple in the Ruíz-Sanchez household, and yesterday I finally broke down and ate it. I also explored some other leftover options, like chick pea soup and yucca (which kind of tasted like potatoes, but not exactly).
“No. I mean, whatever. If I see him, I see him,” I said, staring at my sandwich.
“It’s not like you guys are boyfriend and girlfriend. He probably just feels weird calling you,” she said, as she chomped her food.
“You’re right. It’s no big deal. And I’ll see him again. He’s your friend.”
“Exactly. Plus, I know he’s a good guy. He’s not playing you.”
“I know. It’s just, I guess, I don’t know if he likes me,” I mumbled.
“Oh, well he hasn’t said anything to me. But I’m sure you guys will hook up.”
“Oh, so you think that’s what he wants? A hook-up?”
“Probably. Why, do you want something more? You’re only gonna be here for, like, another five weeks.” Lilly swallowed a bite of her sandwich.
I stared at my water. I had drunk more tap water in Puerto Rico than I had in my entire life in Spring Mills. My family always had bottled water or at least a filtered pitcher in the fridge. I had been taught that tap water was dirty and undrinkable, but here, it was the norm.
“I don’t want a ‘relationship,’ ” I said, wiggling my fingers like the word was taboo. “But I also don’t want to hook up and never see him again.”
Lilly nodded and continued to eat her lunch. I wanted her to open the vault and dish all the details she knew about Alex; that’s what Madison and Emily would have done. But Lilly wasn’t volunteering much.
“So the girls he’s hooked up with before, what were they like?” I asked, casually taking a bite of my sandwich, as if it weren’t a loaded question.
“Well, none of them were American, that’s for sure. We all pretty much date locals . . . or each other,” she explained, not looking me in the eye.
Then it struck me; it was so obvious. All of Lilly’s friends were guys. She had probably hooked up with half of them, if not all of them. She may have hooked up with Alex. I would never, ever, date someone Emily or Madison had dated first. That was just wrong. It went against the cardinal rule of Girl Code.
“Wait, um, have you and Alex . . .” I asked, hoping I wouldn’t actually have to say “made out,” or worse, “had sex.”
“No, no,” Lilly said with a deep, booming tone, shaking her head. “Never. We’ve know each other too long. He’s totally asexual to me.”
“Oh, good.” I sighed. “ ’Cause I would never—”
“No, I know. It’s cool.”
We ate the rest of our lunch in silence. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say.
Chapter 34
That night, Alonzo and his friend José stopped by to see the sunburn everyone was talking about. Somehow this crowd of relatives, most of whom appeared as pasty as I, had very limited exposure to serious burns. Though I didn’t really think it was that bad, they were staring at my skin like it was green with orange polka dots.
José was a nurse, or at least that’s what I gathered. They called him an “enfermero,” and were quick to state he was not “un doctor.” Amazing that the word for doctor translated so flawlessly, you just needed to throw in a bit of a Spanish accent. Same with “hospital” and “hotel.” I wondered if those were legitimate Spanish words or whether they were just accepted forms of Spanglish that had morphed over the years.
José and Alonzo, both wearing oddly similar outfits consisting of white pants and pastel shirts with loafers and no socks, brewed a tub of tea with several boxes of teabags. Once it boiled, they added a bucket of ice and let it cool before covering my body with half the bags (saving the rest for a later application). It felt fabulous. I even sat with the bags on my eyes like I was a diva at a day spa. After the second application, they must have felt confident I would do anything they said, because they handed me a tube of hemorrhoid cream and insisted that I slather my face. José swore the cream would reduce swelling and prevent scarring on my “cara bonita,” or beautiful face. I squinted my eyes suspiciously but the two sincerely swore that the remedy worked. At this point, the hard cracked skin on my nose had me desperate.
I slowly smeared the cream on my skin and with every stroke tried to block out how it was a product intended for a disgusting growth on the butt that I wasn’t even sure I understood. I had never had a hemorrhoid (at least I didn’t think so and I figured it was something you’d know if you had). The cream didn’t smell, thank God, but it was incredibly greasy and added to the sensation that I was morphing into a gruesome leper. Alonzo insisted that beauty queens all over the world used the stuff to rid redness and puffiness around the eyes, though I had no idea how or why he’d know that.
Their final remedy was a full to the brim bottle from Puerto Rico’s Bacardi Rum Distillery, the largest in the world. It was guaranteed to be the cure for what ailed me.
“Seriously, it’s not a bad idea,” Lilly suggested. “I’m sure if you drink enough of that, you won’t care about the sunburn.”
I swayed back on the wooden rocker as Lilly, Alonzo and José sat around me on white plastic chairs. The sun was beginning to set behind the tropical hills and I could hear the coquis gearing to sing. I had a few more hours before my normal bedtime, and last night my sunburn was so painful I could hardly sleep. For the first time, a glass of rum was looking pretty good. At the very least, it would help me get some rest.
“Seriously, relax.You’re not going to get in trouble if you try it,” Lilly said.
She continued to speak to me in English, and then translated everything we said into Spanish for the benefit of Alonzo and José. I tried my best to squeak out enough responses in their language, and they often politely nodded as if they understood. I didn’t know if they truly did.
“It’s just, I’ve never really drunk before,” I explained. “I’m only fifteen.”
While the drinking age in Puerto Rico was officially eighteen, it was rarely enforced—or even mentioned.
Alonzo asked if I didn’t like the taste of alcohol and I explained that I wasn’t a huge fan of beer, but I hadn’t really tried much else aside from champagne at family weddings. As soon as Lilly finished translating my words, José and Alonzo shot up, looked at each other and disappeared into the kitchen.
“What? What did I say? Did I offend them?”
They were already clanging around in the cabinets.
“Uh, no. You pretty much offered them a challenge,” she explained. “They’re in there trying to make a drink that you’ll think tastes good.”
“What? I didn’t mean that!”
“Uh, too late.”
When I heard the blender going, my pulse raced. I stood to protest but Lilly blocked my way.
“Sit down and relax. Or I’ll pour it down your throat by force.”
They emerged moments later with four tall drinks, one in each hand, presented with the skill of an upscale waiter (they placed white folded towels on their arms and everything). I was informed that there was a piña colada, a planter’s punch, a rum and coke, and an orange juice with rum and tonic. Apparently, in addition to the scraps in the fridge, the Quinceañera had left an alarming number of drink mixers.
“Awesome,” Lilly said, as she checked out the spread.
“I’m not drinking all of that!”
“They don’t want you to drink them all, they want you to taste them all and pick the one you want. We’ll drink the rest.”
“Which one do you like?”
“I’m not telling you, it might unfairly sway your decision.”
I stared at the cocktails. Clearly I was being peer pressured, which instinctively made me want to refuse to participate. But given the amount of effort José and Alonzo had put into t
hem, and how helpful they were being with my sunburn, I didn’t want to be rude. Plus, I was on vacation; in Puerto Rico; surrounded by family; with no one driving; and I was burnt to a crisp. If there was ever a good time to drink, now was it.
I sighed and grabbed the rum and Coke. The liquid burned a trail down my throat as I swallowed and winced in pain. I handed it back, and both guys laughed. Next, I sipped the orange juice, which might not have been as strong as the first but the acidic aftertaste made my stomach slosh. I handed it back and faked a grin. Third was the red planter’s punch in which I actually couldn’t decipher the juice (or juices) mixed but of the three I had tried, this one was at least tolerable. I nodded weakly.
Then Alonzo held out the piña colada. I knew I would hate it. Both pineapples and coconuts had been on my hit list for quite some time. I had tried them only once before, when I was at a second grade “Hawaiian Day” party at school. A kid’s mom brought in whole coconuts, the furry skin still attached, with the tops sliced off and a straw inserted. She said it was “coconut milk.” I slurped down the drink and followed it with several slices of fresh pineapple. I was blissfully happy until about an hour later when I ran to the toilet with only seconds to spare.The coconut juice was coming straight out of me in a way that I didn’t very much appreciate. From that day on, I associated both coconuts and pineapple with a horrific bathroom experience I’d prefer to block from my memory.
I stared down the drink as if it were a sworn enemy. If anyone else had handed it to me, I would have refused it without a single taste. But Alonzo and José were looking at me with such hope that I felt compelled to take at least a tiny sip. I slowly tilted the glass, a droplet squeaking through my lips. It hit my tongue and tasted sweet and creamy, not nearly as bad as I expected. I paused, slightly stunned, and decided to try another nip. It was cool, frothy with barely an alcoholic flavor. It was good—really, really good, almost like a sugary dessert or light milkshake. I swallowed the mouthful and smiled.
Alonzo and José erupted in cheers and hugged each other like I was The New York Times food critic offering a rave review. Lilly immediately grabbed the fruit punch.
“Sweet, I was hoping you wouldn’t pick this,” she stated as she took a giant gulp.
Alonzo handed José the rum and coke as he sat down and sipped the orange juice.
“They thought you’d pick that one,” Lilly explained, translating for Alonzo. “It’s a chick drink.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, mildly offended.
“It means it’s sweet and it goes down easy.” She smiled. “Drink up.”
Two hours and two and a half piña coladas later and Lilly was right, my sunburn was no longer throbbing. I also couldn’t feel my tongue, my fingertips or keep my body from slipping off my chair. Apparently I was the only one having these problems.
“Ya can feel ya tongue, really?” I asked, swaying slightly and knocking my elbow off the arm of the rocker. My body jerked to the right and swung forward. I quickly straightened up thinking I was capable of covering for my lack of balance. “‘Cus min feel swollen. Es swollen?”
I stuck out my tongue as I spoke, thinking I was proving my point. Lilly, Alonzo and José erupted in laughter. I was getting the impression that I was becoming a source of amusement, because everything I said was suddenly hilarious. Only I didn’t think I was being funny.
“Your tongue’s fine,” Lilly said, as she wiped tears from her eyes.
“I mus say, ma sunburn feels sooooo much bitter. Look, I can tosh it,” I explained as I pushed on my fiery legs. Not a single pang of pain emanated from my skin.
“Bueno,” said Alonzo.
“Es magnifico,” chimed José, as he sat up straighter and adjusted the hemline of his pink shirt.
I stared at the millions of swirling lights in the sky. I couldn’t tell if they were all shooting stars or if I was the only one who could see them moving. Even in my haze, I doubted the entire solar system could be turning this rapidly. I flung my head back on the chair, awkwardly swinging it backward. Lilly quickly reached out to prevent me from toppling over.
“Em all right! Em all right!” I shouted, waving her off.
“Maybe we should switch seats. I don’t think you can handle rocking right now,” she said.
She grabbed my arm as I wobbled to my feet. The moment I stood upright, the entire world (the house, my cousins, the trees, the air) swirled like the teacups at a carnival.
“Whoa,” I mumbled, stumbling back. Lilly caught me by my shoulders and the two of us tumbled backward. Alonzo quickly leapt forward, grabbing our arms.
“Em fine!” I shouted as I tried to stabilize.
José silently stood and discreetly took the still half-full piña colada from my hand.
“Wha? Em not finisshhed,” I protested.
“I think you are,” said Lilly.
“Noo!” I yelled, swatting at her.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” My brother’s voice cut through the darkness.
Before I knew it,Vince stepped into the glow of the bare bulb hanging from the porch roof.
Then, so did Alex.
“Omigod,” I muttered, covering my hemorrhoid-creamed face with my hands.
“Hola,” said Alex.
I flopped onto a chair and curled into a ball, tucking my head into my lap. The stink of tea was radiating from my skin. My forehead felt slimed with greasy ointment. I could feel him staring at me. Even with my head buried in my hands, even after too many piña coladas, I could sense Alex’s gaze. A ripple of nausea broke in my stomach.
Lilly immediately darted in front of me, and I lifted my head to peek through my hands. She was standing before me with her arms and legs spread wide to block Vince and Alex’s view. She was protecting me. I didn’t even have to ask.
“Nothing! Everything’s cool,” Lilly stated.
“What’s up with Mariana?” asked Vince in a suspicious voice.
My brother and I were never the types of siblings who could sense when the other was in danger. But I swear we could sniff out each other’s utmost humiliations from miles away, and we weren’t the types to let them go. My brother was going to escalate this horrific moment just for the sheer joy of watching me, “responsible Mariana,” squirm.
“Is she drunk?” he asked, his voice high.
Alonzo and José rattled off in Spanish to which Lilly yelled at them in Spanish, then Alex chimed in with something I couldn’t understand and they all laughed. None of this was encouraging. Vince bounded toward me. Lilly kept her ground, pushing him away.
“Back off!” she shouted, thrusting Vince with all her might. “Vince, it’s not a big deal. She had a few drinks to ease her sunburn.”
“She’s wasted! I have to see this.” He charged at Lilly again. “You don’t understand. Mariana never does anything wrong. I absolutely have to see this!”
“No, don’t!” she yelled. “Look, we convinced her to try all these sunburn treatments and they helped. But she’s all goopy and—”
“Oh! Wait! This is for his benefit!” Vince cried. “Alex is here. Oh, my God! Whoo hoo hoo!”
My lungs froze. For a second, I felt dead sober—enough to wish I had a large object to pummel my brother into a coma. No girl would ever do this to another girl. Acknowledging a person’s crush in front of the crush was pure evil. My brother was Satan; he was an evil boy-shaped Satan. I would never be able to face Alex again. Nothing would happen between us now. I was pathetic. I’d have to catch the next flight back to Pennsylvania just to maintain some small fragments of my dignity.
I lifted my finger to my temples and rubbed.
“Okay,Vince, I know you’re not my brother, but I think it’s safe for me to tell you to shut up right now,” Lilly spat.
At that moment I wanted to jump up and kiss her.
“Dude, come on! This is classic!”
“Uh, look, I’m getting the impression that I came at a bad time,” Alex mumbled.
<
br /> I refused to look in his direction, but I knew he hadn’t stepped foot onto the porch and for that I was grateful. I didn’t think my rank tea stench could drift that far.
“Yeah, you know, why don’t you call us tomorrow?” Lilly suggested.
“Sí, bueno. Mariana, I hope you feel better,” he called.
“Uh-huh,” I squeaked, still hiding my butt-cream-covered face with my hands.
I heard his footsteps fade as he crossed the lawn. A few seconds later his car’s engine started and he drove away.
I yanked my hands from my face, pushed Lilly aside and jumped to my feet.
“I’m gonna kill you!” I shouted, diving toward Vince, my arms swinging wildly.
Lilly grabbed my hands and dove in front of me. I wasn’t hard to stop considering I could barely stand up straight.Vince burst into laughter, and I wasn’t sure if it was from my greasy face, my drunken display or my death threat.
“Dude, whatever.” He laughed. He looked around at our glasses of alcohol. “You got any more?”
Lilly placed me back in my plastic chair.
“Girl, you need some water,” she stated, then she turned toward the house and headed for the kitchen.
I rested my head on my hand and closed my eyes.
Chapter 35
I woke up in bed not knowing how I got there or when I left the porch. I was consumed with a pulsing pain that felt like a musician had played the bongo cha-cha on my head and afterward made me swallow his musical instrument—wood, leather, metal and all. It was early morning, and I tossed in the sticky heat for more than an hour, painfully aggravated that Vince was sleeping peacefully in the bed across the room.
My mind slowly searched for details from the night before with one vivid memory repeating on a loop—my brother’s mortifying remarks. After days without contact, Alex had shown up (unannounced by the way; seriously, who does that?) while I was covered in butt cream and drunk like a sailor on Fleet Week. Couldn’t I, just once, run into the guy I was crushing on while I was standing in my prom dress with Brad Pitt on my arm? Alex must think I’m a total loser and the more I stared at the sleepy expression on Vince’s face, the more I wanted to smother him with my pillow. I decided to get up.
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