I want to make a good impression because I know Nina will be there. I haven’t been around her, like really around her, in years. When she passes me in the halls, I make sure I’m busy looking at something else, or that I’m smiling at whatever Brittany has just said. I act as though I don’t care we’re not friends anymore. As if sometimes I don’t watch her at lunch time, wonder if she’s happy, if she misses me. I want Nina to see that I’m doing perfectly fine without her when I walk into class.
Nina and I were close, until one day she stopped taking my calls and then wouldn’t even say hi to me at school or at church. Grandma thought it was for the best. Nina isn’t a good girl, like Brittany, she said. Even though Nina went to church—what Grandma used as a qualifier for being a good girl, usually—and Brittany didn’t.
I used to do all the same things Nina did, hung out at the same places, grew up in the same neighborhood. I thought that made me less of a good girl to Grandma too. But I wanted to be one. I wanted her to see me the way she saw Brittany back then. I wanted to be enough.
Despite Nina ghosting me, I can’t forget what she meant to me back then. She was the first person I told that I wanted to be a writer. She got how I can’t understand the world around me until I write about it. I remember how we rode our bikes around the Eastside and she sketched pictures of me climbing the jungle gym at the park. We hung out at the beach, rolling our jeans up to dip our toes in the ocean as we walked alongside the waves.
Out of my makeup bag, my fingers graze the palette I rarely use, unless it’s a special occasion. I apply eye shadow before I lengthen my lashes with mascara. I squint at myself in the mirror. From far away, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t look that different from Nina.
At school, each thud on the carpet brings me closer to Señora Almanza’s classroom. My heart rockets in my chest, yet I try to look like this is any other day. Like what I’m about to do isn’t terrifying.
Next thing I know, I’m standing in the doorway of Spanish. Indecipherable voices talk and shout at one another. A couple guys shove each other back and forth. They’re smiling, and other people are laughing. A handful of girls sit in front of them, including Nina and Cassie, Nina’s best friend—the girl she seems to be inseparable from, like she and I used to be.
“Miguel, do you always have to be the loudest person in any room?” Nina laughs at her boyfriend, her straight black hair falling over her shoulder.
Miguel opens his mouth to respond to Nina, before the guy he was messing around with knocks him into his chair with his backpack. “Yeah, Miguelito. Sit your ass down, before your mommy over there makes you.”
“Ooh,” a few of the surrounding guys say. Nina’s eyes—beautifully accentuated with multiple colors of eye shadow—narrow at the guy with the backpack.
Miguel jumps to his feet so he’s looking down at the backpack thwacker. “You wish you were so lucky as to have a fine woman like Nina boss yo’ ass around, Jorge! Don’t hate.”
Nina, who hasn’t yet noticed me lurking by the door, cuts Miguel with a look.
“I mean, not boss, but make suggestions to.” He gives Nina an over-the-top pleading look. “Carefully thought out, wonderful suggestions!”
Nina holds the glare on her boyfriend for an instant before both of them bust up laughing. She leans up in her chair and kisses Miguel softly.
My eyes flit to the back row by the window where a few white kids who take this class sit. Next to some sophomores whose names I don’t know, there’s Carrie Leslie, Kelsey Ford, and Blaine Todd. We’re not friends, exactly, but I’m not seeing Edgar anywhere. . . .
I lock eyes with Kelsey, and she smiles as if she’s welcoming me. Like I’m one of them. Even though we’ve barely said a few words to each other.
Is she inviting me to sit with them because I look like them? Or is she just being nice and I’m the one overthinking it? I shift from foot to foot, my heart racing, as Edgar passes by me.
“You’re here! I forgot to mention I sit up front.” Edgar chuckles. “Still want to sit with me?”
I feel eyes on me, and I look to see Nina has finally noticed that I’m here.
Nina’s gold hoop earrings bounce as she tilts her head toward the seat. She smiles, and my chest tightens. “Hey, Ri. Didn’t know you were taking this class.”
I blink, stare at her welcoming face, and then remember to answer Edgar. “Thanks.” I drop into the chair, back turned toward Kelsey. And Nina.
Nina, who was just so nice. Not like just a few years ago, when she conveniently forgot about all the good times we’d had when she basically dumped me as her best friend, leaving me with nothing but memories. Like making forts in my living room, using anything and everything we could find to hold the sheets up, even a vacuum cleaner. Turning off all the lights in the house and using flashlights to brighten our faces as we told scary stories. Sharing our secrets too. Our dreams.
A couple more kids file into the classroom. I catch a few odd looks; maybe it’s because I’m transferring after the semester started. Or maybe they’re just wondering what the hell I’m doing in here. We’ve gone to school together for years, but I’ve been in other classes. Classes mostly full of white kids.
My friends take other languages for the countries their parents take them on vacation, like Italian, French, and German. They make up the bulk of the AP and “enrichment” classes, like Multimedia. My stomach wiggles a little. Because until recently, I’ve acted like I was one of them just like Grandma wanted me to.
“Hey, you new here?”
My head snaps up and I see a tall, broad-shouldered guy in front of me. I recognize him from the football team. Though we’ve never spoken, he’d be hard to miss, looking like that. Buzz cut. Broad shoulders. Probably abs by the look of him.
He squints his eyes dramatically, like he’s trying to place me. “Actually, you know what? I think I do know you. I’ve seen you before, somewhere.”
My eyes narrow, annoyed. Just because we’ve taken other classes doesn’t mean I don’t exist. “I’ve been going here since freshman year. And I grew up here, like you, I’m guessing.”
The football player takes the seat to my left. His eyes linger on me a little longer than what’s considered normal for people who don’t know each other. My gaze falls over his broad chest and then rises quickly back up to his eyes.
“Hey, Carlos,” Edgar says. “This is my locker neighbor, Ri. She just transferred into Spanish.”
Carlos doesn’t take his eyes off me as he gives what feels like a flirtatious smile. “Obviously.”
At that moment, the second bell rings and Señora Almanza glides into the classroom.
“Buenos días. ¿Cómo están?”
“Estoy bien,” the class answers in unison. All but me, of course. “¿Y usted?”
“Bien, bien,” she says, before continuing in Spanish.
My grandparents sometimes spoke Spanish around me, before Grandpa died, when I was six. My mom too. And I hear it in the hallways and in my neighborhood. I know some, but not enough to keep up with whatever Señora Almanza is saying super fast.
I touch my neck and feel cold sweat on the back of my hand.
Señora Almanza pulls out her teacher’s book, and the rest of the class begins to shuffle their textbooks out as well. I look at Carlos beside me. He turns to page twenty. I do the same. He, along with everyone else in my line of vision, seems to be keeping up just fine as they read along.
My chest tightens. I clench and unclench my sweaty palms. Look at the hands moving slowly on the wall clock as time practically grinds to a stop.
When the bell finally rings at the end of the period, it couldn’t be more welcomed. My chest remains tight, cramped. I’m going to have to learn Spanish fast if I don’t want Grandma to kill me for my GPA dropping.
Carlos stands beside me. “At least she moved the test to Wednesday—”
I whip toward Carlos. “We have a test Wednesday?”
He leans back slightly, away
from me as my backpack almost accidentally whacks him. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Didn’t you hear her just say that?”
Nina and Miguel brush past us, Nina even smiling at me as she does, and Carlos reaches toward Miguel to stop him. “You busy after school?”
Miguel turns to him. “I’m around. Come by if you want. You too, Edgar.”
Edgar puts his hand on my desk as he stands. “I was actually going to shoot some photos of my little cousin’s basketball game at the middle school.” He lifts a camera—an expensive, professional-looking one—off the side of his backpack, then takes a step toward the door.
“You coming, man?” he asks Carlos.
“Hold up a second. I wanna talk to this chava hermosa here.”
I can’t help but grin, lifted by the compliment.
Edgar raises an eyebrow at me, as if asking me if I’m buying his friend’s game.
I can’t keep smiling like an idiot, so I look elsewhere, anywhere, so they won’t see me blush. “Señora Almanza,” I say, seeing my chance to kill two birds with one stone. “Given that I’m new to this class, I was wondering if—”
“If you have to take the test?” Señora Almanza gives me a knowing look, somehow correctly guessing that I was going to try to get out of it. She strides from the podium to her desk, stacking her notes on top of a few books, and smooths her hands on her full skirt before addressing me.
“Yes, Maria, you do. But I’m sure you’ll be fine with whatever Spanish you already know. Or if you don’t,” she says, seeming to register my face falling, “it’ll be a good way to glean where you have room to improve.”
I swallow, words escaping me, as Señora Almanza cocks her head at the boys. “And it looks like you’ve made a few friends who might want to study with you.” She gestures to Carlos and Edgar, waiting for me. Carlos’s face lights up and Edgar chuckles.
I blink a few times, fast. Studying with them, they’d realize super quick that I don’t speak Spanish. Or at least that I can’t speak it like they can.
I grab my bag. “Maybe another time.”
By the time the bell rings for lunch, I’ve mentally run through the thousand ways I could have handled the first day of Spanish differently. I should have been smoother with Carlos. Maybe asked Señora Almanza if I could study privately with her. I could have said something more to Nina, or maybe I should have not acknowledged her at all. Let her see how it feels.
Brittany’s at my locker waiting for me. “Okay, tell me all about it.” Her mouth turns down just a little too sympathetically and her voice sounds wary. Like she expected the first day to be a disaster.
“It’s just class, Brittany.” I snap. “You don’t have to make it such a big deal.”
Brittany’s face falls, her light beige skin turning pink.
I sigh. “I’m sorry.” For the second time this week. “I know I’ve been weird about all of this.”
Brittany shakes her head quickly. “You’ve got a lot on your mind. No worries at all.”
I hesitate, searching for the right words. “I guess I didn’t want it to be a big deal, and pretending like it isn’t made me feel like . . .”
“Like you’re in control,” Brittany finishes.
“Exactly.”
I smile at Brittany as she squeezes my arm. We fall in step together. The conversation turns to Multimedia, which we have later this afternoon. Yesterday we got saddled with an assignment where we have to make a short film about something that has shaped us as individuals. I’d consider doing something writing-related, but then I’d have to present it to the class, and I’m just not about that. So I think I’ll play it safe and do something about being in nature. Maybe incorporate how I like to run by the beach in there somehow.
Brittany starts ranting about how she should choose the country club her mom attends. “Without it, she wouldn’t be able to hear all of her friends talk about how great their daughters are doing at everything.” Brittany’s voice gets louder as she gets more worked up. “And then my mom wouldn’t come home on a tirade about how I need to get better grades, make more of an effort on my appearance, and do just about everything else better.”
She imitates her mother’s sickly-sweet lecturing tone. “Because, you know, honey, everything you do is a reflection of us.”
I laugh as Brittany makes gagging noises, miming vomiting all over herself. Brandon Reid shoots her a confused look before walking past us in the hall. Brittany ignores him. “What she really means is damnit, why can’t I just be prom queen and student body president just like her?”
The words shoot out of her mouth faster as we walk through the school’s front entrance. “What I’ll never be able to understand is why anyone would want to subject themselves to that kind of popularity contest when it has nothing at all to do with being smart or a good person and everything to do with who’s the biggest bitch in school or who gives the best blow jobs!”
“I have no idea what you girls are talking about, but sign me up.” Carlos appears behind us, pushing through the double doors, with Edgar behind him. Brittany’s eyebrows shoot to the top of her head and she flushes, mad or embarrassed, I can’t tell.
Carlos takes in Brittany’s expression. “I’m kidding. Relax,” he says, before turning to me. “Ri, long time no see.”
Much to Brittany’s apparent alarm, I step aside so people can keep walking in the usual rush to their cars for lunch.
“I’m Edgar, by the way.” Edgar reaches a hand out to Brittany. Her lips shift from a tense line to a small smile as she shakes his hand. “I always see you talking to my locker neighbor, but this might be our first official meeting.”
Brittany offers an awkward laugh. “I guess I mostly hang out with the same people.”
“Same, but no time like the present to change that, right? Who doesn’t like more friends?” Edgar asks.
Carlos looks right at me. “Especially fine ones.”
Brittany rolls her eyes so hard, I’d be impressed if she weren’t embarrassing me. Sure, Carlos is laying it on pretty thick. But I like it. She seems to like Edgar well enough, at least.
A thought comes to mind and I blurt it out before thinking to check with Brittany. “You guys have plans for lunch? Want to come with us?” I may not have been friends with people who share my culture since Nina, but this is a chance to change that.
I look at Brittany, hoping she’ll say what a great idea that is. Instead she just stares at me blankly.
Before I get the chance to say something, Carlos jumps in. “Yeah, seeing as how we’re a few of the only juniors in Spanish Two, we might as well get to know each other, right? It’s mostly freshmen and sophomores except us and Cassie, Nina, and Miguel. You know them, don’t you?”
I ignore the fact that Carlos didn’t acknowledge Kelsey and the other white juniors in our class. I doubt they acknowledge him either.
“Exactly,” I say. “Do you want to walk somewhere for food?”
Edgar and Carlos agree as Brittany slides closer to me. She mutters under her breath. “Ri, it’s usually just the two of us for lunch.”
My face warms as I look to Carlos and Edgar, who are walking a couple of paces ahead and didn’t seem to hear. “Shaking things up a bit won’t kill anyone,” I whisper back.
Brittany opens her mouth to argue, but I shush her as we follow the guys out of the parking lot.
Inside Jack in the Box, Carlos sits by me, his body warm against mine. Across from us, Edgar offers Brittany some of his fries. Brittany smiles sheepishly before raising her fork to her salad. “I’m good, thanks.”
Carlos laughs. “You white girls and your diets. We’re at Jack in the Box and you’re eating a salad.” He shakes his head.
Brittany’s eyes narrow at me as I swallow a chuckle.
“I like burgers just fine, just not whatever processed garbage you’d call that.” She eyes Carlos’s burger with contempt.
I look to Carlos before jumping in. “Lighten up, Brittany. Just be
cause it’s not on the menu of Honor Bar in Montecito doesn’t mean it’s not good.”
Brittany’s face flushes, so I quickly add, “But no one grills a better burger than your dad on Fourth of July.”
Edgar looks down at his food rather than at the conversational landmine that is my best friend. Why does this have to be so awkward? I quickly stuff a few French fries in my mouth.
“You guys are runners, right?” Edgar asks, before taking a drink of his soda. “I’ve seen you jogging on the beach before.”
Brittany turns to him, a look of amusement on her face as her eyes dart to me and back to Edgar. “Well, next time say hi. No need to be a creeper.” She laughs and then Edgar laughs, and I feel the tension in my gut ease.
“I go to the wharf on the weekends a lot,” Edgar says. “Mostly for taking pictures.” He looks at me and then back at Brittany. “It’s something I’ve done for years. I even did a film on the wharf’s history for my Multimedia project last year.”
Brittany’s eyebrows shoot up. “You were in Multimedia as a sophomore?”
The smile slides off Edgar’s face. He blinks several times and I stop breathing. What the eff does Brittany mean by you?
I swoop in. “That’s, like, impressive. Multimedia isn’t easy, I mean, not for me anyway.”
Edgar’s relaxed grin returns as he looks at me. “I can help you with your project this year, if you want. I love that kind of stuff.”
Carlos raises an eyebrow at Edgar and smirks at him. Edgar rushes on before I have the chance to reply. “Anyway, what were we talking about? Running, yeah. Have either of you ever run the marathon in town? One of my cousins does the half-marathon every year and my family usually watches on the sidelines.”
“We haven’t,” Brittany says, looking at me with her fork suspended over her salad, “but we really should. I think it could be fun.”
I open my mouth to agree, but next to me, I feel Carlos pulling out his phone to check a text. He turns his shoulder away slightly to get a better look at his phone. I bite into my burger and try to steal a look.
Everything Within and In Between Page 3
