by Cj Omololu
“Listen,” he says. “I’m sorry about Rebecca that night at the club.”
I’m caught totally off guard—Ava didn’t say anything about a Rebecca. “It’s fine,” I say noncommittally.
“She can be a real bitch sometimes, but that’s no excuse,” he continues. “She’s had a hard time since we broke up, and sometimes it comes out in unexpected ways. Rebecca’s crazy, but I kind of feel bad for her. It’s like the band became her family.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, hoping that’s the right response. You think Ava would mention a fight with a crazed ex-girlfriend.
“Thanks,” Eli says, looking relieved. “I was hoping you’d understand.”
We get off the freeway somewhere near the zoo, in a neighborhood I’ve never been to before. “Where are we going?”
“Just up here,” he says, pointing out the front window. “Take a left at the light.”
“The drive-in?” I didn’t even know there were still any drive-ins left.
“Sort of,” he says, still grinning maniacally. “Just be patient; it’s worth it.”
“I’m not really the patient type,” I say as we turn into the giant parking lot.
“Really?” Eli says in mock surprise. There are a ton of other cars parked around the edges, and a bunch of brightly painted trucks are arranged in a sloppy semicircle toward the front, where the screen rises several stories into the air.
“Taco trucks?” I turn and look at him.
“Not exactly,” he says, opening the door. “Although some of the best are the original taco trucks.”
We get out of the car, and my stomach starts rumbling right away at the amazing smells coming from the far side of the lot. People are scattered all over the asphalt, some just sitting together right on the ground. Some are perched precariously on thin concrete parking bumpers, and one group has set up a table and folding chairs in one of the parking spots, complete with a tablecloth and tiny vase filled with roses.
“It’s Food Truck Friday,” Eli explains as we walk toward the trucks. Each one has a fairly long line in front of it, and I squint, trying to read the menu boards posted on the sides.
He rubs his hands like an excited little kid. “Where should we start? Sliders? Soup? Vietnamese?”
“You do this a lot?” I say, enjoying his enthusiasm. The choices are kind of overwhelming.
“Enough,” he says. “You can follow them online and find out where they’re going to be. You said you liked good food, so I thought you might like this.” He inhales, a happy smile on his face. “I’ve thought about being a chef sometimes. How cool would it be to have your own truck, be your own boss?”
I look around at the mostly young crowd, all focusing on the food that’s being handed through the tiny windows on the sides of the trucks. Everyone looks like they’re really into what they’re eating, even if they’re sitting on the ground to do it. I look around again. I really want some truffle fries, but Alicia would let the guy lead. “You pick.”
Eli steers me toward a bright yellow truck. “I think we need to start with some pulled pork sliders and then go next door for parmesan truffle fries.”
“Sounds perfect.” I watch the people in the trucks work. Their movements are compact and efficient, like people who are good at their jobs and like what they do. Everyone looks pretty young, and I wonder which one of them owns this truck.
We get our food on paper plates and walk toward an empty spot of asphalt.
“Next time I’ll remember to bring the table,” Eli says, nodding toward the fancy people a few parking spots away.
“I like this,” I say, settling carefully down on the ground, the asphalt still warm on the backs of my knees. It’s been hot for April, and while this skirt is okay for the weather, it’s not exactly an eating-on-the-ground outfit.
“And I like that you like this,” Eli says. He holds my gaze a second too long before looking back down at his plate.
I take a bite of the slider, the obviously homemade sauce dripping down my chin. There is a burst of salty and sweet as I crunch into the coleslaw that’s perched on top, and it’s one of the most perfect bites I’ve ever taken. “Oh God,” I say, chewing slowly and then swallowing. “That’s awesome.”
“Try one of these,” he says, handing me the basket of fries. “Real truffle oil on those suckers.”
“Insane,” I agree, taking a few from the basket. Eli knows his food. “So would you really open your own food truck?”
Eli looks around at the different options. “Maybe,” he says with a shrug. “More fun than sitting in a boring office all day.”
“Is that instead of or in addition to becoming Superman?” I inhale sharply the minute the words leave my mouth. Stupid! Alicia didn’t have that conversation with him at the café that day—Lexi did.
Eli doesn’t miss it. “Superman?”
I brush some hair away from my face to kill time. “Yeah. You told Lexi that you wanted to be Superman when you were little.” I slide a sideways glance at him. “Sisters do talk, you know. I thought it was cute.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” he says, but he doesn’t look mad. “I think that life isn’t so much linear as it is a bunch of different rooms. At one point in your life you’re a student, then you can be a rock star, and when that gets old, become a chef and open up your own food truck. Or work the Superman angle. Don’t get me wrong—I love music, but I think getting stuck in one thing for years and years has got to be kind of boring.”
I realize as he says it that my life has only ever had one room—Stanford. “Don’t your parents care?” I realize how bad that sounds. “I mean that you don’t want to go to college or anything?”
He frowns, and I can tell by the shadow that crosses his face that I’m in unwelcome territory. “No. They’re not around.” His voice is flat and emotionless.
I feel terrible. “I’m so sorry.”
Eli looks over at me, and I can tell he’s deciding how much to say. “They’re not dead or anything. At least I don’t think so. We just … we just don’t communicate. I lived with Danny from the band since junior year, and when we graduated last year, we got an apartment in Carlsbad.” He sits up straighter. “It’s nice. I can do what I want.”
I wonder what that would be like—to not have any parental expectations at all. I can’t even imagine it. I lean into him slightly. “Maybe I’ll get to see it someday.”
There’s a mischievous light in his eyes. “Maybe.”
As soon as he says it, I feel guilty. I got so caught up in the Alicia moment, I forgot I’m not supposed to be sitting here enjoying myself. After tonight, Alicia is going to disappear. We eat and watch the people as they gather in line, then finish up their food and drive away to wherever they’re going next on an early spring night.
Eli points to the bright orange food truck. “The slider guy sometimes parks outside this club in Oceanside,” he says. “Nothing better than a good pulled pork sandwich after midnight.”
I briefly wonder who else he’s had sliders with after shows, and feel a flash of jealousy that I know I’m not allowed to own.
Eli folds his empty plate. “What next? How about some pho? And then maybe dessert.”
“Sounds good.” I start to push myself off the ground, but Eli stops me.
“Wait here. I’ll go get it.”
I watch him in line at the Vietnamese truck, how he easily starts a conversation with the couple in front of him, tilting his head back and laughing at something the guy says. Everything seems to be easy with him, free of the subtle vibrations of stress that always seem to be the undercurrents of my life. I wonder if I’ll ever really learn to not worry about life after high school, about getting the best grades, running Dad’s company someday. For all the good worrying does me now.
“Okay. I brought you a surprise,” Eli says, sitting back down beside me. “And you have to eat it first, because once they cool off, they’re just gross.” He holds out a smal
l round pastry that looks like a donut.
“What is it?”
“Deep-fried Oreo with white chocolate sauce. It’s like redneck tiramisu. Amazing.”
“Wow,” I agree, eating dessert first, and then I dive into the fragrant soup. I don’t register the chilies floating on top until my mouth explodes in flames. “Oh, crap.” I cough and reach for a napkin to stop the tears that have already started to flow.
“Sorry!” Eli says, handing me the french fries. “Have a couple of these—it should help.”
I take a few, and it does help, the heat in my mouth dulling to a pulsing ache. I can feel sweat on my upper lip, and my cheeks are wet from the tears that have been running down my face. As I bring my napkin away from my eyes, I see that it’s streaked black with mascara. I must look like a wreck, another thing Alicia would never do, chilies or no chilies.
“You okay?” he asks when I finally pull myself together.
I nod quickly, not trusting my voice.
“I had them put extra chilies in,” he says apologetically. “Last time we went out, you said you like your food as hot as you can get it.”
“I do,” I say quickly, my voice rough and ragged. “It just went down the wrong way.” Of course Ava would say that Alicia loves hot food. She carries a tiny bottle of Sriracha around in her bag. I can’t stand it. “I’m fine.”
Eli looks concerned, then lifts his hand and wipes my cheek with his thumb. “You had a little … um …” He suddenly looks embarrassed by the gesture.
I run my hands over my face. “I must look like a wreck.”
He meets my eyes. “No, you don’t. You look beautiful.” The moment hangs heavily between us, and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me, when he suddenly stands up and gathers our empty plates. “Want anything else?”
I look up at the trucks again, slightly disappointed that the moment passed. “No.” I look away, knowing that I have to stop this before it goes any further. Turns out I really like Eli. I have to tell him the truth. “Listen … there’s something we need to talk about.”
“Okay.” He glances away from me. “But hey, the line’s gone down. How about another helping of Oreos for the road?”
I swallow hard. Maybe this isn’t the right time anyway. I can only imagine the silence as we drive home if he gets pissed. “Sure. That would be great.”
While I’m waiting for him to get back, I feel someone watching me, the way you do when the sense is physical, like a hand just brushing the skin on the back of your neck. I look around and see a familiar figure with dark hair and a light pink shirt vanish behind a parked car. What the hell is she doing here?
“I’ll be right back,” I say as I pass Eli by the Oreo truck. The sun is low enough that it’s getting hard to see in the shadows. When I get to the car there’s no one behind it, but I glimpse a pink shirt vanishing behind one of the trucks. I’m a little pissed that she feels like she has to spy on me. Like I can’t even get this right. “Ava!” I shout, walking around the long line to the back of a truck, but there’s no one here. I walk back around to the front, looking quickly from side to side, but I don’t see her anywhere.
I pull the phone from my tiny purse and punch a few buttons. “Where are you right now?” I demand as she answers. I brace myself, half waiting for her to jump out and scare the crap out of me any minute.
“At home,” she says casually. “We’re getting ready to go out.” I hear Maya say something in the background. “Maya says hi.”
“You sure you’re not screwing around?” I say, looking around the parking lot.
“What are you talking about? I don’t even know where you are.”
“You swear you’re not somewhere around here? You’re not lying to me?”
“No! God. Hang on a second.” I hear some muffled rumblings on her end, and then my phone vibrates as Ava gets back on the line. “Check your phone. I just sent you a photo.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and click over to see a photo of her and Maya flipping me off from what is clearly her bedroom. “Got it. Thanks,” I tell her.
“So, what’s going on? Why the phone call in the middle of your hot date?”
“Nothing,” I say, looking around, but whoever it was has disappeared. “I just could have sworn I saw you a couple of minutes ago.”
“Not me,” Ava says. “How’s lover boy? Did he end up taking you to a fancy restaurant?”
“He’s good,” I say, looking at the growing crowd in the parking lot. I realize that for the first time in days, my stomach isn’t in a knot. Eli walks over with a paper plate and sits on a parking barrier. “At this moment we’re sitting on the ground in a drive-in parking lot downtown eating deep-fried Oreos from a paper plate.”
“Classy,” Ava says. “And a good argument for not dating band boys.”
“Hmm,” I say noncommittally, sitting down next to Eli. “I have to go.”
I shove the phone back into my bag as he hands me a hot, fried Oreo. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” I say.
Eli grins at me, a tiny bit of batter on his upper lip. I have a sudden urge to reach out and touch him. He must see me staring, because he wipes his mouth with a napkin. “You said you had something we needed to talk about?”
I lick some powdered sugar off my finger, then look up into his blue eyes. Once the words about Alicia are out of my mouth, I won’t be able to take them back—maybe Ava’s a little bit right. I shrug and shake my head. “It was nothing.”
I glance down at my phone and hit IGNORE, despite the pang of guilt that follows. It’s Dad again, calling from the land of lions and tigers and sketchy cell service. I can’t talk to him about Stanford right now. I can barely think about it without a wave of hopelessness washing over me. I have no idea how I’m going to tell him I failed. He pulled himself up from nothing to be a very big something, donating millions of dollars to endless good causes and changing thousands of lives in the process. I’ve had it easy, and I can’t even do a simple thing like get accepted to Stanford. How can I tell him that I’m not good enough for his alma mater? Not good enough to run his company? Not good enough to be his daughter?
I stare at the open page on my phone like I have been for the past hour, Casey’s picture on the funeral announcement staring right back at me. Glancing at the clock, I see that I still have time to make it. Maybe I should—some part of me seems to need closure. Go. Go. Go.
“Who was that?” Cecilia asks from the other side of the couch. She nods at my hand. “On the phone?”
I turn the phone so she can’t see what I’ve been looking at. “Nobody.”
“If you say so.” She grabs a piece of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table and points to the TV. “It’s just that you’ve been so distracted lately. You’re not even paying attention now.”
I glance up at the telenovela on the screen. She’s right. I have no idea what’s going on, and usually I love Fuego y Hielo. Dad tried to teach us Spanish when we were little and Cecilia’s fluent, but these days I can barely follow along on TV. “Why is Fernando at the beach? I thought he was in the city with Maria?”
Cecilia sighs and hands me the remote. She refuses to use it, saying that all the buttons are too confusing. “Want to go back?”
“No. Thanks,” I say, standing up. “I just need to get out of the house for a little while.”
“Is everything okay?” she asks. “You’ve been acting funny lately.”
“Fine,” I manage, just before my voice starts to break. “Thanks.” I lean down to give her a kiss on the cheek, then quickly turn away so she can’t see my face.
I’m dressed in jeans and an old fleece jacket, so I quickly change into the black dress I wore when Abuelo died a couple of years ago, and sneak out of the house through the garage. I don’t bother with the Alicia makeup or heels. I just want to be another anonymous teenager at a tragic funeral.
By the time I pull into the parking lot, I can tell that the church is totally
packed. I manage to find a space in the very back, and as I lock the car, I notice two cops in a police car sitting a few rows away. I wonder what they’re doing here—expecting trouble at a funeral? Probably just paying their respects. Casey’s death seems to have hit everyone hard.
I take my place in the line of people still waiting to get in, behind a soccer team in full uniform. I knew Casey for only one night, but it’s hard to reconcile the sneering guy I met with the compassionate, handsome boy in the picture that’s propped up on an easel in the lobby. An older couple is stationed by the main double doors, the woman with her face red from crying and the man with his back ramrod straight as he greets the newcomers. Must be his parents. I turn and am heading for a side door to avoid them, when a woman with long, graying hair grabs my hands.
“Alicia!” she says with a sad smile. “I’m so glad you came.” She glances toward the older couple. “Such a sad, sad day for all of us.”
I’m so surprised, I can’t think of anything to say at first. Ava said she’d gone out with Casey only a couple of times. She didn’t say anything about meeting his family. “Right,” I finally manage, hoping that the sadness on my face mirrors hers. “It’s just awful.”
“Did you come with anyone, dear?” she asks.
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m here by myself.”
“Then you have to come up and sit with us,” she says, and before I can reply, she takes my arm in hers and leads me through the main doors and up the aisle to a pew in the front that still has some space in it. “Settle in here,” she says, guiding me to a spot next to a woman in her twenties. “I’m going to go help in the lobby, but I’ll be right back.”
