Raisin Rodriguez & the Big-Time Smooch

by Judy Goldschmidt

  1:12 PM, EST

  And that burning sensation lets me know that they’re doing a really thorough job.

  1:33 PM, EST

  I think my face is on fire.

  2:18 PM, EST

  I never thought I’d say this, but I think I owe that roly-poly little sister of mine my life.

  When she saw my face, she burst into tears. I couldn’t calm her down, so eventually my mother came to see what all the commotion was about.

  When she saw the pads taped to my face, she ordered me to take them off. The good news is that the zits are gone. The bad news is that there’s a gigantic bright red T burned into my face.

  My mom gave me aloe to slather on it and aspirin to take down the swelling. My head feels like it’s on fire. Over the course of three days, I’ve managed to ruin my face and my hair. The only thing left is my body. Maybe I should down several gallons of Chunky Monkey and two dozen boxes of Dunkaroos and see what that does for my waistline. No wonder CJ doesn’t love me. I’m one of those don’t-let-this-happen-to-you ladies you see in the back of fashion magazines. All I need is a black bar over my eyes.

  Next time I have a brilliant idea, I’ll have to remind myself that it’s probably stupid.

  3:30 PM, EST

  I just checked my mailbox and no invitation. What if I’m really not invited?

  Comments:

  Logged in at 8:27 PM, EST

  PiaBallerina: Maybe it’ll still come on Monday. In the meantime, at least you got rid of your zits. Sometimes they take weeks to go away. Especially the undergrounders.

  Logged in at 8:31 PM, EST

  kweenclaudia: i’ll tell you how to get rid of them. go find someone to make out with. it really works. clint had one on his nose the other day. then we had a little smoocharoo. now his is gone and i’ve got one on the tip of my nose. coincidence? i don’t think so. in fact, i’m going to go find him and give it back.

  Monday, November 22

  7:07 AM, EST

  Kitty Cats,

  My mother let me wear makeup today. Only foundation to cover up the T, but it’s a start.

  Sort of.

  I mean, to be honest, I look exactly the way I would if I weren’t wearing makeup and I didn’t have the T. I’d much rather be wearing something that makes you look beautiful and glamorous. Like mascara or eye shadow or one of those lip glosses that makes your lips look more kissable. I guess if I want to wear fun makeup like that, next time I’ll have to tape medicated pads to my eyes or mouth.

  Off to school. Hopefully when I come back, my invitation will be waiting for me.

  10:08 PM, EST

  Turns out my kiss with CJ is one of many reasons I need to go to that bar mitzvah. Roger Morris isn’t just wealthy like Samantha said. He’s downright rich. Rich, I tell you! Here’s what Lynn said would be in his gift bags:1. A gift certificate to Makeup Emporium

  2. Scented candles

  3. DVDs of the Lord of the Rings trilogy (which I’ll give to Horse Ass. I only saw the first one, which from what I could tell between naps was a movie about short people walking up and down hills).

  4. A sports watch

  And last but not least

  5. An iPod!

  Yes, you heard me correctly. An iPod! Just what every thirteen-year-old needs to feel like they fit in. Like they belong. Like they’re just as cool as the next guy. And like they’re willing to fork over lots and lots of money to prove it.

  Also, it’s at the Spectrum, which is just like Madison Square Garden except in Philadelphia. And there’s going to be a disco, an ice-skating rink, bumper cars, and a world-famous rock band whose identity is to be kept secret. Plus food from all over the world, including a sushi bar, a fajita station, gourmet pizza, and lobster, which isn’t even kosher, but it’s okay because Roger’s parents have a special arrangement with their rabbi.

  And a make-your-own-sundae table.

  This bar mitzvah sounds like it’s going to be the most amazing time in the history of amazing times. I want to make history too!

  Comments:

  Logged in at 10:17 PM, EST kweenclaudia: that sounds really fun, rae. i wish we could go with you. i’d bring clint too. he’s never been ice skating.

  Logged in at 10:20 PM, EST

  PiaBallerina: That sounds amazing, Rae. I wish there was a boy I wanted to kiss at a bar mitzvah.

  Tuesday, November 23

  5:13 PM, EST

  Kitties!

  Still no invitation! Last night I asked Lynn if I could be her date and she told me that bar mitzvahs didn’t work that way. You can’t just bring a date.

  I realized I had to take matters in to my own hands, so during homeroom I found Roger and tried to give him the hint.

  “I really love bar mitzvahs, Roger,” I told him. “It’s weird because there were so many in Berkeley, but no one seems to be having any in Philadelphia.”

  But all he said was, “Weird.”

  Wednesday, November 24

  7:03 AM, EST

  Cats!

  I had a brilliant idea. Last night I went to the mall with Samantha and got a gift certificate to Big & Tall. I’m going to leave it in Roger’s locker with a birthday card and then he’ll have to invite me.

  12:43 PM, EST

  Roger said, “Thank you for the gift.”

  He did not say, “Please come to my bar mitzvah.”

  Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, so today’s the last day of school before the bar mitzvah. What should I do?

  5:53 PM, EST

  That’s it. It’s no use. No matter what I do, I can’t get myself invited to Roger’s bar mitzvah. I came up with the brilliant idea of offering to cover the event in my CoolerThanYou entertainment column. And you know what he said? He said, “That’s okay, The Philadelphia Inquirer is already going to be there.”

  So once again I’m not going to be able to have my kiss with CJ. And once again I’m not going to be able to keep him away from Dylan the underwear model and her comedic stylings.

  Comments:

  Logged in at 7:43 PM, EST

  PiaBallerina: Why don’t you just call Roger and ask him if you can go?

  7:57 PM, EST

  Doesn’t that seem desperate, Pi?

  Comments:

  Logged in at 8:03 PM, EST

  kweenclaudia: more desperate than bribing him with gifts and media coverage?

  8:17 PM, EST

  Good point.

  Thursday, November 25

  4:35 PM, EST

  Gobble Gobble, Kitties!

  A Very Special Thanksgiving

  Raisin: Hi, Roger. This is Raisin. Okay, this is a little weird, but I know that your bar mitzvah is on Saturday and that you invited the whole grade. Well, the thing is, I’m also part of the grade, but I didn’t get an invitation, so I was wondering if—

  Roger: (interrupting) I thought I already invited you.

  Raisin: Oh. You didn’t.

  Roger: Okay, right. The invitations went out the last week of summer vacation. Before I knew you.

  Raisin: Well, you know me now. . . .

  Roger: True. Okay, you can come.

  Raisin: Thank you, thank you, thank you sooooo m—

  Roger: (interrupting again) Can I go back to the football game now?

  Raisin: Sure.

  Roger: Okay, ’bye.

  5:56 PM, EST

  A Very Special Thanksgiving, Part II

  Horse Ass: Let’s all go around the table and name something we’re thankful for. I’ll start. This has been a very special year for me. Not only did I marry the most wonderful woman in the world, I got her two beautiful daughters along with the package. In the business world, this would be called “getting a good deal.” (HA chuckles to himself; more business jokes I don’t get or want to get. Blah, blah, blah . . .) “Raisin, how’d you like to go next?”

  Raisin: (clears her throat) I’m sorry, I’ve been chewing on the same piece of celery for like seven minutes now and it won’t go down. Can someo
ne else go first?

  HA: Sam, I know you feel as lucky as I do to have completed our “merger” (heh, heh, heh). Would you like to say a few words about it?

  Sam: Actually, Dad, I’m not feeling very well. Can I go to my room?

  HA: (looking very disappointed) Sure, sweetheart. We’ll miss you.

  Sam: Mind if I take my plate with me? Y’know, just in case I get hungry?

  Sam shovels extra portions of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and cranberry sauce onto her plate and excuses herself to her room. Raisin has never seen Sam eat that much food in all the meals they’ve eaten together combined.

  HA: Raisin, are you ready yet?

  Lola: (pounding on the table) No! It’s my turn. My turn. MyturnmyturnmyturnmyturnmyturnMY! TURN!

  HA: Raisin?

  HA looks to Raisin for the go-ahead. Raisin nods. HA in turn gives Lola the go-ahead.

  Lola: It is NOT my turn.

  Mom: (feeling very uncomfortable for HA) Horace, dear, the turkey’s getting cold. Why don’t we all just take a private moment to think about what we’re grateful for and then dig in?

  10:56 PM, EST

  A Very Special Thanksgiving, Part III

  Raisin: (Standing in the adjoining bathroom she shares with Sam. Knocks on Sam’s bedroom door. Doesn’t wait for Sam’s response before entering.) Sam, Mom wants to know how—

  Suddenly Raisin sees that Sam is not alone. In fact, she is sitting on her boyfriend Sid’s lap. But quickly jumps off.

  Sam: (whisper-shouts) Raisin! The rule is that until that lock is fixed, everyone has to wait until I answer before they can come in.

  Raisin: (eyes welling up with tears) I forgot. I’m sorry.

  Sam: Forget it. It’s fine. Just swear to me you won’t tell our parents.

  Raisin: I swear I won’t. I mean, I’ve never said a word up until now, so why would I start?

  Sam: Okay. Fine. Just don’t slip up.

  Raisin turns to walk out of the room, then has a really smart idea.

  Raisin: Hey, Sam? You know that green velvet dress you have? The one with the jacket that ties in a satin bow and the matching skirt? Do you think I could borrow it for Roger’s bar mitzvah?

  Sam: But it’s way too big for you.

  Raisin: My mom could shorten it.

  Sam: (looking very annoyed) Whatever. Just don’t tell anyone about Sid and we’ll call it even.

  Raisin: Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

  Comments:

  Logged in at 11:07 PM, EST

  kweenclaudia: nice work, raymond. blackmailing your step-relatives? couldn’t have done a better job myself.

  Logged in at 11:14 PM, EST

  PiaBallerina: I’m so glad you called Roger. I can’t wait to hear all about his party. (I especially can’t wait to hear about the rock band whose identity is to be kept secret.)

  Logged in at 11:16 PM, EST

  PiaBallerina: I mean, not including the kiss, which goes without mentioning.

  Sunday, November 28

  11:55 AM, EST

  Shalom, Kitties,

  Shalom—what an interesting word. The Torah, the Hebrew Old Testament, teaches us that this beautiful word has three meanings: “peace,” “hello,” and “goodbye.”

  We learned this from a speech given by Rabbi Benjamin H. Levy to Roger Morris on his bar mitzvah day. One should take Rabbi Levy’s lesson to heart. For not only is he a rabbi, he also wears a harmonica on his head and pronounces the ch sound in Chanukah the real way—like he’s going to cough up a hair ball.

  But not all of the word’s meanings are relevant to all people at all times. Take one Raisin Rodriguez, for instance. For young Raisin, the word shalom means only one thing. Not “hello.” And not “peace.” But the third meaning. The saddest and loneliest of all—“goodbye.”

  So long . . . farewell . . . auf wiedersehen . . .

  Goodbye.

  What can I say? It all started out so promising. When my mother dropped me off at the Spectrum, I looked beautiful. I know this because my mom said, “Raisin, you look beautiful.” I couldn’t wait for CJ to see me.

  Don’t judge me for preening. Seven minutes from now, you’ll have nothing but that potato salad feeling in the back of your throat for me. And that’s before you’ll have even found out that Galenka Popodakolis was wearing the same dress as me . . .

  The Spectrum was the biggest building I’d ever seen. Imagine the basement where Krishna Ginsberg had his confirmation ceremony and multiply it by twenty thousand.

  As I walked toward the entrance of the building, a long red carpet was laid out. I walked it just like a real celebrity. A guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a fishing hat even asked me for my autograph.

  When I got to the door, there was a blond lady in an evening gown waiting for me.

  “And who are you wearing?” she asked, poking a microphone at me. There was a man standing behind her with a camera.

  “It’s Samantha’s. But she said I could,” I answered.

  “Cut the camera,” the lady said to the guy behind her. Then she bent down to my level and put a hand on my shoulder. “Listen,” she whispered, “we’re making this video as a gift for Roger. The theme of the bar mitzvah is Hollywood Award Show. So how ’bout we play a little bit? You know, have some fun.”

  If you ask me, she was the one who needed to be told to “have some fun.”

  “Take two,” the lady said to the camera guy. It made me feel like a real celebrity.

  “Hi, Roger,” I began. “Um . . . the dress I’m wearing is a Giselle’s original. And the shoes . . .” I had to stop and take off one of the shoes to check the sole. “The name is rubbed out, but I can find out when I get home and tell you tomorrow. Um . . . happy bar mitzvah.”

  When I got inside, another lady in a different evening gown asked me my name. When I gave it to her, she handed me a gold statuette. It looked like the kind they hand out at awards shows, but instead of a bald man or an angel or a phonograph, it was in the likeness of a boy dressed in a suit standing at a lectern. He had a book in his hand and a harmonica on his head. His mouth was open as if he were singing or praying. I’m not exactly sure who he was supposed to be. He was too small to be Roger.

  The lady told me to check underneath the statuette for my table number, which was C-8. I prayed that the C was a sign that CJ would be seated at my table. She also told me to hang on to the statuette because there was going to be a surprise later. Then she directed me toward an elevator and told me which floor number to press.

  As I rode the elevator, another guy asked me for my autograph.

  I wished CJ had been around to witness my fabulosity. Then again, I wouldn’t have wanted to make him feel jealous. We’ve all heard stories about how sticky things can get when people’s loved ones rise to the top.

  After I left my crazed fan in the elevator, I turned a corner and ran into the Fiona and Haleys.

  “Where’d you get your outfit?” Fiona asked. Which, loosely translated into regular-person-speak, means, “I like what you’re wearing. But I could never tell you or else I’d have to kill you.”

  Fiona didn’t look too shabby herself. She was wearing a mint-green chiffon dress with an empire waist and butterfly sleeves.

  “I like your dress too,” I said back. Amber and Madison exchanged knowing glares and Haley just stared at the floor. I instantly regretted what I had said.

  “I meant I like your dress period. Not too. I don’t know why I said too. ‘Too’ doesn’t even make sense. It would only make sense if you told me that you liked my dress and you didn’t.”

  When I found the entrance of the party room, Lynn, Roman, Jeremy, Jacques, and Fippy were all waiting to get inside. I didn’t notice CJ anywhere, though. But seeing the rest of them all dressed up was a welcome distraction. For about a second. Especially Lynn, who was wearing a gorgeous, flowy, pink slip dress.

  I felt like I was the friend in one of those movies on the ABC Family Channel where the star
suffers from uglyitis until she takes off her glasses, washes her hair, and wipes off that awful black lipstick and then suddenly she’s the princess of an unknown but very wealthy principality.

  “You look beautiful,” I told her as I grazed my finger along the hem of her garment.

  “Thanks,” she said, breaking into a smile and then catching herself. Her orthodontist put studs on her teeth, and now she’s self-conscious about smiling.

  “I kept the price tag on so I could return it. Don’t want to be giving all that money to The Man.”

  “What table are you at?” I asked her.

  “A-11,” Lynn said, running off to her table before I could tell her where I was seated. I was really surprised Roger hadn’t seated us together.

  “How ’bout you?” I asked Roman. He looked good too. His blue suit really brought out the blue in his hair. And it looked like he’d removed his dog collar for the occasion.

  “I’m also at A-11,” he said.

  “I theenk we all are at zees table,” Jacques added. Then they all sped off to catch up with Lynn, leaving me behind to find C-8 on my own.

  I didn’t even want to find C-8. It was pretty obvious that everyone besides me was seated at A-11. And since CJ is part of everyone, I assumed he was there too.

  And then it occurred to me: just because the bottom of my statuette said a certain table number didn’t mean I had to sit at that table. I mean, maybe my food would come to that table, but I hadn’t come for the food. I came to have my first kiss with the boy I love.

  On my walk from the entrance to A-11, I noticed that rich people can buy things for their bar mitzvahs that regular people don’t even know about. Like:1. Popcorn machines. There was one set up between every two tables. And a soda fountain—just like at the movies.

  2. Movie screens. They were mounted to all the walls. Not like the dinky kind at school, but the real kind. Like the ones they have at theaters. And they had really great movies playing on them like Star Wars and The Wizard of Oz and Breakfast at Tiffany’s and The Matrix.