I pull out my laptop and check e-mails. There are a couple from Serena. Questions about where I am and why I haven’t responded to her texts. I’m not ready. Instead, I make a list.
GET REALLY REAL LIST
Elizabeth
Oscar
Nick
Moises
Serena/Camille
The names are not written in any particular order. I read in one of Mami’s self-help books that if you want to do good you have to create the intention. Or maybe it was on The View. I can’t be sure. I will try with this list.
After my third coffee refill, I hop back on the bike. In front of Elizabeth’s house, her mom is working on the garden. I slow down.
“Hi, Mrs. Saunders.” She wears a long Mexican dress and her toes are covered with dirt. Elizabeth’s mom is a kindergarten teacher and there’s always something arts and crafts about her.
“Good morning!” She has a gap between her two front teeth. Mami always wondered why she never got that fixed but I think it gives her character. “Elizabeth is out back.”
“Thanks.”
The door to the studio is wide open. A collection of pieces takes over one side of the room. The vibrant colors depict various city scenes. There are old men on souped-up Schwinns. Another painting shows boys playing handball. Elizabeth sure knows how to capture summer.
I knock. Her expression is not her usual welcoming one but it’s not evil either.
“Wow,” I say. She is so talented.
“They’re okay. They still need a lot of work,” Elizabeth says. “What is it?”
“Oh, nothing,” I say. “Want to go on a bike ride?”
It feels as if I’m asking her out on a date. I’m that nervous. I don’t have a plan, just a responsibility to make amends for the way I’ve acted.
“I’ve got a lot of work to do,” she says. “The block party is on Saturday and these still aren’t done.”
“Block party?”
“It’s a fundraiser for the South Bronx Family Mission. Moises gave me a booth for free.”
Moises. I swallow my jealousy.
“Are you selling them?” I ask.
“Yeah. We’re going to give one away in a raffle.”
We. She must mean her and Moises. I can’t forget my intention. This is not about my feelings for him. This is about my friendship.
“Awesome,” I say. “It’s your first real public show. Congratulations.”
We stand side by side for a moment and marvel at her work. I have a lot of her old pieces but these are different. She has really improved. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? “Well, you’re busy. I’ll see you.”
I head toward the door. There’s no need to push it. I’ll let this happen naturally.
“Hey, wait,” Elizabeth says. This is hard for her too. “I’m not going to make my deadline.”
My heart kind of opens.
“You’re not? Do you need help?” I don’t care how eager I sound.
She nods.
“Yeah, of course,” I say. “What do you need?”
“Paint. Materials.”
“I can do that. Let’s get a list together. I live for lists.”
“Okay, let’s make a list,” she says.
I pull out my notebook, sit down on the futon, and wait for her to start. She rattles off names of items and once she finishes, I go off on my bike to buy the materials. It feels good to do something for someone. There’s no time to rehash the past if I have to focus on the task in front of me.
When I come back I set the stuff on her coffee table.
“I have to head back home,” I say. “I got everything on the list but you might have to go to the city for the real deals. That art store is so expensive.”
Look at me, worried about money. Now I know life has turned upside down.
“If you want I can try to stop by later,” I say. Junior isn’t the only one on lockdown. I am too, for those stolen cases of beer. Everyone has to pay the price. My price includes a bunch of chores. Today is laundry day.
“You don’t have to,” Elizabeth says.
“No, I want to.”
Elizabeth goes back to work and I get back on my bike.
Chapter 27
Elizabeth puts her brush down and walks away from the canvas. It’s early Friday morning and I’ve been in her studio for two hours. I don’t know how late she stayed up last night but she’s in the same clothes from yesterday. And there’s still so much to do.
“That painting looks similar to the other one,” I say. “You know, the one of the park.”
“You’re right.” She plops down to the floor and cradles her head. The block party is important to her. This is the first time she’ll be displaying so many pieces. It’s a huge endeavor.
“I’m never going to make it on time,” she says. “I’ve still got two more to finish.”
She might not see it but I can see the progress. The long hours in the studio have paid off. Elizabeth is almost done. She just needs to believe it.
“You have to offer people variety,” I say. “How about looking at the park from another angle? Maybe from above like a bird.”
She gets up and lets out a long sigh. Then she grabs a blank canvas and with charcoal starts to sketch another idea. It’s pretty amazing to see how she can create a world with nothing but white space and black charcoal.
“Thanks,” she says.
I tag the other paintings with titles and add the prices to an Excel sheet I created. Mami is letting me help Elizabeth but I still have a curfew. I want to stay in this studio and concentrate on her but I can’t. I have my list. Today is as good a day as any to pick another name or two.
I text Serena and ask if she and Camille will be around in a half hour.
“I’m going to run a couple of errands. I’ll be back.” Elizabeth is so engrossed in her new work that she won’t need me for a while.
I bike to a nearby park. Because it’s early, the place is empty, with only a couple of joggers getting their health on. I’m not wearing any makeup. The T-shirt I borrowed from Elizabeth is splattered with paint. This is not how I should present myself but there’s no time for a wardrobe change. Besides, it’s exhausting to maintain a streamlined look every time I’m online with Serena and Camille. Not that I plan to abandon my love for fashion. There will be tweaks in my life but not end-of-the-world changes. I pull out a lipstick.
It’s Serena and Camille’s last weekend in the Hamptons. The parties will soon shift back to the city. Get-togethers to ease the Somerset students back into the grind. The old me would be so focused on scoring an invite. Even if I were interested I couldn’t go to any parties, since I’m punished. The usual fall activities I do, like shopping for a new wardrobe, have been put on hold until further notice. Life right now is on full stop until Junior goes to rehab. That is, if he goes.
“Hi, Camille,” I say. “Hi, Serena.”
“Did you forget something?” Camille asks. She’s angry. I’ve never ignored her texts or phone calls before. My actions must confuse her. “There are things we have to figure out, namely your next step with Nick and the party at—”
“I’m going through some serious stuff at home.” I cut her off. “There are more important things happening right now in my life.”
Will they ask how I feel? Do they even care? They both look so pretty but unattainable, like mannequins in the window of a department store.
“What’s going on?” Serena asks. I know she cares. I can see it in her expression and how she leans into the screen. Still I hesitate.
“Nothing,” I say. Typical. I revert right back to what they would expect from me. What will happen if I tell them the truth about my family? So what? If I can’t be real with them I can’t be real with anyone. I start over.
“I think my parents are getting a divorce and my brother . . .” I want to cover this up with an exaggerated story of some sort. Lies are so easy but I won’t take that overused path. “My brothe
r has a drug problem.”
“Divorce!” Camille exclaims. “Is that all? My parents got a divorce. It happens to everyone. That’s not a problem. It’s just an annoyance.”
Serena laughs but it’s a nervous laugh. She can’t help it.
“No, it’s not an annoyance. My whole life is changing and . . . and . . .” I don’t know if I can continue. This friendship will never grow if I keep my emotions in check. If I shoot down their chance to even respond, then this relationship is built on nothing.
“I’m scared.”
There. I said it. There’s a long silence.
“Does this mean you’re not coming back to Somerset?” Camille asks. The only time she ever expresses interest is if the topic affects her in some way. But there’s something in her tone that makes me think that maybe she cares.
“I’m coming back. I’m almost certain I am.” The thought never crossed my mind that I wouldn’t be returning. I guess I should take that into account too. Who knows what the future might bring?
Serena and Camille stay silent. It’s hard to figure out what to say. I’m usually the one who’ll do something reckless to cover that uncomfortable feeling. Not doing that feels weird.
“Well, this is a sucky way to end your vacation.” Camille takes a sip from her water bottle.
“I wish my parents would get a divorce.” Serena finally speaks up. “They argue twenty-four seven. If they got a divorce I’d get rooms in different places. It would be like having a vacation home and a real home. Double the closets, double the clothes. Right?”
If only things were that simple.
“Yeah, but what if they move to some place like Jersey or somewhere worse?” Camille says. “It wouldn’t matter if you had two sets of clothes because you’d be in Jersey.”
“Or the Bronx. Oh my god,” Serena says. “Are you moving to the Bronx?”
“Technically, I live in the Bronx. Riverdale is in the Bronx.” Time they learn the geography. “Anyway, the Bronx is not bad.”
“You were the one who told us it’s the worst place in the world!” Camille says.
“Yeah, you said it was a cesspool,” Serena adds.
“Okay, okay. I did say that. I exaggerated. I was wrong. There are some great things here. Great people too.”
Camille shrugs. It’s not a dismissive shrug. I’ve seen those from her. It’s more like acceptance.
“I was eight when my parents separated. He was screwing one of Mom’s closest friends. She was practically family,” Camille says. “Mom didn’t sugarcoat a thing. She told me everything but I was too young. I kept expecting him to come back. Now I have to spend the holidays with that lady. I can’t stand her.”
This is the first time Camille has shared a side of her family life that isn’t perfect. Her matter-of-fact tone tries to conserve her cool I-don’t-care persona but I can see through it. Maybe there’s something more to Camille underneath that high gloss. People sometimes can surprise you.
“Is your brother going to rehab?” Serena asks.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Well, a lot of celebrities go to rehab. My mom designed this one house for this client and during the whole time he was detoxing but he didn’t tell anyone,” Camille says. “He just used the renovation as an excuse to get clean. Pretty smart, huh?”
“I don’t think my family has that luxury,” I say. Again there’s an awkwardness that can’t be ignored. It’s strange not to fill up this moment with some extravagant tale to pretty up my reality.
“Well, I’ll talk to you guys later,” I say.
Serena and Camille can’t believe I’m the one to end the phone call. Well, there’s a first time for everything. It terrifies me to be this honest. I’m not used to it. I’m not sure whether our trio will continue or what form it might take.
I pedal back to the studio. Elizabeth’s vision has come to life. It was only a matter of seeing things differently and taking a chance.
“What do you think?” Elizabeth asks.
“I think it’s going to be great,” I say, and I mean it too.
“I’ll need help getting these to the block party,” she says. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to fit them all in my parents’ car. Think your mom can drop us off?”
“I don’t know. She barely lets me come here,” I say. “What time do you have to be there?”
“Seven.”
“Are you kidding? Who wakes up that early?”
I didn’t know community activism started at that ungodly hour. Doesn’t anyone believe in sleeping in on a Saturday? Injustice will still be there whether or not we’re up at seven.
“You’re up that early. Mom says she sees you riding your bike before dawn. Things are still bad at home, huh?”
“I’d rather eat scrambled eggs every morning at a diner by myself than see their faces.”
“Then seven is going to be a breeze.”
“I’ll ask but I can’t make any promises,” I say.
“She’ll say yes.”
I go back to my Excel sheet. Moises will be there tomorrow. But I don’t have time to obsess over that. I tag the rest of the paintings.
Chapter 28
A trio of old ladies set up long tables of food close to the entrance of the park. Burners are already lit. They’re dressed in lunch lady outfits—aprons, hair tucked under a scarf, and plastic gloves, ready to serve. A guy begs them for a free sample. They shoo him away, slapping their towels at him like he’s some pesky little boy.
Today’s temperature will reach eighty degrees but it already feels like a hundred. We’re going to bake. So not cute. These canvases are so big. Elizabeth and I wasted an hour figuring out how to pack them in the car. Plus, we didn’t take into account the stands and how we intended to hang them up. Logistics. At one point, Elizabeth almost broke down after we realized there was no room for her in the car. A couple of the pieces had to stay.
“Just up ahead,” Elizabeth says.
Although I moaned when I got the wake-up call, the drive to the park was fun. Elizabeth told me about the crazy characters at the museum. I told her about my own supermarket dustups, minus any mention of Jasmine or Moises. Mami was nice enough to let us catch up. She even smiled at our stories. I promised to call her an hour before the party ended so that she can pick us up.
There’s no stopping the anxiety that surges inside and will not die down no matter how many funny stories we exchange. Luckily, Moises is not the first person we see.
“Oh my god. You killed it, sister. Killed it!” Paloma screams from across the park as we hang the first canvas. “Muchacha. You are so gifted.”
I’m proud too. The pieces are amazing now that they’re no longer in the studio but out in the open.
“So good to see you,” Paloma says to me. “That dance floor is ours.”
There isn’t an actual dance floor, just a concrete space that faces the circular stage where the deejay is set up. Music already blares.
“It’s good to see you too,” I say.
When Paloma comes in for a hug, I don’t shy away.
She sets up a table next to ours. She’s selling jewelry and will donate some of her funds to the community center. Her jewelry is big and bold, just what I expect from her. One necklace stands out. A crude leather strand holds a large silver charm. The charm is a square box and inscribed in the tiniest of letters is the following:
Don’t let the hand you hold
Hold you down.
—JdB
“What does ‘JdB’ stand for?” I ask.
“Julia de Burgos, of course,” Paloma says. “The Puerto Rican Goddess.”
Julia de Burgos, the poet.
“How much do you want for it?”
“Because it’s going to you, give me what you can afford.”
I look in my purse. There’s not much money to be had these days. But the necklace is so pretty. I don’t want to insult Paloma with a few measly dollars. She deserves more. Befo
re, I wouldn’t even think twice about spending cash for what I wanted. I could always count on Papi to pick up the tab. But that life is sort of dead now. I have to figure my own financial way. I set the necklace back down.
“Let’s barter,” Paloma says.
But what do I have to offer? I’m not an artist. I don’t make jewelry or play an instrument. My expensive lockets have been confiscated as payback for the stolen beers. I have nothing to give. I’m broke.
“I don’t have anything.”
“Well. It’s an expensive piece,” she says. “Give me what cash you have now, but when you’re back at school, direct your friends right to my Etsy shop. Let them know where you got it.”
“I know exactly who would love this. The A La Mode Club,” I say. “It’s a fashion club. They have a style blog and everything. They would die for this.”
The student who runs the fashion club is Karen. We sat next to each other in math class last year. Karen has always been nice to me. Not super friendly but then again, I wasn’t looking to make a new friend since my efforts were concentrated on Serena and Camille.
“They invite designers and businesspeople to speak to the members,” I say. “They take it very seriously. Maybe you can come and talk to them about your designs and then sell them afterwards.”
“Margot knows about publicity,” Elizabeth says.
I’m excited about this. This can totally be my thing come fall. I can find ways to promote Paloma’s jewelry and maybe Elizabeth’s art, if she’ll let me.
“Moises, I need more juice here.”
The deejay yells out for more electricity. My heart drops a bit. A couple of deep breaths and I look over to Elizabeth. She’s so wrapped up in making sure everything looks good that nothing is breaking her out of it. When I see Moises walk toward us I do the lame thing and hide behind a canvas.
“You guys need anything?” Moises pops his head into the tent. “Oh, hey.”
He didn’t expect to see me.
The Education of Margot Sanchez Page 19
