Cubanita

by Gaby Triana

  His voice is lower now, sexy. “Are you asking me out?” I can just see that wide smile of his. Oh, Jesus.

  “I guess I am.” And using my notes on classic Susy flirting, I add, “Come by my room tomorrow for another art demonstration.”

  “Hmmm,” he muses softly. “I’ll be there after the bell, señorita.”

  Eight

  Remember Iggy’s flying niece? Well, Chicken-Chickee’s real name is Daisy. She’s in my 3:30 class. Pretty good with the oil pastels actually. In the five minutes I’ve been working with her, the little chatterbox has told me all about Tío Iggy, the pretty girl he used to bring to her house, and the older brother she wished she had.

  “But I have a fake brother,” she announces.

  “Really?” I gotta wrap this up. The kids are getting antsy, and it’s almost 4:30. “Look, blend these two and you get the color of the morning sun. See?”

  “Oh, cool, Miss Díaz. Well, my fake brother? His name’s Andy. Maybe you know him because he’s a teacher here too.”

  “You mean Coach Andrew?” Her fake brother. That’s so cute. “Yeah, I’ve met him, Daisy. He’s real nice.”

  “I know. But Tío Iggy got mad at him and now they don’t live together anymore.”

  Mad at him? “Why did Iggy get mad at him?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  “But they’re still friends, right?” They must be. They went fishing together last weekend.

  “I think so. But Andy? He throws me in the air higher than my dad or my tío.”

  Hmmm, they got into a fight? Over what? Probably over who gets the shag pad to themselves on which night and all that. Whatever. I’ll ask more tomorrow. Only two minutes to the bell, then Andrew’s coming. “Yeah, he looks like he could make you fly,” I tell her, and she holds up her pattern for me to behold. “Beautiful! Let’s put it up.”

  It’s 4:30 on the dot. I take the kids out in a single file, and they board the buses in time to escape the rain. When I get back to my room, I pretend to be really busy shelving the Cray-Pas. Two minutes later Coach walks in. He leans his equipment bag against the wall.

  He closes the door most of the way and tips his baseball cap. “Hola. How was your day?” He steps slowly, careful not to knock down the chairs up on the little tables.

  “Long.” This is totally true. I’ve been dying to see him today, dying to know if he’ll act the same with me, wondering if we’ll kiss again. I pull out my easel from the closet, the one with my painting.

  “Same here,” he says, watching me prepare brushes, cloth, mineral spirits. He then sits on a low countertop next to me. “You’re going to work on that some more, I see?”

  “Yes, I want to add a beach. This girl’s sitting on the sand, looking out, but I still don’t know what she wants or what she’s thinking. I guess no one’ll ever really know.”

  “Kind of like the Mona Lisa.”

  “Exactly. Like the Mona Lisa.” I smile, happy that he recognizes the mystery behind da Vinci’s masterpiece. Most people my age wouldn’t know anything about the Mona Lisa.

  I focus on my canvas and begin blending the oils on my palette, trying to get the right tone for the sand to complement the dark clouds. Scraping off my brush, I start dabbing the paint onto the canvas. Andrew watches without a word. The real storm clouds outside start rumbling, announcing their daily visit. That’s summer in the Everglades for you. And they call this the Sunshine State.

  I work the paint in quickly, because I want to finish this section before I leave today. It feels a little strange to have an audience. I almost never paint with someone watching. This is my quiet time. I’m usually alone. Andrew barely moves or breathes. Outside I hear the sound of some kids squealing, as the rain starts to come down. A sweet smell wafts into the room. Perfect rain.

  Andrew, maybe sensing my love of stormy afternoons, stands up and moves behind me to get cozier. He leans his chin on my shoulder for a better view. “Is this bothering you? Just tell me.”

  “No, it’s not,” I hear myself say kind of quickly. It probably should bother me…I mean, I’m working here…but it doesn’t. Not in the slightest. It feels nice to have someone genuinely admiring my one real talent.

  “Just tell me if I start bugging you.”

  He reaches around my waist and links his hands, like we’re slow-dancing to the sound of the rain. My stomach starts fluttering again. That’s practically zero butterflies in the last two years, and now a whole multitude has visited me these last few weeks. Why am I going so crazy over him?

  Weakling. You’re a weakling, Isa.

  I probably shouldn’t be able to concentrate on this painting with him holding me like this, yet I can. His being here helps me, as I work the oils. The storm outside now pounds the roof. Maybe I should always have him around. Maybe Andrew’s my muse.

  He turns his face toward me, getting a close look as I paint. He’s enjoying this, watching me work—the girl, this beach, these clouds, listening to the downpour outside and the sound of my breathing. And then, oh God, the final touch…he moves his mouth to my neck and kisses me softly. Once. His mouth lingers there, totally and completely teasing me.

  Okay, now I can’t concentrate.

  He pulls me closer. I can feel his every contour. Every contour. My grip on the paintbrush slips. My hands are sweating. And then, I realize I’m swooning again, like the first time he came in here. The room is sort of swirling, not completely dizzying, but enough for me to forget where I am for a second. My eyes close.

  Exactly what kind of special power does he have to make me feel like this? It’s not right. I’m leaving soon; we shouldn’t be doing this. I have to tell him.

  “Andrew?”

  Just the rain answers me, and I really don’t feel like interrupting again. Maybe I should listen to my brother’s wisdom. Go with the flow. Don’t think, Isa, go with the way things feel.

  “Just tell me to stop, and I will,” he whispers into my neck, my cheek, kissing my earlobe. He’s so sweet, so damn sweet.

  God, this isn’t fair! How can I think clearly when he’s doing this? My other hand reaches up to his neck, instinctively pulling him closer to me. And before I can think or do anything else, I hear a wooden tap on the floor. My paintbrush, right out of my hand.

  This is crazy.

  Man. The word comes out of nowhere. Barely noticeable. Andrew’s not a boy, Isa. He’s a man. He expects more. I know I said I could handle this situation, but with every press of his body against me, with every kiss, I realize this won’t end here. It won’t even end at second or third base. Maybe not today, but sometime before summer’s up, Andrew Corbin will score a home run at Isa Field.

  Jeez, I am so not in control of this situation! But I don’t care. It feels incredible. I always had to be in control with Robi. Andrew makes me want to relax and not think. Just feel. Suddenly I turn around and give in to his kiss, his arms, full force, and only then do I feel Andrew slightly lose control as he leans back against the counter.

  Then, the craziest thought enters my head. Stay, don’t go. Michigan’s not that great, anyway.

  Before I can reply to my evil inner thought, we hear a loud voice outside the classroom door. It’s Susy, shouting “See you tomorrow” to someone down the hall. She pushes my door open, and Andrew lets go of me. He crosses his arms quickly, trying to look like we were just discussing world peace.

  But she sees us and stops cold. “Oh…hey…I was just coming to tell you, Isabel…there’s an art contest. Forget it, I’ll tell you later.” She eyes Andrew. There’s a certain look on her face. Hurt? Why? He’s never so much as looked her way. Just because she’s got it for him? Well, hell, Susy’s got it for anybody!

  I straighten my shirt. “No, wait, what contest, Suse?”

  “Stop by the main house before you leave. It’s on the bulletin board. There’s a prize,” she enunciates, like I don’t need any more prizes with Andrew here.

  “Thanks. I’ll tak
e a look.”

  She backs out of the room, glancing at Andrew again before closing the door.

  I feel bad, but don’t know why. I don’t have to feel bad about anything. I know Susy thinks Andrew’s hot, but so what? Everyone thinks Andrew’s hot.

  “What was that all about?” he asks with a heavy sigh.

  “I don’t know. She’s jealous or something.” I pick the paintbrush off the floor and place it in the cup. “She did kind of hint she liked you the first day of camp.”

  “Well, I guess I didn’t notice, did I?” He smiles.

  “Whatever. She’ll get over it.”

  Andrew reaches over and runs his fingers through my bangs, letting the chunks of hair fall slowly to my face. “I gotta go.”

  “I know. Me too.”

  “Isa? I just want to tell you that I’m really into you.” His intense eyes transform into a puppy dog look. “In case you’re wondering what’s going on here.” He takes my hand and swings it lightly.

  “Okay,” I say brilliantly. Like he even has to say that. His constant attention sort of speaks for itself.

  “Seriously. You’re talented. I mean, look at this,” he says, gesturing at my painting, “and you’re gorgeous, and you’re funny. It never ends.” He resumes his hold on my waist and presses his forehead against mine. “I’d be crazy not to want to go out with you again.”

  Right. And I should say something, rather than stand here like a complete wanker. “It doesn’t bother me, if it doesn’t bother you. I mean, the whole age thing.”

  “It doesn’t bother me at all. I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

  And we kiss again, for quite a while. Only this time, I’m sure it won’t be the last.

  Nine

  “So what’s going on with you guys?” Susy asks me at lunch two days later.

  She avoids my eyes, examining her sandwich instead.

  “What do you mean?” The make-out session with Coach, duh.

  “What do you mean what do I mean? You and Andrew. Are you guys going out? Or was that a one-shot deal you were starting the other day?”

  One-shot deal? No, that’s you, sister. “Why are you asking like that? What are you, mad? Look, I can’t help it if he likes me.” Okay, I just flipped my palm up, like my mother does.

  It’s quiet as she thinks about this. “Yes, but you never said you were interested in him.”

  “I know I didn’t, because I wasn’t. But then I got to know him, and now I like him.” My volume gets a bit loud, and a couple people look over from the other table.

  “Shh.” Susy leans in, glancing up at my face. “Look, just take it easy with him. He’s a lot older than you are.”

  “And?” She’s never cared this much about me before, but now she gets all sisterly? “He’s twenty-three, not fifty.”

  “Doesn’t matter. His agenda is different than yours.”

  “And how do you know what his agenda is?” I ask, looking her straight in the eye. “Or mine for that matter? What if my agenda includes seeing Andrew as much as I please?”

  She leans back again, getting comfortable in her chair. “Oh, that’s right. You did say, ‘No, I’m not going to meet anyone this summer, I want a clean slate, I’m leaving for Michigan,’ blah, blah, blah.”

  “So? I didn’t expect to meet someone new. It just happened.”

  “Well, I’m just looking out for you. I remember Iggy saying his roommate was always drunk. He was probably talking about Andrew,” she says, letting it sink in for a moment before taking a sip of her Coke.

  Nice! So now she’s trying to make him an alcoholic so I won’t go out with him? She’s that desperate? Or does she think there’s no one to look out for me, since my sister’s not around and everything?

  “Thanks, but I don’t need another mom. I already have the mother of all mothers, plus Carmen.” This is really starting to piss me off. It’s not like she wrote her name on his forehead with a Sharpie or anything.

  “Suit yourself.” She stands and scoops up her brown bag, plastic bag, and soda can. She dumps them into the garbage, then leaves the teachers’ lounge.

  Like I need this from her. I thought Susy was beyond jealousy, with that careless attitude of hers, but I guess not. Interesting, the defense mechanisms people will put up sometimes. I honestly didn’t think she liked him that badly. Well, sorry, girlfriend, that’s life. Deal with it.

  I have five minutes before picking up the kids from the cafeteria, so I go by the main house. Between Susy’s intrusion and Andrew’s tongue the other day, I forgot to check out the art contest she mentioned. Better take a look. I’ll need all the extra bucks I can get before leaving for college.

  On the bulletin board I spot the bright blue paper. Well, what do you know? The contest is for Cuba Expo, and the deadline is July 29. Today’s the 8th. Wouldn’t that be something? Actually going to the stupid thing this year for a contest, not at my mom’s insistence? The first prize is only $100, though, which sucks. And guess what? My painting isn’t about anything Cuban. So there goes that.

  On my way home it starts again. The stupid rain. One day, fine, two days, okay. Now it’s rained, like, four days in a row, and I can’t see a damned thing in front of me. Then you have the people driving out from the city, who don’t remember to turn on their lights when going down Tamiami Trail. And then they wonder why oncoming cars don’t see them when they pass. My windshield wipers are already swishing on high.

  What do I do about Susy? Nothing, I guess. She’ll have to get over it. What about Andrew? I really like him, but I hope I’m not falling for him. That would only make things worse. What have I gotten into? It’s like I’ve fallen into a trap, but the trap is a wonderful green land with lots of bubbling brooks, mango trees, and sunflowers. Okay, scratch the sunflowers. They make me sneeze.

  I get to 147th Avenue with no problems. Except, the driver of an eighteen-wheeler next to me is either blind or extremely high, because suddenly he moves right into my lane, practically scraping my sideview mirror.

  “God damn!” I swerve off the road to avoid getting crushed. My truck drops off the soft shoulder and into a shallow ditch, just barely missing one of those concrete barricades. The stupid truck continues on like nothing happened!

  “¡Me cago en tu madre! ¡Hijo de puta!”

  Fabulous, this is just the best day ever. This is exactly why I always pester Mom for my own cell phone—in case of emergencies. But no, she said, I would only use it to talk to friends at inappropriate times, like school, or work, or God forbid, in an actual emergency! Now I’ll have to wait here for the rain to stop so I can walk to Publix on 137th Avenue to use the phone.

  “This sucks!” I don’t think there’s any damage, but still, my hands are shaking and my stomach hurts. Now Mami will find out what happened and get on my case even more. As it is, she’s about to beg me to stay at the end of the summer, I just know it. And there’s no way I’m staying in Miami.

  You know the best part about this city? The way the traffic whooshes by, ignoring the truck sitting here in the rain, in a ditch, with its hazards on. Oh, would you look at that, a driver in need of assistance. I sure hope someone comes to help her soon. Bye-bye! And there they go. Thanks a lot, people!

  Oh wait, someone’s here. I see the lights bounce up behind me, and the car makes its way over the bumpy ground. In the rearview mirror I see it’s a white 4Runner. Ha, Andrew. Now why does that not surprise me?

  A bright orange–sheathed body gets out of the car and jogs over to my passenger side. I click the door open.

  He gets in, pulling back the hood of his Hurricanes poncho, water droplets sliding and soaking into the seats. “Need help, ma’am?”

  Great rescue! Way better than AAA.

  “Hey!” Yes, I know…clever reply.

  “Good thing there’s only one road out of camp.”

  “Yeah, and another good thing that you left after I did, or you wouldn’t have seen me. Can you believe what happened?” I
recount the story of the rain, the eighteen-wheeler, and how happy I am to have plummeted into a shallow area and not off any one of Miami’s dozens of bridges.

  “Wow, what an idiot. He was probably drunk off his ass.”

  “No kidding. How the hell am I going to get out of here?”

  “You’ll need a tow truck,” he says, looking back at his car. “I have my phone. Be right back.”

  He runs out to retrieve his cell. I feel so stupid, a damsel in distress. As I’m waiting for him to come back, I see another party has arrived. Florida Highway Patrol, blue lights circling silently. Great. Girl gets run off the road, sits in a ditch like a dork, while men save her helpless butt.

  She gets out. A woman officer. Why did I assume it would be a guy? She knocks on Andrew’s window, he lowers it, and I see them talking. He points, he smiles. She looks around, she smiles. A moment later Andrew is running back this way.

  He rushes in and slams the door. “Okay, I called a tow truck. She’s gonna wait with us until they get here. See? You’ll be okay, missy.”

  “I can’t believe this crap. Thanks, Coach.”

  “No problem, señorita.” He wipes rain off his face and leans in to give me a kiss. His skin smells like grass, sun, and rain all mixed together. Intoxicating. I hope the tow truck takes its time. I could stay here all day with Andrew.

  By 6:30, the sky has cleared, like the rain never happened, and my father’s car sits in the driveway. Mami isn’t back yet from wherever, which is really weird. Good. I’d hate for her to worry about me any more than she already does, especially with Andrew following me home. Dad opens the door before I can even use my keys.

  “¿Ey? ¿Y qué?”

  “Hey, Dad. Did you get my message?”

  “I haven’t checked. ¿Por qué?”

  “Because I kinda had an accident, but I’m fine.” I kiss his cheek and drop my stuff on the sofa. Andrew follows me in and shakes Dad’s hand.

  My dad barely notices the exchange, worry all over his face. “An accident? ¿Hija, qué pasó?”