Confetti Girl

by Diana Lopez

  My dad brings in the boxes, then starts filling little bowls with peanuts and mints. Meanwhile, I dress the tables with linen, then put a candle on a mirrored circle for the centerpiece. The cake and gift tables are special, so they get ruffled skirts too. Ms. Cantu shows me how to attach them with pins, each about an inch long and topped by pearl drops. While I dress the tables, she dusts the flower arrangements.

  “I’m going to help your dad now,” Ms. Cantu says. She tucks her crutches under her arms, hops in a clumsy way, and accidentally drops the pins.

  “Ay, Lina,” she says. “I’m so sorry. I’ve made a mess.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “You go ahead. I’ll pick them up.”

  I get on my hands and knees. What a hassle. The pins are all over the floor. I need to crawl halfway under the tablecloth to get them. I know my butt’s in the air, but I don’t worry about it… that is… until… I hear a familiar voice.

  “Lina?”

  As soon as I hear my name, I scramble under the table to hide, but I’m not fast enough. A hand lifts up the table skirt, and there he is—Luís! I’m wearing tattered jeans, a sweatshirt with bleach spots, tennis shoes with red dust from the track, and socks from my sock heaven drawer, which means they’re faded and holey and stretched out. I know it’s not the nicest outfit, but I didn’t want to get my good clothes dirty. How embarrassing to be caught in this ugly outfit and crawling around like a baby.

  He laughs. “What are you d-doing here?”

  “Helping Vanessa’s mom with the decorations. What are you doing here?”

  “My cousin,” he says.

  Now the cake makes sense. This isn’t a wedding but a quinceañera. Leave it to my dad to get the details wrong.

  Luís holds out his hand and helps me up. My hair’s a mess and my elbows and knees are full of dirt from the floor. Meanwhile, Luís is in a tuxedo again.

  “D-do you think you can stay?” he asks.

  “Looking like this?”

  He nods.

  “But it’s embarrassing. Everyone’s going to make fun of me.”

  “So? At least you’ll b-be comfortable.”

  He’s got a point. I don’t have to look like Cinderella to go to the ball.

  “I’ll ask your dad myself,” he says.

  “But I’m being grounded,” I try to explain as Luís marches toward my father.

  I stay back, too nervous to hear their conversation. They talk on and on. I had no idea they had so much in common. Finally, my dad waves me over while Luís grabs his parents and his abuela.

  “Isn’t puppy love sweet?” they say, smiling at us and making me feel like a cute monkey at the zoo.

  Maybe my dad’s feeling guilty about forgetting me last night, or maybe he’s getting over my bad English grade, or maybe he doesn’t want to be a bad sport—whatever the reason, he decides to let me stay. He and Ms. Cantu are going to grab dinner (hopefully at Dairy Queen this time) and return in a few hours to pick up the decorations… and, of course, me.

  Soon the dance hall is full of people. Lots of classmates from Baker are here, including Jason, who’s escorting one of the damas, the fourteen girls that act like bridesmaids and are supposed to represent each year of the birthday girl’s life.

  I sit at the table with Luís’s family while we eat dinner. I can’t think of anything to say, and my chewing seems extra loud, as if someone put a tiny microphone in my cheek. How can I not feel self-conscious when Luís’s family keeps smiling at me—the kind of smiles that make me wonder if my zipper’s undone or if I’ve got food stuck on my teeth? At first I was excited about staying at the dance, but now, I’m nervous. I’d do anything for the silence to end, but when it does end, I find myself wishing life had a slow-motion button because Luís’s family talks fast.

  “Do you like school?” they ask.

  “Are you planning a quinceañera, too?”

  “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “Are you excited about the holidays? We always go to Mexico. What does your family do?”

  “Do you make tamales for Christmas?”

  “Yeah, have you learned how to cook? You know what they say, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

  “¡Ya!” Luís says, laughing. “This is supposed to be a d-date, not a job interview.”

  “Oooh, a date,” his parents tease.

  “Well, m’ijo, go ahead and enjoy your ‘date,’” his mother says. “Just pretend like we’re not here.” She winks at her husband, and he winks back.

  Thank goodness the lights dim. The DJ plays some conjuntos, and Luís’s parents leave the table to dance. It’s not as awkward sitting around with his abuela. She looks straight at me with warm, honest eyes that make me feel as if she’s my abuela, too.

  “You must be a very smart girl,” she says, “to see how special m’ijo is.” She pinches Luís’s cheek, and he takes her hand to kiss it.

  “Now you two go and dance,” she says.

  “I can’t,” Luís says.

  “Neither can I,” I add.

  “You young people! You’re not allowed to say ‘can’t’ till you need a walker like me.” She shoos us away, so we head to a corner of the floor to study the dancers.

  “How are you going to dance for the presentation?” I ask.

  Luís shrugs. He seems a little worried about it.

  When the song ends, his parents spot us.

  “Come on,” they say. “You can’t stand here all night.”

  “But… ,” Luís tries.

  “Nonsense,” Mr. Mendoza says as if Luís has spoken a whole sentence. “We’re going to teach you how to dance.”

  They take us to an empty part of the floor.

  “Put this hand here and this hand here,” they say, arranging our arms as if we were puppets. “Now listen to the beat.”

  We listen to a country-and-western song.

  “Is it a slow-slow-quick-quick or an even one-two-three?” they ask.

  I have no idea what they’re talking about, but I listen, and sure enough, I hear it.

  “It’s a slow-slow-quick-quick,” I say.

  “That’s right. Now look. This is how you do the Texas two-step.”

  They demonstrate while Luís and I follow. It doesn’t take me long to realize that we’re making Ts with our steps. Of course, Luís’s parents are much more graceful. Somehow their Ts are round and sweeping, while mine and Luís’s are stiff and square. But I’m having fun.

  After the song ends, the DJ puts on some Spanish music.

  “This is a cumbia,” Mr. and Mrs. Mendoza say. They tell Luís and me to stand side by side. Then they talk us through the steps. “Right step long,” they say. “Left step short. Then left step long, right step short.”

  We try it. It’s a little like skipping.

  “Move your hips. Be movie stars,” his mom says.

  We try, but it’s hard moving the hips and stepping forward at the same time.

  “Get fancy,” his parents urge while his dad spins his mom.

  We try the spin too, but I’m so tall I practically kneel to get beneath Luís’s arm.

  After the macarena, the bunny hop, and a few more songs, the lights turn on.

  “Okay,” the DJ says, “we need all the damas and escorts to line up because it’s time for the presentation.” He does a drumroll and ends with the clang of cymbals.

  Everyone lines up—the parents, godparents, grandparents, important neighbors, and finally the damas and escorts. The DJ plays a jazzy saxophone piece called “Europa,” and when he calls their names, the couples walk under the heart-shaped arco and down the center of the dance floor. When they get to the end of the floor, everyone claps and cheers, then the couples separate and line up to watch the next couple.

  When Luís shows up beneath the arco, I have to laugh because he’s with a girl who looks like she’s still in elementary school. Most of the couples are oddly matched. They look clumsy and nervous—excep
t for Jason and his date. I hate to admit it, but Jason’s popular for a reason. He’s everyone’s idea of cute—everyone else’s, that is. My idea of cute is dark skin, curly hair, and glasses like Luís’s. The next time I wish on a star, I’m wishing that Jason gets zits or nose hairs.

  By the time the last couple appears, all the boys are lined up on one side of the floor and the girls on the other.

  I’ve never asked for a quinceañera because I could never act as girly as Luís’s cousin. She’s got a fairy tale dress with ruffles, lace, sequins, petticoats, and a crown. She makes the queen of England look like a peasant.

  “And now presenting,” the DJ says with another drumroll, “the beautiful, the elegant, Miss Oralia Cruz!”

  We give her a standing ovation. When Miss Oralia Cruz gets to the center of the floor, she and her partner dance. They have the floor to themselves for a while. Everyone sighs about how beautiful she is. Then, one by one, the couples along the sides dance too.

  That’s it. That’s the presentation. The lights go off again, and the DJ puts on some disco music. We all go to the floor and jump around like barefoot kids on hot cement.

  Now I know the meaning of “time flies when you’re having fun.” Before I know it, the DJ announces the last song.

  “It was nice meeting you,” Mrs. Mendoza says, giving me a hug. Then she tells Luís, “We’re going to walk your grandma to the car. We’ll wait for you outside.”

  She helps Abuela from the table, takes the old lady’s elbow, and when they’re almost out of sight, Luís grabs my hand and leads me to the dance floor. I don’t know if the song’s a one-two-three or a slow-slow-quick-quick. It doesn’t matter. We just hold each other and sway. I rest my cheek on his shoulder. I don’t care if I have to stoop. I’m too lost in the moment—until someone bumps into us.

  All of the sudden, we’re dancing on eggshells because it’s Jason. He didn’t bother us the whole night. Why now?

  “Hey, Luís,” Jason says, “where’s your ladder?”

  “My ladder?”

  “Yeah, the one you climb to kiss your girlfriend.” He and his girlfriend laugh.

  “S-s-ssss,” Luís tries.

  “So how long did it take to think up that brilliant insult?” I tell Jason.

  But he ignores me. “So what’s it like dating a girl who acts like a cage fighter?”

  “I-it’s…”

  I say, “More interesting than dating a guy who wears his brains in his underwear like you, Jason.”

  “Do you fight all your boyfriend’s battles?” he says. Then, turning to Luís, he adds, “Is she your girlfriend or bodyguard?”

  Suddenly I remember the conversation I had with Luís a few weeks ago. Once again, I didn’t let him speak, and now our Texas two-step has turned into a giant Texas misstep.

  “I, I guess she wants to be my b-b-bodyguard.”

  The song ends, and the lights turn on.

  “Guess the p-p-party’s over,” Luís says, turning to walk away.

  “Just a sec,” I try.

  “Forget it, Lina. Really. It’s okay.”

  When he walks off, I’m too ashamed to follow. I can feel his anger even though he’s tried to cover it up.

  “Hey, Lina,” Jason says. “A guy and a girl go to a dance. The girl messes up. The guy runs out the door at the rate of five yards a second. How long does it take for him to ditch his date?”

  I can’t say anything. My voice went out the door with Luís. All I can do is run to the restroom to hide.

  I stay there till the noise stops. When I come out, the DJ’s packing his equipment, the janitor is sweeping the floor, and my dad and Ms. Cantu are undressing the tables.

  “There you are,” they say.

  I give them a weak smile.

  “You okay?” my dad asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Because it looks like you’ve been crying.”

  “I wasn’t crying, Dad. All that cigarette smoke. It irritates my eyes.”

  “Okay,” he says, though I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

  We load the truck, and I sit in the back, wanting to disappear.

  When we get to Ms. Cantu’s, my dad and I carry the arco to her garage.

  “I can take the rest of the boxes,” I say.

  “All by yourself?” my dad asks.

  I nod. I really want to be alone, and unloading the boxes will help me feel better.

  As I put the decorations away, I try to figure out my actions at the dance. Why did I interrupt Luís? In a way, I am like a cage fighter. I can’t stand when people get teased. Without thinking, I jump to their rescue. But if I’m really honest with myself (and this is hard to say), I’d have to also admit that I get impatient with Luís. Somewhere inside me I wish he could just get the words out. I feel horrible for thinking this because I know stuttering’s not his fault, just like being tall is not my fault.

  This is what I’m thinking when I quietly enter Ms. Cantu’s kitchen. I don’t mean to be sneaky, but because I’m so quiet, my dad and Ms. Cantu don’t hear me. They’re in the next room, and since they don’t hear me, they think they’re alone. And since they think they’re alone, they’re having a serious conversation.

  I quickly hide behind the door. I know eavesdropping is wrong, but I can’t help myself.

  “Come on,” Ms. Cantu says.

  “Irma, I said no, and I’m not going to change my mind.”

  “Just try it for a month. If it’s not working out, I’m sure someone else will happily take your place.”

  What is she talking about? Is she making moves on my dad? After all, she thinks he’s the Silver Fox.

  “I’ve done enough new things already,” Dad says. “I’ve sold Avon and decorated dance halls. I’ve tried listening to weird music, eating squid, and singing karaoke. And now you want me to do this? I just can’t handle that kind of commitment right now.”

  “It’s not going to last forever,” she says. “Besides, the kids will love it.”

  No, they won’t, I think. At least, I won’t. I don’t care what Vanessa thinks. There’s no way I’m letting my dad get involved with Ms. Cantu. Doesn’t she get it? He hasn’t forgotten my mom. I know it’s been a year and a half, but it seems like ten years or twenty years should pass before he even thinks of another woman.

  I’m about to “accidentally” bump into the table and interrupt them when I hear my dad say he’s got to go. He sounds upset and impatient.

  “Just give it a month,” Ms. Cantu insists. “I already told our friends at school, and everyone agrees that it’ll be good for you. You’ll see.”

  “You told the people at school without consulting me?”

  “It’s no big deal,” she says.

  “It’s a big deal to me.”

  “Don’t be mad, Homero.”

  “I’m not mad. I just—I made a mistake. I’ve been letting myself get carried away.”

  “That’s the whole point,” Ms. Cantu says. “To get carried away. I wish I knew this a year ago.”

  The next thing I hear is the front door opening and Ms. Cantu hopping on her good leg.

  “Where are you going, Homero? Stay awhile. Let’s talk about it.”

  But my dad’s gone.

  After a moment, Ms. Cantu closes the door. She sighs deeply, and I can tell she’s disappointed. The last thing I need is to be caught in the kitchen, so I sneak out the back door. When I get home, my dad’s talking to himself and searching the shelves. He pulls out the biggest, fattest book in his library. Something that will take him a long, long time to read.

  Caras vemos, corazones no sabemos –

  We can see people’s faces but not their hearts

  22

  No Eggs to Paint

  The next day, I punch in Luís’s number, but I chicken out on the last digit. I try three more times before I get the courage to let his phone ring. No one answers, so I leave a message asking him to call me back.

  I can’t concentrate
on anything because I can’t stop thinking about the way the dance ended. Then I remember the hearts in my Gray’s Anatomy. They don’t look like the hearts on valentines. Instead, they look like potato-shaped plums with fat straws stuck into them. Real hearts have holes, not from Cupid’s arrows, but from big, bloodsucking tubes. Real hearts are reddish purple—like bruises. No wonder it hurts to love.

  Only Vanessa can help. After all, cheering up is what best friends are for. And I have to tell her what happened between our parents. I can’t keep news like that a secret, especially from Vanessa, who’s been playing Cupid all this time.

  “What time are you coming back?” I ask when Vanessa answers her dad’s phone.

  “Not till the holidays are over.”

  “You’re going to leave your mom by herself for two weeks?”

  “She’ll be fine. It’s not like I didn’t tell her. She understands. Really. Besides, I’m supposed to spend vacations with my dad.”

  “But, Vanessa, we really need to talk. A lot of stuff’s happened.”

  “Like what?”

  Usually I’d tell the whole story, but I don’t want my dad to overhear me.

  “I can’t discuss it right now,” I say. “We need to talk in person.”

  “Then let’s get together. Carlos and I are going to the mall later. Want to come? I promise it won’t be like the movies. I feel really bad about the way I acted. You can talk all you want. I promise.”

  “I was really hoping you and I could hang out by ourselves. I don’t want Carlos to know about my personal life.”

  Vanessa gets quiet on the other end, and I imagine that she’s looking at the ceiling to come up with a plan. I know she doesn’t want to miss out on time with Carlos, since her dad’s okay with the boyfriend idea, but what about me? Don’t we always hang out during the holidays?

  “Well, there’s no school, so we’ve got two whole weeks,” she finally says. “I’ll ask my dad to drop me off, and we’ll spend a whole day together.”