by Carol Weston
It was about eight. I heard Matt and Miguel talking, so I figured I might as well get up too.
The problema (Pro Blame Ah) was that when I wake up, I never stay in bed trying to remember my dreams or plan my day or think my thoughts; I head straight to the bathroom.
Well, I didn’t want to stagger down the hall in my pajamas with Miguel in Matt’s room, but I also didn’t want to have to get all the way dressed, especially since I was going to have to undress to shower.
To make matters worse, my hair was spiky. I looked as if I were entering a Statue of Liberty look-alike contest. I needed to pat the spikes down with water—but I needed to get to the bathroom to get to the water.
Who knew it would be soooo complicated to have Miguel sleep over? It made me glad he slept at the hotel the first nights!
I thought about putting on lip gloss, but that seemed like a dumb thing to do before brushing my teeth. So I decided to make a run for it. Five, four, three, two, one. I figured I probably wouldn’t bump into Miguel and how bad would it be if I did?
Answer:
Right when I was about to walk into the bathroom, who should walk out of the bathroom? Miguel! Looking great! He was all showered and dressed and his hair was combed and he looked very handsome or muy guapo (Mooey Gwa Po).
I couldn’t exactly shove past him or pretend I didn’t recognize him! So I mumbled hola and he mumbled hi and we both smiled and that’s when I realized I still had my retainer in my mouth. I never wear it in public! But I never think of my hallway as public!
It was so mortifying I shut myself in the bathroom and ran the tap water while I peed. (I didn’t want anyone hearing!!) Then I took a ridiculously long shower because I was not ready to face Miguel again.
Finally I knew that if I didn’t come out, I would shrivel up. My fingertips were wreally wreally wreally wrinkly, and it was definitely time to get out. So I did. And I was all set to towel off when I realized something terrible: There was no towel.
No towel!!!
I said, “Mom! I need a towel,” but she didn’t hear me. I knew Dad had gone to work, so I called out, “Mom! Matt! Towel!!” but again, nothing. Then I shouted, “TOWEL!!!” fairly loudly, sure that this time Matt might tease me or even try to charge money but at least come to my rescue with a stupid towel.
No such luck.
I assumed they had the TV on and couldn’t hear me, so finally I yelled at the top of my lungs:
Miguel’s voice gently asked, “May Lah Nee, is something wrong?”
I said, “Is my mom nearby?”
“She went to the corner to buy eggs.”
“And Matt?”
“He has accompanied her.”
“Oh,” I said from my side of the bathroom door, sopping wet and stark raving naked (if you don’t count my necklace). I could either stand there and drip-dry, which would take a while, or ask Miguel for a towel. Two terrible options.
I remembered that in Spanish, “towel” is toalla, so that’s what I said, but really softly.
“Could you hand me a Toe Eye Ah please?”
Believe it or not, I could hear Miguel laugh a little. Not a cracking-up Matt the Brat laugh. And not an Oozy Soozy hyena laugh. Just a sweet amused laugh.
“Where are the towels, May Lah Nee?”
“In the closet in the hallway. Behind you.”
I heard footsteps, a door open and shut, and more footsteps. “I hold it for you?”
“Sí,” I said, and stuck my damp arm out the bathroom door. He handed over the towel, and I took it and shut the door and dried off and tried very hard not to die of embarrassment.
Has anyone ever died of embarrassment? Probably not because if so, I wouldn’t be writing in you, I’d be resting in peace! R.I.P.
I dried off and brushed my teeth and was about to gargle. But I didn’t want Miguel to hear me go Swish Swish Gurgle Gurgle Splat, so I decided not to.
I hadn’t brought any clothes to the bathroom, and I didn’t want to come out wrapped in just the Toe Eye Ah. So I got back in my pajamas and prayed I wouldn’t run into Miguel again until I was fully dressed.
And I didn’t.
He probably stayed out of the way on purpose to be polite. Me, I’ve been hiding in my bedroom writing in you. I know I need to go have breakfast, but this day has already been traumatic and it’s not even nine.
Dear Diary,
“¡Riquíssimo!” (Rrree Key See Mo) That’s what Miguel said about Mom’s chocolate chip pancakes and blueberry pancakes. Delicious! He’d never tried either kind before.
Afterward, though, while we were doing the breakfast dishes, he was being very quiet. The way he’d been in the hallway last night. I was really really really tempted to ask, “What are you thinking?”
I wasn’t sure if he’d say, “About you—I had missed you, May Lah Nee!” Or “May Lah Nee, I would like to kiss you!” Or, God forbid, “I must tell you, May Lah Nee, about a girl in my math class …”
One way to find out.
But I wasn’t quite brave enough. So I decided to say something easier. Something about the necklace he gave me that was now back on my neck.
I said, “Plátano. Bonito.”
He said, “Pretty banana?”
“Banana?!”
“¿Plátano?”
“I meant silver.”
“¡Plata!” He laughed, so I did too.
“I just wanted to say that my necklace is pretty.”
“It is pretty on you, May Lah Nee.”
I smiled and asked, “Miguel, are you homesick?”
“Sick?” he repeated. I explained the question, and he answered, “No. I am not homesick. I like being with your family.”
I figured now or never. “What were you thinking before? When you were being so quiet?”
Miguel took a breath and met my eyes. “I am not homesick, but I was thinking about my home. I am hoping my parents can to get along with each other as I get along with them. While I am here, they are taking a trip and trying to resolve problems. You know this?”
“Yes.” What I didn’t add was that I’d completely forgotten about it.
“They argued and had many discussions this spring. It was difficult for them. And for me.” I handed Miguel Matt’s breakfast plate. I knew it was Matt’s because Matt had smeared his leftover melty chocolate chips into two blobs and a curve. Miguel looked at the smiley on the plate, dunked it into warm water, then handed it back to me, blank. “I am sorry I didn’t write to you many e-mails during that time.”
“No, Miguel, I am sorry.” And I was. Sorry he was sad. And sorry that I’d been so concerned about me and my feelings that I hadn’t thought about him and his feelings. I mean, poor Miguel! The whole time I was worrying about whether he liked me, he was worrying about whether his parents could still like each other. “I hope things work out,” I said.
“Work out? Exercise?”
“No. Get better. Get fixed up.”
“Oh yes, work out.” Our eyes met. “Thank you, May Lah Nee.”
Matt raced into the kitchen and said, “Miguel, do you like dinosaurs?”
Miguel winked at me. “I have never met a dinosaur.”
Mom joined us. “Well, it’s high time. But before we set off, Miguel, why don’t you send a quick e-mail to your parents?”
While he’s writing to them, I’m writing in you.
Tonight, after the dinos, Dad and Uncle Angel will meet us for a picnic on the Great Lawn in Central Park to hear a free opera. ($ince opera i$ $o expen$ive, Dad love$ when it’$ free.)
The opera is called The Elixir of Love, which means “Love Potion.” Sounds embarrassing, but it doesn’t matter since it’s in Italian. Dad said it’s about a girl, Adina, who didn’t know she loved a guy, Nemorino, then realizes she does. I asked, “What about the Love Potion?”
Dad smiled. “Wine.”
“Love” in Italian is amore (Ah More Ay). In Spanish, it’s amor (Ah More). Is that how love might sometimes feel? A
h, More! Ah!! More!! Ahhh!!! More!!!
Late Afternoon
Dear Diary,
Ever since Miguel arrived, I’ve been hoping to have some time alone with him, just us. (The towel emergency does not count!) Today Mom helped that happen.
We entered the American Museum of Natural History through the door next to the statue of Theodore Roosevelt. Matt said, “Tell Miguel about teddy bears.”
I said, “You tell.”
Matt began, “You know DogDog and Hedgehog?”
“Why would Miguel know about our stuffed animals?” I practically hissed. “Besides, they have nothing to do with this story.”
Matt shrugged. “President Teddy Roosevelt liked to hunt, and once, in Mississippi”—Matt looked at Mom and she nodded—“he went hunting, and there was a bear cub that he could have killed but decided not to. He spared it. Well, newspapers ran cartoons about it, and a toymaker began making soft little bears and calling them teddy bears because of Teddy Roosevelt. Soon every kid wanted a little bear.”
“Osito” (Oh Sea Toe), I said, since I knew that word.
“I don’t mean every single kid wanted a teddy,” Matt went on. “I have a dog—DogDog—and Melanie has”—he looked at me, I glared, he stopped midsentence, and Miguel looked amused. Then
One is an unbelievably tall Barosaurus with an unbelievably dinky head.
“Dinosaurio” (D No Sour E O), I said.
Mom gave us paper bracelets to put on (at the Met, they give you metal buttons), and Matt said, “Let’s go see the thirty-four-ton meteor!”
Mom said, “I don’t think Miguel should miss the other dinosaurs. You do want to see them, don’t you, Miguel?”
Miguel said, “If it is possible.”
“Posible” (Poe See Blay), I said, because I was on a roll with my one-word translations.
“Tell you what,” Mom said, “Melanie and Miguel will do the dinos, and Matt and I will see the meteors and—”
“Shrunken heads!!” Matt said. “And naked cave people!!”
“Whatever. Then we’ll meet under the whale in exactly one hour. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said, though I was shocked. I’m always b-e-g-g-i-n-g Mom to let me go places without her, and she always says no. When I say, “Why not?” she says she trusts me but not the world.
I must have looked funny because Mom said, “Unless you’d rather we all stick together?”
“No!!”
“You two will be fine inside here,” Mom said. “Just take care of each other.”
That sounded embarrassing, but it was worse when she added, “Don’t look like you’ve never been on your own before. Look confident. And if someone approaches you, walk away or—”
“I know, I know, find a guard,” I said.
“Right.” Ever since I was born, Mom has been lecturing me about how if someone creepy says, “Would you like some candy?” or “Can you help me find my lost puppy?” I should run away or scream or find a police officer or mom or doorman or Safe Haven. Not that this has ever happened. People think New York City is more dangerous than it actually is.
“We’ll be fine, Me Ron Dah,” Miguel told Mom. “We will meet you at twelve minus fifteen.”
“Eleven forty-five,” Mom said. “That’s how we say it. Or a quarter to twelve.”
“A quarter to twelve,” Miguel repeated. Then we took off—alone! At first I kept turning around to look for Mom because it was hard to believe we were really on our own.
Next thing you know, Miguel and I were staring at the enormous, bony, sixty-five-million-year-old head of a Tyrannosaurus rex. The caption said it got dug up in Montana in 1908, but all I could think of to say was that it was big big big. So I said, “Grande grande grande” (Gron Day Gron Day Gron Day).
Nearby was a giant put-together skeleton of a carnosaur. The caption said it was probably aggressive and ferocious, but all I could think to add was that it was old old old. So I said, “Viejo viejo viejo” (Byay Hhho Byay Hhho Byay Hhho).
It was weird. There I was with triceratopses and stegosauri and woolly mammoths and Miguel all to myself, and I couldn’t think of anything worthwhile to say.
I almost started wishing Little Science Boy were there to babble about Jurassic ecosystems.
We passed a nest with dino eggs. “Huevos” (Way Vohs), I said.
He said, “It’s hard to believe that birds and dinosaurs are cousins, true?”
“True. Miguel, in Spain, do you have the old TV show Friends?”
“Amigos (Ah Me Goes). Sí.”
“This is where Ross works! He’s a paleontologist.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And I wish I were because I’d be a better tour guide. All I know about dinosaurs is that they’re grande, viejo, and extinct-o.”
“Extinto” (S Teen Toe), Miguel corrected. “May Lah Nee, I do not expect you to be a tour guide or paleontóloga (Pa Lay Own Toe Low Ga). I came so my parents could have time alone, sí, but I also came to be with your parents. And Matt. And you.”
He smiled and I smiled back and our eyes locked and suddenly I couldn’t have looked away even if I’d wanted to. Which I didn’t. It was as if we finally were all alone in the museum, in New York, in America, in the world! It was like a Perfect Moment or MomentoPerfecto (Mo Men Toe Pair Fec Toe). Miguel stepped a little closer, and for a second, I was pretty positive that he was reaching for my hand. And that I wanted him to. It was practically making me dizzzzzy.
Then, out of the corner of my eye (or maybe the angle, since eyes don’t have corners), I saw someone bounding up to us. At first I thought it was Matt the Brat. But it was … Suze the Ooze! With her older sister.
I wanted to hide Miguel behind the duck-billed hadrosaur, but it was too late (and dino skeletons are see-through anyway).
“Melanie!! Hi!!”
Suze was staring at Miguel, so I had no choice but to introduce them. Miguel gave her little cheek kisses, which (I now of course know) everyone does in Spain. But it was soooo frustrating because seconds earlier it had seemed like he and I were finally going to hold hands—and now he was kissing Suze!! Suze!!!
“I am Miguel,” he said, and instead of saying, “I am Susan” or “I am Suze” or even “I am a horrible person with horrible timing who specializes in ruining everything for everybody,” she turned to me, her eyes popping out, and said, “Omigod!! Your Spanish boyfriend!!”
Omigod, I wanted to die! But I wanted to kill her first!! I did not want Miguel to think that I go around calling him my boyfriend, especially since I don’t.
I also didn’t want him to think that I hated the idea!
She lowered her voice and added, “No offense, but I pictured him older.”
Now I really wanted to punch her little face in! I wished Miguel and I had gone with Mom and Matt to the disgusting shrunken-head exhibit. No! I wished I could have shrunken Suze’s head!
I somehow managed to say, “Miguel is my amigo. And he speaks English!”
“Oh!!” Suze turned to him and started talking loudly and slowly as if there were something wrong with his ears.
This was torture!
“Yes,” he said. He gave me a little smile.
“Three more days.”
I wanted to say, “He’s Spanish, not hard of hearing,” but I just stood there.
“It is stupendous,” Miguel said, probably because estupendo (S 2 Pen Dough) is a normal Spanish word.
This was worse than a dentist appointment! Finally I announced, “Well, we have to go.”
“Wait, Mel,” Suze said. “My mom’s letting me have a pizza party tomorrow. A lot of people are coming. Justin said he’d be there, but Cecily is away.”
“I know,” I said. “With her dad.”
“Want to come?”
“That is a nice invitation,” Miguel said, just when I was trying to figure out how to say, “In your dreams!” I couldn’t believe Suze. In no time, I’d gone from Perfect Moment to Stinky Moment. Plus, when she me
ntioned Justin, part of my brain started thinking about him, which was distracting—and not what I needed.
“My parents may have plans for us,” I informed Suze. “I’ll call you, okay?”
“Okay.”
In the elevator, Miguel said, “A party—I could meet your friends.”
“Maybe,” I said, “but my best amiga isn’t here this week.…” I didn’t add, “And besides, it’s easier to have you all to myself.”
Truth is, I would have liked for Miguel to meet Cecily. But I couldn’t picture him meeting Justin. (“Miguel, meet Justin. I sorta like him too!”)
On the long walk to the Hall of Ocean Life, I told Miguel that Suze is not my favorite persona (Pair Sohn Ah). I even told him about her dumb habit of always saying “No offense” right before saying something offensive.
Matt saw us and came running over. “Isn’t it cool?!?”
Miguel said, “What?”
Matt said, “Moby Dick!!” He pointed at the life-size whale hanging down from the ceiling.
Miguel said, “He’s bigger than the dinosaurs!”
“Blue whales can be almost as long as three school buses,” Matt said. “This one is ninety-four feet and has a belly button!”
“He is stupendous!” Miguel said.
Matt laughed. “No one says ‘stupendous’!”
“No?” He looked at me. “Then he is phenomenal!”
“That’s even worse. Just say ‘awesome.’ ” Matt smiled. “Or ‘cool.’ ”
“Cool!” Miguel said, and I wished I had been comfortable enough to tell him that.
Mom said, “When Melanie and Matt were little, we lived here, especially in the winter! The kids loved this place—the gems and minerals and running under the whale—”
“Mom!” With my eyes, I begged her to quit reminiscing about my Pigtail Childhood. Fortunately she changed the subject. “I got tickets to a show at the planetarium. It’s called ‘Passport to the Universe.’ ”
“Did you bring our passports?” Matt asked, but Mom said we wouldn’t need them.
We walked to the planetarium, and instead of thinking about long-ago dinosaurs or far-off galaxies, I was thinking about Suze and how mad I was at her for interrupting Miguel and me and getting me thinking about Justin, who had nothing to do with anything and should not have been taking up any of my brain molecules right then.
