She pulls open the door so hard I am afraid she’d lift it off its hinges. “What do you mean, you didn’t mean to say that? Like, oops, sorry, Lexi, I just told Mom and Dad you’re trying to go for a guy who has a girlfriend? Seriously, Ericka. When will you ever grow up?”
I jump to my own defense. “I never said you were trying to go for him.”
“But that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?” she shouts. I’m pretty sure the grown-ups can hear her screaming loud and clear from downstairs, and it’s fine that they’re minding their own business, but I do hope they interfere if Lexi explodes and takes her anger out on me physically. They say it’s always the sweet, cheerful ones who wreak the most havoc when they get violent, and I’d like to be able to go back to school on Monday with an undamaged nose and a full set of teeth, thanks. “Timmy told me about your phone call to Anna, that you were implying we were doing something behind everyone’s back,” she yells. “I let it go when I found out, but now that I think about it, I just...I can’t believe you! How dare you?”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” I yell back. This feels good, and I feel all the tension in my body being released through my vocal chords.
“No, it’s not!” she screams. And then she starts crying—and I mean, really crying, and I stand there with my mouth hanging open, not sure if I am solely responsible for this. She sits on the bed, still wailing, and I approach her and tentatively rub her back. She is crying so hard she has to gasp for air, and she speaks haltingly, sniffling and hiccuping before she can get all her words out: “He...told me...he...liked me!”
“But...that’s a good thing, right?” I ask. She bawls even harder, and I hastily add, “No, no, of course it’s not a good thing. It’s a bad thing. It’s a very, very bad thing.” I have never seen her cry in years, and I have never seen her cry like this, so I am feeling a bit panicked and hysterical myself. The last time I witnessed her get this upset was back when she was in grade school, when she failed to get the part of Cinderella in a play and she ended up as one of the mouse friends instead. But one good thing about Lexi is that she always finds a way to bounce back. Several months after that Cinderella rejection, she bagged the role of Belle in a Beauty and the Beast production—the show that would catapult her to stardom. I remember watching her twirl onstage in a beautiful gold dress during the final scene, dancing with a tall, handsome guy. I remember how the audience looked so captivated by her, how everyone had given her a standing ovation, how she must have received a dozen bouquets of roses after that performance. I remember how, jumping to my feet and clapping along with the crowd, I felt so incredibly proud of her. That’s my sister, I thought. But her acting soon took her away from me—both literally (she was always at some weekend workshop or out-of-town show), and figuratively (I think she grew up faster than I did, leaving me behind to be mediocre and unremarkable).
She went on to become everything I’m not, and at some point, I stopped being proud of her and started resenting the gap between our talents and privileges. People around us wanted to believe it was just a classic case of sibling rivalry, but now that she is actually in front of me, crying over a boy on her birthday, I realize I don’t even know her well enough to come up with the right words to console her.
So I stop speaking. I just continue rubbing her back until she calms down. She wipes her face with the back of her hand and tells me, “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Like what?”
“Just because you feel something for someone doesn’t mean you can always act on it,” she says. “I like Timmy. He likes me. But Paula loves him very much, and he loves her too.”
“But he likes you,” I point out. “That must count for something.”
“I think he’s just been lonely,” she admits. “I will not be able to take it if he leaves her for me, then she comes back, and he does the opposite. And in any case, I know how much breaking up with Paula would hurt him. He’s my friend. I don’t want to do that to him. I can’t.”
“So,” I say, “What happened?”
“We’re still friends,” she says. “We’re trying put it all behind us.”
“Is that even possible?” I ask, thinking of Jaime. Of course, ours was a different scenario because I doubt Olivia would allow me to be all chummy with her boyfriend, and I doubt Jaime and I would be able to handle friendship in its purest form right now. But I’m curious if it could actually happen, in the future, when my feelings for him have subsided and I am able see him in a new light.
“We’re trying,” she says.
I find myself smiling, and I realize how much I admire her for doing the right thing, for knowing better than I did. There are no bright stage lights, no beautiful gowns, no handsome prince, no applauding audience. But I am proud of her now, in the exact same way I was all those years ago. And maybe all is not lost—maybe we have always respected and loved each other all this time, but have just been too caught up in our own lives to make room for one another. We look at each other and I find myself wanting to bridge the distance, wanting to someday make her proud of me, too.
“Happy birthday,” I tell her. “I’m sorry I said all those things about you and Timmy. And I’m so sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you lately.”
“If by ‘lately,’ you mean, for most of your teenage life, then don’t worry about it,” she says, smiling.
“Well,” I say, grinning. “It’s not like you weren’t asking for it. You were such a meddler.”
She laughs. “Crap. I am going to kill that Gabriel! I told him not to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“Oh. Nothing.” She develops a sudden fascination with her nails.
I stand. “Alright then. It was nice being your friend for five minutes.”
She rolls her eyes. “Stop being so melodramatic. Fine, I’ll tell you. So I know Gabriel because we hosted an event together last year, right?”
“Of course you do,” I say, although I had no idea they’ve met. “Famous people are all predictably linked to each other. Whatever. Continue.”
“We bumped into each other at a party a few weeks ago. He introduced me to his cousin, Jiggy.”
Okay, time out. Is she saying what I think she’s saying?
She giggles. “He was, well, cute. And really, really nice. And I don’t know why, but I suddenly thought of you. You two seemed perfect for each other.”
Uh-oh. I do not like where this is heading.
“So I told Gabriel about you, and then he mentioned he was seeing Bryan, which is great because I knew he had a much better chance of getting you to agree to a blind date than I did. And it was just too huge an opportunity to pass up.” She looks awfully pleased with herself, and I can’t blame her, because it was quite impressive.
Which doesn’t mean I’m not annoyed. “You manipulative little...”
“Hey,” she interrupts, still giggling. “Don’t pretend you’re not thankful. He’s good for you. He treats you right. And he makes you happy. I can totally tell. Don’t deny it.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” she replies smugly.
“Shut up,” I retort lamely.
We laugh, and she says, “Race you to my birthday cake?” I catch a mischievous gleam in her eye, and I know what she’s thinking: When we were little, Tito Tony would send us up to our room after Lexi’s birthday lunch so he could prepare her “surprise” birthday cake. We’d wait for half an hour, and then, before we were given the signal to do so, we’d run to the kitchen to attack the cake and smear icing on each other’s faces and clothes. Mom would come in with her hands on her hips, but would end up giggling along while Dad took photos of everyone.
It does not feel like a very long time ago. I grin. “Eat my dust!” I yell, sprinting downstairs and laughing uncontrollably, with Lexi close behind me.
Rule number 9:
Change is inevitable.
For some people, a single change needs year
s to take effect. Old habits die hard; you can’t teach an old dog new tricks—we’ve all heard at least one of the many clichés. We’ve seen how some people promise to change, then revert to their old ways in only a matter of weeks or months. We’ve seen how it is one thing to say that you will welcome change, and another thing entirely to actually get up and seek it out. Most of the time, change is something you have to work on, something that does not happen overnight. It is a conscious effort, and your life will not change unless you allow it to.
My life changed in one weekend.
Lexi’s birthday was a turning point in our relationship. Over cake and coffee, I told her about Jaime—how I liked him and he liked me but it just wasn’t enough for either of us. I told her about Anna and Chrissy and how I will always be different from them but we won’t let that stop us from being best friends. I told her about Diego, and how I am scared that I cannot even commit to a platonic friendship but I am trying to make it work because he is a great guy who brings out the best in me. I told her about the way she intimidates me sometimes, how being around her makes me feel like I am not good enough but I am trying to focus on the things I have instead of the ones I lack. I told her I was grateful she was my sister, even if I rarely let it show.
A small alteration can cause an avalanche of transformations, and that was what happened to me. Coming to terms with my insecurity over Lexi was a milestone—once I learned to control it, I also learned to control my fear that nobody will ever stick around for as long as I want them to, and I learned to control my impulse to run away. I learned to accept that for years, my relationships with my family and friends have been nothing more than flings—selfish and fleeting and devoid of any real meaning or commitment. I learned to make the most of the relationships I already share with the people who do matter, instead of always searching for something more with people who will never treat me the way I deserve to be treated. I learned to live, and I learned to love.
And yes, I also learned that, while it is moving that I am using “flings” as a sort-of metaphor here, I should stop the problem by going right back to the main source—the actual flings. So, from now on, no more pointless dating. I go out only with guys I genuinely like, and I go out with them for better reasons than boredom and curiosity. No more calculating and controlling and categorizing and compartmentalizing. No more deals or deadlines. No more games.
My life changed because of one weekend.
Mom and Dad have brought my curfew back to normal, and Bryan was delighted to hear the news. Although I don’t really see why my curfew is still such a big deal to him, since he spends most of his time with Gabriel these days. I’ve never seen Bryan so in love—he goes to all of Gabriel’s gigs, votes for his videos on MTV, requests for his songs on the radio, and makes an effort to be nice to even the most annoying fans. Gabriel writes songs and makes mix CDs for Bryan, and once, I watched him perform onstage and caught a look pass between the two of them; it was a look that said you inspire me and thank you and I love you all at the same time. I can’t help but wish all couples can be as supportive and appreciative of each other as they are.
Timmy and his girlfriend Paula are going strong, according to Lexi, and she says this without any trace of bitterness or envy. She and Timmy have remained friends, and Timmy has apologized for making things uncomfortable by telling her he liked her. He swore he has learned his lesson, and that he will never sabotage his relationship with Paula or his friendship with Lexi ever again. Lexi has moved on, and has recently started dating a new guy, Sam. I notice she gets flustered whenever she talks about him, and she has promised to introduce him to me when things get serious.
Diego and I have been making progress. That weekend, he called me to ask how I was doing, obviously fishing for details about my conversation with Jaime. I told him, “Go ahead, Diego. Ask me about Jaime.” He said, “Okay, what happened with Jaime?” I told him the whole story, and when I was done, he asked, “Do you want me to stop being friends with him now?”
I laughed. “Of course not. Why would I want you to do that?”
“Because he hurt you,” he replied, matter-of-factly. “Nobody hurts my friends.”
I told him, “It doesn’t matter, Diego. I’ll be okay.”
He said, “I know you will. I’ll make sure of it.”
Diego and I have been inseparable, often hanging out with Anna, Chrissy, Miguel, and Nathan. The boys like him because he’s older and maybe a bit cooler, and I’m glad they got along right off the bat. The girls tease me every time his back is turned (when he’s within hearing range, they resort to exaggerated winks and loaded glances), but I brush them off, telling them being romantically involved with each other is the farthest thing from our minds right now. “Oh, please,” I’d often scoff. “We’re just friends.” And they’d look at me as if to say, yeah right, Rickie, that’s what you think.
This afternoon, Diego and I are helping Miguel with his secret project of painting Anna’s room while Chrissy and Nathan are keeping her company at the mall and trying to distract her. Even after a year and a half together, Miguel never seems to run out of surprises for Anna, and he cannot hide his excitement at seeing the expression on her face when she walks through the door. What I love about Miguel is that he does all these things for Anna for no special reason at all—I think that’s what makes a relationship work, the quiet, everyday efforts rather than the loud, grand gestures. What’s impressive, more than the fact that he is painting her room, is that it is easy to see how much he loves the little details about her, the little parts of the whole that make her who she is. He knows her enough to go for navy blue paint instead of pastel pink (Anna will cringe at the mere thought of a pink room), to buy her new sheets and curtains to match the new color of her walls (she has this obsession with matching sheets and curtains with the rest of the area), and to leave a small spot beside her bed untouched (where Anna’s younger brother Benjamin has drawn a self-portrait). They have lived next to each other since they were little, and I wonder how exactly the transition from being friends to being more than friends came about: was it a gradual process, or was there a certain point in which they both suddenly knew they were falling for each other?
I turn to Miguel to ask him about this, but Diego, who is peering out the window, says, “Guys? I think that’s Nathan’s car coming up the driveway.” We scramble to take our designated hiding places. Miguel stands behind the door, and Diego and I crouch on the cramped space beside the bed, our shoulders and arms pressed together. He accidentally elbows me in the ribs, and I elbow him back, hard. “Stop it,” he whispers sternly, but his grin gives away the fact that he finds this whole thing funny.
The door is thrown open, and I hear Anna say, “What the...?” And then we all pop out from our hiding places and yell, “Surprise!” Chrissy and Nathan enter the room and Anna looks at us one by one before it sinks in whose idea this is. She throws her arms around Miguel’s neck and kisses him, right then and there. Chrissy sighs and stares at them wistfully, and I pretend to be disgusted and make a face at Diego, who laughs in return.
Anna orders pizza and makes us all troop to the den, where she puts Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind into the DVD player (the boys protest and Chrissy scans the shelves for something less depressing, but Anna is writing a review of it in comparison to Vanilla Sky for the school paper, and insists on watching it). I am fascinated by the curious mix of betrayal and attraction and desperation and revenge and forgiveness, and I wonder how you can ever know for sure that something was a mistake—some mistakes, when given time, turn out to be blessings in disguise. How do you decide to undo something without making another mistake?
Diego and I volunteer to clean up (this earns me a surprised look from Chrissy; I never volunteer to clean up), and in the kitchen, he turns to me and asks, “Truth or consequence?” This is a random game we’ve been playing lately, and it’s been helping us get to know each other better, although our questions and dares have been re
latively tame. “Truth,” I say.
“If there’s one person in your life you’d like to erase from your memory, who would it be?”
“Nobody,” I reply.
“Really?” He looks skeptical. “Not even Jaime?”
“No,” I say. “I think Jaime has taught me to be honest about what I really want, and I think that’s going to be useful someday, when someone else comes along.” And it was true: I don’t regret any of it. It was a wake-up call, and it was a good thing it happened sooner rather than later. Right now, I am just basking in the promise of starting over, building myself up to be the best person I can be. And when someone else does come along, I will be ready.
“He wasn’t the right guy for me,” I admit. “But he’s out there. I’m sure I’ll find him.”
“I’m sure,” Diego tells me, “That he will find you.”
Rule number 10:
Sometimes, a fling can lead to
The Real Thing.
Let’s fast-forward to the holidays. There is something hopeful and magical about the Christmas air—this season is the only time of the year when even the most jaded, most cynical people actually believe that anything is possible. The streets are lined with colorful lights, Christmas carols are being played on the radio, and there is an extra bounce in people’s steps and a genuine smile on their faces.
Diego is helping me and Lexi buy groceries for Noche Buena on the afternoon of the twenty-third, maneuvering our shopping cart expertly through the extremely crowded supermarket. We are still inseparable, and it is becoming easier to see him as a constant part of my life instead of just “some guy I dated” or “a new guy I am trying to be friends with.” It is becoming easier to believe that he will always be here for me, that there is no due date looming over our heads. I can see myself still being friends with him when I go off to college, when I graduate, and when I step out into the real world. I can see the two of us growing together, growing into each other’s future. What’s great about what we have is that it has become natural and almost effortless for the both of us, and maintaining our friendship is no longer something I have to live with, but something I cannot imagine living without.
Every Girl's Guide to Flings (Every Girls Guide) Page 7
