“Good, I was just about to call you,” my mother stated as I entered the kitchen.
She held out a thin white plate, which I grabbed before lifting the lid off a sizzling pan of kielbasa and pierogies. It was one of my favorite dishes and one of the few Polish meals my mom learned to make before my grandmother passed away.
“Make sure you take some sauerkraut and salad,” my mom insisted, gesturing toward a brimming bowl of lettuce. “Lilly, do you know what all this is? Pierogies are like dumplings, but they have different fillings—meat, cheese, potato. You can put sour cream on them.”
“And I dip the kielbasa in mustard. It makes it kinda like a hotdog.”
Lilly sniffed the pan cautiously, her nose wrinkled.
“My family’s Polish,” my mom explained. “This is what I ate growing up.”
Like my father, my mom grew up in low-income housing. That’s how my parents met—they went to the same Catholic school in Camden. My mom’s father was a factory worker, and my grandmother raised the kids. I still vaguely remember their house in Jersey—a beat up row home with tomatoes growing in the tiny fenced-in yard and a porch with thick chunks of paint peeling from the wooden posts. My grandpop died when I was seven, and my grandmother had passed away last year. After her funeral, my mom started cooking more Polish meals.
“I’m sure Lilly’s a better eater than Mariana,” my dad nagged from his seat at the kitchen table.
“Dad!” I whined.
“What? Like it’s a big secret. We practically had to force feed you growing up.”
“You should have seen her in Puerto Rico,” Lilly chimed. “She barely ate rice.”
“I can imagine,” my dad chuckled, peering over his newspaper.
“Gee, just gang up on me why don’tcha?” I griped as I filled my plate in defiance.
“Hey, if everyone ate like you, the world would be a thinner place,” Lilly exclaimed as she breathed in the sauerkraut’s pu-gent odor.
She winced slightly. Then she lifted a slice of kielbasa to her mouth, her eyes mildly confused, and quickly brushed her tongue on the meat. I smiled.
“You’ll like it,” I whispered. “It’s kind of spicy.”
I strutted back to the table and plopped down in time for my mom to catch my dad scanning the business section.
“Lorenzo, don’t you think you’re setting a bad example for our guest?” she asked, her blue eyes round and bulging.
“She’s not really a guest, Mom. She lives here,” I said as I bit into my kielbasa.
My father folded the paper in his lap.
“So how was the first day of school?”
“Fine,” I grumbled.
His eyes swung toward Lilly.
“Great,” she chirped as she walked toward the table with her tiny portions of food. “Everyone was really nice. I met this girl named Betsy, who is an all-star tennis pro, and she managed to get me on the team. Mariana said I could borrow her racquet. Practice starts tomorrow. And I met a bunch of really cool guys. This boy, Chad, drove us home. He was super nice, and he knows Vince. I think they played baseball together. He even tried to speak Spanish to me, which I thought was funny and kind of cute... .”
My father stared at Lilly, his face altered with shock. She could have been speaking Spanish, English, or Swahili for all it mattered, because he was fundamentally unable to understand “girl.” That’s why I never told my parents any personal information. Sure, I kept them updated on my grades, extracurricular activities, and ballet schedules, but that was about it. Madison, Emily, and I made sure to keep our conversations to a minimum when around any of our parental figures—so did almost every teenager I knew. It was basic survival. Lilly, however, was from an alternate dimension where families were close and her mother was her confidante.
My mom’s eyes sparked to life while my dad’s gaze turned back to his stock reports.
“That’s great, Lilly! So, tell me all about this boy, Chad. Mariana do you know him? Did you make any new friends today?” asked my mother, dripping with excitement.
My dinner quickly lost its flavor.
“Mom, I’ve been going to Spring Mills for ten years. Do you really think there’s anyone there I don’t know?” I stared at my plate and shoved another mound of pierogi into my mouth.
“Well, possibly. Lilly’s new, and she made new friends. Maybe Chad has a few friends you would like... .”
“Mom!”
“What?”
“I have friends. I don’t need any more.”
“Everyone could use more friends.” She sighed as she fixed my father’s plate.
I shot Lilly a look and kicked her lightly under the table.
“Sorry,” she mouthed.
“Maybe if you just gave people a chance ...” my mom continued, her blond hair sweeping into her eyes as she spooned the food.
“Speaking of giving people a chance,” I interrupted, hoping to shift the focus off me. I knew the mention of Teresa should do it. “Dad, I have to tell you something.”
I spun toward him. “Dad.”
He didn’t look up.
“Dad!”
He flinched and put down his newspaper.
“What?” he asked firmly, his dark eyes tired.
“Lilly got an e-mail from Teresa while you guys were at Cornell.”
He sat up straighter.
“She met some guy on the Internet. And she’s moving to be with him.”
I paused a moment and looked at Lilly.
“Dad, he lives in the States. In Jersey.”
My mother dropped her serving spoon, and my father cleared his throat.
“I thought you should know.”
My father said nothing.
“I mean, the way Uncle Diego reacted ...”
“Mariana, I’ll handle this,” he said matter-of-factly, rising from his chair.
“Wait, did you know about this?”
My father exhaled loudly. “She said it was a possibility while we were in Utuado.” He was clearly fighting back his irritation at having to explain himself.
“Wow. That’s just great. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Our family’s just a mountain of secrets lately.” I wiped my mouth with my cotton napkin and stood up.
“Mariana,” my mother warned, not moving from her spot behind the stove.
“What? Let’s face it, Mom. Every time I turn around, I find out something else you’ve been keeping from me. Why didn’t you just tell us in Puerto Rico? Why the hush-hush?”
“Because I didn’t know if she would go through with it. And, really, it has nothing to do with you.”
“Oh, of course not. She’s just my aunt. I’m just the one who happened to uncover her existence this summer.”
My father’s lips tightened. “Oh, stop being so dramatic. There are a lot of other people involved here. Not just you.”
My body surged with grisly defensiveness as my face flooded with heat.
Before this summer, my father and I had never fought. Vince was his sparring partner. But ever since I was shoved on that plane, I had harbored a lot of unsettled resentment toward my parents.
Frankly, I was sick of my father acting like the family’s self-proclaimed dictator.
“You’re right Dad. Why should I care about what happens in this family? Maybe I should just wait for you to tell me how I feel.”
I spun around and headed for the stairs.
“Mariana!” my father shouted.
It was too late. I was already halfway to my room.
Lilly knocked on my door a few minutes later. I rolled over on my rumpled bed and turned up the radio. Tootsie was the only company I could tolerate right now, and I was thankful Lilly took the hint and retreated to her bedroom. A few minutes later, I heard her hop on the phone with her mother, which only further justified what I was feeling.
Lilly might be family, but she couldn’t possibly understand the complexity that was my father, anymore than I could understand her par
ental upbringing. Actually, there was only one other person in the world who had as much experience dealing with my dad as I did. I picked up my cordless phone.
“Hey, Vince’s room ... hehehe,” giggled a sultry female voice.
“Vince, stop!” she cooed, still giddy. “Oh, yeah. Mmmmmm ... ”
My stomach turned in nauseating loops.
“Um, hello,” I hissed.
Heavy breathing filled the line.
“Hell-O! Sister here! On the phone! Get off my brother, skank!” I shouted.
“Oh, hey, Mariana. Wassup,” Vince panted as he grabbed the receiver.
“You are so disgusting. Do I even want to know?” I clenched my eyes shut, trying to block out the mental image of what might be occurring on the other end of the line.
“Vince, baby, where you going?” whined the pouty female voice.
“I think I’m gonna puke,” I groaned, clutching my abdomen.
“Dude, sorry.” He cleared his throat.
I could hear his footsteps and guessed he was walking out of his dorm room. Loud voices filled the background.
“Okay, if you’ve got some nasty chick in your room, why the heck are you answering the phone?” I asked, still cringing.
“Dude, Mariana, did she say what her name was? Because I seriously can’t remember,” Vince muttered.
“How am I related to you?” I gasped. “It is some freakish biological screwup!”
Vince chuckled on the other end. “These chicks are so easy that it’s not even funny. It’s like they’re begging me to ...”
“Nahahahahahah!” I shouted into the phone, holding the receiver away from my ear. “I don’t wanna hear it! Not listening, not listening!”
I could hear Vince bellow with laughter. “All right, all right!” he said between breaths.
I slowly placed the phone back on my ear.
“Anyway,” I huffed, hoping to shake off the last thirty seconds. “How’s college, aside from Professor McSkanky?”
“It’s awesome. Parties every night, people are totally cool. Classes suck, though. They doled out mega assignments on the first day.”
“What, no lectures on the practical applications of high school chemistry?”
“I wish. One professor gave us seventy-five pages to read. Seriously, like I don’t have any other classes?”
Actually, right now, college courses and dorm rooms sounded like absolute heaven. I closed my eyes and tried to picture what it was like where he was. I could almost see the stone buildings, the grassy quads, the kids in jeans and baseball caps. I could feel leather-bound books against my skin and smell the stale beer. I wished I was there. Part of me wanted to dive in a car and drive up to visit him right now—only I’d need a driver’s license first.
“So, why you callin’? Boy trouble? Ballet catastrophe?” he asked.
“No, I wish,” I grumbled.
“Don’t tell me, you finally realized our parents suck, and you’ve run away from home,” he joked.
“Well, close ... Teresa’s moving here. Like soon. She met some guy on the Internet ... from Jersey.”
“Seriously? That was quick.”
“I know, right? But get this. Dad already knew about it. She told him this summer when we were in Utuado.”
“And let me guess, he didn’t tell you?”
“Of course not. Teresa e-mailed Lilly.”
“Man, Dad’s gotten shady.” Vince chuckled.
“It’s not funny. You saw Uncle Diego at the barbeque. He totally spazzed.”
“Yeah, but what are you gonna do? Grandpop had another kid. End of story.”
“But it’s not just that. It’s Dad,” I hissed in a burst of frustration. “You should have heard him tonight. ‘Mariana this has nothing to do with you. You’re so dramatic.’ Like I don’t exist. Like I don’t have a right to have an opinion on my own family.”
Vince’s voice swelled with amusement. “Well, finally! Welcome to my world. You’ve been some sort of Daddy’s girl your whole life. It’s about time you got a taste of the real him.”
“Oh, please. He made himself very clear when he shipped me off to Puerto Rico.”
“But, still. You didn’t believe me all those years I fought with him. You thought I was the jerk. Trust me, it goes both ways.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. I didn’t want to fight with my dad the way Vince did, but I also couldn’t stop the hostility that was slowly poisoning our relationship.
“Mariana, you’re almost sixteen. You’ve got two more years before you go off to college. My advice: figure out a way to live with Mom and Dad ’til then.”
“So, this Teresa thing? What, I should just let it go?”
“Yup,” Vince answered assertively. “You are not gonna change Dad’s mind. I learned that the hard way. Just find a way to deal.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Hey, you can come visit me and get away from it all. I promise, a half-case of beer, and you’ll forget all about Dad.”
It didn’t sound like a bad idea. Any place was better than here at the moment.
Chapter 10
By Friday, I had found new reasons to be annoyed with my parents. Along with lying (by omission) about the impending arrival of my illegitimate half aunt, my mother was beginning to act as if she liked Lilly more than she liked me. In the past forty-eight hours, my mom had not only suggested that I be more like my cousin (“Mariana, you should hang out with some of Lilly’s friends.” “Mariana, maybe you should try tennis again.”), she was also insisting I encourage Lilly’s newfound fame.
Over breakfast this morning, she not-so-subtly recommended that I stop by Lilly’s tennis practice to “offer support,” which was interesting because in fifteen years, I couldn’t remember anyone swinging by a ballet rehearsal on my behalf. But I didn’t say that. And of course, my mother knew I’d do what she asked. I always did.
The trick was getting my friends to do it too.
“I don’t see why we’re being dragged into this,” Madison protested as she slammed her locker shut.
“To make my mom happy.”
“Why do I need to make your mom happy?” She cocked her head.
“You don’t, but I do. And you’re my ride to ballet practice.”
In an hour, I’d be putting on my ballet shoes for the first time since I got back from Puerto Rico. I didn’t want to think about the pain I’d feel tomorrow. Two months and I was already out of shape.
“You’re lucky I’m such a good friend,” Madison grumbled as we strolled toward the tennis courts.
“You’re right. I am.”
I nodded politely at her before discreetly rolling my eyes at Emily. She smiled.
“So how long has Little Miss Puertorriqueña been playing tennis?” Madison asked.
“A week.”
“Are you serious?” she shouted. “This is ridiculous.”
“Hey, we’ll pop in, watch her hit a few balls, and go. My mom thinks I’ve been ditching her all week.”
“Whatever! She’s the one who’s up Betsy Sumner’s butt,” Madison corrected nastily.
“I know, but try telling my mom that.”
“Uh, guys, what the heck is that?” Emily stopped and pointed toward the bleachers.
A crowd of freshmen boys sat behind Lilly’s court, hooting and hollering at the action. I watched, motionless, as Lilly dove for balls, her chest heaving as she swung violently at the fuzzy green targets. Each ball she rocketed into the parking lot only made her legion of fans cheer louder. My mouth hung open. I had never seen anyone make a lack of talent appear so endearing.
“Oh. My. God,” Madison choked. We watched as Lilly bent to pick up a tennis ball and delight the crowd of spectators. “I don’t get it.”
“She has a fan club,” Emily stated.
“It’s not even a real match. It’s just practice,” I noted.
“How? Why?” Madison asked in a muffled voice, clearly dumbfounded.
<
br /> I silently grappled with the spectacle, my insecurities surfacing with unprecedented force. I didn’t draw this much attention from my own parents, let alone a pack of teenage boys. I couldn’t imagine what that felt like.
Finally, Emily swung toward us.
“She’s the new girl. That’s it. We go through this every year, especially with exchange students. Don’t you remember that French chick from last year?”
“Oh, Micheline. You have a point,” I said softly, as I watched my cousin wave to her fans. “Vince had a shrine to her.”
“I think every boy had a shrine to Micheline. The football team practically erected a statue in her honor,” Emily added.
“They erected a lot more than that.” I giggled.
“Still, it’s different. She’s your cousin.” Madison tossed her hand towards Lilly, who was preparing for a serve. “She looks just like you.”
“So? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. It’s just, I don’t see why everyone’s going all gaga over Version 2.0, when they have the real thing right here,” Madison covered, smiling innocently at me.
I watched Lilly bat two serves out of bounds. The boys in the crowd applauded her effort with a standing ovation. She pretended to remain focused. She pretended not to notice their reactions. But I knew she was loving the attention. How could she not be?
“You know, I really don’t think Lilly needs your support right now,” Emily stated as my cousin tossed a tennis ball into the stands and a half-dozen guys dove for it.
“Yeah, I think the Spring Mills Kournikova has enough of a cheering section,” Madison spat as she grabbed her car keys from her bag. “Let’s go.”
I didn’t fight her. Actually, I agreed. I had seen enough.
We marched to Madison’s car and piled in. Emily immediately settled into shotgun. She didn’t even pause a moment before clutching the handle. Like it didn’t occur to her that I might want to sit up front.
“You know, it makes sense,” I said as I slammed the car door closed. “You should have seen the guys in Puerto Rico. They tripped over themselves to get near her. All of them ... Well, except for Alex.”
“Alex is the guy you made out with, right?” Emily asked.
Amigas and School Scandals Page 6
