“Nope.”
Harlow twists her lip, falling silent. I wish we could have a normal conversation, but it’s not possible. There’s too much she doesn’t know about me, stuff that wouldn’t fit into her picture-perfect life. How could I possibly explain that the only boy I’m interested in is one I’ve never met? How could I tell her that Colton has effectively ended my friendship with Lily forever? That I’m incapable of being a normal girl with normal friends and a normal boyfriend?
Unless.
Unless I did become a normal girl with normal friends and a normal boyfriend. Then Dad would stop looking at me like he doesn’t know where I went wrong. Harlow would think I was worthy of being her stepdaughter. Avery would stop making me feel three inches tall. All I have to do is say yes to Seb, and everything could change for me.
Harlow clears her throat. “Know of any good Cuban recipes?”
“Not really,” I say. “Why?”
“I may take a break from eating raw,” Harlow says. “Sometimes I think your dad misses traditional Cuban cooking, you know? Like, things that he ate growing up, and things that your . . . your mom might have cooked.”
My stomach drops a few inches at the mention of Mom. I take another bite of purple goop, barely tasting it this time.
“I was thinking Cuban cuisine with a healthy spin,” Harlow goes on.
Good God, I should have known. This foray into Cuban culture isn’t for my dad. This is for Harlow.
“It tastes pretty good as is,” I say lightly. Dad can’t cook to save his life, but we used to order from the local Cuban restaurant, La Vibora. Their Cuban bread is Dad’s favorite, and one of its primary ingredients is lard. What would Harlow use instead? Applesauce? Cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil?
“Of course it’s delicious, but I’m trying to think of how to make it more accessible to the health conscious,” Harlow says.
“But then . . . aren’t you just turning it into something else?”
“No,” she says slowly. “I don’t think so.”
If I could be fully myself around Harlow, I would tell her straight-up, Harlow, for the love of God. Please leave the Cuban food alone.
“What were you thinking of making?” I ask.
“The one your dad always orders, with the shredded beef. Rope of something?”
“Ropa vieja.”
“Right! That’s it. But I was thinking, instead of using beef, maybe we could try it with portobello mushrooms.”
I drop my spoon into the now empty bowl with a clatter. Ropa vieja is supposed to be a beef stew. What Harlow wants to do is not ropa vieja. It’s a travesty. It’s sliced mushrooms swimming in broth.
“Sounds interesting,” I manage. I bring the bowl over to the sink and wash it out, feeling oddly indignant. Harlow can’t just go around Harlow-ifying everything in my life to fit her image. My mind flutters back to Mom and what she would think of Harlow’s mushroom stew. Or how she would feel about Harlow’s influence on my dad ever since he first laid eyes on her at the gym. The way she turned him into a guy who goes hiking and drinks artisanal beer and wears Ray-Bans. When I see old pictures of Dad, I can barely recognize the man wearing a T-shirt and ripped jeans.
Harlow is still sitting at the table. She whips out her laptop and gets to work, barely noticing when I retreat to my room.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Analee’s Rules for Phone Calls
1. Make sure you’re in a room where no one else can hear you.
2. Put the TV on softly in the background to minimize awkward silences.
3. Write a script if you have to leave a voice mail.
4. Plan the topics you need to discuss.
5. Have an excuse ready in case you need to hang up.
ON SATURDAY OUR HOUSE IS a dead zone. Dad is swimming laps outside in the pool, Harlow is sealed up in her meditation room, and Avery is off at another random friend’s house. It’s so not fair that an eight-year-old has a more active social life than I do.
Me: Have you ever been in love?
Harris: yes. nikki warner. first grade.
Me: Harris . . .
Harris: analee . . .
Me: I want to know!
Harris: why?
Me: I just do
Harris: ok
Harris: i thought i was in love, once
Ow. Why does this admission make my heart hurt? I’m not sure why I asked Harris the question, or what answer would have made me happy. Wait, that’s a lie. I know what would have made me happy.
Alternate dream scenario:
Me: Have you ever been in love?
Harris: yes. i’m in love right now. with you.
Even a flat-out no would have been preferable to his actual answer. It kills me to think of Harris with another girl. Even if it was in the past. Even if it wasn’t true love and he only thought it was real in the moment. The past is important. It matters.
It was stupid of me to ask. Harris will never love me the way I love him. I’m just a random girl he talks to over the computer. His happiness doesn’t revolve around our conversations like mine does. You can’t have real love before you meet someone. And I don’t want Harris to meet this version of me. I need to be better for him.
Me: When? Who was she?
Harris: a couple of years ago. her name was isabel
Harris: looking back, though, we had nothing in common
Harris: i couldn’t talk to her the way i talk to you, for example
Harris: what about you? have you been in love?
Only with you. How sad is it that there’s only one boy I’ve ever loved and I wouldn’t recognize him if I passed him on the street?
But if I lie and tell him I’ve never been in love, what will he think? That I’m pathetic? That I haven’t loved anyone because no one has found me worth loving?
Me: It’s complicated.
Harris: cop-out answer
Me: My question, my rules.
“Analee!” Harlow calls from downstairs. “You have a phone call!”
The panic starts immediately. It’s a Pavlovian response to the idea of talking on the phone. My heart twitches against my chest, my palms moisten. I don’t do phone calls. Haven’t in years. I own a cell, but it’s only for emergencies, and half the time it’s out of battery.
Who could be calling me? And why? Is it Lily? No, it can’t be Lily. Lily knows how much I hate talking on the phone. It’s the feeling of being trapped inside a conversation, with no escape and no distractions. No way to tell what the other person is thinking or feeling. Besides, if Lily wanted to get in touch with me, she would do it in person.
“Analee! Did you hear me?” Harlow calls again. I briefly imagine myself climbing out of my bedroom window and making a break for it. A two-story fall wouldn’t kill me, would it? What’s the worst that could happen? A broken limb? An excuse to miss some school?
I jerk out of my seat and tear down the stairs, grab the phone from Harlow, and cover the mouthpiece.
“Who is it?” I ask her in a panicky whisper.
“Sebastian, I think he said?” She gives me a knowing smile, completely blind to my internal despair. “He sounds cute. Nice deep voice.”
I press the phone against my forehead and close my eyes. Sebastian Matias is calling me. Most girls in East Bay could only dream of such a miracle, but it makes me sick to my stomach.
“Analee? What’s wrong?” Harlow asks.
Again, it’s too much to explain to her.
“I don’t want to talk to him,” I say in a low voice.
“Why not? Is there something I should know about this boy?”
“No, it’s not him. It’s just . . .”
Harlow grabs for the phone. “Should I tell him you’re sick?”
“No!” I twist the phone out of her reach. “He’ll know I’m faking. It’s fine.”
Harlow looks thoroughly confused, because why wouldn’t she? It confuses me too, the way I agonize over every typical teenage ritual. M
y brain knows that none of this is a big deal, but it can’t convince my body of this fact.
I go back upstairs and lock myself in my room. To minimize the silence humming in my ears, I turn on the TV for background noise. I do a couple of quick breaths the way Harlow does before she talks to my grandparents.
“Hello?” I say into the phone. My voice, thank God, comes out steadily.
“Hey, Analee. It’s me.”
“Seb?” I know it’s Seb, obviously, but I still feel strange talking to him outside of our stuffy bio lab.
“Yeah.”
“Um.” I pace around my room, picking up objects I’ve touched a thousand times, rubbing the plastic nose of my stuffed Hello Kitty. “What’s up?”
“I wanted to know if you’d thought about it.”
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.
“Yes,” I say.
“And?”
“And . . .” I look at my computer screen, where Harris is typing up a response. If I don’t do this with Seb, am I denying myself a chance at something real? Am I settling for an undefined cyber relationship when Harris and I could be more?
“I’ll do it,” I say. I spit the words out quickly before I lose my courage. Already I wish I could grab them and stuff them back into my mouth.
“I knew you’d come around.” There’s that confidence again. His voice is deep, like Harlow mentioned. I never realized it, but there’s nothing else to focus on right now.
“If we do this,” I say, “I would need your help with something.”
“Name it.”
“I have to give a toast. At my dad’s wedding.”
“And?”
“And I need help, like . . . talking in front of people.”
Being normal is what I mean to say.
“What makes you think I could help with that?” he asks.
“Because,” I reply. “You’re Seb Matias. You have the high school paparazzi monitoring your every move and giant crowds of people watching you play soccer each week. Clearly people don’t faze you.”
He laughs over the phone. It’s a full-bodied, genuine laugh, and it makes me feel like I’ve earned something.
“All right,” he says. “I’ll do it. Are you busy tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” I echo.
“Yeah,” he says. “We need to start planning our operation.”
“Oh, yeah. Right,” I say. I didn’t expect Seb to want to get started so quickly. He’s never this motivated in bio.
“So?” he asks. “You’re free?”
“As a bird.”
What a stupid thing to say. It’s not even the truth. Harris and I were supposed to embark on a new quest tomorrow, in which Kiri and Xolkar step through the forest portal and stop the Night Cavalry from invading the land.
Then something occurs to me. “How did you get this number?”
“School directory,” Seb replies. “I thought about asking Lily for your cell, but then I figured that would look suspicious. If we’re quote-unquote dating, I should already have your number.”
“She probably deleted it anyway,” I say without thinking.
Seb is quiet for a beat. I flop onto my bed, stretching my legs and flexing my feet back and forth, back and forth. I start thinking of excuses to hang up. Maybe Harlow needs my help with dinner. Maybe I have homework to do. Or does that make me seem too Mary Sue?
“Can I ask you something?” Seb says finally, and my wandering mind returns to earth.
“Okay.”
“What happened between you and Lily?”
“Didn’t she tell you?” I ask. I figured that everyone in her new squad would know by now.
“She doesn’t really talk about you. Like, ever.”
“Oh.” It’s all I can think to say. I’m not sure what the worse scenario is, Lily bad-mouthing me all over school or dropping me without a second thought. I had assumed the former, but hearing Seb say it’s the latter brings a new, fresh shot of hurt. I’m not worth talking about at all. An eleven-year friendship dissolved without comment.
“People drift apart,” I find myself saying. “That’s all.”
“Yeah, but you two weren’t just people. You were like conjoined twins.”
“Well, that was before.” Before Colton, I mean, but I don’t say his name.
Thankfully, Seb doesn’t press me on this. “Okay. So, what time should I come over tomorrow?”
“Here?” I say. “You’re coming here?”
“Your mom invited me.”
“Not my mom,” I say quickly. “Dad’s girlfriend.” I will not call her his fiancée. This wedding isn’t happening.
“Okay, whoever she was. She said I should come by and that any friend of Analee’s is a friend of hers.”
Freaking Harlow.
“I don’t know—”
“Analee,” he says. “I’m your boyfriend now. It’s probably time I meet the family.”
Even though it’s all pretend, my body overheats at the bizarre turn of events. I have a boyfriend now. At least for a little while, everyone—my family, my former friend—will see me as normal.
“Fine,” I say. “Can you come by around noon?”
“I’ll be there.”
We exchange cell numbers, and I add a tiny heart emoji next to his contact name. If people are going to believe this, I have to sell it.
By the time I hang up the phone, I’m too exhausted to move from the bed. My heart is still beating rapidly, equal parts panic and excitement. I clutch Hello Kitty against me, thinking that tomorrow is the first step to being normal. In a matter of days I’ll go from Analee, the timid, friendless loser, to Analee, girlfriend of Sebastian Matias, the envy of the masses.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I CAN’T DO THIS. IN the light of day, it’s plainly obvious that this is a disaster waiting to happen. A zit has sprung forth from the side of my nostril, as big as a tumor. Seb is going to find me repulsive. I have nothing to wear for our pseudo-date because I haven’t bought new clothes since middle school. After spending a full hour in front of my closet (during which Harris constantly messages me asking about our canceled quest), I settle on my everyday jeans that pinch my love handles and a cleanish T-shirt hanging out of my drawer. So sexy. My hair is big, curly, and unmanageable.
What was I thinking with the Analee, envy of the masses crap? Being the envy of the masses means being their target, and I have a slew of things wrong with me that they can pick apart. Today I am going to explain to Seb that this will never work.
The benefit of my online relationship with Harris is that I don’t have to agonize over my wardrobe choices. It helps that my Kiri avatar has the body of a goddess, slender and long like Harlow’s.
Harris: yo
Harris: where you at?
Harris: analee
Harris: aaaaaannnnnnaaaallllllllleeeeeeee
For the first time in maybe forever, I don’t respond to him. I want to, but Seb will be here in fifteen minutes and I have to be ready. Besides, I’m still not sure what I should tell Harris.
I go downstairs, and Dad and Harlow are cuddled on one side of the couch. I was hoping they would be elsewhere by the time Seb got here, but it looks like they’re nesting.
“Any big plans today?” I ask them.
“For once, no,” Harlow says, closing her eyes contentedly and leaning her head on Dad’s shoulder.
“So . . . you’re going to be here for a while?”
Dad turns around to look at me. “Why?”
“Just wondering. I have a friend coming over.”
“Quien?” he asks. “Lily?”
“No, not Lily,” I say. Hasn’t he noticed that Lily hasn’t been over for months? I bite the inside of my cheek. Here we go. The big reveal. “My, uh. My boyfriend.”
Harlow’s eyes blink open. Dad’s eyes do that thing where they grow to double their usual size. We’re all silent for a few seconds, and it’s enough time to make me want to take it back and co
nfess that it’s a lie. It’s so obviously a lie, isn’t it?
Harlow speaks first. “Wow, Analee! That’s . . . that’s great!”
I nod. I hope my face is smiling right now.
Dad’s isn’t. He runs his hand over his beard stubble as his eyes shrink back to normal size.
“Aren’t you a little young for a boyfriend?” he asks.
“I’m sixteen.”
“I had my first boyfriend when I was fourteen,” Harlow tells him.
“That’s you,” he replies. “Analee is . . . different.”
Harlow and I both cross our arms and glare at him, equally offended for opposite reasons.
“What do you mean ‘different’?” I ask.
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Dad says. “I mean . . . ¿Quién es este tipo? What do you know about this guy?”
“His name is Sebastian Matias. I’ve known him since the sixth grade.”
Dad shakes his head and gets up, leaving a big empty space next to Harlow. “I don’t like this, Analee. Going out with some strange boy without permission? You should know better.”
“Know better than what?” I ask. “You’re acting like I just told you I’m a heroin addict or something.”
“Raf, having a boyfriend at Analee’s age is completely appropriate,” Harlow says. “You should be happy that she’s socializing. It’s a great sign.”
“Happy I’m socializing?” I repeat. “Is this something you guys have been discussing?”
“Of course not,” Dad snaps.
“Not extensively,” says Harlow.
I can’t even formulate a response. It’s one thing to suspect that your father assumes you’re a loser. It’s another to find that he’s been discussing it with his girlfriend behind your back.
“We just worry about you sometimes,” Harlow says. “All that time you spend alone on your computer . . .”
“I’m not alone,” I snap. I’m infuriated by the “we” in her statement. Harlow hasn’t known me well enough or long enough to worry about my well-being.
“So you and . . . Sebastian,” Dad says. “How long have you two been dating without permission?”
“We just started,” I say. “And it’s really not that serious, Dad.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better? The idea of my daughter casually dating?”
Analee, in Real Life Page 7
