What Can't Wait

by Ashley Hope Pérez

  “I felt so ashamed. I just didn’t know how to face you.”

  “So you kept things simple and dumped me? Muchas gracias. You’re too kind.”

  “No, I know I should have explained, but I . . . something else . . .” What am I going to say, I felt so bad, and while I was at Cecilia’s . . . ? Or, maybe I sent the wrong signals, but I didn’t mean to . . . ? It was an accident, but I almost lost my virginity to another guy?

  “I’m sorry.” I scoot closer to him, like maybe that will make this easier.

  “Don’t,” he says. His back stiffens.

  I slide back again, but not before I see what he’s drawing.

  “Like it?” he says, tilting the sketchbook toward me. “You were the inspiration.”

  In the middle of the page, there’s a brick wall, half built. On one side of it, in the foreground there’s a girl huddled against the wall like she’s scared of being seen. Dark tears stream down her face, and in the V of her shirt, a heart wrapped in barbed wire is visible. Blood trickles down where the barbs press into her skin. Around her, piles of bricks wait to be added to the wall.

  On the other side, there’s a rough sketch of a boy. He’s slumped against the same wall. The ground around him is littered with crumpled papers. Just under his shirt you can see his heart, almost covered over in bricks. His tears fall into a pool around him, and ink from the crumpled-up letters mixes with them, forming the words SHUT OUT.

  “I’m sorry, Alan,” I say again. I don’t know what I’m thinking, maybe that the third time will be a charm and he’ll forgive me.

  “You can’t just take things back. You say you’re sorry. Well, that takes down one brick. But there’s still a whole damn wall. What can you do about that?” His voice is shaky with emotion. “You never even read the letters that I sent you, never even bothered.”

  “I thought it would be easier if I didn’t try to see you, I thought there was no way you could forgive me. If you knew...”

  “Are you joking? How could you think that even for a minute?” He turns to face me. His lips are pinched tight, and a muscle jumps just above his jaw.

  “I was so confused by everything, the fight with Papi and then . . . I just couldn’t . . . I just can’t . . .” I stammer.

  “I know something happened, OK?” His face softens a little. “I don’t know what, but I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re keeping something back. ¿Y porqué? When have I disappointed you?”

  “Some things just mix everything up. I got mixed up, and I thought you would hate me. But I could try to—”

  “Don’t bother. Because now I know que no me conoces. After everything, you don’t know me at all.”

  “I do, Alan, I do,” I say, almost begging now. “I was wrong for how I treated you. I know that. I was just so afraid.”

  “Well, you can’t take it back now just because you changed your mind. You tore my world apart. I could take anything as long as I knew I had you. Jessica’s problems, my problems, your problems, I could handle it all because I knew at the end of the day we were together. Then you just . . . I thought you loved me like I loved you.”

  “I did, I promise. I still do.” And when I say it, I know just how much I love him. And at the same time I feel how I’ve already lost him.

  I thought that I could find my way back into the circle of his arms where everything is possible, where I know who I am. But that stupid hope turns out to be just another dead-end street.

  “Even I have a limit,” Alan says. He picks up his sketchbook and closes it. “You don’t need me, Marisa Moreno. You’ll be fine on your own.”

  I sit with the ants creeping over my legs and watch him walk away.

  I pull myself back together by the time school starts. What I want to do is just quit the day and go home to cry, but this is my life now. I can’t keep pretending it’s going to get better on its own.

  I have to do something about it, starting with this whole Brenda and Pedro thing. I scan the tables in the cafeteria and see him, but Brenda’s not with him. At least that’s something. Everywhere I look lately they’re together.

  Then I see Greg leaning against a pillar and fiddling with a carton of chocolate milk.

  “Marisa!” He gives me a little wave.

  “Hey,” I say, walking over. “How are you?”

  “Been better, I guess.” He tosses his milk carton into the trash.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. I hope it means more to Greg than it did to Alan.

  “You mean about Brenda?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” I’m glad he’s the one to bring it up. “That really sucks.”

  “You know how she is.” He rubs the toe of his shoe over a black scuff mark on the linoleum. “I mean, I know her, too. I just had this dumbass idea that I was special and it wouldn’t go down with us like everybody said it would.”

  “What’d she say?”

  Greg shrugs. “It was all a big excuse. Some crap about how we’ve got to explore because it’s—”

  “Senior year,” I finish for him.

  “Exactly.”

  “She told me the same thing. I tried to talk sense to her, but once she gets an idea, that’s not easy.”

  “Thanks. It’s no big deal,” he says without meeting my eyes.

  “Don’t take it personally. Anyway, she might still come around. I’ll keep working on her.”

  The bell rings, so we say good-bye and head in opposite directions for our classes. When I walk into government, instead of sitting in my usual desk toward the front, I find Brenda at the back of the room.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey yourself,” she says. “How’s the schoolgirl?”

  “If we’re going by my last progress report, the schoolgirl is officially in hiding. But me, I’m fine.”

  “Saw you talking to Greg. What’s up with that?”

  “Just trying to cheer him up. He seemed pretty low. You had a good thing going with him.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. So sweet, good guy, I know. But I want to have some fun. Just fun. You could get in on the action, too.”

  The teacher hushes everybody and starts writing down the averages from the last three tests and explaining the extra-credit opportunities. A few minutes later, Brenda slips me a note:

  ————

  Look, let’s make a deal. How about you come with me to a party this weekend, and I’ll have a real talk with Greg? It’s a perfect trade. And I swear if you ain’t having fun, we’ll leave the damn party. So check one...

  I’m willing to let a little adventure into my life. I’ll go with you to the party Friday.

  I’m a total chickenshit, and I’d rather do calculus homework and pick my nose.

  —————

  chapter 30

  “It’s a party, Marisa. Just let me give you a little more mascara.”

  I have to move fast to get out of Brenda’s reach. “I already feel like my eyelashes weigh a ton.”

  “Let’s see.” Brenda pulls me over to her full-length mirror. “Damn, we’re hot,” she says. She straightens the edge of her tight black skirt and then blends my eye shadow with her finger.

  “We do look pretty delicious,” I admit.

  When I came over earlier, Brenda tossed me a bag with this pink tank top covered in sequins. At first I thought it was way too much bling for me, but looking at my reflection, I’m OK with it. Against the pink, my skin looks kind of like toasted almonds. Maybe I don’t feel quite like myself with all the makeup on and everything, but this night isn’t about me.

  I’m still looking for some way to talk to Brenda about Pedro. But we’ve been having such a good time, almost like the old days, that I don’t want to ruin it. Anyway, I’ve got all night. As far as Mami and Papi know, I’m sleeping over at Cecilia’s to babysit.

  There’s a knock at the door, and Brenda’s dad sticks his head in. “Bren? We’ll be home, so you’re gonna call us if you need a ride back from the party, got it?”
/>   “Got it, Pops,” she says. She stands up on top of a stack of textbooks so that she can give him a kiss on his very shiny bald head. “We’ll be good, don’t worry.”

  “Smart choices,” he says. “You’re the only baby we’ve got.”

  “Bye, Dad,” Brenda says, scooting him out the door. “Love you, be back before two, promise!”

  She’s smirking when she turns back toward me. “He’ll be totally dead to this world before midnight. Poor old man.” Brenda checks the time on her phone. “It’s almost eleven. The party should be going by now. You ready?”

  Really, I’m not, but I nod. “Just got to find my sweatshirt.” I paw through the pile of clothes on Brenda’s bed.

  “No freaking way!” she says. “You are not covering that sexy tank top with a dumpy sweatshirt. Just suck it up. We’re in Houston, it’s barely even cold outside.”

  “I guess I’ll have to sing to stay warm.”

  “God, no!” Brenda groans, but I’m already croaking out a dangerously off-key version of “I’m Bringing Sexy Back.”

  “Spare me.” Brenda tosses me the sweatshirt. “You can wear it in the car, just stop singing.”

  All the way to the party, Brenda talks about Pedro, what he told her about the party, how funny he is, his body.

  I tell myself that I need to wait for the right moment, but I can’t stand it. “Watch out for him, Brenda,” I say finally.

  “Look,” Brenda snaps, “don’t even start. I just want to go to this party. And who made you the judge anyway? Just because Pedro is Jose’s cousin don’t mean you know everything about him.”

  She doesn’t say anything else until we pull onto a street lined with parked cars. “Just chill. And take off that lame-ass sweatshirt.”

  “Look, I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Relax a little.” Brenda slicks on a little more lip gloss and checks my makeup.

  Music blares from the house, and some guys smoking on the porch whistle when we walk up. I follow a little behind Brenda, wishing I’d never agreed to come along. As soon as we’re inside, she dances into a group at the center of the living room. “Come on,” she shouts.

  I shake my head, suddenly embarrassed. My hands are damp, and I stand by the wall pretending to enjoy the music. Mainly I’m watching out for Pedro. I don’t want to get caught anywhere near him, and I don’t want Brenda to either.

  After a few songs, Brenda shimmies away from the other dancers and crosses over to the drink table. A minute later she hands me a plastic cup full of something that looks like thick red Kool-Aid.

  “Try this.”

  “Thanks,” I say with enthusiasm I definitely don’t feel.

  “Look, I know I said we’d go home if you weren’t having fun, but you have to make an effort. Get off the wall and dance. A little of that liquid courage in you and you’ll do fine.” Brenda slurps the last of her drink.

  I tip back the cup. “It’s good,” I lie.

  “Down it and get out here!” Brenda shouts as she starts dancing again.

  I’m finishing the drink and moving away from the wall a little when I see Pedro come in. He grabs a beer and slips in with the dancers. Within minutes he’s dancing close to Brenda. I stare at her and will her to turn away and dance with somebody else, but instead she raises her arms and moves with him. His hands go everywhere.

  You’d think I’d have a plan for dealing with this, but it turns out that I don’t. I take a step back and then head for the door, squeezing past the people standing along the wall as I go.

  “What’s your hurry, guapa?” a tall mustached guy calls when I get to the door. “Come dance with me.”

  I shake my head and push past him. The front porch is empty except for a couple dozen cigarette butts scattered on the floor. One of them is still smoldering, and I grind it out with the heel of my shoe. I take some deep breaths.

  The bass from the speakers inside makes the wooden porch shake a little, but it’s quiet here by comparison. Across the street, somebody is watching Saturday Night Live in the dark. A cool breeze rustles through the pine trees alongside the house. I cross my arms over my chest and try not to think about Pedro dancing with Brenda. I’d give anything for Alan to be here with me, for things to be the way they were before. He’d know what to tell me about Brenda. I wonder where he is now. Probably at the restaurant, cleaning up after a busy night and filling all the little salt and pepper shakers stamped with “El Ranchero.” Or maybe he’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, listening to music and drawing. I pull my phone out of my pocket.

  ————

  I’m scared. I don’t know what to do. Give me another chance. I want to be your M again.

  ————

  The door opens, and a girl I sort of recognize from school comes out.

  “Mind if I join you?” she asks.

  “Go ahead.” I scoot over to make room on the steps. I close my phone, leaving the text message unsent.

  “I think we had biology together sophomore year,” the girl says.

  “You’re Dana, right?”

  “Close enough. It’s Danielle.”

  “I’m still Marisa.”

  Danielle laughs and fishes a cigarette out of her back pocket. “Yeah, I remember you. You want a smoke?”

  “Nah.”

  She flicks her lighter and cups her hand around it as she guides the flame up to the cigarette in her mouth. She smokes in silence for a while.

  “You look like you needed a break from the madness.”

  “I guess so.” I shrug.

  “First time I seen you at a party, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it’s not really my scene.”

  “Really?”

  “Usually I’m working. And there’s stuff for school, you know how it is.”

  “I haven’t been that dedicated this year, to be honest. But I been promising my boyfriend I’m going to get serious. He said he doesn’t want to marry a dummy, so I’d better graduate. But you stuck with it, huh? I heard you were going to U of H.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I want to go somewhere.”

  Danielle exhales two streams of smoke from her nostrils and then turns my way. “Hey, totally different subject, but you hang out with Brenda Zepeda, right?”

  “Yeah, sure. We came together tonight.”

  “So what’s the deal with her and that white guy? Did they break up? Because I could swear I saw her making out with Pedro Jimenez.”

  I’m already standing up and opening the door. “Where did you see them?”

  Danielle lowers her cigarette, surprised. “Just out with everybody else dancing. You OK?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Nice talking to you.” And I’m pushing my way back into the living room.

  I look all over for Brenda, but I can’t see her anywhere. I don’t see Pedro, either. Shit, oh shit.

  “Have you seen Brenda Zepeda?” I ask the guy working the stereo. I have to shout the question twice before he hears me.

  “Hot chick in the black skirt?”

  “Yes!” I holler.

  “I think she went out to the garage to help mix up some more trash can punch.”

  At that moment, I catch sight of Pedro dancing with a skinny sophomore. So they aren’t off alone somewhere. Thank God.

  I’m going to go find Brenda and make her listen. I have to. But first, I need a chance to think. And some water. The drink Brenda gave me left this sickly sweet taste at the back of my throat. I walk to the drink table and look for a bottle of water, but I don’t find anything. I snag a cup and work my way back to the kitchen.

  Two freshmen girls are walking out as I come in, and they just giggle like idiots when they bump into me.

  I turn on the faucet and watch the water run into the sink for a long time before I fill up the cup. I thought I was doing better, that I had everything under control, but now I feel like I’m going to puke. Scared, sick, and lost, just like that day in
Ceci’s bathroom.

  Just then the kitchen door swings open and then slams shut. I spin around, and the water in the cup sloshes onto the floor.

  It’s Pedro. He’s inches from me.

  chapter 31

  I can smell the booze on him and see it loosening things behind his eyes.

  “Stop telling Brenda lies about me,” Pedro says into my ear. “You don’t want me to start talking about you, telling everyone la verdad, how you practically threw yourself at me. Your life is your business. My life is my business.”

  “No.” I try to pull my arm free. “Brenda just doesn’t know how you are, she . . .” I suck in a breath, determined not to cry. “You can’t just do whatever you want with people, a lo menos, not with Brenda.”

  “How do you know what Brenda wants?” he sneers. “You don’t even know what you want, pendeja. So just keep your stupid mouth shut.”

  I start for the door, but he grabs my wrist. “I’m not done talking to you.”

  This is not good.

  He has a beer in his free hand, and he lifts it to his lips, draining it.

  “¡Suéltame! You’re hurting me,” I say. I’m shaking.

  “Shut up, you little tease.” He squeezes my arm harder, twisting it back until I cry out.

  “I told you to stop. That day, I told you I didn’t want to,” I say with as much force as I’ve got.

  “Oh, come on. Your body was saying, ‘Give it to me hard, papi.’ ” He points the beer bottle down and thrusts it at me. When he does it again, I grab it from him with my free hand. He laughs, but he doesn’t try to take it back.

  Instead, he lets go of my wrist and reaches around to grab my butt with both of his hands, pulling me in against him rough. “You’re not fooling anybody. That day, you were begging for me to give it to you.”

  I squeeze the bottle tight.

  “I told you no, you...”

  “I what?” Pedro’s mouth twists into a grimace. He raises his eyebrows, mocking me.

  “Stop touching me!” I throw my elbows against him and he lets go for a minute, takes a step back.

  He looks me up and down, then starts laughing. “You think you’re hot stuff, huh? What a fucking joke. Pura broma. You’re just a little girl, a little slut.”