Fresh Off the Boat

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “We bought it last week. It’s used,” he said apologetically. “But it only has forty thousand miles on it. Not bad.”

  Freddie zapped his keys at the car, which made a beeping noise and flashed its lights. The doors automatically unlocked and we got in.

  The dashboard was covered with a piece of cardboard made to resemble a giant pair of sunglasses. Inside the car were furry dice, a dancing Hawaiian girl, and a VIP ON BOARD sign in the back. Cheesy. Taped to the dashboard was a picture of a pretty Filipino girl in a pink ballgown with a beauty pageant crown on her head.

  “Sino yan?” I pointed. (Who’s that?)

  He smiled mysteriously. “Wala.” (Nobody.)

  Hmmm. Did Freddie have a girlfriend? Impossible. Just look at him. The glasses. The acne. The ninety-pound skeletal frame. I was mildly intrigued, but not really. I was still wishing Mom wouldn’t make me do what she had bullied me into agreeing to do. It was the reason she had invited the Dalugdugans in the first place. But maybe she would forget all about it.

  As we drove off from church, Freddie blasted Ludacris from the stereo system and flipped open the sunroof. He took a pack of cigarettes from the glove compartment and shook out a butt.

  “Smoke?”

  “No thanks.”

  He lit it with the car lighter and blew a puff out the window.

  I didn’t know Freddie smoked! Maybe under that Asian-Einstein exterior, he was actually a rebel. Then he began to cough and sputter. He stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray.

  “How’s Gros?”

  “Eh.” I shook my head. “It’s okay.”

  “Thought I saw you at Monty the other day.”

  “Yeah, I have geometry there now.” I told him about the geometry chair scandal. He laughed.

  “Who’s in your class?”

  I rattled off a couple of names and then offhandedly added, “Oh, and, um, Claude Caligari.” It was a treat just saying his name aloud.

  “Yeah, I know Claude. We’re on the lacrosse team together.”

  Right, if you count fetching him a towel being on the team together, I thought.

  “He’s my study partner,” I said dreamily.

  “You should help him. He’s flunking. It’s not good for the team and we have State coming up.”

  Ludacris ended and Freddie put in a new CD. The Backstreet Boys’ The Hits: Chapter One. I kid you not. He sang along to “I Want It That Way,” “Quit Playing Games with My Heart,” and “As Long as You Love Me” with gusto. He knew all the words. I was right. Freddie was still a geek.

  The house smelled like rotten eggs, otherwise known as Mrs. Dalugdugan’s Famous Football-Watching Party Bean Dip. The “game” was on TV, but we had already missed kickoff. Freddie and I grabbed a few sandwiches from the table and sat on the floor.

  Of course, when we arrived, the first thing Mom said was “Vicenza, did you ask Freddie yet?”

  “Ask me what, Tita Didi?” he asked, his mouth full of salami.

  “Nothing,” I mumbled.

  “Go ahead, don’t be shy. Girls are so modest!” Tita Connie said, as she scooped up a hefty portion of dip with a large nacho chip. Tita Connie was so corny. She called dating “courtship” and once asked me in all sincerity if anyone was “wooing” me now that I was all grown up and in high school. Seriously! It made my skin crawl. Tita Connie and Mom smiled at each other.

  Freddie nudged me. “Ano?”

  “D’youhafadatefortheMontyGrosSoirée,” I said, looking down at my paper plate.

  Freddie chewed for a couple of minutes, then said, “No.”

  “Dyouwanttogowithmethen?”

  “Okay.” Freddie shrugged, his eyes fixed on the television.

  “What did he say?” Mom asked, peering down at us.

  “He said yes, Mom.”

  “How nice!” Mom beamed. Tita Connie positively glowed. I wanted to slap the grins off their faces.

  “It’s in December, right?” Freddie asked.

  “Yeah. Mom really wants me to go. You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I whispered.

  “I’ve never been, so okay, lang…” (It’s fine.)

  “Okay.”

  I felt bad about not wanting to go with Freddie, since he was being so cool about it. But I just didn’t want to show up with him on my arm, although it didn’t seem like I had a choice. Mom was really determined that I should go and experience “everything an American high school has to offer.”

  Isobel would kill me when she finds out I wimped out on our pact.

  “TOUCHDOWN!!!!” We all looked up to see Tito Ebet and my dad high-five each other as the Niners scored their first goal.

  I didn’t know Dad knew how to do the Touchdown Boogie.

  FROM: queen_vee@aol.com

  TO: amparo.dellarosa@info.ph.com

  SENT: Sunday, November 8, 4:45 PM

  SUBJECT: A date!

  PEACHES!!

  The BEST news all year! I have a date for the Soirée! Claude is taking me to the dance! I asked him when we were watching the Niners game at his house. He was, like, No, I should ask YOU to the Soirée. And then he did, and of course, I said YES.

  I think Whit was a little weird about it, but she’s still hot and heavy with her boyfriend from Carmel, so I don’t think it matters. Why does she want ALL the boys? I just want ONE.

  Miss you,

  V

  BTW—That’s so great that your family might come visit San Francisco this Christmas! Let me know EXACTLY when you guys are planning to get here so we can hang out with Whitney and all of my friends!

  11

  But Is It a Date-Date?

  FOR DAYS AFTERWARD, Mom and Tita Connie kept calling each other because they were so excited Freddie and I were going to the dance together. It was truly depressing. I didn’t tell Isobel because I was embarrassed to have broken our pact so quickly. For once, I was glad to be at the safe haven of the Sears cafeteria in the afternoons.

  “Um, what does a guy have to do to get a Pepsi around here?”

  I looked up from my book and saw Paul standing in front of me. I hadn’t even noticed. I yawned and looked at the clock. Fifteen minutes to six. I would be able to close the cafeteria soon. “Hey, haven’t seen you all week,” I said. “Where have you been hiding?”

  “I broke up with Laurie, so I wanted to lay low.”

  I was so clueless, I didn’t even know he was even dating anybody. I felt my stomach clench. Laurie had big hair and plastic earrings. She wore her jeans so low, her thong peeked out when she bent over. She ordered chili dogs and nachos. She had long, press-on nails that she liked to drum on the counter while she decided between Diet Pepsi or bottled water. She never tipped.

  “How long were you guys dating?”

  “Not too long—like, a month.” He shrugged.

  “What happened?”

  “I dunno.”

  “You don’t seem so worked up about it.”

  “Nah, not really. But whatever. How’ve you been?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “How’s that doofy school you go to?”

  “Sucks.”

  “Figures.”

  “How’s your band?”

  He smiled. “Not bad. Most of the time everyone just goofs off. Buncha jokers,” he said affectionately. “We’re trying to get something together to make a CD. A friend of mine has this whole setup on his computer where we can produce our own record.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty crazy what you can do with computers now.”

  “Oh, I have your book. The, um, Stephen King? I read it,” I said. I took it out from my backpack and handed it to him.

  “And?”

  “It was great. I loved it. I got a couple more.” I showed him what I was reading—the newest Dark Tower book.

  “Really?” He grinned slyly. “I told you! But you shouldn’t have spent your money. And you should start with the first one. I can lend you my copy.”

  “It�
��s okay. I borrowed them all from the library.”

  “Man, you are so square it’s cute.”

  I felt my cheeks flush. I loved the South San Francisco library. It was another thing my family couldn’t believe about America—books on loan! For free! Dad said if they had a library like that in the Philippines, all the books would be stolen in a day.

  Every week, my family makes a special trip to pick out books. It was another of our nerdy habits I tried to keep people at Gros from knowing about. The library had a lot of Stephen King books, but I also wanted my own copies of my favorites. I liked seeing them lined up on my bookshelves, easily within reach if I wanted to reread them. Books borrowed from the library were valued but ephemeral pleasures.

  “Hey, you know they made a movie out of the latest Stephen King book? Usually they’re kind of terrible, but who knows—maybe they got it right this time,” he said, raising his eyebrows so high his shoulders peaked, too.

  “Probably not. Those things always suck,” I said.

  “Yeah, but there’s The Shining. Or Misery. You never know, this one could be good.”

  “I guess.” I shrugged.

  “I saw the trailer—it looks awesome. This guy’s head explodes and it’s, like, filled with this mucky green stuff that glows and, like, takes over. Bitchin’.”

  I made a face. “Is it scary?”

  “Of course it’s scary. Isn’t that the point?” He looked impatient. “So, you, like, don’t want to see it?”

  “I dunno. I really haven’t thought about it.”

  “Well, it’s opening next Friday. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

  “Oh, all right,” I said, before I even knew what I was saying.

  “Great!” he said, beaming at me. Then his face fell. “I forgot—that weekend, I might have to visit my dad in Fresno.”

  “Why? What’s he doing there?”

  “He lives there. My parents are divorced.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry—about your parents, I mean,” I said kind of awkwardly.

  “Don’t be. It’s a lot better for everyone.”

  I didn’t know anyone who was divorced. None of my parents’ friends was divorced. Divorce was illegal in the Philippines, so nobody got divorced. At least, not in Manila. Couples traveled to the United States or Hong Kong to get divorced. But there were a lot of “second families” and “Manila wives” (meaning, there were other wives stashed away somewhere else).

  “Is it hard, with him away?”

  He looked startled that I was asking so many questions.

  “A little, yeah. I miss him. It’s weird. But I get to see him one weekend each month, and I live up there during the summer.”

  “The whole summer?”

  “Yeah, it’s cool. Dad pretty much lets me do what I want.”

  I felt a little sad thinking Paul wouldn’t be around in the summer. I knew where I would be: here at the cafeteria making sandwiches, running the register, counting out change.

  “So, do you want to go see it together? Um, unless, you know, you’re busy.”

  I was so far from busy it was ridiculous. “Sure, why not?”

  “I can meet you at the theater. It’s playing in the mall.”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you have a cell number? I can call you so we can hook up.”

  I gave him my number on the back of an old receipt.

  “All right then.” He paid me for his Pepsi and walked out of the cafeteria. I waved at him when he looked back through the door’s porthole.

  I was smiling so hard my mouth hurt. I still didn’t quite know what happened. Did he just ask me out? Did we have a date? Or was it a friendly thing? I mean, he just broke up with Laurie, whom I didn’t even know he was dating! Maybe I was just his, like, cafeteria buddy. But what did I care anyway? It wasn’t like I liked-him-liked-him.

  In any case, I would have to find some way to go to the movies with him. My parents would never allow it. Not that they had anything against him, but it was just part of the rules. My fifteenth birthday was still a month away.

  The next day at school I told Isobel about Paul.

  “This guy—a, um, friend of mine, kinda asked me to go the movies with him next Friday.”

  “Really! What does he look like?”

  “Skinny. Tall.” What did Paul look like? “He has brown hair and green eyes and kind of a small mouth, but I think it’s because of the braces. He has a nose that kind of looks like it’s been broken, and he has freckly arms and knobby wrists…”

  “Whoa—didn’t need the entire four-one-one, I meant, is he cute?”

  Was Paul cute? I guess some people might think so. The girls at Sears certainly did. “Yeah I guess…but he listens to Incubus.”

  “Quoi?”

  “It’s a heavy metal band,” I explained.

  “Ah! Je connais. Comme ‘Headbangers Ball.’ So is it love?” she teased.

  “No, we’re just friends.”

  “Bon.”

  “Do you think it’s a date?”

  “Of course it’s a date,” she said as she tried, and failed, to slam her locker door. She kept a mini clothes closet in there, and her wardrobe was always threatening to tumble out in an explosion of pink leather and gold sequins.

  “How do you know?” I asked, helping her smoosh in all her clothes and marveling at a Lycra T-shirt with fishnet sleeves that read J’ADORE DIOR in an allover pattern.

  “He asked you, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, so…”

  “So nothing. It’s a date,” she declared, snapping the lock closed and pulling up her black spandex capri leggings underneath her uniform skirt. Next to Whitney, Isobel was always out of uniform. Unlike Whitney, Isobel was always in detention for it. “Who’s this guy again?”

  “Paul Hartwell. I told you about him before. He works at Sears. He goes to public school. He’s nice,” I said, trying to play it down. “But, I don’t know, we’re friends.”

  “Très simple. Guys aren’t friends with girls.” She considered herself an expert in boy-girl relations since she was still conducting a lame long-distance relationship with Sam in New York, even if they both knew it was over. He had stopped IM-ing her every night, and every time she called his dorm room, his roommate said he was out.

  “Observe it this way, V. Do you have any guy friends?”

  I thought about Freddie—but he was more a family friend than a personal one. As for Paul, I definitely thought of him as a friend—nothing more. I kind of hoped it wasn’t a date.

  “Let’s talk about this later,” I said. “I’m late for geometry.”

  “Is that boy still in your class?” she asked.

  “Who?” I asked. “Oh, you mean Claude. Yeah, he’s still there. Not doing too well though. We get our midterms back today. I think I passed but only thanks to you, Iz.”

  I walked quickly into Montclair, following a couple of sophomores in my class and ignoring the curious looks girls always received from the boys there. Some of the guys were total jerks—they’d always wolf whistle or pound their chests and say “hubba hubba” or stick their tongues out lecherously—but lately they’ve gotten used to our presence. Once when they teased us about being “geometry whores” Stacey Bennett slugged one of the boys in the nose. They stopped bothering us after that.

  The first bell rang when I was still in the hallway, and when I arrived in class, Miss Tresoro was already handing out the results of midterms.

  I took my seat and looked at the stapled graph paper that was lying facedown in front of my desk. The rules of my scholarship dictated I had to keep an A minus average, and I had A’s in all my other classes, but to keep an A minus, I need to pull at least a B in geometry.

  Isobel had been nice enough to spend every lunch hour and free period tutoring me, and I felt confident I had done a little better. But I was still scared. My parents would kill me if I lost my scholarship.

  I turned over my test.

  B. GREAT IMPROVEMENT wa
s scrawled on the top of the page.

  Thank God!

  “That’s awesome,” Claude said, seeing my grade.

  “Thanks.” I smiled, forgetting that I was too intimidated to talk to him.

  “Here—you turn it over,” he said, pushing his test over to my side of the table. “I don’t even wanna know.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Yep. Do it.”

  I turned over his test.

  “What does it say?” he asked.

  I showed him.

  Another F. PLEASE SEE ME Miss Tresoro had written in big block letters.

  He cursed vehemently under his breath.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “How’d you get so good? You weren’t doing that much better than me before.”

  I nodded. “My friend Isobel—the one you hit with your car?—she’s, like, a math genius. She’s been helping me with my homework.”

  “Do you think she could do the same for me, even though I almost killed her?” Claude asked.

  Isobel tutor Claude? I felt a stab of jealousy. But he looked so forlorn, with none of his usual swagger. “Sure, I’ll ask her. What time do you have lunch tomorrow?”

  “Umm…G period,” he said after consulting his Palm Pilot.

  “Ours is, too. You know that French bistro on Fillmore?” It was Isobel’s favorite café. She said it reminded her of home.

  “Yeah, the one with the black-and-white awning?”

  “Meet us there at one, and don’t forget to bring your geometry book,” I said.

  The next day, I was so excited for our lunchtime appointment, I kept reapplying my lipstick and tried to do something about my hair. Isobel pretended not to care, but I noticed she had put more blush on her cheeks than usual and had hiked up her skirt two more rolls over the waistband so it was practically nonexistent. I didn’t really mind that there would be three of us. It was my first official date with Claude Caligari!

  FROM: queen_vee@aol.com

  TO: amparo.dellarosa@info.ph.com

  SENT: Thursday, November 12, 9:55 PM

  SUBJECT: finally alone!!

  Today Claude and I met for coffee at this really cute French café down the street. He’s so cute. Like me, he reads all the time. We’re both total bookworms. We have so much in common. We both ordered mocha cappuccinos.