Someone to Love

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “You go visit them,” he says. “I need to stay here and be a part of this family.”

  “I thought Jasmine was your family. Our family, actually.”

  I don’t mean to push him, but I want to understand the problem.

  “Don’t be like this, Liv. I told you—if you want to go visit them, go right ahead. I’m going to finish my breakfast, then help Dad when he gets home.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, touching Royce’s shoulder. “You know me. I like to fix problems.”

  He attempts a half smile. “It isn’t your problem to fix, Liv.”

  “I just want to help, but I guess I don’t really know how.”

  “It’s okay.” Royce pinches his nose between his index finger and thumb. “You better go take a shower. You kind of smell.”

  I’m about to head upstairs when Dad walks in with Mason and a bald-headed guy with thick black glasses I don’t recognize. He looks at me like I’m a dirty dish towel.

  “Hi, honey,” Dad says to me. “This is Rich Nguyen.”

  “I’d shake your hand, but...” I hold up my palms. “I’m kind of sweaty. Just went for a run.”

  “That’s okay,” Rich says, assessing everything about me. I can tell already that Rich is going to be a control freak. “Tell me something about yourself.”

  His question takes me off guard. I was expecting a simple greeting, not a job interview. “I love Frida Kahlo,” I say. “She’s one of my favorite artists.”

  Rich scrunches his eyes. “That’s the one with the unibrow, right?”

  I’m appalled. I don’t even know how to respond. I want to tell Rich how Frida had to overcome so many obstacles to be able to paint. How polio left her crippled as a child. How she was riding a bus one day that was hit by a streetcar, sending an iron rail through her pelvis. How she learned to paint while her spinal column was shattered. I consider telling Rich how way ahead of her time Frida was and how much pain she had to go through to even be able to paint, but he won’t care. That’s not why we’re talking.

  “Well. I’d like to meet with you to put together what I like to call an ‘image promotion plan.’ Your brothers will need to put one together too, but yours will be the most important. Teenage girls present the most difficult challenges to navigate for political elections. On the family front, that is.”

  I’ve just met this guy and he’s already calling me a difficult challenge? I look to Dad for support. Maybe an explanation? Or a smile? Nothing. “Could you explain what an image promotion plan actually is?” I ask. I have a guess, but I don’t think this is going to go anywhere good for me. I’ve been around PR people who have helped my parents before. I generally don’t fit into their image of what a politician’s daughter should be.

  Rich shrugs his shoulders and straightens out the sleeves of his perfectly pressed lavender shirt. “Let me put it this way. Think of any major modern charismatic leader or well-known person. JFK. LeBron James. Angelina Jolie. Pope Francis. Oprah. Bono. They have to construct a public persona. Then they have to promote that image.”

  “Isn’t that what Dad has to do? What does this have to do with me?”

  All of a sudden, Rich gets really excited. “Oh no! Of course you have to worry about your image. It’s good you’re a girl to begin with. Daughters of politicians are always preferred to sons by voters. Except that can be a double-edged sword because being placed on the podium means that you can fall farther. Higher expectations.”

  “I’m sorry,” I interrupt. “It’s just that I don’t plan to be that involved. Right, Dad?”

  Dad slowly sips his coffee. My heart sinks.

  When I was younger, Dad could bring me out for photo opportunities, but the press generally didn’t care too much about children. There wasn’t enough of a story there. Now I’m a teenager? That’s huge fodder for the news. All bets are off.

  “We didn’t really need to bother with this stuff for you when I ran for Congress because you were so young, but your brothers have had to put together an image plan. It’s really not so bad. You just have to think of yourself as a character.”

  “A character?” I’m nearly shaking. “I’m a real person, Dad, I’m not—”

  I don’t want to turn into a pawn in a political chess game.

  “Come on, Liv. You know that part of being a political family means you’re in the public eye. We’re not trying to control your private life. We’ve just invited Rich to help us craft a plan for you.”

  “So then what’s this gonna involve?” I ask. He’ll obviously want me to keep a low profile. Forget hanging out with Zach. Why does this have to happen right now?

  Finally his turn to speak, Rich gets all excited again and sets his binder on the table. He opens the papers so I can flip through them. “First are the values. What are three abstract qualities you want to represent? For example, Barack Obama, I’d say, attempted to embody a mix of sunny optimism and cautious reserve. That’s our starting point anyway. We’ll figure out the nitty-gritty of what colors to wear for TV appearances and other things of that nature later on when the campaign is announced.”

  Everything Rich is saying makes me think of Ollie Barrios. Dress this way. Look that way. Hang around with these people. Be my little Barbie Doll all the time.

  I look to Mason for backup. He shrugs.

  “You’ve really thought all this out,” I say to Dad and Rich. “I should go, I need a shower.”

  “Honeybee,” Dad says, stabbing into one of Royce’s pancakes. “The boys and I are going to start working on the campaign with Rich. You should stick around.”

  “I have plans,” I lie. “Royce can’t wait though.”

  Royce emerges from his haze. “Sorry. Been a long night.”

  “Aren’t they all?” Dad says. “I’m telling you, getting this campaign in order has cut my sleep in half. You don’t have to go,” Dad says to me. “You have a say in this too.”

  “Sorry, Congressman Blakely,” I say. “Duty calls.”

  “What duty is that?” he asks. “There are some family items we really need to run over.”

  Items. Run over. Like our conversation is a press release.

  “I already figured those out with Royce. Just ask him. Look, if I don’t get to a shower ASAP, we’re going to have a problem, as you can probably smell...” I say, leaving the room as Mason shrugs at Dad.

  Forget spending my entire Saturday working on the campaign with the boys and being told what to do by Rich Nguyen. I’m going to the de los Santos house stealth style. Maybe Danilo will know what’s going on with Royce and Jasmine.

  After I shower and dress, I sneak back downstairs. Dad and the others are debating something in his office as I walk into the kitchen. I pull up my phone and order an Uber. It’s going to be an expensive ride all the way out to Chatsworth and Mom’s probably going to kill me when she notices the charge on the credit card, but I don’t care. I need to get out, talk to someone who isn’t part of the mess that’s my life right now. I need to talk to Danny. He’s someone I can talk deep with too—art and dreams and all the other things people seem so afraid of revealing about themselves. That used to be Sam. If he really joined the debate team to pursue a girl, I figure I better keep my distance. Not to mention that I have feelings for Zach. Maybe we have to be less close.

  “Honeybee?” Dad shouts. “Come here. I want to talk to you about something.”

  I head into Dad’s study. “I only have a few minutes. Sam’s picking me up.”

  “I really want you to take this image thing seriously,” Dad says. “You do understand that my career rides on this election? That this is my job.”

  “Yes, Dad. I understand. It’s cool.” He’s right. Complaining isn’t going to stop him from running. And fighting with him is only going to make him think I need more babysitting from Rich. I glance at him. He doesn’t exactly l
ook that excited to be working with me either. “I’ll start working on the image plan or whatever.”

  “Thank you, Liv. I think you’ll learn a lot from this campaign as long as you’re willing to be open-minded.”

  I walk by the fruit bowl and grab another apple to take with me on the way to Danny’s house. Then I check my phone. My ride’s almost here.

  As I’m walking out the door, I see Mom pulling into the driveway, which makes me nervous. She’s going to ask too many questions. I just want to get away from here for a little while and soak up some time to myself before the campaign really gets started.

  She parks her car and steps out, her hair and makeup perfect. “You were up early this morning,” she says.

  “I ran to Franklin Canyon,” I say, not offering much information. I’m hoping I can get her to go inside before the car shows up. There’s no way she’ll take me all the way out to Chatsworth without wanting to stay and chat with Jasmine’s parents.

  I’d rather hang out with the de los Santos family myself. When Jas and Royce started dating, Jas became part of our family, but—even better—I got to become part of hers. They’re easy to be around. They’re not constantly focused on politics like my family and always ask about my art when I come over. I really don’t want to lose them.

  “That’s a long way. I hope you took a snack,” she says, opening her back seat and pulling out a box of books. “You need fuel to run those kinds of distances.”

  “I ate before I ran.” Exercise and restricting my food is essential to meeting my goal of a hundred pounds. I want to meet that goal for myself, but I want to look good for Zach too. He’s around tiny actresses all the time. I have to look my best.

  Mom starts walking toward the front door, carrying her box.

  “Just be careful not to overdo things. You tend to push yourself too hard.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I say, checking my phone again. It says that the driver’s about a mile away. “Dad’s inside talking to Rich and the boys about campaign stuff.”

  Mom exhales a deep breath. “So you finally met Rich? I trust your father with these kinds of choices, but this one’s a little intense for my taste.”

  I nod. “Yeah. He also thinks Frida Kahlo is the ‘one with the unibrow.’”

  “Cretin.” Mom laughs.

  I’m lifting my arm up to push a stray hair back behind my ear when Mom grabs my hand. “What happened, Liv? These sores look awful.”

  I pull my hand away from her fast. My heart is racing. She probably won’t figure the real reason about the sore right away, but she’s the kind of person who will look up information on WebMD for hours until she figures out all possible causes of a symptom. It would only be a matter of time before she confronted me on my secret.

  “I was working on the throwing wheel at school this week and the clay was really rough,” I lie. I’m not even in ceramics. “It cut up my hand a little.”

  “What have I told you about putting Neosporin on wounds? You have to do that or the sore will turn into a scar. You have such pretty hands, Liv.”

  “I know,” I say. “I just forgot.”

  “Do you need a ride somewhere? I just need to set down this box. We’re collecting donations for elementary school libraries...”

  “Sam’s picking me up,” I lie again, silently apologizing to Sam in my head for using him as an excuse to get away from my family. Thinking about him reminds me of Antonia’s comment about how much Sam has physically changed this summer. It won’t be long until he gets a serious girlfriend and whatever feelings were growing between us last year when we kissed on the bench at the marina will be completely gone.

  “I’ve always loved that boy.”

  “I know you have,” I say hesitantly.

  “I just wish you and he could—”

  “Mom, please. Not right now.”

  Thinking about Sam like a potential boyfriend hurts my head. I have feelings for Zach. Sam obviously likes another girl. We’re too much like siblings to date.

  She opens the front door. “Well,” she says, sounding disappointed, “be back by 5 p.m. tonight. We’re finally going to have a proper family dinner.”

  t e n

  “Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.”

  —Anais Nin

  I’m standing at the front door of the de los Santos family home when Jas’s youngest brother, Isko, answers in tapered black sweatpants and a track jacket. He’s got the whole athleisure look going on with his outfit. He’s also wearing eyeliner. It looks hot. His dark eyebrows look way better than mine, like he just had them threaded.

  “Isko!” I say, hugging him, automatically feeling more at ease here than at home. “I just texted your brother.”

  “He told me you were coming,” he says. “You look radiant. Are you seeing someone?”

  “Seeing someone?” I hesitate.

  Does Isko know something I don’t? I don’t know how to answer the question. I’ve had a crush on Zach forever, who finally seems to be interested and available. Maybe.

  “You know, like, romantically? I have this theory that people in love have this glow around them.”

  He’s barely in high school, but Isko seems so grown up now. He’s so self-confident. “I am radiant,” I tease. “But no, not seeing anyone. Have my eyes on a few.”

  “Story of my life.” He laughs.

  We both enter the house, and Danny comes running up. He’s wearing jeans splattered with paint spots, a wrinkly black shirt and striped socks. Danny and Jasmine are both much less fashion conscious than their younger brother.

  “Get away from my girl,” he says to his brother.

  “Your girl?” Isko says. “She’s her own girl.”

  “Got that right,” I say, walking over to Danny to give him a hug. “I haven’t seen you in six months. How are you both so much taller when I haven’t grown an inch?”

  Isko whistles. “I’ll say. Look how tiny you are...”

  His words feel both like a jolt of affirmation—finally someone’s starting to recognize my hard work—but I also feel ashamed. He has no idea what I’ve been doing to lose the weight. It isn’t pretty. It’s not the kind of weight loss you can brag about.

  “It never stops,” Danny says. “Isko just keeps getting skinnier, taller and funnier looking.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Isko says. “You might be a senior now, but you look like you’re in second grade with that baby face.”

  “As you can see,” Danny says to me. “Isko is just as annoying as ever.”

  “Only to you,” he says, “I have to go. I’m going to the movies with Simon. Or something like that.” He winks. “I’ll catch you both later.”

  “He’s so grown up,” I say to Danny as Isko runs out the door. His confidence inspires me. He really knows how to live with... What did Ms. Day say that French term was? Joie de vivre? I’m almost jealous of the constant joy he seems to find in living.

  “I know, he’s really discovering himself.”

  “How are your parents taking it?” I ask.

  “It’s driving them a little crazy to be honest. Jas never gave them trouble. The only thing I do that annoys them is spend most of my time locked up in my room, drawing. He’s always been a handful, but now he’s really coming out of his shell.”

  “That’s great,” I say. “I wish I felt that carefree in front of my parents.”

  “They’re just going to have to get used to him being the life of the party.”

  I hear a cough from the kitchen and peek through the doorway to see Lola Cherry sitting at the kitchen table with a crossword puzzle in front of her.

  “Not as long as I’m alive he’s not,” she says.

  “Lola!” I say, walking into the kitchen. I’m so excited to see her. Though Lola Cherry isn’t Danny’s rea
l grandmother, she pretty much counts—which means she’s my grandmother too. I love her. She’s so feisty. She doesn’t take crap from anyone.

  “Hi, darling,” she says. “Good to see you, little baby.”

  I give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “You look beautiful,” I say.

  “I know.”

  “God, Lola,” Danny says. “Are you running for Miss USA or something?”

  “I’d win,” she says, setting down her crossword puzzle. “And then I’d be the life of the party. You should see me in a bikini.”

  “Oh, Lola,” I say. “I missed you.”

  “Good for you,” Lola says.

  “This is what I love about you guys.” I laugh. “Always fun. Always make me feel so...welcome.”

  The tension I’ve been carrying in my shoulders this entire school year begins to loosen. The stress from all the drama—especially due to the campaign—begins to wash away. I feel accepted here. I don’t have to be anything more than I already am.

  I know every family has their problems, but I’ve always felt safe around the de los Santos family. They can argue with each other and actually work things out. Not like mine. We can fight until we’re blue in the face and not get anything done.

  “Look who Danny dragged in through the door,” Pilar says, entering the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

  That’s always her first question. I don’t know how Jasmine stayed so thin living with her mother. It must have been all the cheer and dance practices. Jas probably has better willpower than I do too.

  Pilar opens the fridge. It’s jam-packed with food, and she has to rearrange some bottles and boxes to see around everything. “I have leftover lumpia. I’ll heat some up.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “I can’t though. I’m on a diet.”

  If I start eating Pilar’s cooking, I don’t think I’ll ever stop.

  “That’s what Jasmine always used to say when she was your age,” Pilar mumbles into the refrigerator. “Why a diet? You get smaller every time I see you.”

  “You didn’t tell me we had lumpia,” Danny complains.