“So what’s going on with you guys?” Susy asks me at lunch two days later.
She avoids my eyes, examining her sandwich instead.
“What do you mean?” The make-out session with Coach, duh.
“What do you mean what do I mean? You and Andrew. Are you guys going out? Or was that a one-shot deal you were starting the other day?”
One-shot deal? No, that’s you, sister. “Why are you asking like that? What are you, mad? Look, I can’t help it if he likes me.” Okay, I just flipped my palm up, like my mother does.
It’s quiet as she thinks about this. “Yes, but you never said you were interested in him.”
“I know I didn’t, because I wasn’t. But then I got to know him, and now I like him.” My volume gets a bit loud, and a couple people look over from the other table.
“Shh.” Susy leans in, glancing up at my face. “Look, just take it easy with him. He’s a lot older than you are.”
“And?” She’s never cared this much about me before, but now she gets all sisterly? “He’s twenty-three, not fifty.”
“Doesn’t matter. His agenda is different than yours.”
“And how do you know what his agenda is?” I ask, looking her straight in the eye. “Or mine for that matter? What if my agenda includes seeing Andrew as much as I please?”
She leans back again, getting comfortable in her chair. “Oh, that’s right. You did say, ‘No, I’m not going to meet anyone this summer, I want a clean slate, I’m leaving for Michigan,’ blah, blah, blah.”
“So? I didn’t expect to meet someone new. It just happened.”
“Well, I’m just looking out for you. I remember Iggy saying his roommate was always drunk. He was probably talking about Andrew,” she says, letting it sink in for a moment before taking a sip of her Coke.
Nice! So now she’s trying to make him an alcoholic so I won’t go out with him? She’s that desperate? Or does she think there’s no one to look out for me, since my sister’s not around and everything?
“Thanks, but I don’t need another mom. I already have the mother of all mothers, plus Carmen.” This is really starting to piss me off. It’s not like she wrote her name on his forehead with a Sharpie or anything.
“Suit yourself.” She stands and scoops up her brown bag, plastic bag, and soda can. She dumps them into the garbage, then leaves the teachers’ lounge.
Like I need this from her. I thought Susy was beyond jealousy, with that careless attitude of hers, but I guess not. Interesting, the defense mechanisms people will put up sometimes. I honestly didn’t think she liked him that badly. Well, sorry, girlfriend, that’s life. Deal with it.
I have five minutes before picking up the kids from the cafeteria, so I go by the main house. Between Susy’s intrusion and Andrew’s tongue the other day, I forgot to check out the art contest she mentioned. Better take a look. I’ll need all the extra bucks I can get before leaving for college.
On the bulletin board I spot the bright blue paper. Well, what do you know? The contest is for Cuba Expo, and the deadline is July 29. Today’s the 8th. Wouldn’t that be something? Actually going to the stupid thing this year for a contest, not at my mom’s insistence? The first prize is only $100, though, which sucks. And guess what? My painting isn’t about anything Cuban. So there goes that.
On my way home it starts again. The stupid rain. One day, fine, two days, okay. Now it’s rained, like, four days in a row, and I can’t see a damned thing in front of me. Then you have the people driving out from the city, who don’t remember to turn on their lights when going down Tamiami Trail. And then they wonder why oncoming cars don’t see them when they pass. My windshield wipers are already swishing on high.
What do I do about Susy? Nothing, I guess. She’ll have to get over it. What about Andrew? I really like him, but I hope I’m not falling for him. That would only make things worse. What have I gotten into? It’s like I’ve fallen into a trap, but the trap is a wonderful green land with lots of bubbling brooks, mango trees, and sunflowers. Okay, scratch the sunflowers. They make me sneeze.
I get to 147th Avenue with no problems. Except, the driver of an eighteen-wheeler next to me is either blind or extremely high, because suddenly he moves right into my lane, practically scraping my sideview mirror.
“God damn!” I swerve off the road to avoid getting crushed. My truck drops off the soft shoulder and into a shallow ditch, just barely missing one of those concrete barricades. The stupid truck continues on like nothing happened!
“¡Me cago en tu madre! ¡Hijo de puta!”
Fabulous, this is just the best day ever. This is exactly why I always pester Mom for my own cell phone—in case of emergencies. But no, she said, I would only use it to talk to friends at inappropriate times, like school, or work, or God forbid, in an actual emergency! Now I’ll have to wait here for the rain to stop so I can walk to Publix on 137th Avenue to use the phone.
“This sucks!” I don’t think there’s any damage, but still, my hands are shaking and my stomach hurts. Now Mami will find out what happened and get on my case even more. As it is, she’s about to beg me to stay at the end of the summer, I just know it. And there’s no way I’m staying in Miami.
You know the best part about this city? The way the traffic whooshes by, ignoring the truck sitting here in the rain, in a ditch, with its hazards on. Oh, would you look at that, a driver in need of assistance. I sure hope someone comes to help her soon. Bye-bye! And there they go. Thanks a lot, people!
Oh wait, someone’s here. I see the lights bounce up behind me, and the car makes its way over the bumpy ground. In the rearview mirror I see it’s a white 4Runner. Ha, Andrew. Now why does that not surprise me?
A bright orange–sheathed body gets out of the car and jogs over to my passenger side. I click the door open.
He gets in, pulling back the hood of his Hurricanes poncho, water droplets sliding and soaking into the seats. “Need help, ma’am?”
Great rescue! Way better than AAA.
“Hey!” Yes, I know…clever reply.
“Good thing there’s only one road out of camp.”
“Yeah, and another good thing that you left after I did, or you wouldn’t have seen me. Can you believe what happened?” I recount the story of the rain, the eighteen-wheeler, and how happy I am to have plummeted into a shallow area and not off any one of Miami’s dozens of bridges.
“Wow, what an idiot. He was probably drunk off his ass.”
“No kidding. How the hell am I going to get out of here?”
“You’ll need a tow truck,” he says, looking back at his car. “I have my phone. Be right back.”
He runs out to retrieve his cell. I feel so stupid, a damsel in distress. As I’m waiting for him to come back, I see another party has arrived. Florida Highway Patrol, blue lights circling silently. Great. Girl gets run off the road, sits in a ditch like a dork, while men save her helpless butt.
She gets out. A woman officer. Why did I assume it would be a guy? She knocks on Andrew’s window, he lowers it, and I see them talking. He points, he smiles. She looks around, she smiles. A moment later Andrew is running back this way.
He rushes in and slams the door. “Okay, I called a tow truck. She’s gonna wait with us until they get here. See? You’ll be okay, missy.”
“I can’t believe this crap. Thanks, Coach.”
“No problem, señorita.” He wipes rain off his face and leans in to give me a kiss. His skin smells like grass, sun, and rain all mixed together. Intoxicating. I hope the tow truck takes its time. I could stay here all day with Andrew.
By 6:30, the sky has cleared, like the rain never happened, and my father’s car sits in the driveway. Mami isn’t back yet from wherever, which is really weird. Good. I’d hate for her to worry about me any more than she already does, especially with Andrew following me home. Dad opens the door before I can even use my keys.
“¿Ey? ¿Y qué?”
“Hey, Dad. Did you get my message?”
“I haven’t checked. ¿Por qué?”
“Because I kinda had an accident, but I’m fine.” I kiss his cheek and drop my stuff on the sofa. Andrew follows me in and shakes Dad’s hand.
My dad barely notices the exchange, worry all over his face. “An accident? ¿Hija, qué pasó?”
“Nothing, an eighteen-wheeler drove me off the road, and I couldn’t get out of a ditch. Andrew found me. A tow truck pulled me out. Just a scratch on the Chevy.”
Dad listens, glancing at Andrew appreciatively.
I sit on the sofa. “Where’s Mom?”
“Eh, she had a checkup in the afternoon. Probablemente está sentada en tráfico. Ese Kendall está de madre.” He looks at Andrew again, this time to clarify in English. “She’s probably sitting in—”
“Kendall traffic,” Andrew interrupts. “I got it.”
Dad smiles. “Oh, that’s good. Very good.” He kneads the back of my neck, a pat on the back for reeling in a good one. My dad has always appreciated my judgment of anything, even guys. So not typical of Cuban dads. One reason why I love him.
Andrew looks around. “Mind if I use your bathroom?”
I point toward the bedrooms. “Right around the corner, next to the giant picture of me in the cream puff dress.”
He walks off, and a moment later I hear him laughing down the hall.
My dad sinks onto the couch next to me, placing a hand on my knee. “Isa, no le digas nada a tu mamá de lo que pasó.”
Don’t tell my mom anything? “¿Por qué?”
“Porque sí. She worries enough about everything without knowing that you’re out there falling off roads. She’s estressed for anything.” I love the way my dad says stressed. Otherwise, his English is pretty darn near perfect.
“So I sent her to see Dr. Hernández,” he adds.
Any little thing wrong with anyone, and my dad suggests a visit to Dr. Hernández, family friend and physician. “Why, do you think he’ll be able to figure her out? It’s more here”—I point to my head—“than anything. That’ll take more than a tongue depressor down her throat, tú no crees?”
“Chica, deja a tu pobre madre ya.”
“Fine, I’ll get off her case for a while. I’m only on it because she doesn’t leave me alone. She treats me like a baby, Dad. Sometimes I wish Carmen were here to share in Mami’s insanity.”
“Oh, and Robi called you,” he adds.
I roll my eyes. Robi again? Why can’t he let me be? If I call him back, it’ll do more harm than good.
Andrew reappears, rubbing his hands together. He touches my arm lightly. “All right, I guess I’ll be going now.”
“’K.”
“Hasta luego, mi hijo,” Dad says.
“Adiós, señor.” Andrew nods. Most Cubans don’t really say adiós, but “see you later.” Still, at least he tries.
We walk to the front door. “Thanks for rescuing me.” Prince Andrew.
“Hey, no problem. Call me later?”
“Okay.”
Another kiss. A quick good-bye on the lips. Call me later? Man, Andrew and I have been talking every day this week. Do I mind? Hell no. He makes me swoon, remember? That alone means something. There has to be something wrong with him. Nobody’s that perfect.
I watch as he pulls out of my driveway, wet tires squeaking against the sidewalk. Then, in the rosy light of the waning sun, he takes off on his white horse. 4Runner, I mean.