When Alma saw Evan crossing the street, her stomach lurched and her heart started to beat fast. His shaggy bangs, which usually hung over his eyes, were sort of haphazardly gelled back, framing his high forehead and bewildered face. He looked adorably preppy, in khaki pants, a navy-blue blazer, a light-blue shirt, and a striped bow tie. He also looked utterly out of place.
Alma was so busy gawking that it took her a minute to notice Mary Catherine by his side. In a short, strapless red satin dress and high-heeled sandals, she was hard to miss. Her sandy-blond hair was swept into a neat twist, and a short strand of white pearls stood out against the smooth skin of her throat.
With M.C. looking like that, Alma knew their plan would work.
She and Mary Catherine had hatched the plan at lunch on Friday: Mary Catherine would come as Evan’s date. When Evan protested, Alma patiently explained that M.C. wasn’t just any date; she was a drop-dead beautiful date. This would keep her dad and all of the nosy tías from thinking, even for a moment, that the country-club boy might be there to see Alma.
Mary Catherine enfolded Alma in a tight hug. When she stepped back, Alma noticed Evan’s eyes scan her own outfit, a puzzled expression on his face.
“Snow White,” Alma said, trying not to sound as idiotic as she felt.
Mary Catherine burst into joyous peals of laughter. “You have got to be kidding me! You’re dressed up as Snow White?”
Alma glanced down at the bright yellow bustier and puffy electric-blue tulle skirt that dropped almost to the floor.
“Would I kid about this?” She swept her hand along the edge of the skirt. “It’s a princess theme. Disney Princess.”
“Awesome,” Mary Catherine said, and then she let out one of those crazy bellowing laughs.
“We each had to pick a different Disney princess. Obviously, I chose last.”
“You make a pretty sexy Snow White,” Mary Catherine said. “Doesn’t she usually have puffy sleeves? That strapless bustier definitely helps.”
Mary Catherine turned to Evan, who was trying to look away. “And doesn’t her skin tone look fantastic against the butter yellow?” She took his chin in her hand and forced his eyes to rest on Alma’s chest.
Alma was surprised to see a splotchy blush cover the edge of Evan’s cheeks. His eyes trailed up to meet hers.
“You look beautiful, Alma,” Evan said. “You always look beautiful.”
She mouthed a silent “thanks.”
Raúl came toward them, eyebrows arched as he took in Mary Catherine’s body. It was hard to ignore.
“Hey, Evan,” he said, “why don’t you and your friend come sit with me?”
Mary Catherine threw a devastating smile in his direction. “It’s great to meet you, Raúl. Alma says you’re going to take care of us?”
“I’ll take care of you,” he replied, with a wink.
Alma grabbed Raúl by the elbow. “Behave,” she hissed in his ear. She shot a quick glance at Evan, smiled reassuringly, and turned to join Maritza, who was working a sexy midriff-bearing Jasmine costume.
Maritza always got her way.
* * *
Raúl led them to their table. A DJ was talking in rapid and very animated Spanish on the dance floor. He sounded like one of the guys on the Spanish radio station, where Evan’s dial occasionally paused on the way to some other channel.
Mary Catherine nudged Raúl in the side. “What’s he saying?”
“Just welcome and what a special day this is for Yazmín and her parents. He’s about to introduce the court.”
“The what?” Evan whispered loudly.
“The court. You know, the damas and chambelanes.” Evan must have looked as clueless as he felt because Raúl continued explaining. “It’s like bridesmaids and groomsmen at a wedding.”
Scanning the room, Evan saw Alma’s dad sitting with a bunch of men at a table by the dance floor.
“Do I have time to go say hi to your dad?”
“Bad idea,” Raúl said. “Trust me.”
“But—”
The DJ’s booming voice broke in.
“Too late,” Raúl called out. “It’s starting.”
Evan and M.C. watched in awe as the event unfolded. Seven couples processed somberly down the center aisle of the room. All the girls were dressed like Disney princesses. The guys wore electric-blue fedoras and vests with white crosses stitched onto the backs. The crosses looked more like tattoos than church symbols. Evan looked down at his dull khaki pants and wondered if he stood out as much as he thought.
When the quinceañera entered the room, the couples turned toward each other, raising their arms to create a sort of tunnel. The girl was dressed like Cinderella in a powder blue dress with a huge puffy skirt. Her skirt barely made it through the human tunnel.
Mary Catherine cut her eyes toward Evan, trying to get his attention. He knew that if he looked at her, they would both start laughing, so he stared ahead, stone-faced.
The girl walked to a carriage-shaped throne surrounded by hundreds of blue and white balloons. She sat down gingerly, looking more embarrassed than excited. Yazmín’s face looked so young, even caked with makeup and framed with stiff curls. To Evan, she looked like a child playing dress-up, except that she seemed to be having a lot less fun.
A man and a woman who must have been her parents came toward her. The dad was carrying a shimmering pillow of sorts. Evan shot Raúl a surprised glance.
“Just watch,” mouthed Raúl.
Yazmín’s mother lifted the layers of skirt to reveal Yazmín’s white Keds. Her father leaned down to remove one of her socks and shoes, and then lifted a shimmery silver stiletto from the satin pillow and carefully slid it onto her foot. He repeated the ritual with her other foot. Once both stilettos were firmly placed, Yazmín stood, shakily, and her mom and dad both offered a hug and kiss before leaving the dance floor.
Just then, booming music filled the room. Evan had never heard music like this. The word that came to mind was “polka.” Was that right? There were lots of horns and men singing in harmony. All seven couples did a sort of choreographed dance, swinging around the dance floor, repeating the same simple back-and-forth step. Alma wore a stiff, uncomfortable smile that made Evan wish the whole thing would end soon.
When the song finally ended, Alma and her friends Magda and Maritza headed toward their table. Evan watched Alma intently, trying not to look as bewildered as he felt.
Pulling up a chair, Alma leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Weird, huh?”
Evan just smiled and touched one of the stiff ringlet curls that trailed the side of her face. He let his hand brush her chin for a moment and then dropped it under the table to take her hand. Yeah, it was weird, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to feel her warm hand in his and study the flushed skin of her cheeks and throat.
“What was that music?” asked Mary Catherine, not even trying to hide her aversion.
“Doesn’t it suck?” Maritza replied. “Banda. Uggh.”
The DJ said something else, and a new song filled the room. Maritza stood, shook her hips rapidly, and said to no one in particular, “Merengue. Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
A girl emerged from behind the balloon arch, dressed in a skin-tight black micro-miniskirt and a red tube top. Evan saw the long expanse of her bare legs ending with the same silver stilettos Yazmín had been given.
“What the hell?” he heard himself say. “Is that Yazmín?”
Alma laughed and leaned in toward him. “Yeah, she changed clothes. This is the ‘surprise dance.’”
“As in, ‘Surprise! Your sweet Disney Princess is a prostitute’?”
“Something along those lines.” Alma laughed. “I think it’s meant to show that she’s an adult now.”
Evan looked around the room in amazement as Yazmín’s parents, uncles, aunts, grandparents, and friends smiled sweetly and watched her bump and grind, in no particular order, with every one of the seven guys in her court. He had to admit, she was a good dancer. But she still didn’t look like she was having any fun.
“Ev, hon, isn’t this awesome?” Mary Catherine asked, leaning in from the other side. “I was thinking it’s kind of like a wedding or a debutante ball, but whoa!”
* * *
Alma stared incredulously at the heaping plate of food in front of Evan.
“Are you going to eat all of that?”
“Yeah, probably. Why, do you want some?”
“Uh, no. That’s just a lot of food.”
“It looks so good—what are these things?”
“Tamales.”
Evan picked one up and brought it toward his lips.
“Uh, Evan, you have to take off the corn husks on the outside before you eat them.”
“Aww, damn,” Raúl called out, breaking into their conversation. “You should have let your white boy eat the husks!”
“Just ignore my stupid brother,” Alma said as she reached over to take the tamale. “I’ll show you.” She peeled the husk off the tamale and placed it back on his plate, pushing aside a huge pile of enchiladas in green chile sauce. “You should eat it with a fork. If you pick it up, it will fall apart.”
Evan looked at her sheepishly and picked up his fork. “So, Raúl says you didn’t have one of these?”
“A quinceañera? Absolutely not. It’s a crazy waste of money. I made my dad start a college savings account for me instead.”
“Bummer. I would have liked to see footage of your ‘surprise dance.’” Evan laughed and nudged her with his elbow.
“I don’t think so, Evan. I mean, there’s a reason they made me Snow White tonight.”
“What? Snow White can’t dance?”
“No.” Alma leaned in closer and whispered, “You know, I’m, uh, pure as the driven snow.”
Evan’s eyes sparkled, and he laughed a strong, hearty laugh.
The entire table turned to look at them.
“What’s so funny?” Maritza asked.
Alma looked firmly at Evan, trying to convey that her “Snow White” status was not the business of the entire table.
“Alma’s trying to teach me how to eat tamales, and I’m making a complete idiot of myself,” Evan replied, grinning.
Everyone fell back into conversation, and he leaned toward Alma. Pressing his hand gently against the stiff blue tulle just above her knee, he whispered, “There’s nothing wrong with that, Alma.”
She felt his lips gently graze the soft skin just below her ear, while the warmth of his hand radiated through her body. She closed her eyes and tried not to sigh out loud.
Maritza’s voice broke her swoon.
“I’m ready to dance! Who’s with me?”
Mary Catherine tugged on Evan’s arm. “Come on, y’all, let’s dance.”
“There’s not a chance you’ll get Alma on the dance floor,” Maritza said. “She’s too sophisticated to dance at a quinceañera.”
“Quinceañeras are patriarchal,” Magda said, mocking Alma.
“Silly,” added Maritza.
“A waste of money and time,” Raúl chimed in.
Alma stood up. “Are y’all finished yet?” she asked. “Because I’m getting kind of thirsty. Can I be excused from the hazing to get a drink?”
“You aren’t going to dance?” Evan asked. “What else are you going to do? Watch old guys shoot tequila?”
He glanced across the room at a table full of grandfathers in cowboy hats gathered around a half-empty bottle.
“She won’t dance,” Maritza replied.
The music changed. A hip-hop remix of some eighties song came over the speakers.
Evan suddenly dropped one hand to the ground, keeping his knees bent as he pulsed his hips and one of his arms to the thumping beat of the music. It looked like some kind of eighties break-dance move.
Alma stared at him, horrified, as the others clapped and squealed with delight.
“How can you resist that?” Mary Catherine yelled above the squeals.
“OK, Evan, you win.” Reaching her arm toward him, she cried out over the music, “I’ll dance with you if you promise never to do that again.”
Evan hopped up effortlessly. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Miss García.”
Alma skipped onto the dance floor and began to spin, her silly blue skirt billowed around her. She concentrated on nothing but the melody of the song, coursing through a synthesizer. It was so strange, but she felt great dancing, and she didn’t care what anyone thought—not even her dad. She had been trying to do the right thing for so long, to act as expected, that she had ignored how she actually felt. She wanted to let it go. All of it.
She suddenly recognized the eighties song. She stopped spinning, threw her arms around Evan’s neck, and blurted, “Don’t you want me, baby!”
Evan came to a standstill and grinned his perfect grin.
“Come again?”
She leaned in closer, only a little embarrassed. “That’s the name of the song, Evan.”
Evan wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close. Their bodies moved together, keeping rhythm with the thumping bass. She felt his hands on the small of her back and his chest pressed against hers. She trailed her fingers through the hair above his neck as she gently arched to look up at him. His hands slid deeper into the curve of her lower back. The music seemed to slow, and the room around them blurred. A diffuse, warm energy coursed through them both. They continued to move together with focused intensity. The deep, sultry voice of a female vocalist hovered over the booming rhythm of the bass.
One of Evan’s hands moved slowly up along her spine and onto her bare back. Pausing for a moment at her shoulder, he lightly grazed her collarbone and the skin above her chest. As their fused hips moved together, Alma arched back farther and let her head drop. Evan leaned in and pressed his lips against her neck.
She thought she might melt into a puddle right there on the dance floor when a strong grip jerked Alma out of their trance. She found herself face-to-face with Raúl. His eyes darted toward a table adjacent to the dance floor, where Alma’s father sat poised at the edge of his chair, staring at her intently, hands perched on his knees like he was about to pounce.
Alma smiled weakly in her father’s direction and then glanced toward Evan. Mary Catherine was whispering in his ear, and a dull remorse seemed to spread across his face. Raúl pulled Alma to his own chest, shifting her mental focus into the footwork of a rapid merengue, but the deep longing ache remained.
After what seemed like a sufficient amount of time, Alma glanced again at her father, who had turned his back to the dance floor to talk with the other men around his table. She looked for Evan, and he wasn’t very hard to find. He led Mary Catherine with ease, twisting and turning, pulling her close into his body and then spinning her away. He dropped her into a sudden dip, and they both laughed delightedly when she popped upright and spun back in toward him. Alma realized, smiling, that many eyes were on this beautiful couple, the only couple on the dance floor not moving in a tight merengue; the only white couple on the floor—or, for that matter, anywhere in the San Francisco Banquet Hall.
The song ended, and Evan and Mary Catherine made their way toward Alma.
“What was that? I mean, the dance you were doing?” Alma asked.
Mary Catherine looked at Evan. “I don’t know. Uh, swing? Shag? It’s just dancing.”
“You two looked so good doing it. I mean, did you take lessons or something?”
Mary Catherine and Evan both laughed. “Yeah. I guess,” Mary Catherine said. “If you call cotillion lessons. I’m actually a terrible dancer, but Evan could lead a cardboard box and make it look good.”
She nudged Evan toward Alma. “You should try.”
Alma glanced at Evan skeptically. She wasn’t sure that her hormone-riddled body could handle dancing with Evan again, not with her father glaring from his perch nearby.
“I vow to keep at least six inches of distance between us at all times,” Evan said.
“Promise you can do that?” Alma asked.
“I can promise,” he said with a crooked grin, “but can you?”
Raúl took Mary Catherine by the arm and looked sternly toward Evan. “I hope y’all both can,” he said, “or my dad will go ballistic on you.”
Evan gave Raúl a serious nod, and then Alma was twirling. Their arms twisted smoothly in and out of complicated pretzel-like maneuvers, while Alma’s feet spun beneath her. Mary Catherine was right. All she had to do was feel the gentle tug on her arm, or the light pressure at the small of her back, and she would move in unison with Evan. He did all the work.
“You’re good,” he called out as she spun into him.
“I have no idea what I’m doing!” Alma replied, laughing.
“Yeah, but you follow well.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” she replied. “I only follow on the dance floor!”
Evan smiled a wicked smile and slung her into a dip. She gasped and popped back up.
“So, really, where’d you learn to dance like this?” Alma asked.
“I spend a lot of time escorting my mom to charity events. There’s not much else to do but dance.”
“Does your dad dance?”
“Yeah, but he’s pretty much bailed on the party circuit.”
He spun her out and back again.
“So, you go as your mom’s date? That’s cute, Evan.”
“I guess.”
Taking both of her hands, he threw one arm behind his head in a pretzel maneuver, and then drew her back to him.
“I’d like to see that sometime.”
“I don’t know. You might get jealous,” he said with a wink.
He rested his hand against her back and she fell into another low dip.
“All the ladies love to dance with BeBe’s sweet boy,” he said, holding her suspended in midair.
* * *
Coming out of the dip, Alma’s expression suddenly changed and her body tightened. She took Evan by the forearm and began to pull him off of the dance floor, weaving through other couples.
“What’s up?” Evan asked. “Did I screw up again?”
“No,” she said. “It’s just my cousin, he’s coming toward us. I don’t feel like dealing with him.”
Out of nowhere, that guy from the parking lot a couple of weeks earlier was standing in front of him in sagging jeans and a wifebeater. This wannabe gangster was Alma’s cousin? Evan felt the adrenaline release into his veins.
“So, did you and Mr. Country Club actually do it out here on the dance floor, or was that just foreplay I saw earlier?”
Evan took Alma’s hand and pulled her closer.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than study my moves on the dance floor, Manny?” she replied.
The loser looked directly at Evan. “I saw you pull up in that girly car.”
“What’s your point?” Evan growled.
“I’m gonna find out who drives the Hummer, and when I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
What was his obsession with Conway’s Hummer?
Alma grabbed the guy by his arm and yanked him toward her. They shifted into a rapid exchange in Spanish, spitting words at each other. Evan wanted to break in and defend her, but he understood nothing. Feeling like an idiot, he just glared at the guy across from him.
Mary Catherine stepped between Alma and her cousin.
“Uh, hi. Excuse me, I just need to borrow these two for a second?”
She said it tentatively, as if she were asking his permission, but Manny slouched away toward a group of rough-looking guys.
“Sorry to interrupt, Alma, but I have to go, and I was hoping Evan could walk me out. Dillon wants me to go with him to a concert. He’s picking me up now.”
“Who’s Dillon?” Evan asked.
“A new friend. I met him at the Dripolator. He’s nice.”
“How old is he?”
“I don’t know, Evan. Quit acting like my father.”
“Seriously, Evan.” Alma said. “We’ll both walk you out.”
“OK, just give me a sec. I’ve got to primp in the bathroom first.”
Mary Catherine headed away, and Evan and Alma were left standing in silence.
“So, that was my charming cousin Manny.” She shook her head slowly and continued, “I told you about him. Remember?”
Evan didn’t remember. All he could think about was the heated exchange in the parking lot.
“You know, the one with a chance at citizenship. God, what a waste.”
Evan figured she didn’t need to know about their earlier encounter. She was angry enough already.
“I’m sorry if I’ve caused trouble for you tonight,” he said.
“No, Evan. This is the first quinceañera I’ve ever actually enjoyed—and I’ve been to way too many to count.” She squeezed his hand lightly. “Don’t worry about Manny. I think he has you confused with someone else. Anyway, he’s an idiot. And my dad, well, he’s just going to have to get used to us.”
“Us. I like that,” Evan said.
Evan wrapped his other arm around her waist and stepped close. He let his eyes close and his face dip into her hair. He breathed her in, and all of the tension released. He was breaking the six-inch barrier, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about Alma’s cousin; he didn’t care that her dad might be watching. All he cared about was that he and Alma—finally—were “us.”
Mary Catherine, back from the bathroom, stepped between them. “So, do you two lovebirds realize that just about everyone in the room is staring at you?”
Evan looked up sheepishly and realized she was right. He tried to drop Alma’s hand, but she just squeezed it tighter.
“Let’s go,” she said, and she led him off the dance floor by his hand.
They waited outside for a long time. Apparently Dillon wasn’t the punctual type. Raúl eventually joined them, clearly hoping to convince Mary Catherine to stay with him. The four sat on a curb and watched cars pass, Evan holding Alma’s hand in his lap while Mary Catherine and Raúl shamelessly flirted.
Eventually, a black BMW coupe pulled up. Raúl took Mary Catherine in his arms and whispered something in her ear. She threw her head back and laughed, then gave him a peck on the cheek. Evan and Alma watched as they walked together to the BMW. He opened the door and helped her in. As soon as the door closed, the BMW sped off.
“So what’s up with M.C.?” Raúl asked.
“I don’t know,” Evan said. “She has strange taste in men.”
“Yeah,” Raúl said.
Evan wished Mary Catherine had decided to stay. Being with Raúl would be good for her. Evan knew he would treat her well, but Mary Catherine didn’t seem to be into the kind of guy who treated her well.
As they made their way back toward the building, two guys came bolting around the corner and entered the hall. If Evan had to guess, he’d say they weren’t sober. Evan saw Alma and Raúl glance nervously toward each other, and Raúl pulled out his cell phone.
Within moments, the doors to the hall burst open and several bodies lurched through the door, fists flying. Without thinking, Evan dragged Alma to the corner and pinned her body against the brick wall as they watched a fight unfold. Raúl disappeared around the corner, cell phone to his ear.
By the time Raúl returned, the sound of sirens filled the air. Two guys went running in different directions, but two remained locked together on the concrete. Raúl ran by, grabbing Evan’s arm as he passed.
“Help me out, man.”
Evan watched as Raúl grabbed one of them from behind and wrenched him away. Raúl nodded toward the other, and Evan leaned down and forcefully yanked him to his feet, holding him in a tight grip. Raúl spoke in Spanish to the guy in Evan’s grasp, and then yelled at Evan to let go.
He took off running just as the police cruisers turned the corner and pulled to an abrupt stop in front of them. Raúl dropped his arms, and Evan realized that he had pulled Manny from the fight.
A flashlight shone brightly in Evan’s face.
A deep Southern voice boomed, “Evan Roland? What the hell are you doing here, boy?”
Evan shielded his eyes from the glare of the flashlight, trying to see the source of the voice. He slowly stepped to the side as the flashlight’s beam hovered beside him. It was Logan’s cousin Troy.
“Troy, man! You’re blinding me,” he said, laughing as he walked toward the police cruiser and away from that asshole Manny. “Put down the flashlight, for chrissake!”
He glanced over at Raúl, who looked petrified—like a deer in headlights.
* * *
“Alma, Raúl, this is Troy,” Evan said, as if he were introducing an old buddy—as if the cop standing in front of her didn’t have the power to throw Raúl in jail, even without evidence that he had done anything wrong. “He’s Logan’s cousin—we go way back.”
The cop reached out to shake their hands—to shake their hands! “Nice to meet you folks.”
This was all getting too weird. Alma remembered a time on the soccer field when tempers had flared and a fight broke out. The police came, and they definitely didn’t shake any hands. They never even gave the guys a chance to explain. They just threw them in the back of the cruiser and took off.
The siren squealed on the police car, and the cop looked back toward the cruiser. “All right then,” the cop said, punching Evan gently in the arm. “I’m headed back to work. Y’all stay out of trouble.”
The cruiser drove away, sirens blaring again.
Raúl breathed a loud sigh. “Evan, man,” he said, “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“For what? I didn’t do anything.”
Alma felt a sudden wave of sadness sweep over her, catching in her throat and threatening to well up into tears. How could she begin to explain to Evan what this meant? Wasn’t his certainty that the world was a good place—that cops were fair and friendly, that people were kind and charitable—one of the things that made Evan who he was?
Suddenly exhausted, Alma leaned against the side of the building. “Are you OK?” Evan asked.
“Yeah. Long day, you know? I mean, the hair alone took two hours to sculpt.” She smiled weakly.
“Any chance you’ll let me take you home—I mean, now that we’re going public and all.”
Alma motioned her head in the direction of the black stretch Hummer parked next to the curb. “And deny me the opportunity to ride in that?”
Evan laughed, looking at the beast of an SUV. “Yeah, I guess I can’t compete.”
Raúl came to join them.
“Thanks again, Evan,” he said.
“No, man. Thank you for taking care of M.C. all night. She can be a handful.”
“Yeah, no problem. She’s pretty cool.”
“She has crappy taste in guys, Raúl,” Evan said.
“Whatever. Hey, you should come out to Grant Park tomorrow to watch my dad’s team. We lost a lot of players this fall, so we sort of suck, but it’s fun.”
Raúl left out the part about the players being arrested and deported. That probably was a good idea. Evan didn’t need to know.
“I’m there!” Evan said, not even trying to conceal his excitement.
“Our game is at one. Bring your cleats. We can shoot some.”
“Definitely,” Evan replied. “Are you going?” he asked Alma.
“Yeah, if it’s at one I can go. I have a meeting to go over scholarship applications tomorrow afternoon, but not until three.”
“Alma’s meeting her new best friend,” Raúl replied. “She’s a retired middle school counselor.”
“Damn,” said Evan. “I thought I was your new best friend. But I mean, how can I compete with a retired middle school counselor?”
“Shut up, y’all,” Alma said. “I am just trying to get somewhere in life! Like, maybe, out of this town for starters.”