Chapter 4
The lawn was damp and the music was lame. I sat on a soggy picnic blanket surrounded by girlfriends I’d known since grade school, listening to some artist I’d never heard of perform on the waterfront stage. I lifted my butt to feel the seat of my jeans. Just as I thought, wet. Now it was going to look like I peed myself. I yanked on my navy blue T shirt, even though I knew it wasn’t long enough to cover the water mark. Not that many people here would notice. Aside from my classmates, everyone else at the concert was wearing at least one article of clothing made entirely of hemp.
Emily and Madison were sprawled out next to me in their bare feet, our flip-flops stacked on the grass beside us. Emily was reading some article about Uganda in the latest Marie Claire while Madison was busy texting her event planner.
“Yes! Gayle found the pink, rhinestone-studded cell phone holders I wanted to give as favors!” Madison shrieked.
“That’s awesome, Mad,” I said, half listening as I scanned the crowd.
I knew Vince was here somewhere. He’d dropped us off in the parking lot and then darted to meet with a group of jocks I didn’t realize he knew. He rotated friends more often than his underwear. It was easy for him. He was universally liked by rockers, nerds, stoners, everyone. He had a knack for making any situation more fun. At church when we were little, he used to make shadow puppets on the pew in front of us as we kneeled, silently praying. I’d spend the entire hour guessing the animals he was contorting his hands into—dogs, butterflies, alligators. It made the never-ending Catholic mass move surprisingly quickly, especially since half the time was spent trying to suppress our giggles.
“Yo, Spic, is there any more water in the cooler?” Madison asked, not looking up from the screen of her phone.
“Yeah, I think so,” I answered through clenched teeth. I opened the red and white cooler. I pulled out a bottle of dripping wet Evian and handed it to her.
“Uh, hello! Don’t get my phone wet or I’ll never hear if Gayle found my tiara!”
“You’re wearing a tiara?” I asked, my eyes narrowed.
“Uh, obviously. But Gayle’s trying to pawn off some tacky thing that doesn’t even have real crystals. Like I would ever wear that! I swear I don’t know what we’re paying her for.”
I did. The poor woman probably needed a team of assistants just to keep up with Madison’s requests.
“Hey, Mad, this band is pretty good. Why don’t you hire them?” I joked as the dreadlocked chick on stage began to yodel.
“Very funny. Besides, we already booked the same band that played at my cousin’s wedding.”
“Wasn’t your cousin’s wedding in Los Angeles?”
“Yeah, so? They’re flying in.”
“Oh, okay. Um, that’s cool,” I remarked, shaking my head.
“I don’t get why they have concerts on the Philly waterfront,” Emily stated, changing the subject. “It’s ugly.You have a gross view of Camden. Who wants to stare at that?”
She pointed across the Delaware River to the fog of black smoke emanating from the refineries in New Jersey.
“I know. Camden literally smells like crap,” Madison stated. “My dad complains about it all the time. I don’t get why they just don’t move his office.”
The Campbell Soup Company is headquartered in Camden, New Jersey, and it is one of the few redeeming qualities about the city. I had only stepped foot in it twice in my life—for my grandparents’ funerals. They wanted to be buried in the place they’d raised their family, which drove my father nuts. He worked hard to brush away his poverty-stricken past and hated any association with his former lifestyle. That’s why he moved our family (and my grandparents) to Spring Mills, quite possibly the whitest town in the tri-state area.
We were so conspicuous that once when my mom’s Polish relatives sent a Christmas package addressed only to “Irina Ruíz, Spring Mills, Pennsylvania,” it still arrived the day after it entered the States—even without the street address. It was easy for the mail carrier to determine its destination; we were the only family with an Hispanic last name within a ten-mile radius. A fact that didn’t go unnoticed by my grandfather. He never ceased to mention it and every time he did, my father’s fists clenched until his knuckles whitened.
“Hello! Mariana! Earth to Mariana!” Emily yelled. “Madison wants to go look for shoes.”
“I want you guys to both wear black, so you’ll complement my silver dress,” Madison said as she dropped her phone in her purse. “I’m thinking black strappy sandals.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” I answered.
We all climbed to our feet and I neatly folded the blanket we’d been sitting on for the past two hours.
“Hey, can we get something to eat first? I’m starving,” Emily said. “There’s this Mexican place in Old City that’s supposed to be awesome. My parents went there a couple weeks ago.”
“Hey, Mariana—Mexican.We can visit your people,” Madison joked.
“I’m Puerto Rican, chica, not Mexican. Get it right,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“¡Ay Dios mío! So sorry señorita!” she replied with a laugh.
“Oh, you know we love you! Our little ethnic friend,” Emily teased.
“For the last time, I am not Hispanic. My name is.”
I shoved the plush blanket in my backpack and followed my friends off the field and away from the concert.