Chapter 7
Emily and Madison accompanied us to the Philadelphia International Airport. They cried hysterically the entire twenty-minute drive while my father shook his head and glared at them through the rearview mirror. Over the past two weeks, before school had officially let out, I begged my parents nonstop. I had never done anything to upset them before in my life. I assumed that all those years of obedience had to amount to something. I was wrong.
My father was determined to ship us off to some island he hadn’t laid eyes on in thirty-five years. It was a literal “guilt trip”—his twisted way of making up for ignoring his family there—and even worse, for having been successful here. Like shipping us off to stay with them would prove he didn’t think he was better than they are, that he still thought of them, and that he was still one of them. Only it wasn’t true. He had left and never looked back. If he really cared about a single one of the people he and my grandparents had left behind to “seek a better life,” then he’d be visiting them with us, not just schlepping us off first class.
“I can’t be-be-believe you’re really go-going. I can’t believe y-you’re really gonna miss my p-paaarty!” sobbed Madison, her pale skin red and blotchy. She was already on her second box of tissues and her hair was sweaty from hours of crying.
She didn’t take the news well. Actually, it was safe to say that if she had access to my father and a guillotine she would have ordered “off with his head.” It was a rampage worthy of an epic legend. Not to mention poor Gayle, who had to reconfigure the seating charts, the grand “best friend processional” (which was to be choreographed to some club song I’d never even heard of), redistribute the flowers dedicated to my bouquet, alert the photographer of one less “friend” for the staged Kodak moments, and of course, deal with a hysterical Madison.
At least now, Madison finally believed there was truly nothing more I could have done to change my father’s mind, and that I really was an unwitting pawn in his evil plot to ruin my life. Last night, she and Emily slept over and helped me pack. They spent so much time trying to convince my father he was making a mistake (Madison tried to show him her entire three-ring binder full of Sweet Sixteen party plans, down to the colored swatch of her dress) that I almost thought he was going to kick them out. No bother, he just tuned them out the same way he tuned me out. He was mentally incapable of understanding how much I would be missing, how two months away from my two best friends, whom I had spent every day with since kindergarten, felt like a death sentence. I had no desire to miss out on the biggest and most important day in my friend’s life just to visit some “Puerto Rican paradise” I had no interest in.
I didn’t want to turn into some freakish JLo wannabe, eating rice and beans and speaking in some language that I couldn’t even comprehend in my classes, let alone in an actual foreign environment. I wanted cheeseburgers and American top forty and people who spoke English fluently. This whole island was going to be a bizarro world. We weren’t even staying in the city. We were staying in some mountain hick town where my dad grew up, and where no tourist ever ventured. Everyone was going to be old and wrinkled and . . . foreign. And back home, the world was going to go on without me; Madison’s party was going to happen without me.
I snarled at the back of my brother’s head as I suppressed the urge to reach over the car seat and choke him with my bare hands. All those times I watched his back, and the one time I needed him to stand up for me, he bails. Why? Because it served his own interests to keep his mouth shut. That was all he cared about—himself. I felt the heat building in my head like a time bomb.
“We’re here!” my mom sang from the front passenger seat as our Lexus SUV stopped in front of the Departures drop-off.
“I still can’t believe this,” Madison cried.
“Two months! And the party!” Emily whined, tossing her hands in the air.
“Look, you guys, I can’t even think about that. I can’t even think about the party or I’m gonna lose it,” I squeaked, trying to hold my voice steady.“I brought my laptop. I’m gonna e-mail you guys every day, okay? We’ll set up a chat room in IM, and you’ll have to tell me every single detail. Madison, I’m so sorry I won’t be there.”
“God, could you guys be more melodramatic?” Vince moaned, stepping out of the vehicle in his ripped jeans and Foo Fighters T shirt. With his grimy black hair and scruffy two-day-old beard, all he needed was painted black fingernails and he’d look like a member of the band.
“Hey, just because you don’t have any friends who will miss you this summer doesn’t mean you have take it out on me!”
“No, I have friends. They just have better things to do than act like a bunch of crybabies. Geez, two months on a tropical island. Woe is you,” he scoffed, throwing his black carry-on duffle bag over his broad shoulder.
“Yeah, you’re right. Woe is me. This is all your fault!” I yelled, throwing a dog toy I picked up off the floor of the car. It landed with a thud at the back of his ratty head.Vince spun around, his lips tightening as his eyes darted for ammunition.
“Kids, don’t,” my mother quickly warned. “Let’s not make a scene.”
“Sorry, Mom, if I’m embarrassing you,” I said, cocking my head.
Ever since she took my father’s side on this, I’ve put her in the same enemy camp. I was suddenly seeing her unending patience as pathetic passivity. The sight of her made my teeth grind.
“Mariana, don’t speak to your mother like that,” my father ordered as he pulled out my suitcase.
“Oh, sorry. Thanks, Mom! I’m so happy you planned this trip without asking me. When I get back, be sure to let me know what college you’ve decided I’ll be attending and any new extracurriculars you’ve signed me up for. Hey, maybe you’ll go the extra mile and arrange my marriage while you’re at it.”
I knew I was only making things worse, but there was something about this phony good-bye scene that made me want to add at least a smidgen of authenticity. It’s not like my parents had earned any polite discretion. Sure, I knew many kids would love to spend the summer without their parents in Puerto Rico. But, frankly, I wasn’t one of them. And no one, other than my friends, seemed to understand that.
“Mariana, I wish there was something more we could do. Maybe you could just hide out in an airport bathroom and we’ll pick you up after your plane’s left.You can stow away at my house the whole summer,” Emily whispered, putting her arm around my terry cloth–covered shoulders. I was wearing a turquoise hoodie and matching pants. I figured if I had to endure the mental torture of a four-hour plane ride, I might as well be comfortable.
“Spic, seriously, my parents will fly you back for the party. I could have Gayle arrange it,” Madison suggested once again, not realizing the racial slur she threw out in my dad’s presence.
I quickly caught my father shoot her a disgusted look. He’d heard them call me “Spic” before and he’d ranted about how offensive it was, but he didn’t get it. They weren’t making fun of me. They thought the nickname was cute. Besides, it’s not like I was really Hispanic, so why should I be insulted?
It’s not half as bad as the nickname I got saddled with last year. My European History class had just finished an entire lesson on the Spanish Armada, the fleet of ships that sailed against England in 1588. A kid in my class, Hugh Larson, seemed to find the name hysterical, so much so that he pinned the nickname—Spanish Armada—on me, I being the only “Latina” in our entire grade. My brother and I officially made up Spring Mills High School’s one percent Latino population, a fact that was hard for our classmates to overlook. So for the rest of the school year, my entire history class called me “Spanish Armada.” I didn’t take offense, and actually, sometimes it was kind of funny. But I was more than happy to see the course end in June and the nickname die with it.
“Mariana, it’s time to go,” my father instructed from the curb, where he was guarding my luggage. “Madison, I’m sorry she’s missing your party but I’m sure you’ll have just as much fun. Now, Mariana, say good-bye to your friends.”
For a split second I wanted to shove him into oncoming traffic.
I turned to Madison and Emily and tears instantly spilled from my eyes. I’d never had to say good-bye to them before.At least not like this. Sure, we’d all gone on vacation with our families before, but those trips lasted two weeks, tops. This felt like forever.
“I’m gonna miss you guys so much,” I cried, spreading my arms wide.
“I’ll miss you too,” they replied in unison.
“You have the best birthday party ever! And send me all the pictures!”
I stood there for a couple of seconds hugging them, crying. A part of me was hoping, silently, that they’d really miss me at the party, that it could never be as much fun without me. That I mattered that much.
“All right, Mariana, you be careful over there,” instructed my mother as she put her hand on my back to break up the group hug.
“I will,” I said, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.
I looked fiercely at my father. I had nothing to say to him, and I was not going to give him the satisfaction of a “good-bye.” He glared right back at me.
“Mariana, Vince, hurry up or you’ll miss your plane,” he ordered without an ounce of sentiment.
I sighed and turned my back to him. Vince was already standing at the automatic glass doors to the airport, waiting for me. I stormed toward him without looking back at my parents.
“Good-bye, Mariana,” my father yelled after me. “And Vincent, don’t get into any trouble. The neighbors over there might not be as nice as the ones here, so don’t throw any parties.”
I stopped in my tracks and coughed unexpectedly. My parents knew about the party Vince threw last year? Since when? My eyes shot toward my brother. His expression was flat. He didn’t seem surprised.
Suddenly, it all made sense. That was why my brother was not allowed to go to Europe, that was why he was so willing to accept this Puerto Rico alternative, and that was why I was being forced to babysit him. This was all because of that stupid party. If I had just been as irresponsible as him, if I had just gotten wasted like he did, I wouldn’t be in this situation because then they wouldn’t trust the two of us together. Now I couldn’t tell if I was being punished for lying (by omission) on Vince’s behalf or for being trustworthy enough to look out for him.