Chapter Sixteen
was Technicolor, life without him is gray. So dull and boring that the first two days back after the weekend bleed together with the same, draining monotony. Wake up. Go to school. Detention. Build sets. Work. Bed. Repeat.
My life is bleak in the aftermath of senior skip day. Some might even say it’s in shambles. Mami avoids me like the plague, and my best friend acts like I don’t exist. There’s no solace from my mistakes, no safe space where I can simply exist aside from behind the stage with Anna. I have to face the consequences of my terrible choices every day. First, in the kitchen at night, which is as empty as ever but without the lipstick kiss notes from Mami. And again, at school, watching Joaquin laugh and joke with his baseball friends while he ignores me every time we see each other in the halls. It’s like I’m a ghost, doomed to float through life without meaningful contact until I wither and die for real. Or run away and start a new life in some far-off place, like Alaska or Norway.
At this point, I’m counting down the days to Sarah Lawrence move-in. It should’ve felt exciting, sending in my deposit to my dream school using my meager Casa Y Cocina tips. And while part of me is still excited about the chance at a fresh start in August, the other just feels alone.
And the worst part is, I have no one to blame but myself.
“How’s it feel to be on the brink of freedom?” Anna, the last person in my life left standing, nudges her elbow against my arm until I give her a forced grin. “C’mon, give me something bigger than that. This is your last day of detention, get hype!”
While her attempts at forcing me out my slump are appreciated, they haven’t been that effective. Fortunately, I haven’t had to elaborate on my disastrous conversation with Joaquin. One look at me at Dino World and she immediately knew whatever went down between us didn’t end well. Thank God she knows how to read the room.
“Yaaaaay,” I say weakly, throwing in a finger twirl for pizazz.
Anna nods appreciatively. Either the twirl does the trick, or the bar is extremely low.
“Here’s the tech schedule for the rest of the week,” Anna says, pulling a sheet of paper out of her binder. “Consider it a last-day-of-detention gift.”
A gift indeed. Just the sight of the detailed schedule, ready and waiting to be color coded and annotated, makes my type A heart soar.
I rest my hand on Anna’s shoulder. “You’re a true friend.”
She grins, tossing a loc over her shoulder. “I know.”
Carefully, I tuck the schedule into my binder, feeling a glimmer of joy for the first time in days. “Think we can start adjusting the spotlights tomorrow? I know we’re not supposed to work on that until Thursday, but I’d rather get a jump on it since we’re so behind on the second-floor setup.”
Anna stiffens, the playfulness faltering. “I, uh…have plans tomorrow, actually.”
“Oh. That’s cool, I can just ask one of the Emilys to help me with the ladder, then.”
My response is calm, but she’s tightly wound, arms crossed and biting her lip like she’s about to burst.
“Are you o—”
“I’m going to prom,” she blurts out, almost shouting, earning her some weird glances from a passing group of hockey players.
“Congrats!” one of the boys calls out, giving her a celebratory fist bump before rejoining his pack.
“Oooookay,” I reply slowly, allowing myself time to process why her going to prom is such a massive concern that she had to blurt it out like she’s just confessed to high treason. “And is that a bad thing?”
“Well…no. Sort of?” She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose before starting over again. “I made a big show of not going, and then you weren’t going, and I said we could do the whole ‘fuck prom’ thing at my house and, well…I felt shitty about bailing on the plan I came up with. Especially with the whole…y’know.” She waves her hand in the area between us to, I’m assuming, demonstrate my fragile emotional state.
“Anna, it’s fine,” I reassure her, waiting until she peers up at me instead of down at her shoes to continue. “You’re allowed to go to prom even if you think it’s pro-capitalist bullshit.”
She softens, tugging at the end of a loc. “You’re not disappointed?”
In truth, a part of me is. Anti-prom with Anna was one of the few things I still had to look forward to. Prom is a little over two weeks away, and while a part of me hopes that things between Joaquin and I will have changed by then, realistically that’s not going to happen. Without me in the way, he’s free to orchestrate the promposal of his dreams for Tessa and sweep her off her size 6 feet. I’m sure their pre-prom photoshoot will be outrageously beautiful and shot by a professional photographer in Tessa’s impeccably maintained backyard.
Either way, my disappointment doesn’t mean Anna should stop herself from having fun. I’ve spent enough time this semester ruining someone else’s happiness for my own selfish interests.
“I’ll be even more disappointed if you don’t send me pictures of your dress.”
That gets her to duck her head sheepishly. “That’s where I’m going tomorrow, actually. My mom found a place two towns over that has some not-outrageously-terrible last-minute options. All that’s left at our mall are those weird neon cheetah-print cutout dresses with the rhinestones on the neckline.” We both shudder at the thought. “Those should be illegal. It’s inhumane to cheetahs, and my eyeballs.”
“Thoughts and prayers to the cheetahs,” I say through a giggle at the thought of Anna wearing an animal-print gown. “What made you change your mind?”
Her expression is distant, but there’s a light in her eye when she replies. “Someone convinced me.”
My gasp is cut off by the sound of the final bell. Unless I want to tack on another day to my sentencing when I’m steps from the finish line, I need to get to detention ASAP. But the rosiness in Anna’s cheeks and the newfound shyness has me rooted in place.
“Anna! Oh my God!” I shout, whacking her arm with my binder. “Why didn’t you tell me you were talking to someone?!”
She shrugs. “It’s not official official. I still have to ask her.” She sheepishly peeks over at me. “I was wondering…do you think you could help me pull a few strings? Nothing that’ll get you more detention, I promise.”
“Duh, of course.” While I’d love to stand here and grill her about her new romance until she spills every detail, detention waits for no one. Reluctantly, I start to back away, making a V with my fingers and pointing them at my eyes before pointing them at her. “You’re telling me everything tomorrow. No excuses!”
The massive grin on her face betrays the seriousness of her eye roll. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“I’m serious! Details. Tomorrow. And if you don’t send dress pictures by ten tonight, I’m sending Nurse Oatmeal after you!” I call out, waiting until she waves in reply before I turn around and run to detention.
Sliding into the room with a minute to spare, I expect to see Mr. Cline, and maybe one of the stoners who are in their usual detention rotation.
I definitely don’t expect to see Tessa Hernandez.
Even in an empty room, she manages to be the center of attention. Seated in the front row, bent over a notebook, she tosses the glossy curtain of hair shielding her face from view over her shoulder. Her honey-blond highlights catch the midafternoon sun streaming through the window, giving her an effervescent glow.
Being in her presence makes me feel like a potato.
“Thank you for joining us, Ivelisse,” Mr. Cline says in his usual drone. “Please take a seat.”
Choosing somewhere to sit shouldn’t feel like an AP-level math exam, but it does when Tessa Hernandez is a factor. We’re the only two people in detention today, which means my choice holds an annoying amount of weight. Sitting too far away makes it seem like I’m avoiding her. Sitting too close looks as if I want to be near her.
Or I’m completely overthinking this and she probably hasn’t even noticed my existence yet and never will.
Banking on the latter, I opt for a seat closest to the windows. Having a view—even if it’s of my classmates having fun while I’m trapped inside—helps the time go by. Once I’m settled, Mr. Cline comes over with the sign-in sheet. Tessa’s name is already written at the top of the page in bright pink gel pen.
“Congratulations on making it to the end,” Mr. Cline says after I’ve signed my name below hers. “Most kids stop showing up after week two.”
Hold on—was not showing up an option this whole time?
“They take the demerits instead,” he says, reading my mind.
Mr. Cline sets down two slips of paper on my desk when I hand him back the clipboard. A slip of paper certifying that I’ve served all three weeks of my punishment and a coupon for free chips and guac at Chipotle that expires today.
“A parting present,” he says without a hint of humor before returning to his desk.
I tuck the confirmation slip and coupon into my wallet and set to work on annotating my tech schedule. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just sliiiiiiightly terrified of how much we need to get done before opening night next week. Listing out everything we have left to build, rig, or paint alone takes up the back of an entire page. The president of the drama club has been side-eyeing me every time she gets to a Shrew rehearsal only to find a half-built set and a nonexistent lighting setup, and I can’t even blame her. Shakespeare would not be proud.
Tech week is always hell. For the rest of the week, our small but mighty tech crew will run on Red Bull, iced coffee, and fear of aspiring actors. We’ll spend all of opening night next Monday hoping and praying that everything comes together before crashing for the best eighteen-hour sleep of our lives and doing the whole thing again for a full week of performances. But this’ll be a special brand of panic. Mami didn’t make good on her threat to call Tío Tony and tell him to take me off the schedule, but I did give up all of my shifts next week anyway. Unless I want a balcony to collapse on Petruchio mid-monologue, I need to get my shit together.
Besides, preventing mass thespian casualties will be an excellent distraction from the fact that my best friend in the entire world, rightfully, hates my guts.
My last hour of detention goes by without incident. With ten minutes left, Mr. Cline startles himself awake with a sneeze so loud it could be heard down the block. Something unspeakably gross dribbles out of his nose as he settles down from the aftershock of the sneeze, quickly covering his face with his hand and rushing out of the room when he realizes there are no tissues on his desk. I’m focusing on the last of my tech week notes and struggling to forget the sight of whatever was dangling out of Mr. Cline’s left nostril when a shadow stretches over me. I peek up, jumping back in surprise at the sight of Tessa Hernandez sitting at the desk in front of me.
“Hi,” she says, all light and casual, like this isn’t the first conversation we’ve had in…well, ever.
“Hi?” I didn’t intend for it to come out as a question, but the shock gets the best of me.
“You’re Joaquin’s friend, right?” she asks with a raised brow. “Ivelisse?”
“Yeah,” I mutter bitterly. Much like Chris Pavlenko, yet another person who has been in the same class as me for almost a decade can’t confidently pick me out of a lineup. Great for the self-esteem.
“I’m sorry,” she says, a sentence so startling I have to do a double take to make sure I didn’t just imagine hearing it.
“For…?” It comes out slowly, begging for her to interject with an explanation, but instead she chews on her glossy lower lip and gazes out the window, doubling as an ethereal fairy.
“Joaquin and I hung out a bit over spring break.” She pauses, as if to let me process that information like it hasn’t been haunting me for the past month. “He’s a really good listener.”
“He is.”
She nods, her lips turning upward into a small, shy smile. It feels strange to see her act so unassuming, like she doesn’t crush people’s hearts on a near daily basis. “He talked about you. A lot.”
That shouldn’t make my cheeks burn like I’ve suddenly come down with a 101-degree fever, but it does. The thought of Joaquin talking about me in any context makes my heart race, but the thought of him talking about me with Tessa is especially nerve-wracking.
“We were hanging out at lunch the other day and got around to talking about you again, and…your ex, Danny.” Her smile drops. “And I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”
Ho-ly shit, I did not have Tessa Hernandez apologizing to me on my bingo card for this year.
“Oh…uh…thank you?” I stammer, unsure how to respond.
My reply doesn’t seem to register with Tessa. Her brows knit together as her eyes stay focused on something outside, her lower lip quivering into a frown.
“I’m not sure what Danny told you about that night…,” she says so quietly I almost miss it.
“That you asked if he wanted to hook up.”
She winces before nodding. Honestly, I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe Danny. It’s surprising that what he’d told me wasn’t entirely off base. The crushed fourteen-year-old freshman who still lives inside of me seethes, relishing the vindication of knowing my dislike of Tessa was justified. But the present me doesn’t get any satisfaction out of the truth—it only makes my stomach twist uncomfortably.
“I was a dumbass freshman year,” she finally says, toying with her oddly familiar moon charm bracelet for so long I assume she’s not going to continue. “My dad had gotten this new job and he was flying to conferences all over the place every few weeks. We hardly ever saw him, and when I did, all he’d do was nag me about grades, and extracurriculars, and all that bullshit you need to get into a good college. God forbid he actually ask me how my day was going.”
Well, I never thought I’d find something Tessa Hernandez and I could actually relate on.
“I started doing stuff I knew would upset him. Going to parties, smoking, hooking up with strangers. I don’t know what the point of it was…to get his attention, I guess. Make him stay, even if it was for whatever sucky reason I’d come up with,” she whispers, her voice so unlike the biting one I’m used to, she seems like an entirely different person. “It was my idea to hook up with Danny, yes, but he told me you two were over. I swear. Still…I’m sorry. Deep down I knew he was probably lying, but I felt like shit, and honestly, I didn’t care much about anyone but myself back then, so…”
That shouldn’t shock me. Danny and I weren’t together long, but it didn’t take much time for me to realize he wasn’t the doting boyfriend I’d always dreamed of. And maybe part of me always knew that—that Tessa was never to blame for what happened between me and Danny. Maybe it was just my insecurity, a raging beast that bubbled to the surface the second Joaquin announced he wanted to ask her to prom. A fear that I’ll never be enough compared to girls like her. And bitterness, from the way my classmates made me a target because I was an “imperfect” girl with a “perfect” boy.
“I regret a lot of things I did freshman year,” she continues, eyes fixed on her perfect gel manicure. “I ruined things for my sister—Dad cracked down on both of us after he had it with me, even though she never did anything wrong. She never does. And I ruined things with someone else I really cared about…so, yeah.”
With the ball back in my court, I have no fucking clue what to do. I’ve spent so long thinking Tessa was the villain that seeing a vulnerable side of her feels like stepping into an alternate universe. Just because she’s apologized doesn’t mean I have to forgive her, but it feels hard not to consider it. Not when I spent the past three weeks making terrible decisions because I wanted to hold on to the one part of my life that hadn’t fallen apart.
“Thank you for telling me,” I finally reply. “I…uh…can sympathize,” I tack on. The last person I want to talk to about how I self-destructed my relationship with Joaquin is the one who got between us in the first place, but I’m not so heartless that I’d leave her hanging.
Like that afternoon at Marco’s, I’m seeing another person I’ve known almost my entire life in focus. Tessa, a girl I’ve always assumed had everything and who ate people’s hearts for breakfast, is apologizing to me for something I’d assumed she never cared about.
We sit there avoiding each other’s eyes for a beat, neither of us sure where to go from here. There’s barely five minutes left of detention but there’s enough unraveled truths between us to discuss for days.
“Joaquin is super into you,” I say, trusting my normally untrustworthy gut. Talking him up to Tessa is the least I can do after everything. Just because he and I can’t be friends doesn’t mean he shouldn’t still get his happy ending with her.
My attempt at playing his wingwoman makes her smile, but something about her energy still seems distant. “I know,” she says plainly. Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.
“I might be biased,” I begin, leaning in as if I’m sharing a secret. “But he’d be a really solid prom date. Parents love him, and he already owns a suit. Truly the whole package.”
Tessa breaks out into a laugh, which is either mortifying or excellent news. Jury’s out.
“Joaquin’s sweet, but not my type.”
Anger sparks in me on Joaquin’s behalf. The man is a saint with a million-dollar smile and a heart of gold—how could he not be someone’s type?! Especially with Tessa’s ultra-strict dad, he’s sure to be an easy parent pleaser.
“He’s the best, though, I swear! Even our dog loves him, and she hates everyone! Plus, he actually showers every day, so he doesn’t smell like BO twenty-four-seven, and I know his car looks like it’s about to disintegrate, but it’s got good bones, and he’s planning on upgrading to something from this decade once he—”
“Thanks for the endorsement,” Tessa interrupts, clearly amused. “But I already have a date to prom.”
That saps the wind right out of my sails. How is Tessa saying yes to a promposal not front-page news? Unless she accepted minutes before heading into detention, there’s no way I wouldn’t have heard about it through the grapevine by now. “Oh. Congratulations.”
Suddenly, her cheeks flush a pink as subtle and rosy as her lip gloss. “Thanks,” she murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her moon charm almost catching on her helix piercing. “Joaquin’s a great guy, but I’m not really interested in being anyone’s rebound.”
Huh? Unless Tessa thinks Joaquin hasn’t healed from the wound of Chelsea dumping him sophomore year, she’s most definitely not in rebound territory.
“He’s been single for, like, the past two years,” I say with earnest conviction, as if that’ll sway her into dumping her date for him.
“Aren’t you two…” She makes a gesture with her fingers that I realize with slowly dawning horror is supposed to imply that he and I are together.
“Oh, we’re not—” I wave my arms in front of my face. “No, definitely not anything. Just friends.”
Tessa nods slowly, seemingly unconvinced. She’s not the first person to make that assumption. It took months for me to convince the baseball team’s wives and girlfriends that I wasn’t still one of their ranks after Danny and I broke up. Even after four years, I still have to explain to the newer WAGs, No, I’m not going to the games to ogle my partner’s butt.
“Seriously. Just. Friends,” I reiterate, punctuating each statement by tapping my finger against my desk. Just friends. That’s all we’ve ever been and all we’ll ever be.
“Sure,” she replies, though it’s quite obvious that she doesn’t believe me.
I can’t help wondering if there’s a reason she thought we were together—aside from us always physically being together. If maybe Joaquin said something that might make her think we are more. But I quickly shut down that line of thought.
Before I can continue to plead my case for why Joaquin and I are totally 100 percent platonic, and she should give him a chance if her mystery date doesn’t work out, Mr. Cline’s alarm goes off, signaling the end of my last detention.
“Sorry, sorry!” Mr. Cline shouts as he comes stumbling into the room, a bloody wad of tissue held up to his nose. “You’re free to go!” He turns off the alarm and rushes out of the room again without ever glancing over at us.
So much for a meaningful goodbye.
Tessa returns to her original desk at the front of the room and gathers her things. With the spell of our brief interaction lifted, I shove my stuff into my bag and head for the exit. By tomorrow, I’ll either find out this was some exhaustion-induced fever dream, or we’ll return to the status quo of never speaking to one another.
We head out, Tessa a few steps ahead of me. She halts in the doorway, one hand on the knob. She whips around so quickly her hair smacks me across the face like a eucalyptus shampoo–scented fan.
“Joaquin really likes you,” she says while I rub my cheek. “I wasn’t kidding when I said he talked about you a lot. Like a lot a lot.”
The thought of it makes me warm all over, but reality crushes that flicker of hope. Even if he did spend his spring break hyping me up to Tessa Hernandez, any fondness he had in his heart for me must be long gone by now.
“I don’t think he likes me very much right now.” Saying it out loud burns like the sting of a freshly pulled Band-Aid, but a part of it is soothing. To finally say it instead of bottling it up.
Tessa nods, her face still wildly beautiful even when she’s somber. “I fucked things up with my best friend once,” she whispers, a real secret this time. “And it took years for me to un-fuck things between us. Years of wishing I’d just been honest with myself from the start instead of pushing away someone I really trusted.” My heart races at the thought of Anna, of how she just said those words to me less than a week ago.
Tessa pauses for a beat.
“I don’t know what happened between you two,” she says, her piercing brown eyes locking with mine. “But take it from me, un-fuck things now. Worst-case scenario you spend a whole lot of time feeling bitter and angry that you lost your best friend. Best-case scenario, you figure things out.”
With that, she turns on her heel and leaves me behind in a haze of confusion, wonder, and the scent of her eucalyptus shampoo.