The doors open.
Bryan’s stopped looking at Danny. He’s not looking at me either. He’s looking at whoever’s standing behind me.
“Alex?”
Not Ále. Alex.
My stomach bottoms out.
I always take the same car now, fifth one from the front. I pretend it’s the best car, least crowded, closest to where I’m going. Even when I have to walk half a platform to get on and off. I pretend not to hope.
I can’t pretend away this feeling.
“Hi! I was wondering when I was going to run into you again.” Isa’s smile is pure light. Her bun is a crown of gold on her head. Her coat’s open, because it’s so warm. She’s wearing a sweatshirt with a ballet shoe on it, tights, and leg warmers. That’s it.
Bryan’s mouth is open.
“Hi,” I say back to her. I keep my eyes on her pinked cheeks. I don’t look at her thighs or the curves of her calves. I blow out a breath. That sweatshirt is from her Instagram feed. All her posts, except the one in front of the food truck, have ballet shoes in them.
“Eyy, why is this Barbie talking to you?” Bryan’s words are whispers through his teeth. He’s looking at Isa like she’s the last taco Yaritza will ever make. I shift until my arm, my shoulder, my back, are in front of him.
“Are you heading to dance?” I sound different when I talk to her. It’s not just my voice, which I keep low and calm. I talk to Isa like I talk to my teachers. My coaches. The parents at the Baseball Institute. I don’t care if my boys notice.
“Yup.” Her teeth glow behind glossed lips. If she heard what Bryan said, she doesn’t show it. She doesn’t seem to notice his staring. Or Danny’s.
“Coño, do you see those legs? What I wouldn’t do to have those beauties wrapped around me at night, eh? I mean, Julissa is fine and all. But this one . . .” Bryan shakes his head in surrender.
I close and open my fist. Bryan deserves a toletazo upside the head. He’s speaking Spanish, gracias a Dios. Still, what he’s saying, the way he’s looking at her . . . I ignore him. It’s not worth turning away from Isa.
I should have done more than just “like” her posts. I should have sent her a message. Or at least commented on one of the pics. I was afraid my words would come out all wrong. They don’t sound like how I feel, like how she makes me feel. Neruda’s words are close, but they’re not right either. Because they’re not mine.
“And you thought I was the one holding out.” Danny hoots. “La reconoces, ¿veldad? She’s the girl from Halloween. The one who kissed him.”
Isa’s watching me. Her mouth still has that smile—the one that makes me feel like I’ve done something worthy of a trophy without even picking up a bat or a ball.
“Hey, Don Juan, why you haven’t shared this?” Bryan thumps my shoulder. He continues in Spanish. “No wonder you’re not into Kiara. ¡Guay! A dancer! Does El Jefe know you got yourself such a fine woman? He’d bend the rules for this one.” Bryan makes kissing sounds.
I grit my teeth. Isa’s eyebrows lift.
Bryan’s breath is hot on my neck. “This is what it’s for. All the work, the training. You become a star, this be your prize. Show this princesa how Dominicanos dance. You get her hooked, ¿me escuchas? Give her my number when you move on. Te lo juro, she’s gonna be the first of many.”
I want to slam him into the wall. Instead, I shrug him off me. I give Isa a tight smile so she knows everything’s fine. I’ve got to pretend this isn’t a big deal. That Isa’s not a big deal. Otherwise, they’ll never let it rest. “Tranquilo, montros. Just don’t say anything to Kiara. Hear me?” I’m talking in Spanish too. They howl. They call me a jodontón. A stud.
Sure. Let them think I care what Kiara’ll say to this. As long as they don’t think I care about Isa. As long as they stop staring at her.
Bryan called Isa a princess. She’s more than that. So much more that at night I lie awake and think of what I’d do to fit her into my life. It’s stupid, all the imagining. Even if Isa had time, why would she spend it with me?
Isa’s waiting for my eyes. Her lips close, making her smile different. She reaches for the rail next to me as we skid into a stop. She puts one foot between both of mine and leans in.
“You think you can dance better than me?”
So she understood some of what Bryan said. She probably takes Spanish in that fancy school of hers.
Isa slides her long leg between my knees. I draw a sharp breath. She’s so close, I smell her tropical flower smell. My heart revs and catches, and revs and catches. Her golden-grass hair glints warm under cool LED light. Is it her shampoo that smells so good? Perfume? God help me if it’s just her.
Isa’s eyes look like they’ve got glitter in them too. Like she knows I’m doing everything I can to distract myself from how close she is. She glances at Bryan’s phone. “Got any Prince Royce?” She takes my hands. My heart speeds up and out from under me. She presses my fingers to her hip, the others to her shoulder.
Bryan and Danny are mouth-open silent. Isa glances at Bryan again. He fumbles with his phone.
“Oh, wait.” She takes off her coat. She hands it and her bag to Danny.
I must look like Bryan with my hands up in the air. I don’t care. My heart is long gone. It’s up in the front car, racing us to the next station.
Isa places my hands back where she wants them.
“Culpa al Corazón” comes on. It sounds tinny through the cell speakers. We hear it well enough.
Isa’s hips roll under my palm. She steps back. She pulls me with her.
“You can dance bachata, right?” Her voice is teasing. I need a few seconds, but I catch her rhythm. Her hips do another crazy roll. Not just side to side either. Por Dios. Behind me, Bryan—or maybe Danny—lets out a whistle.
Isa grins up at me. She takes my hand and slides it up to her waist. “I should take off my sweatshirt, so you can really see my moves. But I don’t think your boys could handle that.” My arm is holding up the bottom of her sweater, showing off her lower half. I let go of her waist and grab hold of her hand.
Isa makes a fake pout. “You’re no fun.”
I clear my throat and cover it up with a chuckle. “You’re right. Bryan and Danny can’t handle this.” I let go of her hand and gesture at her hips that are rolling like hurricane waves. She takes the opportunity to spin. Bryan and Danny have backed up to give us space. We have the floor to ourselves.
Isa laughs as she comes around to me.
I catch her outstretched fingers.
“OK, maybe you’re a little bit of fun,” she whispers.
I move us out of the doorway before we hit Seventy-Second Street. A few people get on. They barely look at us as they find a seat.
“You’re not bad.” Isa’s mouth is right under my ear. “But you need to practice. You’re light on the dips.” She throws her head back. She swings it around to my shoulder. She presses right up to my chest, letting my moves move her. My hands go back down to her hips.
The song ends. Her head is still on my shoulder. She laces her fingers in my hand. She lifts it up and away from us then does another spin.