“Like someone else I know,” Mrs. Pérez says, and Cece practically glows with happiness.
“Nerd,” Miguel coughs.
“Hush. You could stand to follow your sister’s good example,” Mrs. Pérez says.
“I don’t need good grades to be a famous fútbol player,” Miguel argues, which sets off Cece and his abuela. Vi smiles and eats her tamales, relieved to be rid of the spotlight.
After dinner, they all help clear the table, and then Mrs. Pérez serves warm chipotle chocolate brownies and big frosted glasses of milk while the six of them play Canasta. The sliding glass door is open, letting in a soft summer breeze from the backyard, and the rich scent of chocolate fills the kitchen. Overhead, a ceiling fan whirs lazily. Gram taught Vi and her sisters how to play Canasta when they were littler than Luis, and they play after Friday night dinner too. It feels so homey that Vi relaxes, trash talking and teasing the boys as though they’re her own little brothers.
Danny is the first one to reach five thousand points. He does a ridiculous victory dance that makes them all laugh, except Luis, who got bored a few rounds ago and is curled up snoring on the sofa in the corner.
“All right, I need to get this one to bed. It’s past your bedtime too, Danny,” Mrs. Pérez says as she wakes Luis.
“It’s summer!” ten-year-old Danny protests. “There shouldn’t be bedtime in summer.”
“I guess I should get home,” Vi says reluctantly. “Thank you so much for dinner, Mrs. Pérez. It was delicious.”
“You’re very welcome. I put some brownies in that blue container on the counter. They’re for you to take home. Tell Helen she has to share with you and your sisters, okay?” Mrs. Pérez says.
Cece gets the brownies and walks Vi to the front door.
“I have to work tomorrow afternoon,” Cece says, “but do you want to watch the fireworks together tomorrow night?”
Vi gapes at her. Cece doesn’t know it, but this is kind of a big deal. One year ago, the night before the Tea Party, Gram asked Vi to pick up Friday night dinner from Tia Julia’s. Vi had run into Cece—almost literally run into her in the crowd of customers waiting to be seated or pick up takeout orders at the bar—and noticed her quick dimpled grin. Noticed how super pretty she was. The next night, Vi had watched the fireworks from a picnic blanket in Bishop Park with Des and Em. She had watched as Bea snuck off with Erik and Kat with Adam, and for the first time, she had felt jealous. She had wondered when she would have someone to sneak off and kiss. As golden fireworks shimmered and crackled and streaked across the sky like falling stars, she had made a wish: that next year, she’d have someone special to watch the fireworks with.
Now, exactly a year later, Cece is asking her to do just that.
It’s only as friends, Vi reminds herself. It’s better, smarter, not to get her hopes up.
But they already are. She doesn’t know if she can reel them back in. The truth is, she doesn’t want to be just friends. She wants more. And what could be more romantic than watching the fireworks together?
“I would love that,” she says.
Chapter Twenty-Five
DES
“This is amazing!” Des says early Saturday afternoon, flipping through her illustrations to see how many are left. She and Paige have been selling their art since nine a.m. at a card table on the sidewalk outside Arden.
The parade is just finishing—Des can still hear the high school drummers down by the river—but she’s already sold twenty of her illustrations. She worked like crazy on her days off to finish five different hand-lettered quotes by Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, L. M. Montgomery, C. S. Lewis, and Jane Austen. Last night, she had ten eight-by-tens printed of each. She’s selling them for ten dollars apiece, which means—she does the math quickly in her head—she’s made two hundred dollars so far!
“I told you so, didn’t I?” Paige says, slumped in the folding chair behind the table.
“You did. Hey.” Des takes in her friend’s purple-lipped frown. Paige didn’t even bother with her fake lashes this morning. “Is everything okay?” Des asks, taking advantage of the momentary lull in customers. Most of the tourists are rushing down to the river to watch the reenactment aboard the Abigail. “I texted you a couple times last night. Not that you have to text me back right away. It’s okay if you were busy. I was just kind of worried.”
Paige tugs on the end of her messy purple braid. “Yeah. Sorry about that. My mother”—her voice goes icy on the word—“canceled my cell phone service.”
“What? Why would she do that?” Des asks.
“Apparently, she doesn’t think I’m paying her back fast enough.” Paige taps her shiny silver nails on her jean-clad knee. “I kind of owe her some money. But don’t worry. I’ll pay you back for the tattoo, I promise.”
“I’m not worried about the money.” Des isn’t sure if she is or not. “I’m worried about you.”
Paige buries her face in her hands. “I didn’t want to have to tell you; you’re, like, the one person who still thinks that I have my shit together, but…look, Desdemona, everything I’ve told you is a lie.”
“Everything?” Des asks, alarmed. She knew there was stuff Paige wasn’t telling her, like whatever’s going on between Paige and her mom. But they’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks, and Des didn’t want to pry.
“Not everything,” Paige concedes. She avoids Des’s eyes, rearranging her earrings on the rack. She’s made dozens of them in different colors, all intricate knots and tangles of wire. “But I’m not a student at MICA…at least not anymore. I got kicked out. Not invited back for the spring semester. Same difference.”
Des tries to swallow her shock. MICA was one of the first things Paige told her. It’s one of the first things Paige tells everybody. Like it’s some badge of honor that made her legit.
“I was pretty messed up, and getting kicked out…it made it worse. I was so excited when I got accepted, you know? I was never very good at school. Not like you, I bet.” She gives Des a half-hearted smile. “I made it work for a while, but when I got kicked out, I felt like there was no more point in trying. Like I might as well live down to my parents’ terrible expectations. I got a job waitressing at this dive bar, and I met this guy who was—he was not a good guy, Desdemona. I did some really stupid shit when I was with him. Like stealing money from my mom. She was so mad that she threatened to call the cops. I was sad and scared and—” Paige swallows. “I took some pills.”
“Oh shit.” Des grabs Paige’s hand. “Why would you do that?”