“No one.” If I’d told him the truth, he might have stuck a whoopee cushion under Holly when she sat down, or started a burping contest with Christopher—those boys could BURP. Luckily, turned out some special TV chef was giving a demonstration at the YMCA, and my brothers begged to go. Phew!
Saturday afternoon, exactly on time, Holly’s father pulled up in his Lexus. The neighborhood kids gaped at the car, at him, at Holly as I said a quick hello and ushered her into my building. Her father didn’t leave for a long time. We could see him still parked outside through the second-floor window. Finally Holly texted him and told him to go. He did.
Even though Mom appreciated how Holly’s family was my METCO host family or whatever, I got the feeling that she was looking for evidence right out of the gate that Holly was a bad influence. Did her T-shirt smell like cigarettes? Did she have swears written in marker on her bag? Did she stick her nose up at the doilies on our living room couch? No, no, and no.
Besides, Holly was totally cool and normal. Yeah, she swore like a truck driver, and no, she didn’t always say the most polite things to her parents. But she was my new friend, my only real friend so far at Westburg. As we settled in the living room for what I hoped would be a two-minute conversation before Holly and I could go hang out in my room, I low-voiced to my mother in Spanish, “Just be easy on her, please.”
Then I switched to English. “So, Holly, this is my mom. Mom, Holly,” I said all cheery bright, like we were being recorded on camera or something.
“Hello, mija,” Mom said.
I glanced at Holly. Did she know what “mija” meant? She took Spanish. Of course she did!
“Nice to meet you,” my mother added. She kept smoothing her hair down. Was Mom… nervous? About meeting Holly?
“Hi,” Holly said, all casual, like she was meeting another friend of mine.
Fifteen years old, and this was the first time I was bringing a friend home from school. (Jade didn’t count. She was like family.) But unlike Holly, Jade called my mother “señora,” and always said “excuse me” and “please” and “thank you” in every single sentence she directed toward her. It was like the law or something. You had to be super polite to adults, especially your friends’ parents. My mother sort of smiled at Holly. Holly sort of smiled at my mother. Neither said anything more. Total crickets. After twenty seconds of silence, I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Hungry?” I practically shouted, and hauled Holly to the kitchen, where I grabbed a packet of Ritz crackers and two glasses, which I quickly filled with orange juice.
Holly looked around, pausing at the massive wooden utensils on the wall. “You all must make crazy house salads,” she said, gesturing.
“Let’s hang in my room,” I suggested.
“Cool.” Holly peeked into the rooms coming off the hallway. “Your apartment is so cute.”
“Thanks?”
In my bedroom Holly began flipping through my journal without even asking.
“Uh—excuse you,” I said, easing it out of her hands.
“You really do love writing,” she exclaimed as she continued to poke around my room. I tried to imagine it all through her eyes. The faded pink rug my father had promised to replace the year before. The mismatched furniture—all purchased at flea markets or yard sales. A photo of Jade and me holding our fingers up in peace signs sat along the left edge of the mirror. Bottles of (dusted!) hair gel and mousse stood unevenly on the bureau. I never bought the same brands; I bought whatever was on sale. One month that meant XXX volumizing gel. Mom said it made my hair look like Diana Ross’s, whoever she was. Not even my bedsheets and pillowcases matched, unlike the ones in Holly’s bedroom. Everything there was part of a set, down to the sage-colored towels in Holly’s own bathroom. No lie, I wished I had matching towels.
I followed Holly’s gaze to the Romeo Santos poster on the wall, the drugstore perfume bottles on the bureau—some still in their original packages—and the mesh laundry bag tucked in the corner.
Then she let out a happy cry. “What are those?” She pointed at a pair of cardboard houses I had placed by the window. A little church and Lorenzo’s Liquor. I stuffed a Ritz into my mouth and waited to see where she was going with this.
“Lil? What are these? Oh my God… I’m obsessed.”
“Really?” Crumbs fell from my mouth. “Just something I like to do, you know.”
“They’re amazing.” She bent over, checking out every detail. “Is this what you work on in art club?”
“Yeah… well, when I go.”
“Ha.”
Noticing a lime-green elastic band beside the church, Holly picked it up and put her hair in a high bun, or at least she tried to. Honestly, she was doing it all wrong. As she tried again, I noticed Mom standing quietly in the doorway. She was holding a plate of butter cookies, the kind with red fruit filling in the center. Aww.
My mother placed the plate on the bureau, wiped her hands on her gabacha. Holly dropped her arms, her red hair falling back onto her shoulders. “Oh, hi,” she said quickly.
“Thanks, Mom… for the cookies,” I said.
“Yeah,” Holly added. “Muchas gracias.” Points!
“De nada,” Mom replied.
The room felt suddenly claustrophobic. My mom headed for the door, thank God. Then like two seconds later she turned back to ask, “Do you want anything else?”
At that exact moment Holly had to ask, of course, OF COURSE: “Hey, Lili, do you have any tampons?”
Mom’s eyes almost popped out of her head.
“What? Oh, no.… I must have run out.” I begged my mother with my eyes to leave, but now she was not only fixated on me, but her hands were on her hips. Not good.
I swallowed.
“You use tampons now, Liliana?”
Holly looked from me to my mother to me again. “Wait, you’re not allowed to use tampons?” I wanted the floor to open. How could I explain that my mother believed that tampons were for loose girls? That if you used a tampon… you technically weren’t a virgin anymore?
“Mom…,” I said, now praying she got my not now, please tone.
“Liliana? What if your father found out you use tonterías?”
“Wait,” Holly cried out. “You have a dad? You’ve never mentioned a dad before!” She looked around like he might pop out of the closet.
What was I supposed to say? Yeah, my dad is actually getting ready to cross the border as we speak! Pang. In. Chest. Oh my God. I so did not want to deal with this right now.
“Answer,” Mom said, her lecture voice full throttle.
Holly was probably thinking, WTF?
“Sorry. Sounds like maybe it’s a touchy subject,” Holly said. She grabbed a cookie, took a bite. “Mmm. These are delicious, Mrs. Cruz!” she gushed.
Holly was trying to smooth things over, tuck it into a folder labeled That Was Awkward.
And Mom was eyeing Holly, trying to decide whether she was being sincere. Then Mom eyed me, and must have decided she’d deal with me later, because “Keep the door open” was all she said before pivoting and walking down the hall. I sat down hard on the bed, my heart pounding.