She hugs me. I mean, really hugs me. Squeezing me as tight as she can, her cheek pressed against mine, her shooting star pjs smelling like the peppermint tea Bruja Lupe makes when Lita has a stomachache.
There’s a glint in her eye that’s not just tears, or taillights, or magic now. It’s something a little sharper. It’s the kind of look that got us out of bed one night to TP the Hudson family’s house because Lita heard they gave their cat away when they moved.
Animals are part of the family, she’d said as she threw roll after roll.
That look used to terrify me, but tonight I’m not even sure it’s enough.
“I’m going to win this pageant,” she says. “For the scared girls we used to be.”
The scared girls we used to be. It’s the perfect thing to say.
“But first we have to go to a party,” I say.
“Right.” The Pontiac Space Station touches down. “The party.”
When we open the doors, the boys are still standing there waiting for us, and it feels like it’s been a hundred years, but it’s only been about ten minutes. And everything is different, but it’s better. It’s so much better.
“Everyone okay?” Junior asks, and I think about how we must look ridiculous, tear streaked and smiling and glinting with determination all at once.
I look at Lita. She looks at me.
“We’re at a party,” she answers, and it’s perfect.
“I say,” says Cole. “No turning back now.”
So we don’t.
The four of us stand shoulder to shoulder, like explorers about to discover a new territory and claim it in the name of weird misfits everywhere.
“One small step for man . . . ,” Junior says, and we walk across the lawn together.
Inside, my first thought is that I need to find somewhere to hide. These are the people I’ve been running from my whole life. But I’m with the recently crowned regional cornhole king, a jock who has been high-fived three times since we got through the door, and a girl who just might be the most talked about Miss Meteor contestant in fifty years.
Maybe things are changing.
“Okay,” Lita says, rubbing her hands together, eyes narrowed like she’s about to attempt a gymnastic floor routine. “What do we do?”
“It’s just a party,” Cole says with a shrug, slinging his good arm around her shoulder. “Just do whatever you’d . . .” He trails off then, as we look at him with identically blank expressions.
“Oh, wow, none of you have ever been to a party, have you?”
The blank looks persist.
“Okay come on, let’s do a lap.”
We follow Cole like very determined ducklings, getting the lay of the land. He gives us casual tips as we go, and I like him even more for not being condescending about it. I collect them like items for the lost and found at Selena’s.
Don’t stay in one place too long.
Always have something in your hand.
It’s okay to pretend to see someone you know to get out of an annoying conversation.
But when Lita stops for the fifth time (this time to look at the Bradley family photo album) I can tell Cole is torn, and I pull him aside. He’s not the only one with tips to hand out tonight.
“Mostly, you just go with it,” I tell him.
“Sorry?”
I nod at Lita. “She’s never gonna stay where you put her, she’s never gonna do what you expect. You’re never, ever gonna be able to predict what’s next.”
The way he smiles, like I’m instructing him on the care of something precious, tells me I’m right about him. The way he feels about her. The way he probably always has.
“But there’s something about just going with it,” I say, smiling at her affectionately as she shows Royce’s naked baby photos to Amy Perkins. “You usually end up somewhere even better than you thought you would.”
“Thanks, Chicky,” he says, and we both flinch as Lita leans in close to an enormous decorative vase.
“Go ahead,” I say, patting him on the arm in a way I hope isn’t as awkward as it feels. He surprises me by taking my arm and pulling me into a hug that, even with only one arm, is warm and safe in a way that tells me I can do this, I can trust him with my favorite person in this world.
Besides, with the air finally clear between us, I can give Lita and Cole this night. Lita and I will have a billion more.
“Looks like you won’t be bored, either,” Cole says with a meaningful eyebrow raise at Junior, who’s trying not to look like he’s waiting for me.
“Shut up,” I mutter, but I can’t help the smile that spreads slow like honey across my face. It’s not a small thing, this camaraderie between Cole and me. It’s just a little something more I always let Royce and Kendra keep me from. A little something more I’m taking back.
“Come on, Champ,” I say, leaving Cole behind to slap Junior on the back. “Let’s get into some trouble.”
In the kitchen, there are a few people hanging around the beer pong table, and it gives me an idea. When you’re on an alien planet, it’s polite to show appreciation for their customs, right? And telling Lita everything, finally, has made me bold in a way I didn’t think I’d ever be.
Bold enough for this. Maybe bold enough for anything.
“What are you doing?” Junior asks, as I grab two empty beer bottles and take them to the sink, filling them with water.
“Something I learned from Fresa,” I say, which makes his eyebrows shoot up in alarm. “Here.” I hand him one of the bottles, ignoring his utterly puzzled expression and turning back toward the game table.
“Hey, can I get in on this?” I ask, and two girls with long blond ponytails laugh.
“You?” one of them asks, and I shrug off my jacket.
“You?” Junior asks.
“Me.”
They get out of the way, leaving me to face one of the lesser jocks. He’s visibly drunk, swaying from foot to foot, his gaze hazy and unfocused on my face.
“Fill ’em up,” I say, brandishing my beer bottle and giving Junior a shadow of a wink.
He’s looking at me like he’s never seen me before, and I kind of like it.
Just like Fresa said, no one notices I’m using water. They’re all too drunk. So I throw three balls, getting more precise as I get a feel for the distance while my opponent loses coordination by the second. The blond girls are looking at me differently too.
“Last cup,” I say, with four still sitting in front of me.
My final shot is a dagger, and Junior cheers the loudest of all.
The drunk jock stumbles off, swearing at his shoes. I stand on the chair one of the blond girls has just vacated and say in a voice that would make Cereza proud:
“And now! As the reigning queen of this table!” People are starting to stare. “I, Chicky Quintanilla, challenge hometown hero Junior Cortes to a game of no limits beer pong.” I look at him, and my stomach flips over when he smiles. “Right here, right now,” I say, only to him.
The room is quiet, like it’s holding its breath. They’re all waiting to see what’s going to happen next. I’m on a chair, in the middle of a popular kids’ rager, everyone is looking at me, and I’m okay. In fact, I’m better than okay.