Sorry Not Sorry Page 3

  He dropped his fork, then pushed away his empty plate. “I’ll be eighteen in another month. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “You need a hot shower, that’s what you need. Runnin’ ’round in dirty clothes, livin’ out of a duffel bag, and sleepin’ on cots around a bunch of strangers. But you’re grown, right?” When no reply came, she turned to me. “Janelle, make yourself useful and show him to his room.”

  “Sure.” I waved for him to follow, then exited the kitchen.

  Mateo gathered his duffel bag from the living room and joined me up the stairs. My eyes remained forward the whole time and I centered all my conscious will on not freaking out. I considered putting him in the first room, but my parents slept there whenever they came home. The second room was cluttered with stuff that should’ve been in storage. The only available space was my sister’s room. Right across the hall from mine.

  I opened the door and clicked on the light. The room still carried Sheree’s scent of vanilla and tea tree oil. Her yellow quilt stretched across the bed with that crisp military precision Dad taught us. Boy band posters and beach scenery hung on the walls. All that was missing were her clothes and, of course, her.

  “Here we are. Sheree won’t be back until Christmas, so it’s all yours.” I spread my arms and spun around. “It’s not much, but you have a bed and plenty of dresser space.”

  “It’s good. I don’t have a lot of clothes.” He dropped the duffel bag on the bed and observed the walls. “So it’s just you and your abuela?”

  “Yeah. We’re used to it.”

  He nodded. “Same here. It’s just me and my mom.”

  “Cool.” Hands tucked in the pockets of my jean shorts, I rocked on my heels and searched the wall posters for a clever topic. I was never good at small talk. It usually came off intrusive and inappropriate. Case in point: “Where’s your dad?” I asked him.

  “Good question. I’ll let you know when I find out.”

  My stare dropped to my feet. “Oh. It’s like that.”

  “Like what?” His body language told me that I needed to come correct and do so quickly.

  “Um, nothing, never mind. Do you need a towel or extra blankets?” I pointed to the door. “We have some in the hall closet.”

  He watched me carefully. “Are you always this jumpy? I know we don’t hang out in school, but I’ve never seen you this wired.”

  “Sorry. This whole thing just caught me off guard. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Didn’t expect a two-ton oak to bulldoze my house, but here we are.” He rose to his feet and went for the door. “Look, if you have a problem with me being here—”

  I blocked his path and pushed out my hands to stop him. “No, no! Stay! Stay!”

  Mateo crossed his arms over his chest and sized me up. “I’m not one of your dogs.”

  “You know what? You’re right. My bad. But you’re more than welcome to stay. I’m across the hall if you need anything.”

  He kept staring at me. “Can I be alone?”

  “Yup.” I shot out of the room, closed the door behind me, and raced to my room.

  Eyes shut, I pressed my back against my closed door and waited for my heart to slow. Puking posed a real threat, though that might help me remember what we’d eaten for dinner. From my end, the menu had been a hot plate of weird with a double helping of cringe. And I’d have to endure this on a daily basis? For real?

  My first course of action was to call Sera, maybe even sleep over at her house for the weekend, but I’d left my phone in my bag downstairs. I didn’t care if my bladder exploded—I wasn’t leaving my room for the rest of the night. Besides, Sera would demand a full autobiography, and waterboard torture couldn’t make me rehash that tale. No one, not Sera, not even my sister, knew about my obsession with Mateo. No one except, of course, Alyssa Weaver.

  “I don’t know about this spot. Do you think we should move?” I asked Alyssa for the third time in the past hour.

  “No way!” she replied. “This is prime real estate. We’re gonna be out here all summer, so we need to stake our claim before some copycat steals our idea.” Hands braced behind her head, Alyssa reclined in a lawn chair as though catching a tan.

  At Alyssa’s urging, we both wore frilly white Easter dresses and angel wings she’d repurposed from an old Halloween costume. Together, we looked like we were ready for a ballet recital. But Alyssa was insistent; this was all part of the sales pitch.

  I wasn’t worried so much about our wardrobe as our poster display. We sat behind a small refreshment stand framed by white balloons and a top banner in the shape of angel wings. A large sign hanging in front of the booth read:

  PEOPLE IN HELL WANT ICE WATER.

  HEAVEN OFFERS LEMONADE.

  $2 PER CUP.

  I had to admit, it was catchy, although it didn’t feel quite appropriate for selling drinks in front of First Baptist Church. My grandparents were still in the building, and I wasn’t trying to get yelled at, or worse, get dragged back inside for another sermon. One was enough for the day.

  “Are you sure about the sign?” I asked the angel sitting beside me.

  Alyssa fanned herself with a napkin, unbothered by the low-key blasphemy. “It’s perfect. They’ve got services at nine, noon, and two o’clock. It’s a bajillion degrees outside and probably ten times hotter indoors. And we just so happen to be sitting out front with ice-cold pitchers of the best drinks in town.” She rubbed her hands together and belted a cartoon villain laugh. “I’m a marketing genius!”

  That much was true. And we needed her genius if we were going to raise enough money to afford tickets to the water park this summer.

  However, the quality of her products had needed a reboot. When she first came up with the lemonade stand idea, she’d given me a sample cup of what could only be described as Lemon Pledge on ice. I wasn’t at all surprised. Alyssa wasn’t allowed to have much sugar or carbs, and the stuff she could eat was measured out into daily portions. That was where my creativity and an old family recipe came into play.

  Grandma Trina’s lime coolers were about 80 percent syrup and 20 percent fruit—a big hit at all the local functions. I could tell Alyssa wanted to try out the new batch right now, but three good sips could make her really sick.

  Soon enough, the front doors opened. Organ music poured from the church as members filed out of the building.

  “This is it! The big haul.” Alyssa leapt from her chair and adjusted the straps of her angel wings. “Get ready, Janelle! Fix your wings and look cute! They’re coming!”

  In seconds, the walkway was a mob of big hats, suit jackets, and waving paper fans. I couldn’t focus on anyone, though, because the lone figure heading our way had stolen my attention. And my breath.

  Pushing a lawn mower across the grass, Mateo Alvarez trudged toward our booth. I distinctly recalled him looking swole in his PE uniform at school, but now his muscles were even more defined beneath a black undershirt and khaki shorts. Without thinking, I stepped from behind the folding table to greet him. The world around me began to move in slow motion as smooth R&B played in my head.

  My pop-pop would say, The heart is a lot like God. People only remember it’s there when they’re in trouble. There was some truth to that, because my heart had been in trouble since Mateo transferred to Harrington Middle School that spring. Mystery automatically made any new kid cooler than the usual riffraff, but Mateo was something special.

  I’d thought the summer would keep us apart, yet fate had brought us together—in front of my family’s church, no less!

  Mateo parked the mower at our drink stand, wiped the sweaty curls from his forehead, and smiled at me. “Hey, you were in my homeroom this year, weren’t you? Jennet, right?” he asked.

  Whoa! He knew my name! Sure, he was off by a few letters, but it was still recognition. “It’s Janelle,” I corrected him. “Um, so, you’re mowing lawns today?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been at it since six this mor
ning. I’m saving up for tickets to the water park.”

  Wait a second. Both of us were broke this summer and we both liked swimming in water? We were so married!

  “Really? We’re working for that, too,” I told him, feeling hyped over our new bond.

  “I’m working. I don’t know what you’re doing,” Alyssa mumbled behind me, then continued serving a customer in a suit.

  “This is a cool setup you got here. I never would have thought of selling drinks in this spot.” Mateo’s gaze danced around our balloons and then settled on my outfit. “There’re no restaurants or shops around, so no competition. Pretty clever.”

  My brain was mystery meat at that point, and all I caught was the word pretty. I gestured to the array of beverages on display. “Y-you want something to drink? We have iced tea, lemonade, limeade, tea-lemonade, and red Kool-Aid. I recommend the lime. It’s my grandma’s famous recipe. It’s really good.” I scooped up the glass pitcher. “Here, try some. It’s on the house.”

  Alyssa pulled a double take, then asked, “On the what?”

  “You sure? I can pay for it.” Mateo reached in his back pocket for his wallet, but I waved him off.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, filling a plastic cup. “You’ve been working hard and could use some cooling off. Here you go.” I turned around, cold sugary beverage in hand.

  “I’ve got cash right here. No hay—” Mateo jumped back and tried to avoid a direct hit, but he wasn’t quick enough. Stunned stiff, he looked down at the dark stain growing on his tan cargo shorts, then finished his statement. “… problema.”

  Oh. My. God. I hadn’t known he was standing right behind me, ready to be bumped into.

  “That’s one way to cool him off. Real smooth, Jennet. Now he looks like he peed his pants,” Alyssa commented from the sidelines.

  “I am so sorry. Are you okay?” I grabbed a wad of paper towels from the table and approached him.

  Mateo stepped away. “¡Oye! ¡Cuidado! I’ll wipe it myself.”

  I froze and waited for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Wasn’t that what happened in freak disasters? “Omigod! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

  From the corner of my eye, I caught Alyssa shaking her head at me.

  I glared at her, then turned back to Mateo. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine. It’ll dry in no time in this heat.”

  “Okay. Well, at least have a drink on me. No, not ‘on me,’ like spilling it or anything, but—here. Take it. It’s free.” I grabbed a fresh cup from Alyssa’s hand, then passed it carefully to Mateo.

  “Hey! That was for a customer!” Alyssa called behind me, but I couldn’t be bothered. Mateo’s fingers had brushed against mine when I gave him the cup, and I needed a minute to recover.

  After taking a sip, he stared at the drink in amazement. “Wow. It is good. Thanks.”

  Feeling confident, I decided to show off more of my charms. Mateo needed to see that I wasn’t some ordinary eighth grader. I was a mature, well-traveled woman with culture. Bowing at the waist, I replied, “De nada. And sorry about the mess. Yo soy muy, muy embarazada.”

  Mateo’s mouth fell open and his eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. He was clearly blown away by my worldliness. “Uh … yeah. I hope that’s not the case, but take care of yourself. See ya,” he said, then backed away toward his mower.

  “Okay. I’ll see you at the water park.” I kept waving until he disappeared around the corner. He kept looking back at me with a strange expression, as if he was trying to figure me out. Oh yeah, I’d definitely left an impression on him.

  The drink stand was a success. Thirsty masses kept wandering over, sweaty and tired from the heat.

  By dinnertime, Alyssa and I had earned two hundred dollars, enough for three trips to the water park for each of us. That meant three more opportunities to see Mateo in swimming trunks. Three more times to work up the nerve to talk to him without stammering.

  “You have a crush on Mateo Alvarez?” Alyssa’s voice crashed through my thoughts. She stood on her tiptoes, taking down the balloon banner. “Wow. I didn’t see that coming.”

  My arm knocked over the folded lawn chairs and I rushed to pick them up again. “No, I—”

  “It’s okay, Janelle. I’m not judging you. He’s kinda scrawny for my taste, but definitely cute.”

  I was relieved and outraged at the same time. “Scrawny? You didn’t see those biceps?”

  The slow shake of Alyssa’s head told me that she wasn’t following. “You must have some strong love-vision goggles on, ’cause all I saw were twig arms. What I wanna know is: Why didn’t you tell me? We tell each other everything,” she pointed out, sounding offended and betrayed by the secrecy.

  I knew she’d be upset, but it was pretty much a nonissue. Speaking my feelings out loud would make them real. It would also make the rejection real, and I wasn’t ready to face that. “It’s no big deal.” I packed up the extra cups and straws from the table.

  Alyssa dropped the balloons and turned to me with wild eyes. “It is a big deal. A very big deal. You’re coming out of your shell and experiencing love in all its gooey goodness.” She grabbed me and pulled me to her with a firm squeeze. “My little girl is finally growing up. I’m so proud! Don’t worry. With me coaching you, Mateo will be eating out of the palm of your hand.”

  Her tone was light and full of pep, but the words had a ring of certain doom. There was no telling what crackpot scheme Alyssa would cook up on my behalf. But it wouldn’t hurt to hear her out. Just for curiosity’s sake.

  Still hugging me, she picked that particular time to tell me, “By the way, embarazada means you’re having a baby.”

  And just like that, all my plans of going to the water park were officially off the table. In fact, I had no intention of leaving the house for the rest of the summer.

  Politics have always fascinated me, whether on TV or in real life. The plotting, maneuvering, alliances, and overthrows reminded me of how my pop-pop used to play chess—straight greasy. On rare occasions, I’d catch a news clip of foreign officials throwing hands (and sometimes chairs) while their colleagues rushed in to intervene or to participate. That, in a nutshell, was the White Chapel High School student government meeting.

  Every Tuesday and Thursday before first block, I’d take a ringside seat and wait for the upheaval to begin. Sera and I were the fund-raising officers, but all final decisions required approval from the class president, aka Sera’s brother, Ryon. Having bitter siblings in positions of power was an assault charge waiting to happen, but great entertainment.

  I arrived at the Tuesday meeting before the other members. Room 108 was a US History class, and its lecture-hall seating formed a C-shape around the center podium. Pictures of all the presidents lined the top wall, and the national and state flags hung behind the teacher’s desk. I took my usual spot in the first row, gathered my notes, and jotted a few last-minute ideas to share with the group. I’d stayed up until after midnight organizing my plans and writing a detailed proposal. If nothing else, I was thorough.

  One by one, the senior members made their grand entrance. Ryon Kimura lumbered into the room, coffee in hand and a military-standard backpack strapped to his torso. We had block scheduling, yet he hauled sixty pounds of mandatory reading to all four classes like a nomad trekking through Europe.

  Next on the roll call was Tabatha Morehouse, class secretary, and White Chapel’s self-appointed PC police. To her, everything was racist, sexist, or some form of oppression, despite her being one of the richest white kids in school. Her penchant for doing the most on every occasion also transferred to her hair. This week, her shoulder bob was dyed sky blue with purple bangs.

  Then entered Joel Metcalf: class historian, head of the yearbook committee, and all-around creeper. After that incident in the faculty lounge last year, I could never view him (or cheese fondue) the same way again.

  Next was Devon Shapiro, class treasurer and Sera
’s secret crush that was a secret to no one. He was one of those band kid geniuses who played every instrument and was the only white guy who looked hotter with dreadlocks than without. Devon was partly the reason Sera joined student government and the entire reason she’d just followed him into the classroom like a lovestruck groupie. Boy, did I know that feeling, but no amount of money would get me to say that out loud.

  Once everyone was seated, Ryon stood behind the lectern and called the assembly to order with a crack of the gavel. “All right, guys, the WCHS student government meeting is now in session. The community food drive was a success. We collected five thousand dollars and twelve thousand items from Saturday’s fund-raiser.”

  The room erupted in hoots and cheers.

  “This is a great start, but we can do a lot more. Now, we all agreed that a cleanup project would be our next volunteer activity. So, who’s ready to present their suggestions?” Ryon searched the group.

  My hand shot into the air and I was on my feet before he granted me the floor. Passing folders to each member, my nerve endings hummed with excitement and propelled me forward with vision and purpose. I moved behind the lectern and imagined the bored, sleep-deprived, and acne-prone faces before me were proud heads of state. What we decided here would affect our children and many generations to come, at least in my mind.

  “I believe the park in Aberdeen Square needs the most attention,” I began. “The place looks like a war zone, but the city is more focused on damage on the Southside. Aberdeen Square is our town’s landmark, with plenty of shops and eateries that could grant us access to restrooms and food. The area is huge, so we’ll need to assemble a cleanup party of at least twenty kids. That means we have to recruit extra volunteer—”

  “Sorry I’m late! The alarm on my phone didn’t go off, then I couldn’t find my notes for the meeting and I’ve been racing to catch up ever since.” With a power smoothie in hand and her backpack sliding off her left shoulder, Alyssa Weaver tore into the class like Loretta’s wrath on the Eastern Seaboard.