A LITTLE something
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TWO: Part II
HOMECOMING 101
***
Thirty minutes later, Marisol sends the boys off to get us some cokes from the bar. When they're
gone, she gives me a smile that means trouble.
"What?"
"Nothing." She shrugs innocently, trying to suppress her laughter. I rub my nose, slightly
paranoid. "Your nose is fine. It's not that."
"Then what?" I hate being teased me. "Just tell me."
"I've got something for you." She reaches into her purse and pulls out a white three-by-five square.
"Here."
"What is it?" I flip it over. On the other side is a glossy version of me. "Why are you giving
me my school picture? I have a hundred of these." Ever since we got our school pictures several weeks
ago, I'd been trying to come up with a list of people to give them to, but the list was embarrassingly
short, which left me with, like, forty pics, not counting the eight-by-tens I pawned off on my dad, aunt, and
half-blind grandparents.
"Well, you promised Danny you'd save him a picture, and I knew he'd be here tonight, so you know,
I thought I'd speed up the process." Again, she smiles.
"You're kidding, Marisol." I thrust the picture back at her. "Tell me you're kidding."
"No," Marisol says firmly, "I'm not. Now you can go over there" --she juts her chin in the general
direction beyond my shoulder--"and give it to him, or I can. But if I go over there, there's going to be no
one to keep Tamara occupied while she's in the bathroom, which" --Marisol stands--"is where I believe
she's headed now. So..." She sets the picture on the table. "Go." Then she stalks off towards the bathroom.
The picture stares at me accusingly, like it's saying, "Well, he said, save me a picture. So what
are you so afraid of?"
"God, just shut up," I hiss, before realizing I've spoken out loud.
Great. Now, I'm talking to myself. That's attractive.
I scan the room for Danny--mostly because I want to know if he witnessed my one-sided argument--
and spot him leaning against the wall, talking to his twin sister, Dalia. I'm about to swivel back around
when Dalia makes eye contact. She smiles and waves. I have no other choice but to smile and wave back.
I'm frozen in that position of smile/wave when Danny looks over his shoulder and also smiles.
I stand because, let's be honest, if Danny Diaz were in Africa and smiled in the general direction of
America, I'd swim the Atlantic to be near him. So what's a couple hundred feet in a ballroom packed with
kids? Not much, especially when he meets me half way.
"Hey," he says, when our smiles finally collide.
"Hey." The DJ suddenly stops spinning, and in the silence, my voice sounds unnaturally loud. I try
to cover up my embarrassment by staring down at his feet. He's wearing gray-and-white Converses, which
catches me so off guard, I laugh.
"What's so funny, Susie?"
Hearing Danny say my name makes me want to melt into the carpet or table or, maybe, the fibers of
his two-hundred-dollar suit.
"It's you--your shoes," I stutter, looking up to meet his eyes. "I think they're great."
"Yeah?" His smile makes me blush. "Me and Tam had a twenty-minute fight over them. I think she's
still pissed."
Whoa. Did he just say he had a fight with Tamara?
"Is that your yearbook pic?" Danny glances at my hand.
"Oh. Um, yeah. Remember you asked for one? Um, in the picture line." I hand it to him.
Danny stares at it for a couple of seconds, before flipping it over. "You didn't write anything on the
back."
"Oh. Yeah."
"That's kind of the best part." When he hands it back to me, our fingers touch, and, like always, my
stomach flips.
"You don't want it then?" I feel mortified and rejected. Great.
"No... I didn't say that." He raises an eyebrow, and I recall how cocky he was during our first meeting
in Mr. Murphy's classroom last year. I couldn't stand him then, and now... "Just give it to me later, after
you've written something."
"Later?" I swallow hard. Like later tonight? Later at his house? When was later? "Um, like tonight?"
I nervously bite my lip.
"No," he says slowly, a small smirk on his lips, which makes me wonder if he's enjoying my discomfort.
"Um, let's see. How about..." He stops to think.
Behind him, a big blurry object is being waved around. I stare at it until it comes into focus. It's
Marisol's hand, and it's waving frantically in the direction of Tamara, who is speed walking towards us, with
a scowl on her face.
"How about--" Danny begins, before Tamara clamps a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, hey."
"Hey, baby." She leans in for a kiss, but he turns his head slightly, and the kiss lands on his
cheek.
"Hi, Tamara." I'm not about to be rude and not acknowledge her. We've known each other since
elementary school (her dad works with my dad at the University of Miami) and (because the gods really
hate me) we also sit across from each other in anatomy. So even though she was the snitch who told
Danny about my unplanned/drunken hookup with Marc last year and pounced on him the minute we broke
up (if you can even call it a breakup), we were still pretending to be friendly. Because if high school taught
you anything, it was how to be 100 percent fake.
"Hey, Susie." Tamara turns on the wattage, practically blinding me with her brilliant smile.
Her smile is one of the things I hate about her, along with the fact that her hair is as beautiful as
Jennifer Aniston's and she's a homecoming princess and junior class president. But the thing I hate the
most about Tamara? That she has Danny.
"So, Marc's your date, right?" She gives Danny a pointed look, one that says: You remember Marc.
He's that guy Susie cheated on you with. And he does remember because the minute he hears Marc's
name, a look crosses his face. The look is fleeting, but Tamara sees it. She smiles victoriously at me and
whispers something softly in his ear. After he nods, she says in her oh-so-annoying voice, "We've got to get
back to our table now. They'll be introducing the homecoming court soon, and you know how that is."
I look at Danny, who is staring everywhere but at me. "Yeah, I guess I should get back too," I say.
"Well...bye." Tamara tucks one hand into Danny's and waves the other one at me dismissively, but I
don't move. I'm stuck watching her holding onto him. My him. And I'm waiting for him to say goodbye to
me. But when he finally does speak, his voice is as listless as his expression. And this time, hearing him say
my name is more heartbreaking than anything else.
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