Forever Now (Forever - Book 1) (12 page)

It was a nice thought, but I bet Cruz would forget about me when he was modeling all over the world.

“Are you excited about going to Japan?” I asked.

“Nervous.”

I yawned. It had gotten awfully late, and Cruz’s voice was soft and deep, and lulled me. “You’re going to be great,” I said. “Famous. Rich.”

My eyes flickered closed, and I dozed off. Cruz took my hand, and he slipped his body under the covers. His breathing grew heavy, and I knew he was drifting off, too. Right before I fell asleep, I heard him say:

“By the way, don’t use the pool anymore. We can’t afford chlorine.”

We woke up the next morning together in bed. In the light of day, our situation grew awkward. We had gotten tangled in the blankets, our limbs intertwined. If someone walked into my bedroom at that moment, they would have thought all kinds of things.

Awkward things.

Our eyes locked and something passed between us unsaid, which I didn’t totally understand. Connection. And it came with a tension that I knew we both felt.

And then it was gone. In a blink of an eye, Cruz broke the connection, hopped up from my bed, and raced out of my room.

In that instant, it changed. We changed. On some level, I knew that we had embarked on a path that we couldn’t alter. I didn’t know, however, that we would travel it together.

“Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door.”

--Emily Dickinson

Living in Southern California, birthday parties mean piñatas. My whole life I never had a piñata for my birthday, but when I was invited to birthday parties back in elementary school and it was my turn to whack the piñata, I would take the baseball bat and go all A-Rod on its ass.

Home run. Candy everywhere.

I love candy.

So, believe it or not, I wasn’t suspicious one bit when Dahlia offered to drive me home from school and there was a Smurf piñata lying on her backseat. Yes, I was suspicious about the ride home. She had never given me a ride home before, and I didn’t really want her around Cruz after the whole incident the week before.

But I didn’t bat an eye about the piñata.

I had known Dahlia for three months, and it seemed perfectly normal that she would have a blue Smurf piñata in her car. She also had pink wooden Dutch shoes, an empty hamster cage, and a hula-hoop in the backseat.

But the ride home was suspicious. We had Sixth Period on opposite sides of the campus, with my study hall near the exit. Dahlia ran full out across campus to catch me after school.

“How ‘bout I take you home?” she huffed and puffed at me.

Like I said, I didn’t really want her near Cruz, and I didn’t think her enthusiasm for giving me a ride was about me.

“Thanks but it’s so pretty out, I’ll just walk,” I said.

“You can’t refuse a ride home.”

“I think I’ll pass, but thank you.”

Dahlia wouldn’t take no for an answer. I said “no” nicely in about four different ways, but she just ushered me toward her car, pushing me from behind with one hand.

It was easy to pick out her car in the parking lot. There weren’t a whole lot of glittery purple cars, and when she beeped it open, it played La Cucaracha with its horn. She sang along with the music and waved at the other students in the lot, who had turned to see what was making the racket.

“Here we are!” she announced after our short ride, parking in front of my house. “Yes, I would love to come in,” she added, even though I didn’t ask.

Dahlia was a great friend. She was probably the nicest person I had ever met. Normally I would have been thrilled for her to come to my house and spend time with me, but the thought of having to suffer through her and Cruz flirting or worse made me want to run screaming.

I got out of the car, closing the door behind me. Dahlia walked around, and I was surprised that she was holding the piñata in one hand and a large, round wrapped present in her other hand.

“What the—” I started.

“Don’t you know what day it is?” she asked me, smiling.

The front door opened, and Cruz stepped out wearing a cone-shaped party hat. He blew a party favor, making a terrible noise. “Happy birthday!” he shouted.

***

It was December ninth, my birthday. I was officially seventeen, and I had forgotten all about it. Cruz had remembered, however, and I learned that when he walked Dahlia out to her car last week, he had leaned in and whispered into her ear his plan for a little surprise birthday party.

No kiss.

No flirting.

He had been planning a party for me.

Inside, the dining room was decorated in streamers made out of cut construction paper, taped into colorful links. On the table was a large pizza, a plate of fries, a tub of Haagen Dazs, and a birthday cake with my name on it.

“Did you win the lottery?” I asked Cruz.

“I found some change under the couch cushions,” he said.

Total lie. I had already searched for change under every cushion in the house.

“I don’t remember the last time I had a birthday party,” I said, staring at my cake.

Another total lie. The memory was burned into my brain like a hot poker or mad cow disease. My last party had been two years ago. My mother invited all her friends—and only
her
friends–but she forgot to tell them the party was for my birthday. They got drunk and ate my coconut birthday cake without a candle, a song, or a birthday wish. For the finale, my mom screamed at me around nine to go up to my room because it was an adult party.

I never got the chance to eat my birthday cake, which was a good thing. I’m allergic to coconut.

Cruz had bought me a chocolate cake with chocolate icing. It had red and green flowers and in the middle was written: Happy Birthday, Tess.

It was perfect.

We started with the pizza and fries. I ate three slices, and I noticed Cruz ate four.

“How does it feel to be an old lady?” Dahlia asked me with her mouth full of fries.

“Hey, you’re going to be eighteen in April,” I said. “That’s nearly a year older than me.”

“And don’t I wear it well?” she said, tucking a French fry behind her ear and posing like a movie star.

“And how about me?” Cruz asked, posing with a slice of pizza on his head.

I looked at my two friends—the only friends I had ever had—who were wearing food and had clearly gone crazy, and I burst out laughing. I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. I did that thing they do in the movies where they double over and slap their knee, trying to catch their breath. And I snorted. My eyes teared up, and my nose ran. It went on forever. I had never laughed like that in my life. Finally, it died down to some gasping giggles.

“I wonder what she found so funny,” Cruz said to Dahlia. He took the slice of pizza off his head and took a big bite.

I burst out laughing, again.

Cruz hung the piñata on the light fixture and let me have the first whack at it. I took a broom handle and let fly. I only needed to hit it three times before the candy rained down on the table.

“Remind me never to make you angry at me,” Dahlia said.

“Or never to give her a broom,” Cruz said.

We managed to eat the entire pizza and most of the cake and ice cream. Before we cut the cake, they turned out the lights and lit twenty candles: Seventeen for my years. One for good luck. One to publish a book. One to move to Paris. They sang Happy Birthday in French, and I blew out all the candles in one blow.

“This was the best birthday I’ve ever had,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

“Wait! We forgot the presents!” shouted Dahlia. “Open mine first. Open mine first.” She hopped up and down and shoved her present at me. I ripped open the paper, and inside was a round box.

“It’s a hat!” Dahlia announced and then clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh, damn. I didn’t mean to ruin the surprise, but I got so excited.”

I opened the box. Dahlia had gotten me the most beautiful hat I had ever seen. It was a brilliant, royal blue with a wide, floppy brim and giant black bow on the front. It was a movie star hat.

“I saw the hat in your room, and it gave me the idea,” Dahlia said. “Try it on. I think you’ll look like Emma Stone.”

“Emma Stone. Right.” I tried it on. I felt glamorous in it, like someone had replaced me with an entirely new and better me. “How do I look?”

“Like Emma Stone!” Dahlia said.

“Beautiful,” Cruz said, and I felt my face go burning hot. He handed me his present. “Here,” he said. “Open it.”

“But—“ I started. I couldn’t imagine him spending so much money on me. First the party and then a present.

Cruz put his hand on mine. “I got a shoot last week. Three hundred dollars. They paid cash.”

“Are you a model?” Dahlia asked him.

He shrugged. “Trying to be.”

“I think you’d be good at that,” she said. She formed her fingers into a square and looked at him through the center. “Yep. I see potential. Mauve aura. Sort of a Clark Gable chin thing happening. Raw emotional media magnetism. I think you’re going to make it.”

“Thanks, I think,” Cruz said.

I didn’t know what Dahlia was talking about. You’d have to be blind not to think Cruz was going to make it as a model. He was the best-looking guy. Ever. In the world. In the universe.

“Open it,” he said to me.

I tore the paper but slowly this time. My mind raced with trying to figure out what was in the box. It was too big for Pop Tarts. Ditto for cash. It was the wrong shape for a hat. I glanced over at Cruz. He was way too happy. I was scared.

“Don’t be scared,” he said. “Open it already. You’ll like it.”

“I’m not scared,” I lied, ripping at the paper. “So totally not scared.”

“She’s scared,” Dahlia said.

“So totally scared,” Cruz agreed.

I ripped off the rest of the paper in three swipes and threw off the box’s lid, in a show of bravery. I almost shouted “ta da” but I was stopped by the pink tissue paper cradling a red dress inside the box.

“It’s a party dress!” Dahlia cried.

“For you to wear to Dahlia’s party. I saw the invitation in your room,” Cruz explained to me.

I had been worrying about what to wear to Dahlia’s family’s fancy Christmas party, but I never shared those worries with Cruz. He just knew somehow, and he had gone out and bought me a red dress.

“You don’t like it,” Cruz said. “I should have gotten the black, but I thought red would go with your complexion.”

My complexion? Did I have a complexion? Did red go with my hitherto unknown complexion?

“I love it,” I said.

“Take it out of the box,” Dahlia whispered in my ear.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” I slowly pulled the dress out of the box. It was off the shoulder with long sleeves. It had a tight bodice and pouf skirt. It was a princess dress. An Audrey Hepburn dress. Emily Dickinson would have knifed someone to get her hands on a dress like this.

My dress.

“You’re not saying anything,” Cruz said.

“I forgot how to speak,” I said. “I swallowed my tongue. I had an aneurysm.”

“She likes it,” Dahlia said.

Cruz nodded. “Yeah, I think she does.”

“Loves it,” Dahlia said. “Try it on, Tess.”

Like a model? Was she kidding? I wasn’t going to parade around and pose and be
looked
at.

Studied? Scrutinized? Nuh uh.

Besides, there was no way it would fit. The princess Audrey Hepburn dress would never ever, not in a million years, not in parallel universes, not with air brushing or axle grease, fit me.

“It’s your size,” Cruz said.

“It’s going to look great,” Dahlia said.

***

I didn’t try it on for them. I stood, held it up, and thanked Cruz. They stopped asking me to model it, and instead we finished eating the cake. The party ended after that. Cruz insisted on cleaning up, and I took my beautiful gifts to my room.

I hung the dress on the back of my door and stared at it for two full days before I worked up the guts to try it on. It fit perfectly, falling to just above my knees in a flouncy swirl of red luxury. Somehow, Cruz picked out the perfect size of the perfect dress for me.

The perfect boy strikes again.

Armed with the perfect dress, I was actually looking forward to the Christmas party. Now that I would be looking the part, I also boned up on current events, reading the New York Times at school. I was prepared to talk all about Russia, and if that grew old, I could fake a conversation about China and our national debt. I was set.

And I was hungry.

The bill situation was getting serious. Cruz got his one modeling job but none since, and whatever secret benefactor he had found to give us rent money had disappeared. We no longer had cable or internet. The pool was a swamp. There was a stack of bills in red envelopes on the kitchen table, and I sold my cell phone and the two TVs. I was tempted to sell my mother’s furniture, but something told me she would know—even from far away in Mexico—and skin me alive.

So we were cutting back.

The Pop Tarts were gone and so was the peanut butter. The only meat I had gotten in the past month was the school’s Tuesday BBQ sandwich, and I was pretty sure there was no real meat in the school’s Tuesday BBQ sandwich.

“If you stand in the center of the kitchen,” I said to Cruz. “There’s an echo.”

“We could give Mother Hubbard some lessons,” he agreed.

“There must be something to eat here somewhere,” I said opening the kitchen cabinets. I found a can of beets and an old bulb of garlic that had melted and stuck to the inside of the cabinet. Blech.

Cruz was searching, too. “Holy shit!” he yelled. I jumped and screamed; sure he had found a mouse. “Eureka!”

I squidged my eyes and looked his way. In one hand, he held up an almost empty bag of flour and in the other hand a bag of chocolate chips.

Chocolate. Chips.

Chips made of actual chocolate.

I rubbed my eyes and looked again. The chocolate chips were still there. It was a split the Red Sea kind of miracle.

“I’ll borrow a couple eggs from the neighbor,” Cruz said and skipped out of the house.