How My Summer Went Up in Flames (13 page)

“I miss you, honey. Do you want to come home?”

I wasn’t expecting that. Yesterday I would have jumped at the offer. Today, after hearing Joey’s voice, I’m not so sure. Lilliana is right. I need to see this trip through to the end. No, I’m right. I want to see this trip through to the end.

“I miss you too, Mom, but Matty would be disappointed. You know how sensitive he can be.”
And so do I
, I think, feeling triple the guilt over my sausage-assault threat. “How’s Dad? Is Eddie’s job going okay?”

“They’re both fine,
mija
.”

“Can I talk to Pony? Is he around?”

“Of course he’s around, where else would he be?” Mom chuckles. “Hold on. I’ll put the phone up to his ear.” After some shuffling around, I hear Mom’s voice; it sounds as far away as she is. “Go ahead. He’s listening.”

“Pony? How’s my good doggy? It’s me, Rosie. I miss you, ya big pooch.” As expected, he doesn’t say anything. After a few seconds, Mom is back on the phone.

“He looks confused.”

“I’ll bet. Is Eddie taking him for walks?”

“What do you think? Your father takes him every morning and every night.”

“Tell Dad and Eddie I love them.”

“I will. Call me after you talk to Steve Justice.”

“Okay, Ma. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I walk outside and over to the pool house, where I find everyone sitting around watching a show involving catching very big fish. I plop myself on the couch next to Matty. He’s got his arms crossed and he won’t look at me. I take my phone and put it on his thigh and then I lean my head on his shoulder. He knows that means I’m sorry. I was wrong. But, after pointing a breakfast link at his head, I know I owe him more. I need to say this out loud, in front of everyone.

“I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have threatened you with the sausage.”

Still nothing. I get up and stand between him and the television.

“You just did what my parents asked. I was wrong. And selfish.”

That last part gets his attention.

“You were what?”

“Wrong! Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes. And . . .”

“Selfish,” I mumble. Matty’s always teasing me about that, but I know there’s a major grain of truth in his jokes.

We stare at each other for a full five seconds before
Avery pipes up. “Okaaay. Well, now that we got that out of the way, Rosie and I are going to get mani-pedis.”

“Huh?” says Spencer.

“Nail stuff,” Logan says.

“Can you boys manage on your own for a while?” Avery asks.

I jump in here. “Are you kidding? They’ve got a big day planned. First, the Book Depository where JFK was shot. Next, the ranch where, and I quote, ‘they filmed the popular eighties, and recently revived, TV series
Dallas
.’ Don’t ask me how they even know that. And then it’s on to the Museum of the American Railroad . . .”

Spencer is smiling all proud-like because he knows I’ve finally read his trip itinerary and committed it to memory. Avery is less pleased.

“That’s it. We’re going out to a club tonight. I want you to tell people y’all had fun when you visited me.”

I’m smiling now. I like this girl, which is strange, because aside from Lilliana, I don’t usually bond with girls very easily. And to think, I didn’t want to spend two nights here. Now I’m so glad we are. But then I think about our line dancing outing in Nashville, and my mood plummets.

“Are we going to a country bar?” I ask.

“I said fun,” Avery shouts, making me jump. “I want you to have fun. Not everyone in Texas wears cowboy hats and Wranglers and goes out boot scootin’ on Friday nights.”

I’m down with her frustration about unfair stereotypes. Not everyone in New Jersey is overly tanned and “stars” in asinine cable reality shows. The view from the New Jersey Turnpike isn’t representative of the farms, beaches, and mountains that make up the other ninety-five percent of our state, and we don’t all know people in the Mafia.

“I can’t wait,” I exclaim. Then I add, “Does your salon have that new kind of gel manicure?”

“They do! Cool colors, too,” Avery says. “I may get my brows done as well; whataya say?”

“I’m in!”

 • • •

I call Steve Justice’s office while we’re en route to the salon. Miranda answers. I fill her in about Joey’s message and she puts me on the phone with Steve—that’s what he tells me to call him. He’s a pretty chill guy. I’m glad, because I probably would have giggled if I had to refer to him as Mr. Justice. It sounds like he’s some twenty-first-century superhero. Steve asks me a bunch of questions about the night I torched Joey’s car, and he tells me he’s going to send
an investigator out to talk with Joey’s neighbors. This guy really goes the extra mile. I wonder what this is costing my dad. Then he puts Miranda back on the line.

“When are you due back in New Jersey?” she asks.

I can’t even remember what day it is. Let me think—it’s Tuesday, and I’ll be flying home Sunday night on the red-eye.

“Uh, Monday?”

“Okay, I’ll set up an appointment for you and your parents to come in and talk to Steve before your court date.”

“By the way, you were right,” I tell Miranda. “Steve says he’s sending an investigator over to Joey’s neighborhood.”

“He’s sending me,” Miranda says, and I can tell I’ve touched a nerve. “He couldn’t get his guy, so now I have to do it. I’m the investigator. I’m the paralegal. I’m the secretary. I do everything around here!” She yells that last part, for Steve’s benefit, I’m guessing. I start to laugh.

“I’m serious,” she says, but I can tell she’s just busting Steve.

“I believe you.”

“Anyway, it’s best to have as much information as possible before your court appearance.”

“Thank you,” I say, and I really mean it. “Thanks for everything.”

“We’ll stay in touch.”

 • • •

Avery tells me she’s hired a car to take us to a club tonight. At my house, we only use limos when we’re going to the airport or prom. “It’s picking us up at nine,” she says. We’re in her room, listening to music, drinking iced green tea, and getting ready to go out. It feels like a holiday.

I’m wandering around her room, looking at framed pictures of Avery’s friends and family at various events, when a thick book on her nightstand catches my eye. I pick it up. It’s Jimmy Carter’s White House memoirs. In what universe would I find myself reading a book like this? In what universe do I read nonfiction books for fun?

“He inspired me to do Habitat for Humanity this summer,” Avery says. “He’s a great man.”

“What will you be doing?”

“Spending a week building housing for families outside El Paso, Texas. Near the Mexican border.”

I put the book down and look at Avery. She’s wearing a denim mini with a blue halter that really makes her eyes pop, especially now that she’s wearing contacts instead of glasses.

“Want me to do your hair?” I ask. I may not be able to build houses, but hair I can handle.

I give her blond locks some Jersey style and also do her makeup before I finish getting ready. It’s so nice to be able to take my time. I wear a super-girly minidress with a tiny floral print, spaghetti straps, and a built-in bra that’s surprisingly supportive, kind of like Avery turned out to be. And I love how my lavender finger- and toenails look against my olive skin. My hair is cascading past my shoulders and my smoky eyes would make
Seventeen
’s beauty editor proud. A spritz of perfume and I’m all set.

When we step outside, I instantly feel three sets of male eyes on us. We look good. But so do the guys. And they smell good too. Matty always cleans up nicely when he wants to and Spencer, well, his hair could still use some product, but he’s not wearing a cartoon T-shirt, so that’s a plus. And there’s something about Logan in jeans and a snug-fitting tee that makes me want to see Logan without jeans and a snug-fitting tee. . . . I have to stop myself from reaching up and smacking my own head.

I whip out my disposable camera and take a few group shots before asking Matty to take one of just me and Avery in front of the fountain. A minute later, a black stretch limo pulls into the circular drive, and I feel all rock star when the driver gets out and opens the door for us.

“After you, girls,” Matty says.

Avery and I link arms and we slide into the cavernous backseat. I’m so psyched to be all dressed up and on my way out. A very girly squeal is threatening to escape my mouth. I can’t wait to see this club.

“The driver won’t turn back into a mouse at midnight, will he?” I ask.

“Nope. He’s ours until dawn.” She pauses. “Wasn’t the driver a horse?”

“That’s right. How could I forget? Cinderella is my favorite princess.”

“Me too!”

I’m so glad Avery’s not one of those princess bashers. I mean, I know women are supposed to stand on their own and all. I get that. But every once in a while it doesn’t hurt to wish for a fairy godmother, a little magic, and a happy ending.

Avery asks the driver to drop us off a few blocks
from the club. She doesn’t say why, but I know that hiring a limo was her way of making things easier for her friends, not impressing people, even though she’s pretty stinkin’ rich. Lilliana would like her. I could see us expanding our twosome to a threesome if Avery lived in New Jersey. As we approach the club, I can hear the thump, thump, thumping of a bass beat and the crash of symbols every time the door swings open. Avery explains they have bands downstairs and a deejay and dance floor upstairs.

“It’s all ages. They give out wrist bands if you’re over twenty-one, but scoring alcohol is not impossible.” Avery smiles. “Especially for us regulars.”

I’ve already decided I’m not drinking. I need to hate
Joey for the foreseeable future and I don’t want a warm fuzzy buzz to prompt my own drunk dial.

Without making a big deal about it, Logan pays for everyone’s cover. Once inside, we negotiate the crowd as Avery leads us to a staircase at the back of the club. Upstairs, Avery, who indeed manages to score herself a light beer, pulls Logan onto the dance floor. It’s a fast song and I watch them, wondering if she meant what she said about staying single—or if they’ll wind up as a couple once they’re both at ASU studying sustainability and saving the world together.

When the music slows, Avery turns toward us, but Logan pulls her back and puts his arm around her waist. My heart constricts for a millisecond and I hold my breath. My good mood is fading fast. I need to turn it around. Matty and Spencer are leaning on the bar drinking sodas. A diet Coke and those two? I love them, but that’s not going to cut it. Instead of joining the guys, I head for the ladies’ room to fix my lip gloss and regroup.

As I exit the restroom, I spot a pay phone at the end of the hallway. I rummage in my purse for that calling card. I’m not going to do anything crazy. I just need to hear a voice from home so I can shake off my jealousy and lift my spirits. I reread the instructions on the back of the card and
dial Lilliana’s number. It goes to voice mail. “Hey, it’s me. Using the calling card you gave me. Okay. Call me later.” She probably didn’t recognize the number. No biggie.

I scan the club and find everyone standing together at the bar, where Avery appears to have snagged herself yet another beer. Interesting. But who am I to judge?

I shoulder my way across the crowded room and I’m about to scooch between these two girls standing near our group when I hear one girl say to the other with disdain: “
El comelibros
has been checking you out since he got here.” I follow her gaze. She’s looking at Spencer. No effin’ way. She just called my Spence a bookworm! Actually, it’s even more offensive.
Comelibros
literally means “eats books.” Who does she think she is? Her friend answers in Spanish. Roughly translated, she’s says Spencer needs to get over himself.

My pulse starts to race and my body gets hot. I can’t help it. I lose it. I stick my face in theirs and say:
“No, tú tienes que olvidarlo. Algún dia él va a ser el próximo
Bill Gates.
Y de todas formas, él está conmigo!”
Basically, I tell her to get over herself, that Spencer’s going to be the next Bill Gates, and anyway, he’s with me. Then I barge between the two of them and join my friends.

“Bitch,” one of them mumbles, again in Spanish, as I pass.

I snap my head around and stare. “I heard you!”

She takes a step toward me, but her gal pal grabs her arm. Next thing I know, Logan is at my side. “Everything okay over here,
amiga
?” he asks.

“Fine.” Then I take Spencer’s hand and pull him to the dance floor. He looks confused as I drag him around, looking for a good spot—I want those bitches to see us.

“Why were you arguing about Bill Gates?” Spencer asks.

“Someone’s gotta defend Microsoft.” I shake my head in mock disbelief. “Apple groupies.”

We’re finally in a good area and Spencer is bopping to the music. It’s a little like dancing with Elmo, but who cares. He’s my friend.

“So, you’re fluent in Spanish?”

“Not exactly. My mom is.”

Spencer leans in and shouts over the music. “I’m taking Latin.” His eyes are wide and innocent, and for the first time I notice that he’s got killer lashes.

“That’s cool.” And I mean it. There is something very cool about the way Spencer knows what he likes and doesn’t make any apologies for it. I feel bad for dismissing him and his Snoopy tee when we met and drooling over Logan’s
biceps. Spencer was there for me when Matty and I weren’t speaking. I wish I could be more like Spencer and less like the girls who ragged on him. I’m relieved he didn’t know what they said.

Matty, Logan, and Avery join us on the dance floor. Avery cups her hand over my ear. “You’re not so selfish.”

Avery speaks Spanish? Of course she does. Gotta be bilingual to save the world.

“I shouldn’t have lost it like that. It’s a pattern with me, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You are a wild child,” she says. “But you’ve got a good heart.”

Do I? Avery does. That’s for sure. I don’t blame Logan for wanting to drive all this way to see her. Matty taps me on the shoulder and waves my phone at me.