Amigas and School Scandals (20 page)

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Authors: Diana Rodriguez Wallach

BOOK: Amigas and School Scandals
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Chapter 29
N
o one was dancing. When we returned to the tent, all of my guests were seated at tables staring at the stage as if they were watching a classical orchestra. Even my own family wasn't strutting their stuff, and I was certain my father and uncles knew how to salsa. My father listened to Spanish radio in the car, and he had Spanish CDs in the den. Yet there he sat at his daughter's birthday party, sulking.
“Wow. Are your friends always this exciting?” Lilly asked as she glimpsed at my yawning guests.
“Well, in their defense, they've probably never heard this music before,” I said.
“And God forbid people in Spring Mills try something new.”
“Hey, don't knock my people.”
“Well, I think it's time for your people to meet
my
people.”
Teresa and Carlos were standing silently behind us. I glanced at my family seated stubbornly at the table. Their eyes blazed in our direction, searching for signs of trouble. I only wished they were as good at talking as they were at staring.
“All right, why don't you track down Madison and Emily, and I'll track down Betsy and them?” Lilly suggested as she scanned the massive tent.
I nodded and took off toward my friends' table, weaving through the crowd. When I finally saw them, they were drumming their nails on the silk tangerine tablecloth and staring at the band with the enthusiasm of a pack of patients in a doctor's waiting room. Their mothers sat beside them engaged in conversation that I could hear from a few feet away. They were practically screaming over the din of the music.
“So, you're writing a novel?” Mrs. Fox asked Emily's mother.
“No, it's an anthology,” replied Mrs. Montgomery.
Madison's mom stared blankly at her, her blue eyes lifeless.
“I'm editing an anthology of poetry. I'm a poetry professor,” Mrs. Montgomery repeated.
“Oh, that's nice. So it's a book of your poetry?”
“No, it's a collection of various poets.”
“Yourself included?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, why not? It's
your
book.”
Mrs. Montgomery shook her head and, as I got closer to the table, I could tell she was clearly annoyed with the conversation. Madison's mom was my mom's best friend. The two volunteered together at an art gallery, sat on the boards of several charities, planned numerous fundraisers, and socialized as a regular pastime. Emily's mom traveled with an academic crowd. Aside from her father's coworkers, I didn't think I had ever seen a friend at the Montgomerys' house. They were too busy working.
“Hey, everyone,” I said as I stood before the table.
Madison and Emily slowly turned their heads.
“Oh, hey.” Madison sighed.
“Mariana, you look beautiful.” Mrs. Fox beamed. “I just love the dress. Your mother told me all about it, but it looks even better than I imagined.”
Madison's mom was glowing in a gold dress and matching jacket that probably cost more than most people's rent—in Manhattan. Her pale blond hair flowed to her shoulders matching the shine and hue of her daughter's locks, which was logical given that they shared the same colorist. No one would guess that she was in her mid-forties, and I doubted she would ever admit it. She'll be thirty-nine until the day she dies.
“Thanks, Mrs. Fox. And you look amazing! Are you still doing yoga?” I asked.
“Three times a week. Your mother switched to pilates, but I don't think it has the same effect on the body. I bet she'll be back within a month.”
“I'm sure she will. And Mrs. Montgomery, thank you for coming. You look nice.”
She offered a bored smile, as if she knew it was an empty compliment. Emily's mom was forty-eight and looked forty-eight. Her dark brown hair fell in long, natural waves with a hint of frizz that never seemed to bother her. Her weathered skin shone through her lack of makeup, and her navy dress was long, loose and more appropriate for a picnic than a formal party. But that was who she was. She talked about smoking pot in the seventies and hitchhiking across the country, while her husband donned a suit to go to Little League games and spouted Wall Street Journal headlines at social events. Somehow they created Emily.
“Um, guys,” I said. “I was wondering if you wanted to help me get the dance floor going?”
They dropped their chins and stared at me like I had just suggested they get a root canal and skip the Novocain.
“Come on,” I whined. “Give it a try. You guys are the best dancers here. If you can dance ballet, you can pick up salsa.”
“And what are we supposed to do? Salsa in circles around each other?” Madison droned.
“No, we'll find partners. Look at all the guys that showed up.” I waved at the dozens of teenage boys surrounding us. “They're all bored. They'd probably love to dance.”
“Yes, because most teens just jump at the chance to embarrass themselves.” Madison snorted.
“Girls, this is Mariana's birthday, and I think you owe it to her to give this a try,” Mrs. Fox said as she rested her French-manicured hand on Madison's arm.
“She's right, Emily. It's about time you tried something new,” added Mrs. Montgomery.
“Oh really, Mom. Well, why don't you show me how it's done? You go out there,” Emily suggested.
“With your father?” She snorted.
“It would be a start. Or is there someone else you'd rather dance with?”
Mrs. Montgomery's face shot toward her daughter. Emily cocked her head and raised her eyebrow in an expression I usually only saw on Madison.
“I think your father is a little busy talking stock reports with Mr. Fox.” Mrs. Montgomery gestured toward the bar where the two men were standing with tumblers in hand. They sipped their dark liquor, engrossed in conversation like they couldn't hear the roar of the band.
“Your mother's right, Em. Unless you know how the Nasdaq closed on Friday, I doubt you'll be able to interrupt
that
conversation,” Mrs. Fox joked, her palm on her spray-tanned chest.
Emily looked away, breathing hard.
“Okay, how 'bout this,” I said, jumping in. “If I find us dance partners, will you girls give it a whirl?”
Madison sighed, slumping forward as she flopped her elbows onto the table. “Fine. But they better know how to dance.”
I glanced quickly at Emily, who nodded halfheartedly. That was all the confirmation I needed. I darted through the tent toward Lilly.
“All right, what do you got?” I asked, as I quickly approached my cousin. Evan was right beside her. “Madison and Emily will only dance if we find them partners.”
Lilly looked at Evan.
“What?” he asked.
“Will your friends dance?”
“Chad and Scott? Are you serious?”
“Well,
you're
dancing.”
“So?”
“So doesn't that make it cool?”
“Not to them.”
“Come on, can't you talk them into it?” Lilly batted her lashes at Evan as her glossed, dewy lips grinned with seduction.
“Fine.” He shook his head and trudged toward his buddies.
“Okay, you handle this. I'm gonna find Bobby. Meet me at Madison's table?” I stated, already walking away.
I rushed toward Bobby, who was standing with a pack of his friends yawning. Thankfully, it wasn't hard to convince him to dance. He looked almost relieved at the suggestion. I swiftly dragged him over to Madison and Emily, who seemed less than thrilled to see us.
“What are we gonna do, split him in three?” Madison snipped, flicking her hands in the air.
“Relax. Lilly's got it taken care of.”
I craned my neck and glimpsed Evan, Chad, and Scott clustered around her. Knowing Lilly, the guys were probably fighting over who got to dance with
her
first. But regardless, I was certain she'd be able to talk them into a little salsa. She could talk guys into anything.
“Oh, great. Chad and Scott,” Madison whined, following my gaze. “What? Were bin Laden and Hussein busy?”
“They're not that bad.”
“Easy for you to say.” Madison looked to Bobby.
He was standing silently behind me, and I noticed that Emily's gaze was locked on the condensation dripping from her water glass.
“Em, now that I've shown Bobby what to do, maybe you guys could dance?”
Her face snapped toward mine, her eyes bugged, and her jaw swung open. Clearly I had said the wrong thing, and I noticed her mother looked equally horrified.
“Oh, Mrs. Montgomery. Have you met Bobby McNabb?” I asked, gesturing toward him like Vanna White presenting the new car. “He goes to Spring Mills with us.”
Emily's mom stared at Bobby in a way that seemed disapproving, which was odd because the woman usually preached against prejudging people. Maybe those opinions only counted for people who hadn't shown an interest in her daughter.
“Uh, hi,” Bobby stated, waving his hand.
“Hello,” she said, then turned toward Emily, who was again deeply absorbed by her water glass. “Mariana, are you and Bobby dating?”
I jerked my head back slightly. I expected embarrassing questions from my nosy aunts, but I usually held Emily's mom to a higher standard.
“Um, no. We're just friends.”
She straightened her shoulders and rested her chin on her hand like a seasoned professor waiting for more explanation. I was getting nervous.
“We're lab partners,” I added.
“And Mariana's locker's next to mine,” Bobby said.
“So all of you hang out a lot?” she asked, gesturing toward Emily. “I mean, I know you two went out this summer... .”
“Mom!” Emily screeched, snapping her head up.
“What? You did, right? I just thought you guys didn't hang out anymore... .”
“Mom, please! Stop talking,” Emily ordered, her pupils enlarged.
Bobby took a few steps back as if he thought that would hide him from the uncomfortable situation.
“Fine, fine,” Mrs. Montgomery muttered. “I just want to know who your friends are.”
“Well, now you do. Does that change anything?” Emily quickly stood up from the table, shaking the china resting on it.
Fighting with your parents is never fun, but fighting with them in front of other people (especially a boy) takes the revolting confrontation to another level. I could feel Emily's humiliation as if it were my own. It was the same way I felt every time my family attacked Teresa.
Madison jumped to her feet, licking her lips, prepared to charge off with her best friend. But Lilly cut them off in their path.
“All right! Let's dance!” cheered my cousin as she strutted up to Emily and Madison, a slew of guys on her heels.
I tried to catch Lilly's eye to express the awkward tension she was cutting into, but she remained oblivious. She was too busy tugging at her halter straps to prevent the guys around her from catching a free peep show (though it looked like they were already satisfied).
“Now, Chad and Scott have agreed to give it a go in the first round. But loads of other boys are just dying to become salsa kings. You girls ready?”
Without a word, Emily marched over to Chad, clutched his hand, and pulled him onto the dance floor. Clearly, she was ready.
 
Three songs later, and the floor was filled with Spring Mills students. Lilly had taken it upon herself to swipe the band's microphone and offer a five-minute impromptu lesson about the intricacies of hip swiveling. Once the first song was over, enough people felt confident to at least attempt the rhythmic sway. Bobby and I were leading the way along with Teresa and Carlos.
For the first time all night, everyone was having fun.
The brass trombone blared with pounding beats, making it hard to hold a conversation. Sweat poured down my back, and the temperature in the tent rose despite the caterer's extra fans. I closed my eyes as Bobby's hand pulled on my hips. For a second, I almost felt like I was back in Utuado, and it was Alex's arms around me.
“Ya mweally mwood at mwis,” Bobby shouted. My eyes snapped open.
“What?” I yelled, leaning toward him.
He pressed his lips against my ear. “You're really good at this.”
His breath felt hot and moist, almost like a kiss. A tingle tread down my neck.

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