Dream Things True (15 page)

The song ended, and Evan and Mary Catherine made their way toward Alma.

“What
was
that? I mean, the dance you were doing?” Alma asked.

Mary Catherine looked at Evan. “I don't know. Uh, swing? Shag? It's just dancing.”

“You two looked so
good
doing it. I mean, did you take lessons or something?”

Mary Catherine and Evan both laughed. “Yeah. I guess,” Mary Catherine said. “If you call cotillion lessons. I'm actually a terrible dancer, but Evan could lead a cardboard box and make it look good.”

She nudged Evan toward Alma. “You should try.”

Alma glanced at Evan skeptically. She wasn't sure that her hormone-riddled body could handle dancing with Evan again, not with her father glaring from his perch nearby.

“I vow to keep at least six inches of distance between us at all times,” Evan said.

“Promise you can do that?” Alma asked.

“I can promise,” he said with a crooked grin, “but can you?”

Ra
ú
l took Mary Catherine by the arm and looked sternly toward Evan. “I hope y'all both can,” he said, “or my dad will go ballistic on you.”

Evan gave Ra
ú
l a serious nod, and then Alma was twirling, their arms twisting smoothly in and out of complicated pretzel-like maneuvers, while Alma's feet spun beneath her. Mary Catherine was right. All she had to do was feel the gentle tug on her arm, or the light pressure at the small of her back, and she would move in unison with Evan. He did all the work.

“You're good,” he called out as she spun into him.

“I have no idea what I'm doing!” Alma replied, laughing.

“Yeah, but you follow well.”

“Don't get any ideas,” she replied. “I only follow on the dance floor!”

Evan smiled a wicked smile and slung her into a dip. She gasped and popped back up.

“So, really, where'd you learn to dance like this?” Alma asked.

“I spend a lot of time escorting my mom to charity events. There's not much else to do but dance.”

“Does your dad dance?”

“Yeah, but he's pretty much bailed on the party circuit.”

He spun her out and back again.

“So, you go as your mom's date? That's cute, Evan.”

“I guess.”

Taking both of her hands, he threw one arm behind his head in a pretzel maneuver, and then drew her back to him.

“I'd like to see that sometime.”

“I don't know. You might get jealous,” he said with a wink.

He rested his hand against her back and she fell into another low dip.

“All the ladies love to dance with BeBe's sweet boy,” he said, holding her suspended in midair.

 

 

Coming out of the dip, Alma's expression suddenly changed and her body tightened. She took Evan by the forearm and began to pull him off of the dance floor, weaving through other couples.

“What's up?” Evan asked. “Did I screw up again?”

“No,” she said. “It's just my cousin, he's coming toward us. I don't feel like dealing with him.”

Out of nowhere, that guy from the parking lot a couple of weeks earlier was standing in front of him in sagging jeans and a wifebeater. This wannabe gangster was Alma's cousin? Evan felt the adrenaline release into his veins.

“So, did you and Mr. Country Club actually do it out here on the dance floor, or was that just foreplay I saw earlier?”

Evan took Alma's hand and pulled her closer.

“Don't you have anything better to do than study my moves on the dance floor, Manny?” she replied.

The loser looked directly at Evan. “I saw you pull up in that girly car.”

“What's your point?” Evan growled.

“I'm gonna find out who drives the Hummer, and when I do, you'll be the first to know.”

What was his obsession with Conway's Hummer?

Alma grabbed the guy by his arm and yanked him toward her. They shifted into a rapid exchange in Spanish, spitting words at each other. Evan wanted to break in and defend her, but he understood nothing. Feeling like an idiot, he just glared at the guy across from him.

Mary Catherine stepped between Alma and her cousin.

“Uh, hi. Excuse me, I just need to borrow these two for a second?”

She said it tentatively, as if she were asking his permission, but Manny slouched away toward a group of rough-looking guys.

“Sorry to interrupt, Alma, but I have to go, and I was hoping Evan could walk me out. Dillon wants me to go with him to a concert. He's picking me up now.”

“Who's Dillon?” Evan asked.

“A new friend. I met him at the Dripolator. He's
nice
.”

“How old is he?”

“I don't know, Evan. Quit acting like my father.”

“Seriously, Evan.” Alma said. “We'll both walk you out.”

“OK, just give me a sec. I've got to primp in the bathroom first.”

Mary Catherine headed away, and Evan and Alma were left standing in silence.

“So, that was my charming cousin Manny.” She shook her head slowly and continued, “I told you about him. Remember?”

Evan didn't remember. All he could think about was the heated exchange in the parking lot.

“You know, the one with a chance at citizenship. God, what a waste.”

Evan figured she didn't need to know about their earlier encounter. She was angry enough already.

“I'm sorry if I've caused trouble for you tonight,” he said.

“No, Evan. This is the first
quincea
ñ
era
I've ever actually enjoyed—and I've been to way too many to count.” She squeezed his hand lightly. “Don't worry about Manny. I think he has you confused with someone else. Anyway, he's an idiot. And my dad, well, he's just going to have to get used to us.”

“Us. I like that,” Evan said.

Evan wrapped his other arm around her waist and stepped close. He let his eyes close and his face dip into her hair. He breathed her in, and all of the tension released. He was breaking the six-inch barrier, but he didn't care. He didn't care about Alma's cousin; he didn't care that her dad might be watching. All he cared about was that he and Alma—finally—were “us.”

Mary Catherine, back from the bathroom, stepped between them. “So, do you two lovebirds realize that just about everyone in the room is staring at you?”

Evan looked up sheepishly and realized she was right. He tried to drop Alma's hand, but she just squeezed it tighter.

“Let's go,” she said, and she led him off the dance floor by his hand.

They waited outside for a long time. Apparently Dillon wasn't the punctual type. Ra
ú
l eventually joined them, clearly hoping to convince Mary Catherine to stay with him. The four sat on a curb and watched cars pass, Evan holding Alma's hand in his lap while Mary Catherine and Ra
ú
l shamelessly flirted.

Eventually, a black BMW coupe pulled up. Ra
ú
l took Mary Catherine in his arms and whispered something in her ear. She threw her head back and laughed, then gave him a peck on the cheek. Evan and Alma watched as they walked together to the BMW. He opened the door and helped her in. As soon as the door closed, the BMW sped off.

“So what's up with M.C.?” Ra
ú
l asked.

“I don't know,” Evan said. “She has strange taste in guys.”

“Yeah,” Ra
ú
l said.

Evan wished Mary Catherine had decided to stay. Being with Ra
ú
l would be good for her. Evan knew he would treat her well, but Mary Catherine didn't seem to be into the kind of guy who treated her well.

As they made their way back toward the building, two guys came bolting around the corner and entered the hall. If Evan had to guess, he'd say they weren't sober. Evan saw Alma and Ra
ú
l glance nervously toward each other, and Ra
ú
l pulled out his cell phone.

Within moments, the doors to the hall burst open and several bodies lurched through the door, fists flying. Without thinking, Evan dragged Alma to the corner and pinned her body against the brick wall as they watched a fight unfold. Ra
ú
l disappeared around the corner, cell phone to his ear.

By the time Ra
ú
l returned, the sound of sirens filled the air. Two guys went running in different directions, but two remained locked together on the concrete. Ra
ú
l ran by, grabbing Evan's arm as he passed.

“Help me out, man.”

Evan watched as Ra
ú
l grabbed one of the guys from behind and wrenched him away. Ra
ú
l nodded toward the other guy, and Evan leaned down and forcefully yanked him to his feet, holding him in a tight grip. Ra
ú
l spoke in Spanish to the guy in Evan's grasp, and then yelled at Evan to let go.

The guy took off running just as the police cruisers turned the corner and pulled to an abrupt stop in front of them. Ra
ú
l dropped his arms, and Evan realized that he had pulled Manny from the fight.

A flashlight shone brightly in Evan's face.

A deep Southern voice boomed, “Evan Roland? What the hell are
you
doing here, boy?”

Evan shielded his eyes from the glare of the flashlight, trying to see the source of the voice. He slowly stepped to the side as the flashlight's beam hovered beside him. It was Logan's cousin Troy.

“Troy, man! You're blinding me,” he said, laughing as he walked toward the police cruiser and away from that asshole Manny. “Put down the flashlight, for chrissake!”

He glanced over at Ra
ú
l, who looked petrified—like a deer in headlights.

 

 

“Alma, Ra
ú
l, this is Troy,” Evan said, as if he were introducing an old buddy—as if the cop standing in front of her didn't have the power to throw Ra
ú
l in jail, even without evidence that he had done anything wrong. “He's Logan's cousin—we go way back.”

The cop reached out to shake their hands—to shake their hands! “Nice to meet you folks.”

This was all getting too weird. Alma remembered a time on the soccer field when tempers had flared and a fight broke out. The police came, and they definitely didn't shake any hands. They never even gave the guys a chance to explain. They just threw them in the back of the cruiser and took off.

The siren squealed on the police car, and the cop looked back toward the cruiser. “All right then,” the cop said, punching Evan gently in the arm. “I'm headed back to work. Y'all stay out of trouble.”

The cruiser drove away, sirens blaring again.

Ra
ú
l breathed a loud sigh. “Evan, man,” he said, “I don't know how to thank you.”

“For what? I didn't do anything.”

Alma felt a sudden wave of sadness sweep over her, catching in her throat and threatening to well up into tears. How could she begin to explain to Evan what this meant? Wasn't his certainty that the world was a good place—that cops were fair and friendly, that people were kind and charitable—one of the things that made Evan who he was?

Suddenly exhausted, Alma leaned against the side of the building. “Are you OK?” Evan asked.

“Yeah. Long day, you know? I mean, the hair alone took two hours to sculpt.” She smiled weakly.

“Any chance you'll let me take you home—I mean, now that we're going public and all.”

Alma motioned her head in the direction of the black stretch Hummer parked next to the curb. “And deny me the opportunity to ride in
that
?”

Evan laughed, looking at the beast of an SUV. “Yeah, I guess I can't compete.”

Ra
ú
l came to join them.

“Thanks again, Evan,” he said.

“No, man. Thank
you
for taking care of M.C. all night. She can be a handful.”

“Yeah, no problem. She's pretty cool.”

“She has crappy taste in guys, Ra
ú
l,” Evan said.

“Whatever. Hey, you should come out to Grant Park tomorrow to watch my dad's team. We lost a lot of players this fall, so we sort of suck, but it's fun.”

Ra
ú
l left out the part about the players being arrested and deported. That probably was a good idea. Evan didn't need to know.

“I'm there!” Evan said, not even trying to conceal his excitement.

“Our game is at one. Bring your cleats. We can shoot some.”

“Definitely,” Evan replied. “Are you going?” he asked Alma.

“Yeah, if it's at one I can go. I have a meeting to go over scholarship applications tomorrow afternoon, but not until three.”

“Alma's meeting her new best friend,” Ra
ú
l replied. “She's a retired middle school counselor.”

“Damn,” said Evan. “I thought I was your new best friend. But I mean, how can I compete with a retired middle school counselor?”

“Shut up, y'all,” Alma said. “I am just trying to get somewhere in life! Like, maybe, out of this town for starters.”

ELEVEN

Goal!

“
¡Gracias a Dios y a la Virgencita!
”

Alma's
abuela
Lupe called out to her from across the phone line.

“
Buenos d
í
as, Abuelita,
” Alma said, smiling as she imagined her grandmother talking from the courtyard of her little
tienda
in San Juan. Alma hadn't seen the
tienda
or her grandmother in a very long time, but after fifteen years of phone calls, videos, and photos, she felt like she knew them both well.

“I'm going to get my visa!” her grandmother replied in Spanish.