Will the Real Raisin Rodriguez Please Stand Up? (14 page)

After the CD was finished, Danny brought out homemade jelly doughnuts, which are also traditional. And delicious.

Afterward we went around the table telling embarrassing stories, and Danny told the story about how my dad called her to ask her on a date and when she picked up the phone, he said, “Hey, Daniel-ella. I mean Daniel. I mean Danny.”

I laughed so hard my dad got a little annoyed at me. “Okay, Raisin, we get it. It's funny. I guess it's hard for someone like you who's never had anything embarrassing happen to understand.”

Which made the whole table laugh really hard. A little too hard, if you ask me. If you ask me, my dad was just angry because Danny's story was more embarrassing about him than about her, which wasn't the point of the game.

By then it was time to go, and I started wondering if I should have just gone to Hawaii after all, but it was way too late for that. I just had to deal with saying goodbye to everyone. First Jackson. Then Danny, who I hugged. And then Pia and Claudia. I started crying the minute the word good came out of my mouth and I didn't stop until we all fell into a body pile on the floor from hugging so hard, at which point we all began to laugh hysterically.

Then it was time to say goodbye to Vivvy. We just looked at each other for a moment. “And Scarecrow, I'll miss you most of all,” said Claudia in her Dorothy voice.

“I'll miss you all most of all,” I corrected. And then Vivvy and I shared a giant hug. I could also swear she whispered, “Jeremy,” in my ear, really slowly, like Jere-my. At least that's what it sounded like. But why would she do that?

I never asked her, and once my dad and I left the house, I never looked back. Even though I knew they were all standing on Vivvy's front porch waving goodbye to us. I just couldn't. I would have dissolved into a puddle of water, and my dad would have had to use a scooper to get me home.

But I'll see them again. As soon as possible. Maybe you guys will get to meet them too.

 
5:07 PM, EST

Hello again, Kitties, Hello (That includes you too, Miss Vivvy . . . I know you're in there. . . .)

Miss me? Ha!

I'm about to exchange Christmas presents with my family since I didn't get to do that yet. I wonder what they got me? A flat-screen TV for my room, complete with TiVo? And perhaps a new bedroom set to go with it?

Or maybe . . . just maybe . . . unlimited credit at Giselle's and an on-call stylist.

Then again, what I really need right now, more than anything else, is someone to talk to CJ for me. That's what Horace does when he's unhappy with one of his employees. He doesn't tell the person himself. He has Mahoney, the vice president of his company, do it for him. I've heard them planning it over the phone.

“Mahoney,” he'll say. “Tell Munson it's not working out,” and then just like that-poof-Munson will be gone. I need someone I can call on like that. My own personal vice president.

Darn. I wonder if it's too late to start hinting around for one now?

 
10:49 PM, EST

You guys aren't going to believe what happened. The plan was to have dinner with my family and then afterward, we'd exchange gifts. So at about seven o' clock, we all gathered around the table.

Except for Lola.

I was dying for us to get through dinner so I could open my presents. They looked really promising. A giant gift box from Giselle's, a medium gift bag from Gazelle's, and a tiny paper bag from Taco Bell with a feather glued to the top and the word Gazelle's written on it in black crayon (that one, not as much). So I went looking for Lola so we could get started on dinner.

I checked her bedroom, the TV room, the basement, and even the laundry room, where she likes to stand inside the laundry cart and play bus tour guide.

But she was nowhere to be found.

Everyone became frantic.

“When was the last time you saw her?” I asked my mother.

“Right before Horace left to pick you up from the airport,” she said.

“And when did the rest of you see her last?” I asked Horace and Samantha.

Neither of them had seen her since my mom left for the airport.

“Also when Dad left for the airport. I thought he was taking Lola with him,” said Samantha.

“I did too,” said Mom. Then she burst into tears and headed for her car.

Horace called the police on his cell. Sam went to get her bike and go riding around the neighborhood looking for signs of the little Butterball.

I tried to think of something useful to do, but it seemed like every job had already been taken.

Just then the house phone rang. I prayed it was Lola. I was worried sick about her.

“Raisin,” said the voice on the other end. It was a voice I recognized as much for its loudness as for freckliness.

“Hi, Jeremy. I can't talk. Can I call you back?”

“Okay. But I'm not really calling for you. I'm calling for your mom.”

“My mom?” I was a bit confused but too concerned about leaving the line open to get into it. “She's not here. May I have her call you back?” I asked.

“Well, in that case, may I have her cell phone number?” he asked, which made me reconsider the possibility that persistence is a symptom of the whole loudyitis syndrome. “Lola really wants to talk to her.”

“Do you think it can wait? My mom's driving around the neighborhood in a complete panic. Lola's missing, and she's out looking for her,” I said before clicking off the phone.

That's when I realized that there was something off about that exchange. I called Jeremy right back.

“Did you just say that Lola really wants to talk to my mother?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Why are you hanging out with Lola?” I asked.

“I wasn't planning on it. But when I saw the guard escorting her out of the movie theater, I asked her if she was with you. Then the guard asked me if I knew her and I said yes and he had me call you. Well, your mother.”

None of this story made sense. So I had Jeremy put Lola on the phone so she could explain it to me.

“Hi, Lola,” I said.

She didn't answer me, but I recognized the sound of heavy breathing.

“Lola, this is Raisin. Remember me?”

Again no words, just the familiar sound of mucus bubbles popping.

I gave up after a couple more tries and told Jeremy to wait at the theater with her. Then I called my mother and told her what had happened. She walked through the door half an hour later with Lola safe and sound, though dressed very poorly in one of my mother's blazers. Now don't get me wrong, I like a nice shrunken blazer as much as the next guy, but the fit was all wrong. As they say in the fashion industry (and you know who they are) that blazer was wearing her.

We all had so many questions for Lola, but she wouldn't say a word. Probably because she was in shock. Though possibly because her people have advised her against it. So we're not sure exactly what happened, but here's a timeline we pieced together:

 
As good a job as we've done piecing bits and pieces together, there are still some gaps in the story. And it might just stay that way. Because as I said before, Lola isn't talking.

 
Gaps:

 
I'm glad Lola is okay. I was really worried about her. I started imagining my life without her, and it was almost too bleak to bear. All I saw was a seventh-grader with divorced parents, a life divided between two coasts, and a boyfriend who doesn't get me.

. . . Surprisingly similar to my life now, but no Lola.

 
PS—We never got around to opening my gifts, but I'm not going to say anything. Because that would be tacky and insensitive.

PSS—Plus I was already able to determine that inside the big box is the very pair of lace-up knee-high boots I've been eyeing at Giselle's.

 
PPSS—Which is such great timing. They should go perfectly with the corduroy skinny jeans that were in the medium bag. Then again, those boots would look good with anything. Even the Burger King crown inside the Taco Bell bag.

 
Logged in at 11:10 PM, EST

 
Logged in at 11:11 PM, EST

What's new, Pussycats?

Note to Vivvy—can you be a little more explicit in your comments? I have no idea what you're trying to tell me. Pia and Claud, help her out, will ya?

You may or may not be wondering what I'm doing up so early on the next-to-last day of my Christmas break.

Allow me to explain.

The paparazzi have been at my house since six o'clock this morning.

Is there a movie star in our midst? The pope, perhaps? The royal family, maybe?

No. No. And no. All good answers. None of them correct.

The reason the paparazzi are here is because of Lola Rodriguez. They all want her picture for the local papers. News cameras are here too.

Can you believe it? I take the bus all the time and go to the movies at least once a week, but does anyone want my picture? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

But Lola accidentally gets on a bus, and judging by the crowd outside, you'd think she'd figured out the secret to time travel. Meanwhile, my mom and Horse Ass don't want to cooperate with the press, so everyone is just staying camped out on my front lawn.

I'm really glad I decided to change my ticket back so I could be home for an intimate family New Year's.

 
10:09 AM, EST

You know how they tell adults don't drive drunk?

I have another one to add to that list: don't dial depressed.

I just made the mistake of calling CJ because I thought maybe, just maybe, it would cheer me up.

El wrongomundo . . .

Not only was he still unclear on the date for Roman's New Year's Eve party, I think he might also have a crush on my four-year-old sister.

“She must be a very extraordinary child,” he said after I finished telling him that because of Lola's bus ride, hardly anyone has spoken a word to me since I came home yesterday.

“Yeah, but she was only gone for about an hour and a half. I was gone for a week!” I told him.

“Are you sure she didn't have an adult with her? A babysitter or cousin who had to leave the theater abruptly without notice?” he asked.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO PUT HER ON THE PHONE? YOU CAN ASK HER YOURSELF!” I snapped. “OR MAYBE I CAN ARRANGE A PLAYDATE BETWEEN THE TWO OF YOU!” My voice cracked. “I gotta go,” I told him, and hung up the phone.

I don't know what I was thinking. I should have called Lynn or Fippy, but for some reason it was CJ whose sympathy I wanted. I guess I thought that's what boyfriends were for. Boy, was I misguided. And on top of that, I almost definitely ruined things between us. Now even if I wanted to stay with him, he probably wouldn't want to stay with me. He'll probably break up with me tonight. That is, if he can remember that tonight is the New Year's Eve party. I can understand his confusion, seeing as tonight also happens to be New Year's Eve. I guess with all the math equations and science projects and violin concertos swirling around in his brain, there's no room left for an idea as simple as a New Year's Eve party actually falling on New Year's Eve.