Will the Real Raisin Rodriguez Please Stand Up? (15 page)

 
10:16 AM, EST

I can't believe I finally got myself a boyfriend and we're probably going to break up on New Year's Eve! Now who am I going to kiss when the clock strikes twelve?

Has everyone around me gone mental? One of the photographers started throwing rocks at my bedroom window. I told Horse Ass and he called a family conference down in the basement where no one could bother us. I was unaware that we had family meetings. But when an event as life changing as a child getting on a bus takes place, I guess all the rules have got to change.

“We need to present a united front,” HA started. He had put folding chairs around the Ping-Pong table and was seated at the head.

“Hold on,” I said, raising my hand.

“Yes, Raisin,” HA said, nodding at me the way the president does at his reporters during one of those press conferences on TV.

“Shouldn't we wait for Lola?” I asked.

“She's right here.” HA pointed to the seat next to him. It looked empty, so I stood up to get a better view. Sure enough, Lola was sitting in the chair next to him. Only her head didn't reach the table. Plus she was sitting in complete silence, which also made her presence harder to detect. She still hasn't uttered a word since they found her. My mother says she's in a state of shock.

“Those reporters just want to take advantage of this story because it's local and they're all anxious to get home early and start celebrating.” The more HA spoke, the more red his face got. He started to pace. “But that's not our problem. We don't have to give them what they want, no matter how hard they try and make us. This is a private family matter. Understood?”

We all nodded.

“Any questions?” HA looked around the table, slowly taking his time to lock eyes with each one of us. Either he was making sure we were all clear on how to proceed or he was stalling for time—the whole family conference took less than sixty seconds and when someone uses the word conference, people expect at least sixty-one.

When no one responded, HA let us go.

I'm going to Lynn's house to watch her and Fippy put blue streaks in their hair. At least they don't care about Lola.

 
5:16 PM, EST

Lynn and Fippy want Lola to come to the New Year's party. They want to study her mind! Why is everyone out to get me? And furthermore, why does it have to be her genius that got her on that bus? It's not smart for a four-year-old to get on a bus. Think of the consequences. She could have gotten lost! Hurt! Abducted! Photographed in that unflattering jacket!

And if I feel this way, then why did I even bother telling Lynn and Fippy about Lola, you ask?

I DIDN'T! I answer.

IT WAS ON THE AFTERNOON NEWS!

I arrived at Lynn's house shortly after leaving mine through the back entrance—so as to keep this “family matter” “private” by avoiding the reporters.

“Get down here,” Lynn shouted to me from her basement as soon as her mother let me in. “Horse Ass is on TV with Sam, Lola, and your mom.”

I ran down the stairs. “That's impossible,” I shouted. “He just finished telling us not to give the press what they—”

But then I saw them. Mom, Sam, Lola, and Horse Ass. ON LIVE TELEVISION!

WITHOUT ME!

They were all laughing and joking about how kids will “stop at nothing to see Space Monkeys.” Well, all except for Lola, who has not spoken for a record twenty hours and counting.

“This is like free advertising for that movie,” Lynn said as she flipped the channels. My family was on all four local news shows.

“Maybe Lola's a mole for the movie company,” Fippy added.

I sat down in between them on the couch as they discussed theories as to how the movie executives were able to program Lola all the way from Los Angeles.

“Maybe they started back in July, when Lola was still living in Berkeley,” Fippy concluded.

“It's such a sad commentary on the world we live in . . .” Lynn added. If she had any doubts about Fippy's theory, she wasn't letting on. “Just a cryin' shame.”

“You can say that again,” I said. Lynn and Fippy both turned toward me and nodded in agreement. “I mean, how sad is it?! Television cameras in my very own living room! Just minutes after I leave the house. That's what I get for listening to Horse Ass.”

After the news was finished, I helped Lynn and Fippy dye their hair. They're both much more excited for tonight than I am—I hope everyone doesn't want to just talk about Lola.

 
7:16 PM, EST

It's almost time to leave for Roman's party. I'm really not in the mood. If people so much as mention Lola, I'm just going to say, “No comment.”

In fact, that's what I'll say to anyone who tries to bring up anything I don't want to discuss.

It's brilliant!

It works! My mom just asked me if I was ready to go. So I went downstairs to put my coat on, wearing my new boots and velvet jeans.

“You opened your presents without us?” she asked, using her how dare you voice.

So I said, “No comment.”

“Fair enough,” she answered, and that was the end of that.

“No comment” is the solution to all my problems. I'll never get in trouble again.

 
7:36 PM, EST

Well, maybe only once more.

“Horace and I are going to a party for a few hours tonight, and then one of us will pick you up. What time does your party end?” my mom asked as we put on our coats. A question that was a lot more complex than she probably realized. With everything that's going on with CJ and the added heinousity of recent Lola-related events, I might want to escape the party at 8:o1. Then again, if CJ magically turns back into Prince Charming and no one turned on the local news this afternoon, I might never want to leave.

“No comment,” I said.

“Raaaaaisinnnnnn.” Her eyes blazed with anger. “I let it slide the first time. Don't make me regret it.

It was nice while it lasted.

 
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Logged in at 10:18 PM, EST

Happy New Year's to All the Kittens in Kittenland,

I'm beginning to think I am what they call an odd bird. Unless it's normal not to know you like someone until his tongue is in your mouth. But if that's the case, then shouldn't people walk around sticking their tongues in other people's mouths on a daily basis? It would be a great time-saver.

 
Note to the Hiltons: Other sayings to work on:

 
But I digress.

Allow me to gress:

 
The first person I saw when I got to the party was none other than CJ Mullen. I was walking down the stairs, and he was standing at the landing. All I saw was the back of his head, but I knew those beautiful lashes were still growing out of the front of his head and I could tell they looked extra good tonight. CJ cleans up well.

My stomach dropped. My hands were shaking. There was no way I could face him in the shape I was in. So I ran toward the bathroom, hoping that he wouldn't have time to figure out who I was. When I got there, I was in such a rush to duck for cover, I didn't even bother to knock. I just flung the door open, raced inside, and shut the door behind me. I realized right away, I was not alone.

“Who is that?” asked a familiar voice before I had a chance to turn on the light.

“Lynn?” I whispered.

“Rae?” she whispered back. “What are you doing in here?”

“I'm hiding from—” Just then I heard a loud exhale. One that was too high to belong to Lynn. “Is someone in here with us?” I whispered.

After a brief pause, Lynn answered me. “Um, yeah,” she said. “Hey, Thomas. Say hi to Raisin.”

“Hey,” said Thomas.

“Uh . . . hey, Thomas, how's it going?” I said. Which is really, “How's all the making out with an older woman treatin' ya?” And, “Would you mind if I turned on the light so I can finally get a good look at you?” in polite.

“Uh, okay,” he answered.

Then there was a long silence, during which time we all wondered who would leave the bathroom first. I'm sure Lynn and Thomas expected me to make the offer.

But I didn't. I couldn't. I was paralyzed. There was nothing good waiting for me on the other side of that door. Only the sad ending to the most exciting thing that ever happened to me. And a kiss-less stroke of twelve on New Year's Eve.

Plus the longer I stayed in the bathroom, the longer I was someone with a boyfriend.

Plus plus, what if it was a mistake? What if I just had to give it more of a chance? What if he was the only boy in the entire boy kingdom who would ever go out with me? If nothing else, he was certainly the only cinnamon-scented, violin-in-a-bag-carrying, impossibly-long-eyelashy boy who would ever go out with me.

Plus plus plus, HE WAS SOOOO GOOD-LOOKING.

Twelve more years of silence passed. There were several knocks on the door. We ignored them all. At some point Thomas took out his phone and started text-messaging some friend. (He really knew how to work that keyboard.) Finally Lynn spoke up.

“Rae, how long do you plan on staying in here?” she asked.

“How long do you?” I shot back.

“Aw, c'mon, Rae—what're you doing?” Lynn asked through muffled giggles. Thomas was tickling her. “You can't hide in here forever. Just go talk to him. Maybe it won't be as bad as you think.”

There was another knock at the door.

“Fine,” I said, and turned the doorknob.

“Wait!” Lynn said. “Before you go—have any more reporters been to your house?”

“Even if they have, I wouldn't speak to them,” I said, slowly cracking the door open. “In accordance with rule number two in the CoolerThanYou guidelines, I refuse to glorify The Man. Right on.” And with that, the biggest lie that has ever passed between my lips, I marched out of the door, unprepared for who was standing on the other side. As you might have guessed, it was none other than CJ.

“Hey,” he muttered without looking me in the eye, and attempted to enter the bathroom.

“Wait!” I shouted. “You can't go in there.”

“But I have to,” he said.

“But someone else is already in there,” I told him.

He gave me a look that said, “I don't understand,” and, “Then what were you doing in there, you weirdo?” I must say, the role change was rather refreshing.

“You two need to have a little talk—” I heard someone say. Suddenly a glittery flash of silver swirled before my eyes. As my eyes adjusted to the brightness, the movement slowed down and I was able to make out the shape of a person—a tall person—who towered over your average seventh grader (not including Roger Morris, who's not just six inches too tall for his grade but also six years too old.) But as the movement gradually stopped, I realized the extra height wasn't coming from the person. The extra height was coming from a hat. A silver-sequined top hat.

“Happy New Year's, Sparkles!” I said, throwing my arms around his shoulders. “Love the top hat and tux!”

“Happy New Year's, New Girl!” he said, patting me on the back. “Wait. I take that back. Make that, Not So New Girl Anymore. Not So New Girl Anymore, too bad you missed out on your big chance this afternoon.” The way he said it actually made me feel bad for disappointing him.

“Now listen, I have got to jump. Places to go and people to see.” He put his hand on CJ's back too and gently pushed us closer together. “Enough beating around the bush, you two. Just tell each other how you feel.” Then he gave us each a peck on the cheek. “Love ya!” he said. And then he swirled away.

. . . Leaving me and CJ alone. Each to deal with that awful potato salad feeling in the back of our throats.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't say what I had to say. For one thing, we were in a very bad location for a private discussion. Behind us, people had started lining up for the bathroom, and sitting at my feet, Fippy and Roman were doing the old smoocharoo.

“Wanna go outside?” I asked.

“That's okay, I know what you're gonna tell me—we can just break up right here,” CJ said. He shook my hand and turned to leave. He hesitated for a second and turned back. “I saw your family on TV. It's a shame you didn't get on too,” he added, and then walked away.

I didn't know what to feel. Relieved that CJ took care of the hard part for me or sad that it was all over between us? I guess the tears welling up in my eyes answered that question for me.