Will the Real Raisin Rodriguez Please Stand Up? (6 page)

“But you guys get along so well,” I told her. “And you seemed like you were having so much fun tonight.”

“We were. I guess we're just better as friends. It's less complicated. And this way Jeremy's less likely to write a song for me for Black Christmas.”

“What's wrong with him wanting to do that?” I asked.

“He's missing the point of Black Christmas. Black Christmas is all about standing up against The Man. Not about singing mushy love songs. If he doesn't get that, then he doesn't really get me either,” Lynn said.

“Right on,” I said. But only because I knew it was what she wanted to hear. Inside, I wished CJ would do something like write a song for me and sing it at Black Christmas.

“And what's the point of being with someone if they don't really get you?” she added. Which is a very interesting point. I should make an appointment with myself to give that some more thought. But at that moment all I could think about was how I had to wake up at negative a hundred o'clock in the morning. So I just agreed with Lynn and wished her a very merry Black Christmas.

“Merry Black Christmas to you too, Raise,” she said. “Have a great time in Berkeley.”

“I sure will,” I told her, and then we hung up. Well, Kitties, I'm off to bed. See you soon!

Good morning, Kitties,

I'n offfto the airpoo I mean, I'm off to the airport. Sorry I'm not reallly awak yet.

It's times like these I really wouldn't mind trading places with Lola. When she travels with us, nobody even bothers to wake her up or change her out of her pajamas. In fact, when we flew here from Berkeley, the only time she woke up once during the whole trip was to throw up on herself. Then she went straight back to sleep while my mom and I had to clean her up. Now, that's a girl who knows how to travel in style.

By the time you read this I'll have plowed through my stack of fashion magazines but will still be no closer to comprehending “What These Hollywood Starlets Know About Foundation.”

Only eight hours and fourteen minutes until our tragic separation is mercifully put to rest.

See you in Berkeley!

No—I'm not in Berkeley yet. My flight is delayed due to something called a wintry mix.

I just had to write again because there's absolutely nothing left to do in this airport. I've already read every magazine that looks even a little interesting. I even bought a magazine called Dog Fancy because there was an adorable pug on the cover. Or more specifically, because there was an adorable pug on the cover wearing an even adorabler sweater.

I know what to do next! I'll call the store and see if I can order the pug sweater in my size!

 
7:33 AM, EST

Oh, wait! I can't call the store. It's only seven thirty in the morning.

 
7:35 AM, EST

NOW WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH MYSELF?

There's nothing left to read. The only TV show they're playing is the news, and it's too early to call any of my friends.

Wait! I just had a brilliant idea. Have you guys ever heard of blogging? It's all the rage among the kids these days. A blog or web log is an online diary.

Lots of kids have them as a way of keeping their friends up-to-date with whatever's going on in their lives.

Which got me thinking . . . I have friends! I have things going on in my life! I can get online! In fact, I'm online right now! Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me that I should start a blog! A secret blog about my Berkeley trip! For my Philadelphian friends to read. Sounds so crazy, it just might work.

Okay, here I go. Bye for now.

 
Dear Lynn and Fippy,*

Congratulations! I'm writing to let you know that as preferred customers, you have just qualified to become exclusive readers of my new secret blog. You can find it at
www.whathappensinmyblogstaysinmyblog.com
. Once you log in, you will immediately begin enjoying these fabulous perks:

 
These perks do not include sharing my secret blog address with others.

Others include:

 
I remain,

Raisin R. Rodriguez, Esq.

 
*Yes, you, Fippy. Even though I don't know you that well yet, I consider you one of my closest friends at Franklin Academy, and I'm honored to have you as my guest.

Dear Honorary Kitty Lynn and Honorary Kitty Fippy,

I just boarded the plane and guess what? It has Wi-Fi. I can narrate the whole ride, INCLUDING THE IN-FLIGHT MOVIE. Just as long as my battery doesn't run ou

 
Logged in at 12:31 PM, EST

Sorry about my battery dying before. I hope you guys aren't too disappointed about missing my full play-by-play of the movie. If it makes you feel any better, you didn't miss much. A documentary about penguins standing still for six months straight is less exciting than you might have guessed.

Anyway—I'm here! Hello from the kumbaya capital of the world. Where underarm hair is worn with the pride normally reserved for the season's most glamorous platform sandals and getting dressed to the nines means putting on a bra.

I forgot how much I like my dad's apartment. My bedroom walls are painted purple and pink, and there's a bunk bed for when Lola and I are here at the same time. I sleep on top; she sleeps on the bottom. When we first started coming here after the divorce, it took a while for Lola to get used to sleeping in a “big girl's bed.” Sometimes she used to fall on the floor in the middle of the night. It never woke her up, though.

I miss that chubby little munchkin. I wish she was here to fall out of our bunk bed this week.

As soon as I shower, my father, the wonderful Peter Rodriguez—yoga instructor, sailboat renter, and close personal friend of Madonna—is going to drive me over to Pia's house to see her and Claudia.

It's nutty—when he first picked me up from the airport, I didn't even recognize him. His beard was shaven off and he was driving a brand-new car. It looked just like the car in Herbie the Love Bug, only his is silver, with a convertible top. It was weird seeing him in a nice car, but I forgot to ask him about it because I got sidetracked by something he said.

“Raise, I know how excited you are to be here,” he began. We were driving down Highway 13. “But just don't be too discouraged if you feel strange at first or if things with Pia and Claudia don't go right back to normal immediately. All that means is that you're taking time to adjust. Okay, Swami?”

“Okay,” I said. But I was lying. There was nothing okay with what he said. All he did was start me worrying and realizing that things were already not back to normal. For instance, what was with the expensive car? The closest thing his old car ever had to a convertible roof was a passenger's door that fell off unless it was held down with electrical tape. And the color? Sure, the old car was silver, but it was also gold, black, white, and every other color of the rainbow from all the cars that had sideswiped it in the tiny parking lot of his yoga studio, Chakra Center.

Seeing my dad without a beard and driving a fancy car was really weird. It was like seeing Jeremy without his freckles speaking in an inside voice. Or CJ without his eyelashes, speaking.

I just hope that my dad's wrong and that there's nothing strange about seeing Pia and Claudia.

But what if he's right? What if they've changed? What if they don't like me anymore? Or worse, what if they misunderstand my shoes? (The silver ones, with T straps.)

And Lynn—before you respond with, “What do you care if they understand your shoes?” let us remember whom you are talking to.

You are talking to ME.

Me, Raisin Rodriguez, who's not deep like you. I'm not comfortable enough with myself to expect people to love me for who I am. I need them to love me for who I'm trying to be.

Like a good dresser.

I guess I could play it safe and wear my old Birken-stocks. But I don't want to risk falling back into bad habits.

At least I still have that surprise to look forward to. I wonder what it's going to be. I hope they didn't go to too much trouble finding it. And I definitely hope they didn't spend too much money on it. And more than anything, I hope . . .

Oh . . . who am I kidding? What I really hope is that it's the smartest, sassiest, splashiest surprise ever.

(But not the sexiest because as soon as my mother lays her eyes on it, she'll take it away from me and keep it until I'm forty and too old to be sexy.)

My dad's calling me. He says Claudia's on the phone. Better go take it.

Please hold . . .

 
1:10 PM, PST

Claudia wants to meet at House of Pies. I was kind of disappointed that we weren't going to Pia's like we had planned. Her mother owns a vintage clothing distribution company and she keeps all the clothes in her basement. I was looking forward to hanging out there and trying on all the clothes.

Oh, well. I guess we can go to Pia's another time. And I do like pie. Especially their Fluffernutter pie with whipped cream and caramel topping. That's my usual. It's got the perfect ratio of sugar to sugar.

There goes my dad honking his car horn. Gotta go. I guess I'll stick with the shoes I have on. P&C will just have to love me for who I am.

That or hate me for my footwear.

Well, wish me luck. Or as we say in the spiritual town of Berkeley, send me positive vibrations.

 
PS—I miss you already!

And to think that only a very short time ago, my biggest worry was that my friends wouldn't understand my shoes. Ah, how naive I was. Not that they understood my shoes, for alas, that they did not:

 
A Melodrama About Fashion and Friendship Told in Two Acts

(Note: Please refrain from the use of photographic devices. There will be one three-second intermission.)

Pia: Why are you wearing tap shoes?

(Intermission)

ACT II

Claudia: I thought you gave up dance class because every time you had to do a split, you were afraid you'd let out a poot.

(Curtain)

 
Yes, that little tragedy was actually the least of my problems. What, then, was the most of it? you ask. The most of it, I answer, was the surprise. They failed to mention that said surprise would be a bad surprise. Making it less of a surprise and more of a shock.

A one-hundred-and-ten-pound shock named Vivvy.

It was pure awfulness, I tell you. As soon as we pulled up in front of House of Pies and I saw not two but three girls waiting for me on the front stoop, a bad feeling came over me.

“Hey,” I said as I stepped out of the car, hoping that the third girl was just a random brunette (though admittedly a very shiny-haired random brunette) waiting to meet a friend.

“Hey, Rae-Rae,” she said. Unless Random Girl had chosen the name Rae-Rae randomly, there was nothing random about her. “I'm Vivvy, your new best friend even though you don't know it yet!” she said, laughing in a way that suggested there was humor rather than tragedy in her comment.

“Surprise!” shouted Pia and Claudia as they wrapped their arms around me and this Vivvy person for a group hug.

“Isn't she great?!” said Pia.

“Um, yeah . . .” I answered, pausing in the hopes that someone would explain to me who she was. But no one did. I felt like I do when Lola asks me to play house with her. She always changes her mind about whether I'm the daddy or the baby, so I never know what lines to say. And then she gets angry if I say the wrong ones. (The only thing that's a definite is that I'm not the mommy because Lola always gets to be her no matter what.)

“But could you maybe tell me who she is?” I finally asked.

“Oh. My. God, Rae Rae, you're even funnier in person!” Vivvy said, laughing so hard I could see her uvula.

I was beyond confused. For one thing, I didn't know what was funny about what I said. For another, what did she mean by “even funnier in person” (as opposed to how else? Funnier than from Television City in Hollywood? Funnier than I would be live, via satellite?). And for a third, I still had no idea who she was.