“Yeah” is all he says, then turns away as if he’s done with this small talk.
I could walk away because he’s clearly annoyed with me right now, but if he doesn’t want me here asking him a bunch of questions, then that’s exactly what I’ll do. “SATs, huh? You’re gonna be a senior?”
“Yeah.”
“But isn’t it a little late? I took mine in the spring.”
“You had a perfect score? Or close to it?” he asks, looking toward Kayla as she crosses the street.
“No. It was okay. Enough to get me into Howard.”
“Well, I’m trying to get my best score,” he says.
“’Cause you’re trying to get into Harvard, not Howard, right?”
He starts to say something, but Kayla reaches us and hands Darius a few pencils with a big smile on her face. In no time, Layla is crossing the street behind her, just to be nosy.
“Harvard? No,” he says. “Thanks for the pencils.”
He starts to walk back into his house, but I can’t think of anything more to say. I’m not ready to let him leave yet. I’m still talking. I want to be the one to end this conversation. I want to ask him what schools he’s applying to, but I don’t want to look thirsty, especially with Kayla and Layla standing there looking at me as if I’m about to make some moves on this boy, when it’s the furthest thing from my mind. But he suddenly turns around and walks closer to us.
“Kayla?” he asks while pointing to Layla.
“Guess again,” Layla sings.
Then he points to Kayla. “Okay, Kayla?”
She nods.
“Kayla and Layla,” he says, pointing to the right ones. “Sorry about the other day. It’s just . . . I didn’t feel like dancing.”
The twins are beside themselves. They trip over each other trying to reel Darius into a conversation.
“That’s okay! I mean, you don’t know us like that.”
“But can you dance, though? If not, we’re gonna have to show you.”
“Don’t worry, there’ll be another block party.”
“You can dance with Zuri next time.”
I give Layla a death stare, and I roll my eyes at Darius, just to make it clear that I still can’t stand him.
Darius puts his hand up as if to say he’s had enough. He smiles and nods his head to excuse himself. In no time, he’s at his front door, and he walks into his house without looking back.
And my sisters and I are still standing there like three thirst buckets. I shove the plastic bag of snacks into Layla’s hand and grab both their arms to cross the street. They can’t wait to give Marisol and Charlise the lowdown on how Darius apologized to them, but I head straight into my bedroom. I glance out my window at the mini-mansion across the street, and I spot Darius stepping closer to the wide window on the second floor of his house. I step back away from view so he doesn’t see me too. He’s staring down, moving his head about as if looking for someone.
I smile—I can’t help it.
Eleven
IT’S SUMMER VACATION, and Mama never gets up before we do when there’s no school. I’m usually the first one to wake up. Well, the first one after Papi, if he has to go in for an early shift at the hospital. But this morning, Mama barges into our bedroom and turns on the lights.
“Y’all are not gonna believe this!” she sings as she shuffles in, holding a white envelope.
I prop myself up on my elbow. I’m on the bottom bunk, so there’s no sitting for me. Janae just rolls over, Kayla opens one eye, Marisol is fully awake, and Layla doesn’t move one inch.
Mama sits her big bottom on Janae’s bed and fidgets with the envelope in her hand. I look at her face to see if whatever is in that envelope is good news or bad news. She’s grinning from ear to ear, and her eyes are wide and bright.
Mama gives Janae a kiss. “This is all ’cause of you, sweetheart!”
I roll out of the bed and sit next to Mama. I spot gold fancy lettering on the envelope, but Mama is moving around too much for me to see the full words.
Janae is sitting up now, and Mama hands her the envelope first. All my sisters have gathered around on the floor, because Mama is cheesin’ hard and is clasping her hands as if this envelope is about to change our lives.
But Janae’s face tells a different story. She doesn’t jump out of bed and squeal. She doesn’t clap and run out of the bedroom to tell Papi, like she did when she got her acceptance and scholarship letter to Syracuse. She just smiles and clutches the envelope to her chest.
“What is it?” I finally ask.
Layla tries to take the envelope from her, but Janae holds it tight.
“Is it money?” Marisol asks.
“Is is it a scholarship?” I clarify. “Or a study abroad thing?”
“Is it a love letter?” Layla asks.
Mama takes the envelope from Janae, pulls out the letter, steps into the middle of the room, clears her throat, and begins, “We, the Benitez family, have been invited . . .” She turns up her nose and pokes out her lips as if pretending to be fancy. “To a cocktail party.” She says this in a fake British accent.
All my sisters laugh.
“A cocktail party?” I ask.
“A cocktail party,” Mama repeats with an even worse British accent.
The twins laugh even harder. “Cock! Tail!” Layla shouts, holding her belly and slapping her thigh.
“Wait a minute. Who invited us to a cocktail party?” I ask, because we’ve been invited to parties before—birthdays, weddings, funerals, graduations. But none of them have ever been called a cocktail party.
“You need a cocktail dress for a cocktail party,” Janae says, ignoring my question. She goes over to our shared tiny closet and pulls out dress after dress.
“Do you need a cock and a tail too?” Kayla laughs. She and Layla give each other a high five and I want to throw a shoe at them to make them shut up.
I finally grab the envelope from Marisol and read the whole thing out loud. “Dear Benitez family. You’ve been cordially invited to the new Darcy residence for cocktails, dinner, and lively conversation.”
“I knew they were gonna have a party in that house!” Layla squeals. “Now we get to see it too!”
“Should I bring the chicken or the pork?” Mama says. “Or maybe they like finger foods. How ’bout some tiny pastelitos? Or some fried plantains? I knew those rich folks were gonna come here and bring some good luck with them!”
The next Saturday we arrive at the front door of the Darcy house. Janae is the one to ring the bell, because according to Madrina, she’s the one who has led us all to this door in the first place.
I’m dressed in a plain denim skirt, flowery top, and a pair of Janae’s sandals. I look like I’ve made the least effort for this party compared to my sisters, who are dressed like they’re heading to prom.
“I’m gonna need some company in case Ainsley’s busy with guests or something,” Janae had said. “Please, Zuri!” By coming here, I took one for the team, for the fam, for my dear sister.
I don’t smile when Mrs. Darcy greets us. Her eyes immediately drop down to our shoes. So I look down too, to see Mama wearing her leopard print platform stilettos that she bought for her fortieth birthday party at a small club in Bed-Stuy. My face gets hot with embarrassment because I knew that this wasn’t the kind of party for those kinds of heels.
Mr. Darcy shows up behind her, and it’s only then that she opens the door wider.
“Welcome, Benitez family!” Mrs. Darcy sings in her strange accent. It’s British, but not quite white people British. It’s kind of bootleg fancy, like a knockoff Louis Vuitton bag. This is the closest I’ve seen her, and she looks more like a big sister to Ainsley and Darius than their mother.