Ricardo stared at me and for some reason I wasn’t scared or grossed out. I liked how he’s looking at me, like he’s really seeing me. Somebody is finally seeing me! His eyes are beautiful, big and brown, and his smile is something you can’t imagine. Like it warms you from the inside. He’s not touching me or doing anything creepy, he’s just kneeling on the floor beside the futon, hanging out, watching over me like he’s my protector or something. He’s wearing jeans and a tank top white undershirt and you just know he works out. His body is really amazing. Strong arms with really well defined muscles.
I’ve always wanted to be someone’s special somebody. There was this boy at school, I’m not naming names, but I had a wicked crush on him for so long and I smiled so hard every time we talked my mouth hurt. But nothing ever happened between us because he already had a girlfriend, or I think he did. Either way I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t want to get rejected. But I loved that feeling of a guy caring for me even if it was only in my imagination. Why can’t I have a real boyfriend? Somebody who really cares about me IRL? Ya know . . . in real life. I always wondered what it would feel like and I can see it in Ricardo’s eyes.
My phone. This is my biggest worry. I asked Ricardo about it and he tells me he doesn’t know anything about it. He tried to help me find it. We looked all over the room. Maybe I dropped it somewhere because I was drinking. I try to remember. Did I have it in my hand when we were going into the apartment? Ricardo thinks I did. Or more specifically he thinks I had them both in my hand when I got out of the car. That’s what he remembers anyway. It’s possible because I was looking at my phone. Maybe I wanted my wallet for something. I don’t remember. But Ricardo’s so certain of it that now I’m certain of it.
I feel sick because I must have dropped it or something and I remember a little bit about the neighborhood. It’s a pretty rundown part of a city. God, which one? Where the hell am I? Right?! I ask Ricardo and he says we’re near Baltimore, that’s where the studio is, he tells me. Then I remembered the photo shoot (How did I forget? How much did I drink?) and suddenly I’m worried about something completely different. Ricardo tells me that Stephen Macan had to go home. Probably to give his daughter the present I told him to buy, probably to have cake and ice cream with his perfect family, and then he’ll post pictures on Facebook or Instagram, which is something my father would never do for me. Now I’ve really screwed up. I’m always screwing things up. The photo shoot got cancelled because I got too drunk.
Get it together Nadine! I’m more worried about upsetting Stephen Macan than I am about my damn wallet and phone and Ricardo feels terrible about both things. He’s also being so super sweet to me. I told him I didn’t feel that great and right away he got me a glass of water. I asked him how long I’d been asleep and he said all night! ALL NIGHT! I guess I really did drink too much.
I don’t know if we’re doing the photo shoot or not anymore. I’m not sure I even care. I’ve spent the whole day talking to Ricardo. He’s AMAZING! Really amazing. He’s older. Twenty-three I think, but he thinks I’m almost nineteen and that’s not too big a difference. That’s totally normal. We could go out together and nobody would think anything of it. Not like he’s sixty and I’m twenty-five or something. To prove my point we did go out. Ricardo took me to this restaurant that serves Mexican food, but it wasn’t like the Mexican restaurants near my house. This was a lot, I dunno—more authentic, I guess. Everyone spoke Spanish and they talked really fast. Ricardo did, too, but it was really hot to hear him talking Spanish. Anyway, he ordered me this burrito thing and it was great, but I was soooooo hungry I would have eaten the aluminum it was wrapped in. I drank a big glass of water and I was starting to feel a whole lot better, a lot more like myself. But I still didn’t have my cell phone or wallet. I had no money and maybe that’s why my stomach was in knots. Or maybe it was Ricardo who kept looking at me and smiling at me but in the sweetest way imaginable.
He asked me about my mom and dad. I’m thinking “you don’t want to hear about them,” but really I was worried if I talked about home I might cry. Guess what? I talked about home and I cried. Not the ugly cry, but I definitely needed some napkins and people looked at me and I got really embarrassed. And all I could think is “oh my God, I’m such a loser.” But you know who didn’t care? Ricardo, that’s who. He moved his chair closer to mine and brushed a strand of hair off my face. Then he wiped away one of my tears with his finger and told me it was ok to cry. He didn’t have a good relationship with his parents either, he said, and it made him really sad. He understood.