She zeroed in on my reflection and said, Lizet, you look amazing.
I never showed my stomach that much, but the halter top only made it down to halfway between my breasts and my belly button, so there was a lot of exposed skin. The parallel vertical dents visible along my torso—almost full-fledged abs—surprised me, and I was mad at my body for taking a semester’s worth of stress and looking better for it, for rewarding the punishment I’d put it through over the last month with results I hadn’t been shooting for. Being that thin—thin enough that my ribs stuck out—was the best evidence for how miserable I’d been. But that was over; I could stock up on calories flowing back into me via alcohol. I was ready to be me again, and this slutty-looking version was getting me there. I piled on the eye shadow, went back to the little pot to load up on more.
*
We took one picture, and when I look at it now, I can’t believe it’s me, which is why I still own it; it’s proof I was that girl once, that we’d all stopped to celebrate her. It’s also proof I was happy that day, still basking in the glow of my B-minuses. I’m smiling so hard all my teeth are visible—more snarl than smile. Omar’s arm is slung around my waist, and his face—goofy, his grin lopsided—still registers the shock of seeing me dressed like that. Leidy snapped it, though by then my mom had hung up to say bye to us before we left for the club. Mami followed me post-picture back into our room, when I went to grab my ID, Omar’s ring, and the credit card I’d opened that fall, the one I’d used to buy my Thanksgiving flight.
—Tengan cuidado tonight, okay? Mami said. Don’t let Omar drink too much. People get crazy on New Year’s.
—Don’t worry, I said. We’ll be careful.
—And be quiet when you come back, she said.
She tugged my shirt down in a useless attempt to cover more of my stomach, pinching my skin by accident. She said, I have to be up early tomorrow.
—For the rally? I said.
She nodded. This year will be hard, she said. People are starting to listen to his father, as if he should get any say.
—I’ll be quiet, I said.
She bent her head down and rested her forehead on my collarbone and mumbled, I’m so worried, Lizet. I feel so, so tired, worrying about all this.
In her voice lived the same exhaustion I’d felt right after finals, the voice I’d used with anyone I spoke to between that last exam and getting on the airplane home. I put my nose in the part of her hair and breathed in the salty smell of her sweat, of food grease. It was the closest I’d physically been to her since she’d shoved me against the wall at Zoila’s house—and before that, since she’d hugged me at the airport. I kissed that part, that clear in-between space, the wiry hairs of both sides like threads across my lips. I said, Maybe I can come with you? Tomorrow, I said. To the thing.
She raised her head and shrugged. Bueno, you’ll be home late tonight but it’s a free country. Do you want to come?
—I don’t know, I said. Maybe I should.
—Don’t do it for me, she snapped. Come because you want to, not because of me.
—Well I’d do it for both, I said, my voice too quiet after hers. For both reasons.
She wagged a finger in my face, No no no no. Think about what you want to do, but don’t come for me. I don’t want that.
I kept my eyes on the sofa bed as she shuffled away, her house sandals scuffing against the hallway floor.
*
We slipped back north to the go-to Hialeah liquor store where Omar could reliably use his brother’s ID to buy a bottle of lime-flavored Bacardi and two already-cold cans of Sprite: we’d have to pregame once we got close to Ozone, he said. He’d called Chino (who had a new girlfriend I’d never met) and some of the other couples we went clubbing with a few times before I left that summer, but people’s plans were set—had been for weeks in some cases. If we wanted to drink—and we did—we’d have to mix our own shit in a parking lot, Hialeah-style.
I took a shot right from the bottle after Omar handed it to me when he got back in the car, the warm alcohol singeing as I took two long glugs. He seemed impressed but then pulled over and said, Well I better lock that in the trunk now. Cops, Lizet. The bottle rolled around behind us as he drove through our old neighborhood toward the expressway.
—I was thinking we’d pass by my place real quick so you could say hi to my mom, since she hasn’t seen you yet. But not the way you’re going, he said.
He poked me in the stomach, said, And not with you looking like that.
I opened my can of Sprite, sipped it to wash away the rum’s burn.
—Thanks, I said.
I crossed my arms over my belly, spun the ring with my thumb. His fingers curled around the inside of my thigh.