“Oh. Sorry.” My heart kept going, but for a different reason. I didn’t get many texts during the day, but unless I was in dance class I always kept my phone on, because if anyone would need to reach me, it would be Mom. And it would be because he’d shown up again.
My dad had been gone for nearly eight years, but gone like a bottle cap slipped down a subway grate is gone—still there, just hidden close by, buried in some filth no one wants to think about. When he lived with us, he drank and yelled, didn’t hit much, but only because his coordination was bad after a case of Presidente. Finally she kicked him out and changed the locks, and after a few days of pleas and threats, he went on a bender and disappeared for months. Eventually we found out he’d moved in with my uncle a few blocks away. He refused to sign divorce papers but still came around, either in a stupor or an angry rage. He’d gotten Mom fired from two different clinics already. Mostly, though, apparently not remembering that most people had jobs, he’d come over to bang on the door of an empty apartment in the middle of the day, and our elderly neighbors would call Mom on her cell to complain about the noise.
My hand closed on my phone and I steeled myself for the semiannual routine: Leave school, call my uncle Luis—my mom’s brother—and meet him at top of the stairs at 103rd, northeast corner. Luis owned a hardware store, so he’d bring hammers, and we’d climb all seven flights through the back of the building, ambushing dad from behind and telling him to leave so we wouldn’t have to call the cops, which was basically a joke since the cops would probably arrest all three of us if they ever showed. The last time it had happened, over the summer, Dad had stared at me, watery-eyed, for a minute, and just when I thought he was going to show some kind of remorse he just grunted, “Which one are you?” Which pretty much summed up our relationship.
I took a deep breath and looked at the screen.
I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU
Relief: it wasn’t from Mom. Less relief: It was an all-caps rant from Liv.
WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK, DIEGO???????
I drew back. What the hell was she talking about?
“What?” you asked. “Who is it?”
MY LIFE IS RUINED. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS???
what are you smoking? I typed. It was kind of a low blow, but also a legit question. I hadn’t confronted Liv about her partying since the night I dragged her home wasted from Dante’s friend’s place. And even then I hadn’t really pressed her on it.
FUUUUUUUCK.YOUUUUUUUU, came the reply. COME MEET ME NOW OR I’LL TELL JOY YOU MADE A MOVE ON ME I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD
“What?” you asked again.
“Uh, nothing,” I said, quickly clicking my screen dark, trying not to show my fear. “Family stuff.” What had happened to her? What had I done? My mouth was bone dry.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.”
You looked hurt, and I was trying to think of a better story when Ms. Adair came back into the auditorium alone.
“Joy, you can go get changed,” she called as she made her way down the long aisle. “I need to speak to Diego for a few minutes.”
“Great,” you muttered under your breath.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll tell you everything.” A new text buzzed against my fist, reminding me what a lie that was.
Once Adair and I were alone, she crossed her arms and looked at me expectantly.
“Phone away,” she said, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes, ma’am.” I tossed it back in my bag and clasped my hands in front of me like a kindergartner, pushing Liv out of my mind. It’s too bad I was so good at doing that.
“Diego,” she began, “I know you’re in an awkward position here, since you and Joy are—” she smiled, but it wasn’t kind “—close, but I need you to be honest with me. You know what happens up there tomorrow night determines your future, too, and you need a partner who makes you the best you can be, without a handicap dragging you down. So tell me. Truthfully. Selfishly. Can she dance it?”
I think I can admit now—and I hope you’ll forgive me—that I had a moment of pause. Not just because I knew Adair wanted me to look like I was thinking it over, either, but because I really needed to think it over. Of course you could dance it, and kick the shit out of it, I knew that. But I couldn’t fight the nagging feeling that maybe you shouldn’t. If something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself. And unlike me, you had a whole other life waiting for you, a big, thick envelope of a life just sitting there, begging to be opened. If I’d had that, I wasn’t sure I’d still be dancing like my life depended on it.
So there was a second of hesitation. But I didn’t let it show.
“Yes,” I said, looking Ms. Adair straight in the eyes. “She can do it.”
She pursed her lips. “All right, I’ll take your word for it. I just want to avoid the kind of disaster going on with the drama performance.”
“What?” I asked, my heart racing. I’d seen Dave just the other day, and things seemed to be going fine. Better than fine, even. He’d looked happier than I’d seen him. He even beat my ass at layups.
“You don’t know?” she asked, smiling slowly. “They found illegal prescription drugs in Olivia Gerstein’s locker this morning. She’s been suspended indefinitely.”
? ? ?