What You Always Wanted (16 page)

I grip the handle to crack open the door but it's locked. Blast. I consider knocking, but how rude to interrupt what sounds like choreography brainstorming.

My phone chirps from my pocket.

Ma:
Rider just made it in. We want to go somewhere to eat. Will pick you up on the way if you're done.

I almost forgot my brother was coming this weekend. I hope he brought something to wear to the Halloween party tomorrow night, because I fully intend to drag him along.

I text Ma back that I'm ready to go, and with one more jiggle of the handle in a vain effort to meet my future best friend, I return my shoes and gather my things. I make myself useful dusting the lobby as I wait for my family to show up, keeping an eye on the hallway that leads to the back rooms, but I leave before she comes out.

There's a twenty-minute wait at Maria Tortilla, and Rider and I busy ourselves catching up. I think he looks taller. He says he
hasn't grown since I saw him last, which was over the summer, but there's no way. He's wiry and his light brown hair has gotten shaggy, along with his facial hair. I guess that's what happens when boys go to college. They wear pajamas to class and only brush their teeth if there's a chance of making out with a girl. So this is what I have to look forward to when I get to college. Even less hygiene.

“I think you've gotten taller, though,” Rider says to me just before we're finally seated in a booth.

I told them Jesse's working tonight, and I think Rider believes Jesse's a girl, because he seems a little too excited to meet one of my school friends.

“No, I haven't gotten taller,” I say, sitting across from him and Dad. “I forbid it.”

“I forbid it, too,” Ma says, sliding in next to me. “I'm already freaking out enough about the fact that it won't be too much longer before both of my babies are legal adults. It's just not possible.”

A stocky man with a handlebar mustache brings us a basket of tortilla chips and two bowls of salsa, then disappears as quickly as he came.

“For real,” Dad adds when the man walks away. “Where did the years go?”

Ma reaches across the table and pokes the skin around his eyes. “They went right there.”

“Hey, now,” he laughs, swatting her hand away. Usually, this would be the time for him to playfully toss some sort of insult right back in her face, but lately it's been too dangerous. The hormones are all over the place.

“Don't worry. Now you get to do it all over again,” Rider throws out there, scooping at the chunky salsa with a chip. “Anything you wish you'd done differently with us, you can.”

His cheerful tone takes everyone off guard, mostly because there's a hint of a jab that's uncommon with him. He's generally chill. I assumed that his not reaching out to me to talk about the situation meant he was totally cool about it.

I'm too scared to turn and look at Ma's face, but Dad takes it in stride. “Yeah, let's hope it's another girl, because we obviously don't know what we're doing with boys.”

Rider tries to play like he's shocked and appalled, but we all laugh together, and it feels right. It's hard to imagine a fifth person throwing us off balance, so for now I push away the thought and focus on the here and now. My comfort zone.

Enter Jesse, my uncomfortable zone as of late.

“I thought I recognized y'all over here,” Jesse says, approaching us with a surprised smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Brooks.” He shakes hands with my dad, does the head nod thing to Rider, even though they haven't met yet, then looks my way. “Maddie.”

“Jesse.”

My eyes dart to Rider. His expression clearly shows disappointment in Jesse's lack of female parts. I snicker to myself.

“How are y'all tonight?” Jesse asks.

“Fine, fine.” Ma folds her hands together on top of the table. “I don't think I'll ever get used to your manners, Jesse. It's so nice to hear.”

“Speaking of manners,” Rider says. “It seems like I'm the only one who doesn't know the waiter.”

I kick him under the table but he doesn't react, besides jutting his hand out for Jesse to shake. “Rider Brooks. Son to these two old people, and brother to this one,” he says, tilting his head toward me.

“Jesse Morales,” he says, taking his hand, the veins along Jesse's forearm bumping up from the strain of the manliest-handshake contest. I wish I didn't like it when his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. “Neighbor, and carpool driver to that one,” he says, indicating me too.

Rider's eyes meet mine and I can already see the questions forming. No, no, and no.

“And I'm not the waiter, just a food runner until I'm eighteen.” He glances at the table. “But I can get your drink order in.”

Ma asks for water with lemon, Dad orders a Dr Pepper, and Rider tries to order a beer but Jesse puts a stop to that by asking to see his ID. He settles for sweet tea.

Jesse looks to me. “Maddie? A fruity
pop
?”

I'm not sure how he knows that, but I allow the corner of my mouth to hitch up, mirroring him. “Yeah.”

Rider's foot makes harsh contact with my shin, but I ignore it until Jesse disappears.

“Don't even,” I tell him as soon as our parents get wrapped up in their own discussion about the menu.

“He likes you.”

I keep my expression blank. “That's ridiculous.”

“Denial is the surest sign.”

“That would only count if I was denying that
I
like
him
. Moron.” I reach for a chip and dunk it in the green salsa.

“So you're not denying that you like him. Interesting.”

I clench my teeth. “You're impossible.”

“Impossibly brilliant, you mean.” He moves a handful of chips to a small plate and sprinkles more salt on them. “I know things, Maddie. There's something going on there.”

I consider this for a moment so I don't appear too defensive, but I just don't see it. Besides, what possible future could I have with a guy who's so different from me? “We're friends, Rider, that's all. And if you say something to embarrass me, I swear—”

“What could you do to me that would even be a threat? I don't live in the same house anymore.”

“Rider, please,” I say, working up the pouty face I've mastered through the years. He's never been able to go against it.

“Okay.” His shoulders fall. “But soon I'm going to be saying ‘I told you so.' At least he had a strong handshake. He can't be too bad.”

“Oh, is that the measure of a good man? If he can nearly break your hand when you meet him?”

“Of course it is. And you don't need to be dating a wussy who can't protect you.”

I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the seat. “He's not even close to my type.”

“What type is that?” Rider laughs, balling a fist under his chin and holding his head high and proper-like. “A
thesssspian
?”

Before I can kick him again, Jesse returns with our drinks. As soon as he's finished passing them out, a man from the booth next to us says in a flustered tone, “Excuse me, can we get some service around here?”

Holding the drink tray flat against his side and under an arm, Jesse says, “I'm sorry, sir. I'll go get your server right away.”

“Wow!” the man exclaims. “Your English has gotten good.”

I can only see half of Jesse's face over the booth, but his eyebrows press together in confusion. My family and I take turns widening eyes with each other, unable to avoid eavesdropping.

Jesse's silence prompts the man to continue. “You're the kid that mowed our lawn last summer.”

A hard line appears along Jesse's jaw, then disappears. “No, sir. That was someone else.”

I wish I could see this guy. From his congested voice, I picture him fat and balding with a comb-over and thick, bottle-cap glasses that distort the shape of his eyes.

“I cannot get over your perfect English!” The man proceeds to tell Jesse his address. “Remember? We have two giant mimosas in the front yard.”

We?
This guy actually landed a wife?

“No, sir,” Jesse says, maintaining his outward composure. “The only yard I mow is my own. If you'll excuse me, I'll go get your server for you. Have a good night.”

His eyes are cast to the ground as he passes us and walks out of sight.

“Could have sworn it was him,” the man continues, talking to someone else at his table. “Looked the same.”

“And now you told him where we live, so he's gonna bring his gang friends over in the middle of the night to rob us,” a woman's voice replies.

We all straighten in our seats, including Rider, looking at each other like,
Did that really just happen?

My dad's face darkens as he stares into the basket of chips. His best friend growing up was from Chile, and apparently my grandfather never approved of the friendship. Dad's pretty sensitive about it, even still, and I can tell he's contemplating if it's his place to say something. But what can he do, really? Asking someone to apologize doesn't create genuine regret.

Our waiter comes by to take our order, and recommends we share a couple pounds of mixed fajitas with all the fixings, their signature entrée. And when Jesse delivers the sizzling tray to us ten minutes later, it's obvious his mood has been dimmed by the ignorance at the next table. I make a mental note to talk to him about it when I see him tomorrow night at the costume party, or maybe the next time he brings me home. Though it's probably going to be another one of those things he won't talk about, further proof that what Rider says is so far off base. If you like someone, even just as friends, you share stuff about yourself, open up.

What do I know about Jesse Morales except that his dad wants him to work here to improve his Spanish, he plays baseball, and he drives a truck the color of a bird's egg?

You know that he used to dance.

That settles it, then. Tomorrow night at the party, I'm getting him alone and making him talk.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

As a rule, I try not to brag, but I'm super proud of my costume for the Halloween party. I found an old pair of cowboy boots at a thrift store, and after several rounds of sanitation, I Mod Podged red glitter all over them. Ruby boots! Add a white shirt with short, puffed sleeves, a blue-and-white checkered dress I found in the costume closet at the playhouse, two braids with ribbons, and
voilà
! Texas Dorothy. I'm even going to carry around my phone and lip gloss and other such necessities in a little basket along with a tiny plush dog. It's about the size of a rat, but it's all I could find.

The party is a big to-do at Red's uncle's ranch, as it has been for years. I'm told parents have their own grown-up party inside the house, complete with a high-stakes costume contest, while the kids play capture the flag in the cow pasture, take hayrides through a haunted trail, and sit around by a bonfire,
roasting marshmallows and telling scary stories. It sounds extremely country, but I'm secretly looking forward to it.

Ma's still throwing together a last-minute outfit—she didn't really want to go, but Dad thought it would be a good opportunity to meet people since they haven't done much besides a dinner or two with Angela and Jesse's parents—so Rider and I head out first in his Camaro.

I know nothing about cars, but I do know that his is a sweet ride and I want to be seen getting out of it at the ranch. It's the most beautiful deep blue, with white racing stripes on the cowl. Our parents bought it for him when he turned seventeen, back when we still had money. I'll be seventeen next Valentine's Day, and I've already been told how much I'll be getting toward a car of my own. . . . It's not enough for me to buy a Camaro. I'll be lucky if I end up with something made after I was born.

“So who am I going to meet tonight?” Rider asks as he pulls the car onto the highway. The ranch is about ten miles north, according to the navigation on my phone.