Will the Real Raisin Rodriguez Please Stand Up? Page 9

“Me too,” she said, and then we hugged.

  I felt sooooo much better after that. I never want to fight with anyone ever again. Ever. And I’m going to do everything in my power to avoid it.

  Pia and Claudia loved their presents too. I got them each a stack of DVDs to keep them busy on their next flight to Philly, which will hopefully be very soon. (With a reminder to recharge their batteries the night before so they don’t run out of juice the way I did coming over here.)

  Next it was Vivvy’s turn to give out her gifts. She gave each of us tickets to see The No Way Josés with her and Jackson tomorrow. And even though I never heard of them and I don’t know any of their songs, Pia and Claudia were so excited about it now I am too.

  Pia and Claudia are going to wear their outfits from Déjà Vu, I’m going to wear the boots, earrings, and wig, and Vivvy’s going to wear the dress (but not the wig or boots because she left the store without buying them.). So it’ll be like Vivvy and I are wearing the equivalent of one outfit between the two of us.

  AS WE SLOWLY BUT SURELY REACH THE FINAL GOAL OF BECOMING ONE PERSON.

  When my dad picked me up, I told him about The No Way Josés. He just so happened to have their CD with him, so he put them on. I must have learned a lot working on the Entertainment column for CoolerThanYou because I was able to identify their sound (sound!) as garage punk. As we sat in the Herbie Goes to the Future World Mobile, zooming down the highway with the top down and the butt warmers on extra high, I felt at home. At least a little bit.

  Until someone in the car in front of us threw their gum out the window and it hit me on the head. And then I really felt at home.

  Comments:

  Logged in at 11:45 PM, PST

  Lynn: You know, I’m not a huge garage punk fan, but I like The No Way Josés. I hope they play “Picture Me.”

  Logged in at 11:48 AM, PST

  Fippy: Roman played “Picture Me” the third time we got back together. Or maybe it was the fourth . . . Either way, you’re gonna love them.

  Sunday, December 26

  10:12 AM, PST

  Hey, Fippy and Lynn,

  I think something very bad just happened. Why can’t Herbie drive me back to last night when something good was happening? And then we’d just park and stay there forever and nothing bad would ever happen again?

  Except then I’d never see you guys.

  Maybe Herbie has a cousin who could give you guys a lift so you could meet me last night.

  ... We’ll have to work out the kinks, but that’s the basic gist.

  Anyway . . . I decided not to make too much of a big deal about the meteorite because as you pointed out, CJ’s always been weird. That’s his thing. Why start holding it against him now? So I put it out of my mind and called him to see how the rest of his Christmas went, and, more importantly, what presents he got.

  It didn’t go so well:

  RR: Hi. What’s going on?

  CJ: Not much.*

  RR: Um . . . How was your Christmas?

  CJ: Good. I got some recording equipment. And some cool programs for my computer.**

  RR: I got some good stuff too.

  CJ: That’s cool.

  CJ: Now I can play music on my laptop.***

  RR: That’s nice. Well, maybe you can show me when I come home.

  CJ: Okay. When are you coming home?****

  RR: New Year’s Eve.

  CJ: Right. When’s that again?

  RR: New Year’s Eve? It’s on December 31. Unless you’re talking about New Year’s Eve on Mars. In which case you’ll have to consult an interplanetary calendar. Wait. What’s that? You can’t find it? Maybe you left it in the same place you left your head. On planet YOUR-ANUS! Guess you’ll have to ask your meteorite.

  CJ: (Laughing hysterically) That’s funny, Raisin.****,*****

  *Notice how he doesn’t have the courtesy to ask me how my Christmas was.

  **Or what I got.

  ***Or what stuff.

  ****Or the courtesy to remember when I’m coming back even though I told him ten thousand times

  *****Or to realize that I’m making fun of him and to be appropriately insulted.

  Which in the long run is probably better, in case I decide I want to stay being his girlfriend and I don’t want him to know how mean I was. But in the short run it’s very frustrating because I WANT HIM TO KNOW HOW MEAN I WAS. THAT’S WHY I SAID SOMETHING MEAN TO BEGIN WITH.

  I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO. I THINK I HATE MY BOYFRIEND. WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN YOU HATE YOUR BOYFRIEND AND WHY DON’T THE TEEN MAGAZINES HAVE ARTICLES TITLED “WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU HATE YOUR BOYFRIEND”? THAT WOULD BE SO MUCH MORE USEFUL THAN ARTICLES LIKE “YOUR CLOSET: HOW TO KEEP IT ORGANIZED” OR “YOUNGER SIBLINGS: WHAT THEY HAVE TO TEACH YOU.”

  IN FACT, THERE SHOULD BE AN ENTIRE MAGAZINE DEVOTED TO THE SUBJECT. MAYBE I SHOULD START MY OWN. I’LL CALL IT WHAT TO DO WHEN YOU HATE YOUR BOYFRIEND! AND EVERY ISSUE WILL BE DEVOTED TO DIFFERENT WAYS OF DEALING WITH THIS PROBLEM, FROM EXTREME MAKEOVERS (TO DISGUISE YOURSELF WHEN YOU’RE IN HIDING FROM SAID BOYFRIEND) TO SPECIAL RECIPES (CHANGE YOUR BODY TYPE SO HE WON’T RECOGNIZE YOU) TO A PULLOUT FALL FASHION GUIDE (CLOTHES TO WEAR WHILE YOU’RE ON THE RUN).

  AND I’LL BE THE COVER MODEL EVERY MONTH JUST LIKE OPRAH!! I BETTER STOP YELLING OR I won’t have a voice left for tonight. What’s going to happen with me and CJ? Even though I think I might hate him, I’m not sure if I’m ready to give him up.

  Okay. Not going to think about it right now. Too busy for pronoun use as am in preparation for night of wild rock ’n’ rolling.

  11:45 PM, PST

  Woooo-hoooo! The No Way Josés throw down. I’m tellin’ you, man, they totally brought it. (Bringed it? Brang it?)

  And the acoustics at the Greek Theatre? Awesome. What a show, what a show. I have no idea what I’m talking about!

  But we had such a great time.

  We even got to go backstage after the concert was over because Vivvy’s dad is the band’s lawyer. And there was free liquor (shhh—we didn’t have any, but it felt very rock ’n’ roll to be in its presence). And free snacks like pigs in a blanket and cheese. And we got to meet Billy Blue from The No Way Josés. And he even touched me. He shook my hand and told me that he’s from Philadelphia and the next time he’s in town, I should look out for him. Though I wish he’d have been a little more specific. Because I don’t know how to do that. Just go stand on top of the steeple at Independence Hall with a telescope or something? And if he could’ve just given me some kind of time frame, even a loose one, because otherwise I’ll have to camp out there indefinitely and I don’t think my mom would like that.

  Any way, after we met Billy, we kind of just walked around the backstage area with our mouths hanging open. Lots of people walked up to us to say they liked our outfits or our wigs (Vivvy even ran out to get Jackson a green afro wig and a fringed leather vest), and we were just grateful that anyone noticed us amid all the other amazing people there.

  One guy who looked at least sixteen even talked directly to me. “You look great as a blonde,” he said.

  “Um, how do you know I’m not always blond?” I asked him.

  “I don’t. I just meant you look great,” he said. Then he winked at me. “Cheers.”

  I looked over at Jackson and the girls. “What was that?”

  “He was flirting with you,” Vivvy said.

  “Shoppin’ around, New Girl?” I heard someone say. I looked around, but all I saw in front of me was someone in gold body paint, wearing a toga and a wreath of leaves.

  “Sparkles, what are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Doing as the Greeks do,” he said, making the game show hostess hand gesture in the direction of a sign that said Greek Theatre. “No, seriously, New Girl, you think I would have missed this show? Nuh-uh, missy, not me.”

  And then he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Boyfriend over there was cute. No harm in trading up.”

  I shook my head at him. “I wouldn’
t do that,” I told him.

  “Whatever. My lips are zipped.” He zipped his mouth shut. “Gotta fly,” he said, kissing me and all my friends on the cheek. “Bye, friends of New Girl!” And he was off.

  By that time our feet were killing us, so we plunked ourselves down on the floor. “Sparkles is right, ya know,” said Vivvy. “There’s no harm in trading up.” And that was before I even told her or anyone else about the meteorite and the fight I had with CJ this morning.

  “He talks to a rock?” Jackson said. “That’s so wrong.”

  “He also lives under a rock,” Claudia said. “I mean, who doesn’t know what date New Year’s Eve falls on?”

  “He even has rocks in his head,” said Pia. “I’m sorry, Raise, is that really mean?”

  And right then and there it was decided that CJ and I weren’t working out. I guess deep down I know they’re right. It’s just so soon. I like having a boyfriend. Well, I like the idea anyway. And then what? I’m not looking forward to being alone again.

  “So when you get back from Hawaii, you’ll just have to tell him it’s over,” said Vivvy.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Um-what? I don’t know. I didn’t say anything. Did you hear me say anything?” she said, looking at Jackson. “I didn’t hear me say anything.”

  “Am I going to Hawaii?” I asked her.

  “Ummm . . . maybe. I blew it. It was supposed to be a surprise. My mom and your dad and I are going to Hawaii for New Year’s. I just found out earlier tonight when my mom and I lit the Hanukkah candles. But you’re coming over for Hanukkah on Friday night, and your dad was going to tell you then. And then if you said you wanted to go, you’d change your flight back to New York so that you could join us.”

  “If I wanted to go? Of course I want to go. I’m not the one with rocks in my head,” I told her.

  So I guess I’m going to Hawaii, you guys!!!!! What an amazing night this was. I’m sorry I won’t make it to New Year’s, but I’ll be thinking about you guys every minute.

  And also about CJ and how glad I am that I don’t have to decide anything about him for a few more days.

  11:56 PM, PST

  I just asked my dad about Hawaii and he said it’s true. I can go if I want to. IF! Ha! That’s almost as good as Typo. (Except now I like her, so it’s not quite as hilarious.) I’m calling Delta right now to change the tickets.

  Comments:

  Logged in at 11:58 PM, PST

  Fippy: You’re gonna miss New Year’s, Raise? Bummer. Now you won’t get a chance to see who Lynn’s planning on bringing to the party. Thomas Mulroney—Dylan the fake underwear model Mulroney’s younger brother. Scandalous.

  Logged in at 11:59 PM, PST

  Lynn: It’s true. I’ve learned a lot from my man strike, but it’s time for a change. Younger should be interesting. Plus Thomas’s looks come from the same good gene pool as Dylan’s. So he’s the perfect subject for my little experiment. Very Demi and Ashton.

  Monday, December 27

  7:07 AM, PST

  My Fellow Felines: Fippy and Flynn,

  Flynn, Thomas Mulroney? He’s cute. I hope Jeremy’s feelings won’t be hurt.

  Fippy, keep an eye out for his legs. You’ll have to let me know if they’re as good as his sister’s.

  Meanwhile, I fell asleep with the phone to my ear last night. At some point I must have rolled over because when I woke up, the line was disconnected.

  I wonder if any of the friendly Delta representatives ever picked up. I guess I’ll never know, will I?

  Anyway, I’m on the phone with them again. Just so you know, if they pick up, I may have to get off.

  Darn! I just disconnected myself. Maybe I should have waited until I was off the phone to try and get my skinny jeans on. Now I just have to call them back. . . .

  You know, popping a zit is so much harder when you have a phone pressed between your shoulder and your ear. I highly disrecommend it. Then again, as far as on-hold activities go, it’s much less frustrating than trying to count your eyelashes.

  Speaking of counting, it’s been thirty-three hours since I last spoke with CJ. I wonder if he’s even noticed.

  Oh! I disconnected myself again. Maybe I should go.

  10:32 AM, PST

  EXCUSE ME, BUT THERE’S SOMEONE SITTING IN MY DAD’S KITCHEN WEARING A NIGHTGOWN AND A ROBE AND SHE LOOKS A LOT LIKE DANNY!

  WHY IS SHE SITTING IN MY KITCHEN? IN HER PAJAMAS? DON’T YOU GUYS THINK IT’S STRANGE? I KNOW I DO! I THINK IT’S VERY STRANGE. I MEAN, I LIKE HER VERY MUCH, ESPECIALLY SINCE SHE INVITED ME AND MY DAD TO COME TO HAWAII WITH HER AND VIVVY. BUT THAT’S STILL NOT A GOOD REASON FOR HER TO COME INTO MY DAD’S HOUSE EARLY IN THE MORNING AND SIT IN HIS KITCHEN WITH HER PAJAMAS ON. I FIND THIS VERY UPSETTING. ESPECIALLY SINCE I’M VERGING ON STARVATION. I NEED TO GET INTO THAT KITCHEN AND GET MY HANDS ON SOME FRUITY PEBBLES, BUT I DON’T WANT TO GO IN THERE WHILE SHE’S THERE. I MEAN ,WHAT WOULD I SAY? “I LIKE YOUR PAJAMAS. THE RED STRIPES MATCH OUR CABINETS PERFECTLY”?

  10:51 AM, PST

  SHE’S STILL THERE. READING THE NEWSPAPER. SIPPING HER COFFEE. I WONDER IF SHE JUST FORGOT TO GET DRESSED BEFORE LEAVING THE HOUSE THIS MORNING? OR TO RUN A COMB THROUGH HER HAIR, FOR THAT MATTER.

  MORE IMPORTANTLY, I WONDER IF SHE KNOWS SHE’S INDIRECTLY CAUSING ME TO DIE A SLOW DEATH BY STARVATION?

  AND WHERE IS MY FATHER, BY THE WAY?

  10:52 AM, PST

  WEARING HIS PAJAMAS IN HER KITCHEN?

  11:03 AM, PST

  On hold with Delta again. Withering away from starvation. If you don’t hear from me again within the next twenty-four hours, call the authorities.

  11:04 AM, PST

  Call Lola too. Tell her I hid her Baby Bratz cell phone in my closet in the shoe box marked Steve Madden. (There’s only so many times a person can suffer through the Baby Bratz rockin’ ring tone.)

  11:10 AM, PST

  Good news! I got through to Delta and they changed my ticket! My friendly customer service representative even waived the fee because my mom is such a valued customer. So I won’t be home for New Year’s to watch you (Lynn) and Thomas in action. Or to watch you (Fippy) and Roman fighting or making up—whatever you happen to be up to that night. But I’ll be thinking of you when the clock strikes twelve and sending you all my love and good thoughts.

  I better go. I feel the weakness taking over again. . . .

  11:12 AM, PST

  I called the girls. Told them I need to eat. We’re meeting at Karma Kow in forty-five minutes. Nothing on their menu is as good as Fruity Pebbles, but anything’s better than an awkward breakfast of Fruity Pebbles with a side of Danny the red-pajama-wearing person.

  Comments:

  Logged in at 11:26 AM, PST

  Lynn: Rae, Fippy and I need to tell you something. So give us a call when you get back, okay?

  Logged in at 11:27 AM, PST

  Fippy: But don’t worry—it’s nothing bad about you—okay?

  3:06 PM, PST

  Make that a bowl of homemade peanut butter granola and a side of DANNY THE RED-PAJAMA-WEARING PERSON IS MY FATHER’S NEW GIRLFRIEND!

  Can you guys believe it? My dad is good. I mean reeeaaally good. How clever is he to choose a woman who seems nothing like a girlfriend just to throw me off?

  And guess who knew it all along?

  We were seated at our table waiting for the waitress to serve us. I was so hungry I was actually eating the wheat-free /sugar-free/egg-free/chocolate-free chocolate chip muffins from the wheat-free/sugar-free/egg-free bread basket. (We don’t usually go there for the food; we go there to collect frequent smoothie miles.)

  I told the girls the good news about my ticket.

  “Great! Did you tell my mom?” asked Vivvy.

  “When?” I asked.

  “This morning,” Vivvy said.

  “How’d you know she was at my dad’s this morning? Didn’t you stay at your dad’s last night?”

  “Well, why do you think I stayed
at my dad’s?” she asked.

  “Because he has joint custody of you,” I said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  “And also because my mom was staying at your house last night,” she said.

  “You mean she was there since last night? I guess that explains the pajamas,” I said.

  The girls just looked at one another with confused expressions. Meanwhile I was the one who was still a little confused. Why would Danny stay overnight at my dad’s house?

  “OOOOOOHHHHHHH!” I said. And then I burst into tears. Started sobbing. Uncontrollably.

  The girls kept asking me why I was crying and trying to calm me down, but I couldn’t stop. Eventually I went to the bathroom to wash my face, and then I finally stopped crying.

  When I came back, they all looked seriously concerned.

  “You guys, I’m a complete idiot. I really didn’t think my dad and Danny were anything more than friends. He called her 'his friend Danny,’ and I took him literally.”

  “Well, if your dad called her a friend, that makes you more of an idiot than a complete idiot,” Claudia said, giving me a series of quick friendly punches on the arm so I’d know she was just teasing me.

  “No, I’m a complete idiot. Fippy called it right away.”

  “That wasn’t very nice of her,” Vivvy said, also teasingly.

  “We all thought you knew. It’s amazing that one of us didn’t say something about it sooner,” said Pia.

  “Of course you thought I knew. I mean, if the four of us traveling together to Hawaii wasn’t enough of a tip-off, then this morning should have been. I guess I SO didn’t want it to be true that I refused to see it when it was the most obvious thing.”

  “But why is it so upsetting? Aren’t you used to parents dating from your mom? At least a little?” Pia asked.

  It was a good question. I had to think about that for a long time before I came up with the answer.