Raisin Rodriguez & the Big-Time Smooch (7 page)

I'm wandering the Spectrum wearing the same outfit as Galenka.

I wonder if this makes me a loser.

Not that Galenka's a loser.

More like a person with no friends.

Mostly because she barely speaks English. But maybe also a teeny-tiny bit because she wears sweatpants with panty hose and patent leather pumps.

And here I am wearing virtually the exact same outfit she's wearing.

I wonder if there are any lobster tails left. (Or whether they were part of the web of lies surrounding what would be offered at this bar mitzvah.)

I hope I've accessorized the outfit better than Galenka has.

And then finally it occurred to me:

MAYBE GALENKA KNOWS WHERE CJ IS!

“Nice outfit,” I said, entering the elevator.

“Yes, thank you. You are wearing nice outfit too,” she said. I wasn't sure if she realized they were both the same.

“Where is everyone?” I asked her. (I couldn't ask her where CJ was. That would have been too obvious.)

“Everyone, dey are on level P,” she said. And then she sniffled. I noticed that her eyes were red too. She looked like maybe she'd been crying.

“Are you okay?” I asked. She nodded. Just then the elevator landed on level P. I got out, but Galenka stayed where she was.

“Go to skybox numeral twenty-one,” she said.

“You're not coming?” I asked her, keeping the door open with my hand.

She shook her head.

“You sure?” I asked.

She nodded.

I felt bad leaving Galenka behind. Especially if something was wrong. But who knew? Maybe I was jumping to conclusions. Maybe she had a cold and wanted to go home. Or maybe she was wearing red eyeliner.

“'Bye,” I said, letting go of the door.

“Have good luck,” Galenka answered as the elevator shut.

It was surprisingly quiet as I walked down the hallway toward skybox twenty-one.

But as soon as I opened the door to the skybox, I realized why there was no noise. A spectacle was in progress, and it was spellbinding to all who watched. The fact that this little performance happened to be my worst nightmare on display is merely an unhappy coincidence.

Ladies, I won't lie to you. I thought long and hard before deciding to tell you what exactly was going on in that skybox. Because when I tell you, you'll want to pity me. And I don't want your pity.

So save it for someone more deserving.

Even though pity's almost all that's left for me.

I don't want it.

Even though I really do.

Ladies, behind that door, amid the blur of other bar mitzvah guests, was none other than Ms. Junior Lingerie herself, Ms. Training Bra and Panties, Ms. My Stomach's Flatter Than Yours (and BTW, so are her boobs. I'm just saying).

The one,

the only,

Ms. Dylan Mulroney

HAVING MY FIRST KISS WITH MY CJ.

Just as I suspected all along!

Yes. You heard correctly. I innocently opened the door of skybox twenty-one in the hopes of finally connecting with my friends and loved one. He was supposed to see me all dressed up in Sam's green velvet dress and I was supposed to see him all dressed up in his blue suit and eyelashes and we were supposed to run into each other's arms and twirl each other around and then we were supposed to kiss and kiss until Roger was finally promoted to eighth grade.

Instead I found him two-timing me with that underwear model of ill repute. And all I could think of to say was, “Sorry, wrong room,” before booking out of there and bursting into tears.

It's just so unfair! I've loved CJ since the beginning of the school year. Underwear Breath has only been here for seventeen days. Plus she could have anyone. She's an underwear model, for goodness sake. Boys must throw themselves at her feet on an hourly basis. Underwear model boys, even. She doesn't know CJ. She can't appreciate him the way I appreciate him. I bet she doesn't even know what he keeps in that shopping bag he carries around with him all the time. She probably never even bothered to notice his cinnamon scent. Or his eyelashes. Even when they were brushing up against her cheeks! I mean, what kind of person doesn't notice their boyfriend's eyelashes?

After stumbling around the hallways blurry-eyed, I eventually found a nice private terrace where I huddled in a corner. I hid out there until a photographer stepped out onto the terrace and told me he needed me to clear the area for a “photo op.” The paparazzi can be so heartless.

I didn't really know where to turn after that. I couldn't go back to the skybox or even table A-11 without risking the possibility of running into CJ and Dylan. And my heart couldn't have handled that. Seeing them together and happy would just have been too much. And since my mother wasn't picking me up for another hour, the only thing to do was head back to my table.

As soon as I stepped foot inside the hall, I spotted Meatloaf bouncing off the walls. He appeared to be slam dancing. Which wouldn't have been so weird if everyone else around him hadn't been praying.

This was a little too much for Abner's mom, who was back at the table. She ordered Meatloaf to sit down.

“You could poke someone's eye out the way you're dancing,” she said as she pulled back the elastic waistband of her son's tuxedo shorts and checked to see what was going on down there.

Meatloaf sat down and pulled something out of his ears.

Earphones.

Which were connected to an iPod.

Which he waved in my face.

The iPod that I was supposed to win.

THE ONE THAT WOULD MAKE CJ REALIZE THAT WHAT I LACK IN LENGTH OF LEG, I MORE THAN MAKE UP FOR IN INCREDIBLY GOOD FORTUNE.

THE ONE THAT WOULD FORCE HIM TO GET A GOOD LOOK AT ME AS I WALKED UP TO CLAIM IT. IN MY BEAUTIFUL GREEN VELVET OUTFIT.

THAT'S MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN GALENKA'S. EVEN THOUGH IT'S THE SAME ONE.

BECAUSE I KNOW HOW TO ACCESSORIZE.

THE ONE THAT, IF NOTHING ELSE, WOULD CONSOLE ME OVER NOT HAVING MY KISS WITH CJ.

“Aren't you going to ask me where I got this?” Meatloaf asked, smirking a very smirky smirk.

“Why would I do that?” I asked.

“I just thought you'd be interested, considering how much you wanted one before.”

“Well, things are different now. I've gone through some changes. You probably won it in the raffle, so good for you. Now please leave me alone with my suffering.”

“Okay,” he said. “I just thought that maybe you'd want to know that you had the winning ticket for the iPod. Guess I was wrong.” Then he put the earphones back in his ears and started shaking his head to the music. At which point I almost wrapped my hands around his throat and wrung his neck.

“Give it back,” I said.

“Make me!” he said, springing to his feet.

“Give it back,” I repeated as Meatloaf started running around the table. I chased him for a while, but I couldn't catch up.

Finally Meatloaf started running out of breath. “I'll give it back to you if you dance with me,” he said.

“Fine,” I said, after giving it some thought. It wasn't as if I'd really have to dance with him. We'd be doing the electric slide. It'd be more like dancing next to him.

But when we got out on the dance floor, instead of joining the others on the dance line, Meatloaf grabbed my hand and started twirling me around the dance floor. I asked him to stop, but he wouldn't listen.

“Just till the end of this song and then I'll give you your iPod,” he said. In truth, I didn't mind it so much. He wasn't such a bad dancer and it wasn't like anyone else was asking me. So I just went with it.

Just as the song was ending and I was preparing to claim my booty, I felt myself backing up into someone and then tripping over their feet.

“Sorry,” I said, without even seeing who it was.

“You were seated at the kids' table?!” a voice said back to me loudly. It was a boy's voice. And it sounded freckled.

I quickly let go of Meatloaf's hand.

“Hey, Jeremy. Um, have you met Roger's cousin, Meatloaf?”

Jeremy didn't answer me. He just finished off a sip of whatever he was drinking and raised his glass at Meatloaf. “S'happenin', yo? Those fourth-grade girls giving you trouble?”

S'happenin', yo? He could talk street as much as he wanted. It still wouldn't change those freckles on his face.

“Yeah, but I'm only feelin' it for Raisin,” Meatloaf said. If only he could have magically morphed into CJ at that moment.

“What are you drinking?” I asked Jeremy, trying to call attention away from Meatloaf's crush on me.

“Red Bull. Have you ever had one? It's totally awesome. I'm totally wired,” he said, throwing punches at the air. “Totally wired.”

Totally wired was right. He was bouncing off the walls, in fact. I'm not kidding. There was a column in the middle of the floor and he kept pushing himself off it with his feet. Which looked like something I might have enjoyed too if I hadn't been in mourning for my life.

“Can I have a sip?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said, passing me his glass. But right before he handed it over, he pulled it away from me. “Wait a second,” he said. “Have you ever tried it?”

“No . . .”

“Better not, then,” he said, taking another swig. “Stuff's pretty harsh.”

Why was he acting like he was so much cooler than me?

Just then Roger came over and joined us.

“Why are you sitting at the kids' table?” He cackled.

“Because that's what was written on my place card.”

“Oh, right. Sorry about that. You got a last-minute invitation, so there was no room left at the other table.”

Funny how my invitation came too late to get me a seat at the good table, but Dylan, who started school just a couple of weeks ago, was able to beat the deadline.

“Well, have fun,” Roger said as he and Jeremy, acting even stranger than usual, walked away.

As the bar mitzvah ended, Meatloaf gave me my iPod and told me to give him a call when I was ready.

On the way out, everyone got a copy of their picture with the statuette, which turned out to be made of solid Godiva chocolate. I was so depressyitis, I polished mine off while I waited for my mom to pick me up.

Well, I almost polished it off. I had finished all but the left big toe and was raising it to my mouth when all of a sudden I heard,

“New Girl—don't do it.”

Sparkles looked so handsome in his three-piece white tuxedo.

“Where've you been all this time?” I asked him.

“Never mind that. You listen to me, girlfriend. No matter how bad things seem right now, drowning yourself in chocolate isn't the answer.”

“Fine,” I said, dumping the big toe in a nearby garbage can. “But really, where were you?”

“Well, you know what a deeply religious person I am—so naturally when Roger introduced me to his rabbi, the two of us got along like two peas in a pod. We had so much to talk about that the bar mitzvah flew by without either of us realizing it.”

That Sparkles. Always full of surprises. If the bar mitzvah hadn't been such a low point in my life, running into him might actually have cheered me up.

 
Let's review:

I was seated at table C-8, otherwise known as the changing table.

I was not seated at table A-11, otherwise known as CJ and Dylan's love table.

I did not kiss CJ.

CJ was busy kissing an underwear model.

The boy who wanted to kiss me was busy being nine.

My Hollywood career went down the tubes. Insiders aren't sure whether this is a result of my own neglect following the heartbreak or the Galenka green dress snafu.

I ate a pound of chocolate in one sitting.

I did not kiss CJ.

There was no disco, no ice-skating rink, no bumper cars, and, of course, no world-famous rock band whose identity was to be kept secret.

And most importantly:

I DID NOT KISS CJ.

And I probably never will.

 
Comments:

 
Logged in at 1:32 PM, EST

 
Logged in at 1:35 PM, EST

 
1:55 PM, EST

Pia, you're right. I did win the iPod, which is something. And it's nice of you to try and give me hope as far as CJ's concerned. And Claudia, it's nice of you to find the good in someone as annoying and overly large as Meatloaf—maybe when you come to visit, the two of you can get to know each other better.

But the way I see it, there really is no hope for CJ and me. He's obviously made his choice, and there's no way I can compete with her.

And since I can't really imagine sharing my life with anyone else, since there's no one else I can see myself growing old with, no one else I can see trusting to illustrate my cartoon strip, “Raisin's Life,” or helping me to design my own fashion line or look after my deranged, boy-obsessed baby sister after she's run my mother ragged, I've come to a very important decision, which I will share with you now.

I, RAISIN RAMONA RASPUTIN RODRIGUEZ, DO SOLEMNLY TAKE AN OATH TO SWEAR OFF BOYS.