Model Ricans

Sky Bowman

No.

"I have a friend, finally, who wants to come over!"

None of those sound good but somehow over the next three days I write out all the different ways to ask The Parents until finally I come up with the correct series of words in a single sentence. We are eating chicken cutlet parmesan with spaghetti and green salad. In between bites I recite in my head what I am going to say, recalling each word, verbatim, as I wrote it on a few index cards. As soon as Jeopardy is over, before The Parents stand up from the table, I find my voice.

"So, I really wanted to invite Marga over for dinner, but her Tia doesn't let her do anything outside of school, so I thought maybe I could invite Sky?" The words tumble out of my mouth faster than I expected. I take a few breaths, looking at The Parents, examining their faces, clearly surprised that I am asking to invite a friend for dinner.

Mom finally speaks. "Who's Sky?"

"A new friend. From band."

Mom looks at Dad. It's so rare that I see them looking at each other this way, they're always watching TV when they talk, or doing something around the house, or ignoring me. But now, here we are, all looking at each other. Mom says, "Yes, OK, why not?"

It's settled.

Mom makes rice and beans and pork chops and when Sky Bowman is at the door, carrying a small cheese and deli meat platter from Publix, The Parents are surprised to see that Sky Bowman is a B-O-Y.

"Your name is Sky? I thought Sky was a girl," says Dad with a New York accent that sounds even heavier than in the movies. I can see on his F-A-C-E that he is about to tell this B-O-Y to scram but Mom elbows him and suddenly we are all teaching Sky how to put applesauce on top of pork chops.

"That's what Puerto Ricans do?"

I laugh. "No. That's what we do."

"Weird."

My tongue clicks the top of my mouth and I turn into Clair Huxtable. "It's weird you eat mac and cheese every night in front of the TV instead of at a table with your family."

Sky looks at the TV in front of our dining room table and smirks. "My parents are divorced."

"So? You don't have tables at your house after the divorce?"

Sky Bowman laughs. "This is why I like Desiree. She's funny."

"Yeah, real funny," says Dad, looking down at his pork chop. His Brooklyn accent sounds mobster style now. He stabs his fork into the meat and cuts it with a knife even though me, Mom, and Brother eat with our hands, sucking the bones dry. Dad is clearly about to "blow a gasket," as he often says, but then he stops for a moment and looks up. "What kind of name is Sky for a boy?"

Sky takes a sip of water like it's nothing before answering. He is so cool, like he has no fear of Dad, and says nonchalantly, "My parents were hippies."

Dad huffs. "Hm. I used to arrest hippies in Central Park. Where do you live?"

"Winter Glen."

Dad shakes his head and shoves a piece of pork chop in his mouth. "Hippies living in Winter Glen? What do they do?"

"My dad is a lawyer and does a lot of business stuff in Europe. My mom is in real estate."

I feel like I'm hallucinating. Dad and the hottest, most popular boy in my class are talking to each other. That's it. We're getting married now. I can't stop smiling at Sky Bowman. He shifts his focus and stares at Mom and then at me. He smiles. What the heck is he thinking? "My mom just sold my neighbor's house." He sounds like such a grown-up when he replies.

Dad isn't impressed. He mutters "hippies" so Mom perks up. "I just took a real estate class." Then she looks at Dad and quickly stands. "Ice cream?"

Dad doesn't respond, he just spoons more rice into his mouth.

We all eat ice cream like it's perfectly normal for me to have a friend that is a boy at dinner. It makes me feel confident so I ask, "Mom, can Sky and I go for a walk before he goes home?"

"Go ahead, just not too long, you have to wash the dishes."

"Ok!"

Sky Bowman and I hold hands while walking on the sidewalk toward the canal. "I can't believe that went so well," I say, feeling amazing because the most popular boy in my class is with me, at The Parents' house, giving me, a relatively new girl, all his attention. "I think The Parents like you. And they don't like boys."

"Parents usually love me," he smiles.

"Shut up, you're so conceited."

Before I know it, his mouth is on mine and we are making out at the corner of the street.

"Wait, I don't want The Parents to see." I lead him to a little dirt trail to the canal where we can make out in private.

His tongue feels slippery. "It's weird how I can't taste the ice cream in your mouth," I say while we're kissing.

Sky Bowman laughs and keeps slurping like I am the dessert. Mosquitos are feasting on my legs so we run out of there, just as fast as we can, or at least faster than Tiffany can sing at the mall.

I ask him if he's really going to ride his bike all the way home. "It's like...fifteen miles."

"It's not that far. And you're totally worth it."

"Really? You think I am?"

"Of course. You're awesome. We should skip tomorrow and go swimming at my dad's house."

"Oh no, I can't skip. The Parents would kill me."

Sky rolls his eyes and smirks. "What are you gonna miss...at band camp?"

I laugh. "What about your math class?"

"I told you — I'm good with parents and teachers," says Sky Bowman. "Totally handled your mobster Dad, if you didn't notice. It's just one of my many talents."

"Dad is not a mobster," I say, kissing him again, then stopping to smile. "But it's pretty clear that you're conceited."

"That's why you love me."

I stare at him for too long. Love? He pulls me close and whispers in my ear, "I love you."

Tears well up in my eyes. What?

Finally.

Someone here in stupid SnOrlando loves me.

Who needs Marga?

So what if she's mad at me now because Sky is so hot and he's the one I've been pining for ever since middle school, so I say what needs to be said. "I love you, too."

We slobber all over each other and agree to meet in the early morning at school so we can skip together at his dad's house.

All I want, perhaps the only thing I want for the rest of my life, is to be in Sky Bowman's arms. I am mapping out my route to his house in my mind until suddenly I'm sitting in the backseat of the station wagon.

Oh God, what year is it? I throw my forehead up against the window. Palm trees swish past. Or we swish past the palm trees? Snorelando. I'm still here, sitting in the backseat of the station wagon but this time Mom is driving.

Time keeps doing this.

I start to wonder if I am just dreaming all the time, and nothing is real.

I tried to explain it to Marga yesterday, if yesterday was even yesterday. But then she said everything is always about me, me, me.

Well, now it's going to be all about Sky, Sky, Sky.