"IS THIS SOME KIND OF JOKE?!", Naomi yells as she sits across from me on her bed.
I shake my head, grinning a little. I knew her reaction to my sleepover at Dylan's would be something dramatic. Not saying that I'm one to necessarily kiss and tell, but she's my best friend. And maybe I enjoy talking about kissing him, because he's basically perfect in my eyes.
"I didn't know he had it in him!", she exclaims excitedly. "But I guess you certainly had something in him, eh?" She chuckles at her own lame joke as she nudges me, causing me to laugh.
"You're dumb," I tell her.
"Sooo, remind me again why the two of you aren't just dating by now?"
"Originally, it was because we wanted to get to know each other better-"
"Clearly you've been doing a grand job at that."
"Hey!", I laugh briefly. "I guess you're right, but not like that. We actually know each other really well by now. Maybe we'll date soon then, I dunno."
"Alright well, when it happens I better be the first to know!"
"You always are."
It's Sunday evening and here I am at Naomi's house. She invited me over because Sunday is the only day of the week on which her family's restaurant is not open for business. We've been hanging out for the past three hours, watching tv, playing a dance game with her siblings, cleaning her room, and now talking.
"Okay, Anita... If someone told me something that had to with you, you would want me to tell you right?", Naomi asks after a couple seconds of silence.
"Um, yeah, of course," I answer. "What, did someone say something about me?"
"I told them I wouldn't tell, but I can't keep secrets from you; I love you."
"I'm not gonna tell! Anyone! Please just tell me," I whine.
"Alright well, a friend of ours has been slowly but surely developing a crush on you."
"Is this Dylan, because I already knew that."
"No, dummy! It's Michelle!"
I stare at her, "Are you being serious right now?"
"Totally legit."
"Why does she have to have a crush on me?!"
"Don't be offended!", she laughs a little. "You're just hot."
"I just want her to be my friend, now I feel bad."
"Don't feel bad, it's not like you can help it. You aren't obligated to have feelings for her. Or anyone, for that matter."
"I know," I nod. "Just kinda weird."
"Don't act any different around her," Naomi warns.
"It's not like I was planning on it anyway, but why?"
"She doesn't need to know that you know."
"She won't."
Back at home as I'm laying in my bed, it's ten o'clock. The screen of my phone lights up with a call from the man of the hour.
"Hi, Dylan!", I answer the phone cheerfully.
"Hey," he returns simply.
"On your way home from work?"
"As always. It was so busy tonight, Anita, you have no idea."
"Aw, poor baby. You tired?"
"Very. I'll sleep well tonight, that's for sure."
"Way to have a positive outlook on it."
I can hear the sound of his turn signal clicking in the background as he speaks, "How was hanging with Naomi?"
"Fantastico, of course! She has a crush on me."
"What?! Who?! Naomi?!"
"What?! Oh! No! Sorry! Michelle does."
"Oh, that was really confusing for a second. Michelle makes a lot more sense."
"Sorry," I giggle.
"Wait, you're not thinking about leaving me for her, are you?"
"God, Dylan! No! I'm not even.. I like you!"
He laughs a little, "I know, I know. Just wanted to give you a hard time."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"About Michelle? Nothing."
"What?"
"Do you know exactly how many people at our school have a crush on you? A lot. Just don't let it bother you. You're still Anita and she's still Michelle; nothing's different."
I pause for a second, "You're so wise."
"I'll remember that in case you ever insult my intelligence."
"I would never!"
At school on Monday, I see a lot of things during the day that more or less make me feel differently about some of my classmates. In not the best ways. Cassie is in someone's car with them and they are taking turns smoking what I can only assume to be marijuana.
A guy from my Calculus class is lighting some ants on fire next to Sam from my English class, who's pouring lemonade all over some girl's shoes. On the first floor, Maddie from my first period (and fellow cheerleader) is making out with some guy as they make their way towards the greenhouse from where a moment later I hear aggressive moaning. I walk around Chatsworth with my head down, wondering what's gotten into everyone.
"Any idea why everyone is acting so weird today?", I ask Dylan in Chemistry.
He shrugs, "I haven't noticed much except for what you pointed out to me at lunch."
"It's kinda freaking me out."
"Don't worry about it. Probably just the full moon. You know we have a four day weekend this weekend, right?"
"Naomi said something about it earlier."
"No school this Friday or next Monday," he says with a fond look on his face. An adorable one, might I add. "We should do something."
"Looking for a recreation of Saturday, are we?", I tease him.
His cheeks pick up a pink tinge as he looks away, "That's not what I meant."
It's so much fun to mess with him.
"Calm down, you're alright," I assure him as I place a hand on his knee for a moment. "Anyway, I'm going to my grandmother's birthday party this Saturday in Las Vegas."
"Las Vegas huh?"
"It's a four-hour drive. You should come!", I exclaim suddenly, the idea making me grin widely.
"You want me to come with you to your grandma's birthday party?", he sounds unbelieving.
"She said I should bring a friend!"
"Seriously?"
"Seriously! Plus if you come, you get to hear me sing."
His face lights up immensely, "You'll be singing?"
I nod, "She always has me sing at her birthday parties. She tells me I have the voice of an angel, and she loves it a lot."
"I'm going then. I'm so going. Yes, this is gonna be the best."
"It's kind of a formal event, so you have to dress nicely."
"Suit and tie fancy?"
"More like dress pants and a nice button down fancy."
"Cool."
The week seems to pass much too slowly for the amount of excitement I possess. Thankfully, there are some other events during the week that deter me from thinking of the party. Dylan works almost every day of the week and I have cheer practice for three of them, so I'm kept fairly busy. This doesn't always stop me from thinking of my grandmother though.
My grandmother, or Nonna as I call her, is a very kind lady. She is my paternal grandmother meaning she is my dad's mom and I love her very much. She and my grandpa are both Italian, and it's actually pretty easy to tell because you can hear it in their voices, plus they talk very loudly, very often.
My father's parents moved to California from Italy when my dad and his sister were in grade school. My dad moved to Washington, where he met my mother, when he was nineteen, but my grandparents have always lived here in California.
Because of this, I didn't always get to see them too often but whenever I did, I would have the best time.
On Wednesday night, I remember that I have to tell my parents about Dylan coming with us to my grandmother's birthday party. Well, I guess I'll kind of be asking their permission... Here goes nothing.
The three of us are sat around our table eating pink salmon and steaming hot white rice. Our meal thus far has not been accompanied by much dialogue which, to my dismay, is becoming a regular thing.
"So," I begin a little awkwardly, cutting into the silence. "I told my friend that they could come with us to Nonna's birthday."
"I don't see why that would be a problem," dad says with a nod. "You know her motto is 'the more the merrier'."
"I know, she always has surprisingly large parties!", I exclaim. "I don't think this one will be any different, even though she's turning seventy-eight."
Dad laughs, "She's an old lady who loves to party. Are you ready to sing?"
"I always am."
"Is it a surprise again?"
I nod, "It always is, dad."
I was ten years old the first time my Nonna commissioned me to sing at one of her birthday parties. At the time I didn't know why exactly she thought I could sing so well, but I did it anyway. Turns out that, as always, her instincts were spot on and I could actually sing quite well.
Therefore, I've sung at her birthday every year since. That first time, though, she gave me a list of her top ten favorite songs and told me to pick whichever one I wanted. Of course I didn't know a fair few of the songs so I've had to look them up. But here I am, six years later, mentally preparing myself to sing the sixth song off of that list.
"Which friend is this that's coming?", dad asks after swallowing some fish.
"Dylan," I say simply, casually.
"Can I meet him before this Saturday?"
I eye him carefully, "Why?"
"I have to approve him, duh," he says in a joking manner, though I know he's being entirely serious. "I don't want any hooligans or juvenile delinquents hanging around my daughter. Or my mother, for that matter."
"Wow, give me enough credit to choose decent people as friends!"
"We might have different opinions as to what counts as decent."
"Mom," I turn to her for help. "You've met him before!"
"Briefly," she says.
I bring my palm to my face in defeat.
"See!", dad is saying. "Point made! Invite him over for dinner tomorrow so that I know who I'm letting around my family."
"Okay, okay," I give in. "Just don't make anything gross for dinner."
"Do I ever?", he grins. He makes a good point.
The next day in English I don't waste much time before talking to Dylan about the whole 'coming over for dinner' thing.
"Good morning, star shine," I say to him as he takes his seat next to mine.
"Morning," he replies in an upbeat tone. He seems pretty happy today, maybe it's because he thinks he looks really cute in his green and blue flannel. Oh wait that's just me.
"Are you doing anything important tonight?", I ask him.
"Not yet, but I have a feeling that I'm about to be."
"My parents want you to come over for dinner."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously!"
"Oh, okay... Um, yeah I accept the invitation," he says with the tiniest bit of uncertainty on his face. "I mean it can't be that bad; they're your parents."
"This is true," I agree. "My dad already kind of likes you because I told him about you and soccer."
"Your dad's a soccer fan?"
"Huge one. It's one of his favorite things of all time."
"I think this could go really well."
"Of course it will, I mean who couldn't like you?"
~
Well, sadly, it turns out that it is possible to not like Dylan. I don't know how, but apparently it is very possible because when I see Dylan after school, his glasses are broken-- no doubt by those same boys who I've seen tormenting him in the past. He's waiting for me by the school's sign and gives a weak half smile as I approach him with a frown.
"What happened to you?", I ask as I put a gentle hand to his face. A small red cut now resides on his left cheek.
"They slammed my face into a wall and broke my glasses. A piece of the glass got my cheek."
"Dylan, this is so not okay."
"I know, but I can't really do anything about it."
"Why don't you report this stuff?"
"I did in the past, and nothing good ever really came from it. Sometimes whoever was bothering me would get suspended for a couple days, but they'd come back a couple days later even angrier and it'd just get worse," he says with an irritated expression.
"Maybe we can talk to them?", I suggest.
The skeptical look he gives me confirms my own doubts about that plan.
"Look, can we just go to your house now?", he whines.
"Fine. But we can't ignore this forever!"
"But we can ignore it for now."
When Dylan and I arrive to my house, neither of my parents are home yet which doesn't surprise me. It's only nearing half past three, and dad usually comes home around five and mom... Well, she comes home when she comes home.
Again, there's that reoccurring conflict of mom taking forever to come home for unclear reasons. That's the conflict that is beginning to cause my parents' almost weekly arguments. I try not to worry about it, though.
"Home sweet home," I exhale as I hang up my keys on the hook in the entrance hall.
"This house is pretty sweet," Dylan agrees as he looks around.
"You've been in here like three times already."
"True, but two of those times were for very short moments, and the third time was at night meaning it was dark, not to mention the fact that we snuck in through the back door."
"Alright, I see your point. Shall we get our Chemistry on?"
"We shall."
For the next thirty minutes, we sip on yummy lemonade from tall blue glasses while studying the Periodic Table and Electron Configuration. It's somewhat a confusing concept, but luckily I have a very intelligent friend. We subsequently look through Dylan's photos for photography on his laptop, which are actually pretty nice.
I watch him in wonder for another twenty minutes as he edits them on photo-shop like some sort of photo-shopping expert. Around half past four, we head down to the living room where we watch a couple episodes of a comedic television show that make us laugh a lot.
A couple minutes into the third episode, my dad gets home. At the sound of the front door being unlocked and opened, we turn and look at each other.
"Are we supposed to go to the door to say hi?", Dylan asks.
"No, what are we, dogs?", I laugh a little. "It's cool, just be cool."
"Just be cool," he repeats faintly as we return our attention on the television screen.
My dad enters the living room a moment later, wearing his usual jeans and unnecessarily-expensive plain shirt outfit combo. The two of us turn to face him and he grins at us, causing his green eyes to crinkle.
"Hi, dad!", I greet him joyfully.
"Hey there," he returns. "How's it going?"
"Pretty good, nothing too interesting going on here."
"I would hope not," he says slyly as he approaches us whereupon Dylan and I stand from the couch. Dad faces him, "You must be Dylan."
He takes his outstretched hand as they shake hands like business men, "You must be Mister Burns."
"That I am," dad says with a light laugh. "But I insist you call me Scott."
"Can I call you Scott?", I ask him with an innocent grin.
"Not in this lifetime!", he exclaims. "Anyway, I'm off to make dinner now. Should only take about an hour."
"Want any help?"
My dad gives me a look, "Remember what happened last time I let you help?"
"Dad, that was like a year ago! And I was gonna send Dylan to help you, not me!"
"Ah, so you can cook?", dad asks him.
"Uh, yeah. Kinda," he responds.
"Totally," I say. Look at him, being all humble and trying to downplay his skills.
"I'd love some extra hands in the kitchen," Dad grins. "As long as they're not Anita's."
Dylan laughs, "In that case, I'd love to help out."
The two of them walk into the kitchen as I shake my head at their disappearing forms. I go back to watching television, but I lower the volume significantly. It's sort of a given that I would try my best to eavesdrop on them, wouldn't everybody? I hear dad ask him about how school is, then what his hobbies are.
This is, of course, when they start talking about soccer, which consumes the rest of the entire conversation. Every once in a while they pause the soccer talk so my dad can tell Dylan what to do for whatever it is that they're making. Overall, the two of them seem to be getting along really well and I smile at the thought.
As I listen to them laughing and talking about soccer players whose names I wouldn't be able to pronounce, I kind of wish that I was in there with them. But ever since last year, dad doesn't let me near a stove. I had accidentally spilled olive oil everywhere, the salt came pouring out of the shaker, and maybe I caught a towel on fire... Kitchens aren't my place. So sue me.
The clock is nearing six thirty when Dylan comes walking towards me from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel and still laughing at something my dad had said.
"Dinner is practically ready!", he exclaims with a smile. He looks so different without his glasses, possibly even cuter because I can see more of his face.
"What did you guys make?", I ask as I switch off the television and stand up.
"Looks like you're about to find out. Your dad is really cool, by the way."
I smile, "You guys seem to be getting along perfectly."
"We are," he nods. "He's like the dad I never had but always wanted."
For reasons I can't explain, his words strike up a lot of feelings in me. I find myself feeling both sorry and happy for him at once. But he grins so widely at me as we enter the kitchen that I can't help but grin back, the sorrow entirely gone.
The three of us sit around the square, wooden table where I find out they've made an Italian pasta dish that my dad makes only a few times a year. I get excited as I stare at it on the plates, the enticing scent wafting through the air and into my welcoming nostrils. I take my seat next to my friend while dad takes his across from the pair of us.
"Where is Missus Burns?", Dylan asks of my mom.
"Good question," I say, hoping dad doesn't show any sort of anger.
To my surprise but profound joy, his mood seems to be an extremely good one as he replies, "Beats me, but we're eating now! It's dinner time, and time waits for no man!"
The two of us laugh before promptly digging in. The food is just as scrumptious as I remember it, noodles, sauce, and all.
I make a noise of contentment as I continue to eat it, "This is so good, I can't..."
Dad laughs, "This was your favorite food when you were about eight, you know. Used to demand that I make it every day."
"Did you obey my demands?", I ask with a slight laugh.
"Of course I did, you're my little princess."
I smile fondly back at him before delving back into my plate full of happiness.
The remainder of the meal is taken up with a few stories being told by each of us that cause quite a bit of laughter and curious questions. There's more soccer talk, of course, but I'm proud to say that I'm able to follow it with ease. I even tell Dylan and dad some really corny Chemistry jokes that cause them to groan more than laugh but hey, we're all still smiling.
We've been done with our food for at least a half hour by now, and I can't stop myself from smiling. It just amazes me how perfect everything seems in this moment; great food, great company, and great conversation.
"Hey, dad!", I exclaim suddenly after a while.
"What is it?"
"You didn't get a wine out," I inform him.
"There's a good reason for that," he tells me with a finger raised. "I've got some dessert here, so I also picked out a special dessert wine to accompany it."
"Well can we eat it now? This is exciting!", I exclaim.
"Sure thing, hold on a minute," he walks over to the counter and out of a bag pulls a large, square pink box. After a few minutes he returns to the table with three small plates containing a slice of chocolate cake each. He goes back to kitchen and pulls three wine glasses and a tall bottle of wine that intrigues me.
"Pinot Noir," dad says, reading the label of the wine with a fond grin. "This stuff is good."
He pours himself an entire glass and fills mine halfway, stopping when he approaches Dylan. "Ever had wine before?", he asks.
He shakes his head no, "This would be a first for me."
"Your mother wouldn't mind it?"
"Considering she offers me sips of her beer whenever she has one, I think she'd be fine with this."
Dad laughs and gives him as much as me, the red liquid splashing around until it reaches halfway.
We indulge in our dessert and when Dylan takes his first sip of wine, dad and I watch him intently, like hawks. He slowly raises the glass to his lips and allows a small amount of the red substance to enter before lowering the glass again.
He furrows his brows together and pulls a slightly disgusted face for a second that makes me laugh outwardly. But another moment later he has a face that seems to say "not bad".
"Not bad," he finalizes. I was so right.
"Like it?", dad asks hopefully.
"Yeah, it's not nearly as bad as I expected. Definitely way better than beer."
He laughs, "I could've told you that!"
Once dessert is over, we head out to the back because dad wants to show off his grapes. Kind of an odd thing to say, but it's what is happening right now. We walk through rows and rows of the tall growing plants as dad makes a big deal about how they're all naturally grown with nothing but water and sunshine. He lets us eat a couple, and they remind me why I never eat these things. Wine grapes are not like your regular grapes, okay. They taste pretty gross, at least in mine and Dylan's shared opinion.
It's nearing nine when we get back inside, and sadly it's time for my favorite person to leave my home.
"Thanks for coming over," dad says as they shake hands again, grinning. "It was real great meeting you."
"Yeah, thanks for having me over and feeding me. I like your house. And your cooking. And your vineyard. Everything, really," he finalizes with a chuckle.
My dad laughs loudly, "Especially my daughter right?"
"Oh, yeah," he says awkwardly.
"Dad, don't make everything weird," I chide him.
"I was joking! Alright, well we'll see you on Saturday then, sir?", dad asks him.
"I look forward to it," Dylan grins before walking out the door. "Bye, Mister Burns. Bye, Anita!"
"I always knew you had good taste," dad tells me as we lurk around the bottom of the stairs.
"So you like him?"
"Yeah, he's a really good guy. You want my approval? You got it."
I smile and give him a big hug, "Goodnight, dad. Thank you. I love you."
"I love you too, sweetie."
As I lay down to sleep, I can't fight the grin that's constantly taking over my face. I'm just too happy with the knowledge that basically my two favorite people in the world get along so perfectly.
~
It's Saturday morning and I'm incredibly excited for this party. Most people wouldn't be too thrilled to go to a seventy-eight year old woman's birthday party, but my Nonna knows how to party. Not to mention I get to sing, and most of all, Dylan will be there.
Wednesday night, my mom didn't get home until around ten o'clock. I was in my bedroom but I was still awake and so was my dad. I largely expected some sort of argument to take place, but it didn't happen. I guess dad was still in his good mood.
The party is due to begin at five in the evening, so we're planning to leave at twelve thirty since it's a four hour drive to Las Vegas. Mom is in my room right now with a new dress she bought for me to wear tonight. It's a really pretty dress, as it's long and body tight but flares out at the end.
It's a gorgeous black dress mostly lace that's covered entirely with a rose pattern on it. It's a gorgeous dress but why she so easily spent over three hundred dollars on it, I have no idea.
She waits in my room as I go into the bathroom to try it on. When I return to the room she stands up and gasps happily.
"It looks beautiful on you!", she gushes.
"What? Mom, I look fat in this."
Her eyes widen, "What are you talking about? You are the skinniest little thing I've ever seen besides Angelina Jolie!"
"I don't really think so," I say as I look at my reflection thoughtfully in my full-length mirror.
"Anita," she suddenly says very seriously. "You're not getting sick again are you?"
"No," I turn around and say quickly. "I'm perfectly fine. You know, you're right; it looks perfect. It just looks weird to me because my hair and makeup aren't done." I throw a smile at her and after a second she returns it.
"I'm fine, I promise," I assure her before she nods and leaves the room.
I do my makeup and put my hair in its usual style, curling the entire length of it. My hair is getting so long, it makes me happy as I stare at my reflection. I add medium black heels to my ensemble and by noon, I'm ready to go. After grabbing my purse and phone, I head down the stairs and into the living room.
Dad is there in black dress pants and red tie, lounging back on the couch watching a Seattle Sounders soccer game.
"You look nice," he compliments as I carefully take a seat next to him.
"Thank you," I say. "Mom's not ready yet?"
"No, but almost. She lost a few minutes because she was freaking out."
"About what?"
"You."
I turn entirely towards him, "What did I do? Oh... Did she tell you about what happened in my room?"
He nods, "She did. Don't worry about it though, she just worries about you a lot."
"I wish she wouldn't."
"Just watch what you say in front of her, then. She means well and I know you do too."
I nod, just as a knock sounds at the door. I go to answer it and pull it open to reveal Dylan like I've never seen him before. He's wearing a nice pair of black jeans, a white dress shirt and a black tie.
He got new glasses too! They're the same ones that he had before, but you know, these ones aren't broken. I try really hard not to swoon over the sight of him; I have a thing for guys when they're dressed nicely.
"Oh MY GOD, you look so hot," I practically blurt out.
He grins widely with a chuckle, "Well hello to you too." He enters the house and looks me over, "I hate it when you dress up like this."
"Why?"
"It's like when you dressed up as Aphrodite, you know? You're always pretty but there are times, like now, when you're pretty in a different way."
"Wait, so like I'm making you nervous again?", I try not to smile but it's there anyway.
"Don't look so happy about it," he says as he looks at the ground.
I laugh, "I'm sorry! You're just too cute."
We all leave right on schedule at twelve thirty, all buckled up in my Range Rover. We decided this would be the better car to take because it is the most spacious, and we want maximum comfort for this long drive. Dad is driving though, which I don't really mind because that means I get to relax.
Nobody talks much while we drive, and I can tell this is gonna be even longer because of it. Dad puts the radio on an alternative rock station that plays some okay songs, but I just hope they play The Neighbourhood at some point. None of us have really said anything at all, and about twenty minutes into the drive, I get a text. From Dylan.
Hi.
What r u texting me for??
I don't wanna talk in this silence.
Is that just ur cover up??
What would I be covering up?
Maybe u don't wanna talk to my face bc I make u nervous(:
Don't get arrogant now.
I'm not! I just like teasin u :P
Yeah, well you do a good job at it.
You kno what u do a good job at Dylan??
What?
Being cute
Are you flirting with me?
R u pretending that u don't like it???
You got me there.
Dylan, look at me.
No
What? Why won't u look at me??
You're too pretty.
Awww(: Ur gonna have to look at me eventually, u kno
Yeah but that'll be when we're alone.
Woah what does that even mean??
I'll be able to kiss you then.
Dylan, wtf, u can't tell me this stuff ahead of time bc then I'm just gonna be thinkin about it for the rest of the day!!!
Now you feel my pain :P
I don't text him back after that, but turn to stare at him with a smirk on my face. He's covering his face with one of his hands as he stares out the window, but I can still see a corner of his mouth upturned in a mischievous little grin.
Ever since I was young I would fall asleep in the car, even on the short fifteen-minute rides between the park and our house. Sometimes I'd fall asleep with ice cream in my hands and I'd wake up a mess, crying because I ruined my dress. My parents always took care of it though, and sometimes they'd just laugh while I cried on.
Since then, though, if I'm not driving and the destination is more than twenty minutes away, there is an eighty-five percent chance that you will have a sleeping Anita as your passenger.
That being said, sleep takes me over just after the first hour of the car ride. I don't wake up until we're just fifteen minutes from our destination. I wake up to a total of seven text messages. All from Dylan.
Anita, are you falling asleep?
Oh, you're asleep.
You look adorable when you're sleeping.
Hope that doesn't sound creepy.
THEY'RE PLAYING THE NEIGHBOURHOOD!!!
IT'S 'AFRAID'! YOUR FAVORITE! ANITA!
Well, you missed it. Great going.
After I've read them all, I laugh a little and turn to grin at him, but he's still covering his smile and looking straight ahead. I text him back.
Have I ever told u how much I like u??
It could never be as much as I like you. :)