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Springing Forward

Somehow—I don’t know how—I’ve made it to spring.
I know this, because I’ve started to see colors again—blue skies, puffy white clouds, green leaves. I mean, the colors were there all along—the leaves had been changing, the trees weren’t bare anymore—but now I’ve started to
see
them. Notice them.

Before, everything was flat and gray, just like me. Now, it feels like there’s hope in my tragic little world. I feel hopeful, like things might
actually
turn out okay. Like I’m going to survive after all. I’ve been talking more, laughing more, pulling my head out of my shell like the tortoise who’s been hibernating all winter. That’s kind of how I feel right now, and it’s good. Really good. Kind of awesomely good, in fact. Super fantastical.

Today was the last day of school before spring break. I’ve been practically marking the days off my calendar like a prisoner who’s only got fifteen more years to go. Finally. One week, plus the two weekends. A whole nine days. What
will
I do with all of that time?

And something interesting happened at school. And when I say “interesting,” I mean completely out-of-control awesome. Chad asked me out. On a date (I think).

I repeat. Chad asked me out today.

We were sitting in English as usual, and when the bell rang and I was walking out of class, he caught up to me.

“Hey, Stacy, wait up.” (His face had a serious look.)

“What’s up, Chad?” (Giving him a serious look back, trying not to laugh.)

He seemed a little nervous, which intrigued me.

“Um, there’s a
Star Wars
, uh, retrospective at the Egyptian tomorrow.” He was stumbling and fumbling around. “A group of us are going. Uh, I was just wondering, um, if you wanted to go with us.”

A
group
of us? Was this a “date”? I searched his face for a clue, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Sure, Chad,” I said, trying to sound light and casual while I was jumping up and down on the inside. “That sounds like fun. Should I wear my gold bikini?”

I was joking. I’d never have the nerve to go out of the house wearing Princess Leia’s bikini and her Cinnabon braids.

He laughed. “Absolutely. That would be
great
.” And he looked all happy and relieved. He looked at me, right into my eyes. “I’ll call you later, Stacy.”

“See ya, Chad.”

I watched him walk away. He looked confident, like he was walking about a foot taller.

So the sky’s a deeper blue now, and the grass is
definitely
greener. Things are looking positively Technicolor. Even if it is
Star Wars
, which is fine, but it
is
kind of a guy thing. Very cornball, if you ask me. But I’m
really excited
about seeing it
with Chad
for some reason. I just hope he doesn’t show up with a lightsaber or, even worse, a stormtrooper uniform.

Bunnies And Flowers

When Chad came to pick me up for our “date,”
he wasn’t wearing a stormtrooper outfit or a Han Solo vest. He was just Chad with his big, beautiful smile and a
Star Wars
T-shirt (because I guess he couldn’t help himself). I smiled back at him, and it felt like we were ten years old, and my stomach had the butterflies again. I invited him in to say hi to Mom and to see if he passed Roman’s inspection.

Roman was up first. He put his hand out to Chad, “’Sup, Chad?”

Chad looked confused and had a smile on his face like, “What’s going on here?” But he put his hand out. “Hey, Roman. How’s it goin’?”

And Roman nodded at him and then at me, like, “I approve.”

Now it was Becca’s turn, but she just wanted to tease him a little. “Hey, Chad. You guys have fun. Bring a wookie home for me, ’kay?”

Next, Mom came over and shook his hand. She was in total dork-mom mode. “Hi, Chad. It’s so good to see you again! You’ve gotten so tall!”

(Cringing. Stop embarrassing me, Mom!)

I tried to rush him out the door. Escape.

“Well, we’ve gotta go, you guys. Chad’s mom’s waiting for us.”

“Have fun, you two,” Mom said and gave me a quick hug. And she looked at me, and her face was all glowing and excited, and she was practically giving me the thumbs up sign. God. I was kind of just a little bit mortified, embarrassed, by the whole scene. Poor Chad. But he was cool with it. He looked at me after we closed the front door behind us.

“Well, that was interesting.”

“Just wait till Jill sees you next time.”

And we laughed. And then I realized that I’d just mentioned the next time we went out, and I cringed. I casually looked over at his face for a sign, and all I saw was a little smile.

When we got into his mom’s minivan, I saw two other couples—Chad’s friend Josh with Alexa, and Rose with Darrell. She gave me a little hug and a “Hey, girl!” and scooched over for me as Chad sat up front with his mom.

So it really
was
a date.

And it was a double feature,
Star Wars
with
The Empire Strikes Back
. Four hours of Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker and robots and stuff.

Chad’s mom dropped us off, and we got in line for tickets. He paid for mine, telling me to put my wallet back.

“Your money’s no good here,” he said, waving me away.

This was momentous. No one had ever bought me a movie ticket before. I mean, besides my parents. My body buzzed with excited energy; my feet weren’t even touching the ground.

Rose and Darrell went into the theater to find seats while the rest of us stood in the snack line. There were stormtroopers and Luke Skywalkers and a couple of Yodas—a paradise for dorks. A woman in a gold bikini walked by with her Cinnabon braids, and Chad and I looked at each other like, “Wow, that’s unfortunate,” since she was about fifty pounds too big to rock that look. But I gave her an A for effort.

“I
am
a little disappointed that you didn’t wear your gold bikini, Stacy,” Chad said, and we burst out laughing. We looked at each other with these big, goofy smiles, then he leaned over—in the middle of the popcorn line—and kissed me. He
kissed
me. And I didn’t feel the lightning bolt. No, I didn’t feel it, because I’d left my body for just a second, and I was floating somewhere up in the clouds. When I came back down, he was still kissing me.

I was thinking—what is that? Music? I’m hearing music. (Okay, it was “The Imperial March” playing in the background.) But that’s not what I’m talking about. It was more like angels singing, and I was lost for a second in this kiss. It was soft and gentle and sweet, and I kind of wanted to cry, because it was so beautiful, and it felt like I’d been through so much, and I never thought in a million years things would turn out this way. It felt like everything sad had faded away and been replaced with one beautiful, amazing kiss.

He leaned his head back—our kiss was over—then looked into my eyes, which were full, like I was about to cry any minute. And I almost did cry, because I was so happy, but I didn’t.

“Are you okay?”

“Chad, I’m
more
than okay.”

We stayed there in the popcorn line, and we kept grinning at each other, these big, goofy grins. We were kids again. And I asked him, “Do you think we could try that one more time?” (Because I just wanted to check to see if it was still as good the second time and not a fluke.)

“Absolutely.”

And it was. Pure magic and wonder and bunnies jumping over fields of flowers. Sunlight and rainbows and everything good.

We got our popcorn and drinks in one of those little cardboard boxes. Chad was carrying it in his right hand, kind of bunching it up against his body, and holding my hand with his left, and I was happy. That’s right. I was
happy
. My body was tingling all over, and I felt all mushy inside. I looked over at him as he struggled to carry the box
and
hold my hand at the same time, and he had the biggest smile on his face that I think I’ve ever seen in my life.

As we watched our movies, we held hands until they’d get too sweaty, and then we’d wipe them off on our pants, and then hold hands again. And I really couldn’t tell you much about the movies. Oh, Luke Skywalker makes it out alive; he wins or something. And that’s about all I can tell you.

Life is funny. Sometimes it can be beautiful and good, and sometimes the boy that you thought you’d never be interested in, in a million years, is the one who takes your breath away. Sometimes life is like that.

Graduating

I sat on the edge of the bathtub watching Becca
put on her eyeliner in front of the bathroom mirror as she got ready for graduation. She dyed her hair solid fuchsia in celebration, and I have to say, she looked fabulous.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” she said as she applied her black lip liner (because she likes her maroon lipstick outlined in black.)

“Totally weird,” I said back. But really, it wasn’t weird at all, Becca graduating from high school. It was the most normal thing she could have done. I sat watching her do her makeup and felt proud. Somehow she’d managed to make it through everything—this crazy, mixed-up year. She’s pretty amazing, my sister.

Mom was floating on clouds but seemed nervous about getting us to the stadium on time, asking us every two minutes if we were ready to go.

I waited for Chad, who was coming with us so we could hold hands while we sat through the principal reading off the million or so names, waiting to see Becca and Roman in their cap and gown.

After the ceremony, we went to Roman’s house for a little party. I think Roman’s parents were secretly relieved that he made it through high school (and Becca too).

When we got there, cars were already lined up on both sides of the street.

Roman’s parents greeted us, giving hugs and kisses. Sylvia said, “I’m so proud of you,
mija
,” and wrapped her arms around Becca, who looked ridiculously happy. Julio was proud, shaking our hands and kissing our cheeks before leading us out to the backyard.

It was mass confusion as I introduced Chad to Roman’s family—the dozens of aunts and uncles, Roman’s brothers Tom and George, his little sister Letty.

When I said “little party,” what I really meant to say was “huge.” At least two hundred people, mostly family, crowded into every corner of the house and backyard. Outside, paper lanterns hung from the trees with strings of white twinkle lights, and a woman stood in front of a large grill making tacos. (Now
this
is what I call a party.)

Roman’s little sister Letty was adorable in her bowling shirt and rockabilly bangs. Even though she’s only thirteen, her eyeliner was a work of art. Roman’s tall and skinny like their dad, but Letty’s short and kind of shaped like an egg—just like their mom. She carried a tray of tequila shots, passing them out to the adults.

Chad and I found the last two plastic chairs and a spare few feet of grass in the corner of the yard under a lemon tree, and we sat with our taco plates on our laps and watched as the mariachi band strolled over to serenade us. They looked spectacular in their black and silver mariachi suits, and I tried not to giggle when they played right in front of us. Then when the song was over, they started another one that sounded exactly the same.

Chad looked at me and said under his breath, “How much do you think I need to pay them to leave us alone?”

“How much have you got?”

We laughed, and they moved on to the next group. We ate our tacos. (They were ridiculous.)

It was cool out, a little breeze rustled through the trees, and I looked up at the moon and stars. I counted all five of them hanging there in the sky (because this is L.A. after all). Chad made his move, taking my face in his hand and turning it toward him. He kissed me in the moonlight. All of the party noise faded into the background. We were in our own world, and I wanted it to stay like that forever.

We kissed under the twinkling lights, then I leaned my head against his shoulder and watched Letty passing out the tequila shots to her aunts and uncles. Mom already had at least three, maybe four. She’d been knocking them back with Roman’s Aunt Gloria, and it seemed that she had become slightly hammered. Naturally we teased her—Chad thought she was hilarious—and Roman ended up driving us home. Becca sat up front; Chad and I sat in the back with Mom between us; Mom’s head rested on my shoulder.