Late to the Party - Kelly Quindlen Page 0,91

they’re almost there. They hit some late-night construction, but it only added five minutes.”

“Aren’t we going to his house?” I asked.

“Different house,” Ricky answered. “Waffle House.”

Maritza snorted next to me.

I’d only been to Waffle House twice before: Once on a family road trip to Virginia, when we couldn’t find any other breakfast places off the interstate, and once with Maritza and JaKory, on our way home from a varsity basketball game where Maritza had danced at halftime. Both times I’d eaten greasy hash browns with ketchup and accidentally stuck my elbow in the syrup stains on the table. But I could see why JaKory and Daveon would pick Waffle House as their meet-up point: It was the kind of place where people were always coming and going, even in the middle of the night. You could be anyone you wanted to be, and no one would look twice at you.

We pulled off the interstate near a place called Opelika, Alabama. It was a dimly lit exit with a few streetlamps and a 24-7 service station. Ricky drove slowly, carefully, he and my brother leaning forward to scout the area. JaKory was silent as a mouse, but his fingers drummed manically against his leg. I caught Maritza’s eye and looked pointedly at him. She hesitated, then grabbed his fingers and squeezed.

“There!” Grant said, pointing up ahead.

The bright yellow roof loomed into view. We stared at it like we’d never seen such a place before. Ricky rolled quietly into the parking lot, where a handful of cars were scattered unevenly. He took the long way around the building, doing a loop of the whole lot.

“He’s in there,” JaKory rasped, ducking in his seat. “Oh my god, oh shit, he’s really in there.”

“Where?” Maritza and I said.

“In the left corner, by the window!”

Maritza and I craned our necks, trying to see. I could just make out a red shirt and the top of a boy’s head.

If my brother had caught on to what was going on, he didn’t acknowledge it. He glanced at JaKory, and then at Maritza and me next to him, but said nothing.

Ricky parked in the second row of spaces—far enough away that JaKory and Daveon would have some semblance of privacy, but still close enough that we could make a quick getaway if anything went wrong. He shut the engine off, and suddenly there was no sound at all.

You would have thought that Maritza or I would speak first, prompting JaKory to get out of the car, but it was Ricky who turned around and spoke to him.

“Are you ready?”

JaKory nodded. He got out of the truck without looking at anyone, but then he hovered by the door, smoothing down his shirt.

“Do I look okay?” he asked.

He wasn’t looking at us, but it was clear who he was asking.

“You look awesome,” I said.

“Like Prince Charming,” Maritza said earnestly.

“What if…” he asked in a small voice. “What if it doesn’t work out?”

I met his eyes. “What if it does?”

JaKory took a long, deep breath. “I don’t know what to say to him.”

Maritza reached forward and straightened his fedora. “Say hi,” she said. “Quote some poetry if you want to. Just get in there.”

* * *

It was after two A.M. now, but everything felt timeless and still. Ricky and I sat on the curb together, with Maritza a few feet down from us. Grant was walking back and forth on the curb perpendicular to us, his hands in his pockets and his eyes straining to see the various kinds of cars in the lot.

Ricky was watching Maritza, whose tenderness had evaporated the moment JaKory had gone inside. She now sat with her arms hooked around her knees, her face turned resolutely away from me.

“Do something,” Ricky whispered, knocking my elbow.

I looked at Maritza again. She was still turned away, but I stared at her long enough for her to feel it.

“What?” she snapped, glaring at me.

I stood up and went over to her. “Can I sit?”

“I’m not in the mood, Codi.”

I stepped over the curb and onto the grass behind her. There was scattered litter here and there, a paper fast food cup and a dirty napkin, but the spot where I stood was clean. I plopped down onto it and rubbed a blade of grass between my fingers.

“So your dad noticed the missing rum?” I asked.

She ignored me.

“How long are you grounded for?”

Still nothing.

“Are they at least letting you work at dance camp?”

This time she answered.

“I’m quitting dance.”

I stared at