Here the Whole Time - Vitor Martins Page 0,44
When I get to the third button, Caio slaps my hand.
“No! It looks better open.”
But when he says “looks better,” I don’t know if he means me or the shirt.
He grabs the sleeves and folds them carefully up to my elbow. Then he pulls my wavy hair up and hits it with a little bit of hair spray. I stand completely still and hold back a sneeze because the spray smells like a grandma. Not like my grandma. My grandma smelled better than this. This has more of a general grandma smell.
When Caio is done working his magic, I open my closet and look at my reflection in the big mirror inside the door. My whole life I’ve avoided mirrors because I didn’t really like what they had to show me, but today is different. Because I look at my reflection and don’t hate myself right away. Actually, for a few seconds, I even kind of like looking at it. My hair is styled in a different way, the shirt looks nice on me (maybe red is my color after all), and I don’t feel awful.
To be honest.
I even feel.
Handsome.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me you had a mirror hidden in there? This whole time I’ve been using the bathroom mirror to get ready!” says Caio, bringing me back from my trance.
“Caio, this is Mirror. Mirror, meet Caio,” I say, introducing the two, and Caio laughs as he gives my shoulder a little push.
In the living room, my mom is watching an episode of I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant (a reality show about women who, well, didn’t know they were pregnant).
“WHOA!” she says when she looks up from the TV. “Where are you off to looking that good?”
Honestly, I need to rethink my wardrobe strategy, because all it took was one new shirt and some hair spray and my mom is enraptured.
“The June Festival in the town square,” I say, my face completely red, but trying to act normal.
My mom shoves her hand in her pocket and takes out some crumpled bills. “Here’s some money for corn. Have fun, and if you come home late, try not to bang the door the way you usually do. You sound like a hurricane!”
“Okay, I’ll try.”
“And you”—she points at Caio—“no illegal tattoos!”
The two of them laugh, my mom kisses our foreheads, and then we’re off into the night. Or whatever it is you say when you’re on your way to eat corn on the cob in the town square.
Rebeca and Melissa are already there when we arrive. The two of them are waiting for us at a plastic table by a street barbecue booth. Becky is wearing a yellow plaid shirt with a knot tied in the front, and Melissa is wearing a print dress and cowboy boots, and her hair is up in pigtails. The two of them really took the country theme to the next level.
“For once in your life you’re not late!” Caio says, and the two of us take the empty seats at the table.
“For these parties it’s always best to get here before the square gets too crowded with insufferable drunks,” Becky answers, rolling her eyes.
The party isn’t packed yet, but a few food booths already have lines. I look around and see a forró band doing a sound check on a makeshift stage, and I spot a few familiar faces, too. People from school know I exist, but I don’t feel the need to say hi to them.
When I turn my attention back to the table, I notice a beer can in front of me. I don’t know at what point Caio, Becky, and Mel started drinking (and I have no idea where this beer came from), but the three of them are holding up their cans and looking at me.
“A toast!” Becky says, nodding at my can.
“Ah, yes,” I say, picking up the can and trying to act naturally—to not make it obvious that I’ve never had beer in my life.
“To festivals in the square that are kind of meh, but I love them, anyway!” Becky announces, raising her can.
“To forró bands that play the same four songs the whole night!” Caio adds, touching his can to Becky’s.
“To my hair, which looks beautiful but will, in a few seconds, stink like barbecue smoke,” Melissa cheers, shaking her ponytails.
“To corn on the cob, the best thing at this festival,” I say timidly, but it makes me happy when the three of them laugh.
Caio takes a gulp