Late to the Party - Kelly Quindlen Page 0,25

go ahead,” I told her. “I’ll just watch, try to pick up some pointers.”

I grinned, trying to show her I was teasing, but Maritza frowned.

“You’re gonna make me do this alone?”

She sounded serious, like I was truly abandoning her.

“Come on, Maritza, I can’t just flirt with someone I don’t know.”

“But that’s the whole point of this exercise. How else would we get to know her?”

“But she’s probably not even—I mean, look at her, she looks straight.”

“You’re stereotyping,” Maritza said, crossing her arms, but there was the slightest trace of doubt in her voice.

We reached the truck window. The girl was even prettier up close, and I struggled to hold eye contact as I placed my order, feeling Maritza’s and JaKory’s eyes on me. JaKory ordered next, smug and cocky, impervious to a gorgeous girl’s charm. Then it was Maritza’s turn.

“Do you like the chorizo?” she asked the girl in a strange voice.

“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” the girl said nonchalantly.

“Cool.” Maritza hesitated. “Um … do you like the carne asada?”

“Yep, that one’s good, too.”

“Sweet,” Maritza said, attempting a brave smile. The girl smiled blandly back. “Um—what about the veggie?”

“Yeah, it’s … full of great veggies,” the girl said. She tapped her fingers, waiting expectantly. Maritza’s cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink.

“I’ll just have a shredded chicken,” she said quickly, ducking her head to busy herself with her wallet.

JaKory and I said nothing as the three of us traipsed to a picnic table. Maritza seemed embarrassed, and we ate our tacos with subdued energy. JaKory overcompensated by exclaiming over every part of his meal.

“Wow, this lettuce is fresh,” he said. “So green, so verdant—”

Maritza swallowed and looked back to the food truck. The line had dwindled and the cute girl was still in the window.

“I’m gonna try again,” she said with a steely look in her eye. She turned to me. “Will you come?”

I grimaced. JaKory shot me a look that said You’re fucked.

“Sorry, Maritza, but I don’t think we stand a chance,” I said quietly.

Maritza crossed her arms and looked at the girl, then at us, then back at the girl again. For a moment I thought she was going to give in, but then she got up and stalked off toward the food truck, her posture upright and cool.

“What is she doing,” JaKory moaned.

We watched anxiously as Maritza approached the girl at the window. The girl looked up with a politely puzzled expression when Maritza started talking.

The whole thing took less than thirty seconds. Maritza was wearing her forced-confidence smile, and the girl was forced-laughing, and my chest was locked with stress, and then Maritza was heading back toward us.

JaKory and I looked at each other, waiting for her to sit down, but she marched right past us. We got up and chased after her, flanking her on either side as the grass turned into asphalt.

“What happened?” JaKory asked.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Maritza stormed all the way to her car, turning to us only once she’d grabbed the door handle. “She wasn’t interested.”

JaKory and I fell back, looking at each other.

“Why not?” I tried.

Maritza exhaled, long and pained. “She has a boyfriend.”

I offered her a sympathetic look. “Was she mean about it?”

“No,” she said, avoiding eye contact. She crossed her arms over her chest. “She was really nice.”

We stood in a circle, an awkward silence hovering between us. Everything felt stilted and weird.

JaKory wrapped one of his long, lanky arms around Maritza’s shoulders. “You tried,” he said. “Now you won’t spend the rest of the day wondering what if, and that’s more than Codi and I can say.”

Maritza didn’t let herself sink into JaKory’s hug. She squeezed her arms together and said, “Sorry I tried to force that on you guys. I’m just—I’m so tired of feeling like this.”

“Like what?” JaKory asked gently.

“Like … like I don’t know how to do the whole girls thing.”

I swallowed. I’d never heard Maritza describe it that way. “I’m sorry,” I told her in a small voice.

“For what?” she asked, rolling her eyes at herself. “For not making a fool out of yourself? Forget it, Codi-kid.”

I couldn’t come up with any words of comfort for her. We climbed into her car and left the park in silence.

* * *

“What do you want out of this summer?” Ricky asked the following afternoon. We were sitting at Starbucks, drinking iced coffees with extra sweetener. Ricky had been up at six A.M. the last few days in a row; he’d had some early trainings for his