Late to the Party - Kelly Quindlen Page 0,6

a scene.

“Stand still so I can practice!” Maritza yelled, her eyes tracking me in the aisle.

“Are you insane?!” I yelled back, grabbing a stray shopping cart and sending it careening toward her. She screeched and tripped into the endcap of stuffed animals, knocking several bears in Hawaiian T-shirts to the floor.

By the time we finished our arrow war and joined JaKory at the register, he’d already purchased both cards and a pack of Jujubes. It was only with the slightest trace of shame that Maritza pushed the archery set across the counter and retrieved her wallet to pay for it.

“You’ll have to forgive my daughters,” JaKory told the sour-faced cashier, who made a show of glaring at us. “They don’t get out much.”

* * *

We got back to the theater about fifteen minutes earlier than Grant had asked. Maritza turned off the ignition and we sat with the windows down, enjoying the warm summer air. People were spilling out of the movie theater, but there was no sign of my brother’s shaggy brown hair or skinny stilt legs.

It was another few minutes before we spotted him. He was meshed in with a huge throng of kids who were trying to look older than they were. Grant was right in the middle of them, laughing and yelling, posing for pictures and fixing his hair between each take.

“Such a diva,” JaKory snorted, shaking his head.

“How many fucking friends does he have?” Maritza said.

“My dad calls them his ‘posse,’” I said sarcastically, and Maritza and JaKory laughed.

It was hard not to feel slighted when my parents fawned over Grant’s social life. My dad had been a total frat boy in college, the kind of guy who threw legendary parties and nicknamed all his friends. He still took a trip every winter to go skiing with “the boys.” My mom wasn’t extroverted like him—I guess I got that from her—but she was magnetic in her own way, always sure of how to speak to people, even if she was low-key about it. Case in point: She won homecoming queen in high school. Dad still teased her about it whenever they went on dates. Mom would come downstairs all dressed up, and Dad would spin her around and say, “Damn, honey, you could’ve been homecoming queen.” Mom’s eyes would sparkle, Grant would snort under his breath, and I’d stand in the corner and wonder how I wasn’t adopted.

I looked hard at my brother, taking in his exuberant smile, trying to keep the negative swirling in my stomach at bay. Then I realized something seemed … off. Grant had wandered away from the group and over toward a pillar, and his mannerisms were stiff and jerky. He looked almost nervous.

A little current seared in my stomach.

“Who’s he talking to?” I said, more to myself than my friends.

Maritza tapped an archery arrow on the steering wheel. “Probably Ryan, right? Or Brian? Whatever his doofy friend’s name is.”

“No,” I said, trying to make her understand, “it’s someone different. Look how he keeps touching his hair.”

Maritza and JaKory went still, watching closely. All three of us were silent. Then Maritza said, “Do you think he’s talking to a girl?”

I couldn’t answer. My breathing was pinched; my nerves were on edge.

“He’s moving again,” JaKory said.

Grant stepped into the white lights streaming down from the building. And then, as I’d known instinctively, a girl moved out from behind the pillar.

She was a skinny girl with braces and long, thick hair, and she was smiling at my little brother in a nervous, timid way. Grant was holding his arm to the side, nodding his head too much, and shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

“Holy shit,” Maritza said slowly. “He’s on a date.”

My whole body felt cold and contracted. It was like the universe was playing a joke on me, and I had unwittingly participated in the setup. While my friends and I were lamenting our lack of romantic experience in the basement, my little brother had conned us into driving him to a date. I knew Grant was growing up, that he had started caring about girls, that pictures and popularity were part of his currency now … and yet I’d never stopped to consider that he was truly becoming a Teenager, and that he might be doing a better job of it than me.

The girl said something. She looked self-conscious. Grant inched a step closer, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“He’s gonna kiss her,” JaKory said breathlessly.

I