The Poet X - Elizabeth Acevedo Page 0,17

the corner.

He walks toward Caridad’s house,

and I walk to the train station

on my way up to the Heights.

A block away from Reuben’s house

I sneak into a Starbucks bathroom

and put on green eye shadow, fluff my curls.

Tug on the hem of Twin’s Green Lantern tee

(it fits tight around my boobs and shows some midriff.

I’m glad Mami didn’t ask to see what I had on under my jacket.)

and voilà—a half-assed superhero costume.

Reuben’s House Party

When I get to the address in Washington Heights

I know I’m too early.

There are only a handful of people there,

who, like me, made bootleg attempts at a costume.

I see a couple of people I know from school,

but no one I would hang out with.

This is a party crowd: the loudest, the boldest,

the ones who smoke during the school day,

and drink their parents’ mamajuana on the weekend.

Someone hands me a cup of fruity drink

but I put it down on the TV stand, lean against the wall.

I don’t look at the clock blinking from the DVD player;

I don’t look at my phone.

I’ve got an alarm set so I know when to leave.

For now I just listen to the noise, to the music,

ignore the stares of a group of boys by the speakers.

When someone brushes my hand I brace myself, tighten my jaw,

but when I turn it’s Aman. Playing with my fingers, smiling.

“I didn’t think you were going to make it.

Do you want something to drink?”

I shake my head no. And take in his outfit. He went all out.

Face painted green, waves spinning, T-shirt stuffed with something,

all his lean self trying to look like the Hulk.

I can’t hold my laughter and he only smiles wider.

“We are meant to be,” he whispers.

“We both chose green superheroes.”

Someone lowers the lights.

Aman tugs on my hand. “Dance with me?”

One Dance

When Aman asks, my heart starts thumping.

Because this isn’t bachata or merengue or something

with coordinated steps and distance.

This song is the kind you get close for.

I push off the wall and Aman shifts in front of me,

his hands holding my hips.

I close my eyes and wipe my sweaty palms

on the back of his shirt; we’re pressed against each other,

swaying, his mouth near my neck.

The shoulder pads under his costume

give me something to hold on to,

and I’m glad we have at least the padding between us.

Then his leg is between mine

and we’re dancing exactly the way people do

in music videos.

Like if they weren’t wearing clothes

they’d be . . . you know.

I can feel all of him. Not as scrawny as I thought.

When the song is over,

another reggae one comes on and Aman

rotates so now he’s behind me.

His body grinds against mine,

and it feels so good.

I push away from him.

“I need some air.”

Stoop-Sitting . . . with Aman

Outside of Reuben’s building,

the Heights is on fire.

People dressed in all kinds of costumes,

laughing, and yelling, and singing,

you would think it was morning and not 9:30 p.m.

Aman holds my hand in his

but every time I look at him

I’m afraid my cheeks will burst

bright red, so I don’t.

And then he drops the bomb:

“I don’t live too far from here.”

And I don’t know if he means

he wants me to go to his house,

or if he’s just talking to talk.

“Isn’t your father home?”

I really hope his father’s home.

Aman shakes his head.

Tells me his father works tonight.

I pull my hand from his.

I can’t stop my fingers

from trembling.

I don’t have to fake when I tell him

I don’t feel great.

That I should get home

and make tea or something.

I get up to leave, but before I do,

Aman tugs at my hand:

“Read me a poem, X?

I want to remember your voice

when I think about tonight.”

And then he’s grinning again

and pulls me down beside him.

Convos with Caridad

X: I’m on my way home.

C: Good, because Xavier and I been standing on the corner forever.

X: Thanks again. I know you hate lying.

C: Yeah. It better have been worth it.

Was it worth it?

X: It was . . . a lot. I have a lot of feelings. But it was fine.

C: ???

X: It just can’t last. Something is gonna go wrong.

I’m not allowed to be happy while breaking all rules.

C: Maybe you shouldn’t break them?

X: Oh, Caridad. I can’t wait until you like someone. . . .

I’ll make sure to send you all these wise-ass texts, too.

C: Girl, bye. With your hotheaded self?

You’ll never be wise as me ☺.

Sunday, October 28

Braiding

I spent the entire Mass thinking about Aman.

And I can tell Mami is going to lecture me

for not paying any attention.

But thank goodness, as we are leaving church,

Caridad tugs on my hand.

“Señora Batista, is it