The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried(28)
Now, let’s see what psychobabble bullshit I can make up about Rafi.
Dirty clothes on the floor. Comic books on the floor. Computer parts on the floor. Seriously, does Rafi throw everything he owns on the floor? It’s a minefield of worn boxer shorts and books and computer components and, oh God, that’s a bowl of fried rice. I could never sleep in a room this disorganized. I’m not overreacting. It’s like his closet and drawers regurgitated their contents onto the floor, and he’s okay with it.
The miasma of foot funk and body spray is overwhelming and makes me consider retreating, but a photo on Rafi’s desk catches my eye. I tiptoe through the minefield and grab the frame. The picture is of Dino and Rafi on what looks like some kind of nature trail. Dino’s wearing a backward ball cap and Rafi’s behind him, with his arms wrapped around Dino’s chest. And Dino’s smiling.
It’s not that strange, right? Someone smiling for a picture? But Dino is practically allergic to photos. Over the course of our friendship, I tried everything to force him to smile for me. Out of the thousands of pictures I have of him, I can count on one hand the number where he’s smiling a real smile. A genuine smile. Like the one in this picture of him and Rafi together.
I return the frame to the desk, which is covered with flyers for political rallies, notes reminding himself that he signed up to walk the beach at night to keep tourists from disturbing nesting sea turtles, pamphlets for the community center, condoms attached to informational tags discussing HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases, his schedule for school next year. He dances ballet? Dino never mentioned that.
“No,” I whisper. “Don’t even tell me.” On his nightstand is a stack of printer paper. A manuscript. Rafi’s a writer. I pick up a few pages and read them. The book is called The Swarm and what I read is violent and lyrical and brilliant. Damn. He’s not a writer—he’s a good writer.
Rafi Merza might be a slob, but he’s also a saint who dances and writes. I assume he’s going to cure cancer before he’s eighteen and solve world hunger before he’s twenty-one. It’s no wonder Dino never wanted to introduce me to him. How could I have possibly compared? When we sold candy in school to raise money for theater, I ate the candy and then stole the money from Daddy’s wallet to pay for it. The only time I ever picked up litter was in seventh grade when Mrs. Shelby made me clean the school parking lot because I said I’d rather pee blood than play dodgeball, which, to be fair, I ended up doing anyway after Marcy Kissinger nailed me in the kidney with the ball.
I never had a chance of competing with this guy.
Instead of finding scandalous dirt on Rafi that would prove Dino was wrong to ditch me, I’ve learned how much I don’t measure up. Rafi’s only flaw seems to be an inability to utilize drawers and closets for their designed purposes, whereas Dino’s spent the majority of the night reminding me of my numerous inadequacies. I can’t blame Dino for not wanting to introduce me to his boyfriend and friends. Compared to them, I’m a disappointment in every way.
Faced with this new information, July might have sat alone for the rest of night and moped or become belligerent and “accidentally” shoved someone into the pool, but I’m not that girl. Dino’s new friends might not have liked July Cooper, but I’m going to make them love Roxane.
DINO
DID I REMEMBER TO PUT on deodorant? It’s hot out and the sweat is already rolling down my crack and I don’t want to stink, so I covertly sniff under my arm.
“You look adorable,” I say. “Especially your Hufflepride.”
“Leon!” Rafi calls. His bare feet slap on the ground.
“Any idea where he might have gone?”
Rafi nods. “There’s a park this way. It’s the only place in the neighborhood he knows.”
“Why didn’t you ask Gwen to leave?”
“I can’t kick her out for dating a guy Leon used to date.” He shakes his head. “The situation’s messed up, and I’ll talk to her about that later, but Leon’s gotta grow up. Besides, if I have to avoid every guy Leon’s dated, I won’t be able to go to Barnes and Noble. Or Chipotle.”
“The one on Congress or Military?”
“Both.” He laughs, which sends a shiver up and down my arms. “And that doesn’t even count that he treats dating boys who work at Starbucks like he’s playing Pokémon.”
“Gotta catch ’em all?”
“All he’s gonna catch is herpes if he’s not careful.” Rafi kisses the top of my hand. “Hey, you.” He smiles for me alone, and I melt.
“Hey.”
I feel inadequate when I’m with Rafi. Like we’re in a relay race and he’s running with the baton, trying to pass it to me, but I can’t run fast enough to reach it.
“Roxy seems decent,” Rafi says.
“Sorry she’s been keeping me busy tonight,” I say. “She showed up unexpectedly, and I didn’t know what to do with her.”
Rafi looks at me curiously. “You didn’t know she was coming for the wedding?”
“Dee ‘forgot’ to inform me I’d need to babysit.”
“Either way, I hope she can handle Jamal,” he says. “You know how he is. Has to know everything about everyone, and you’ve been the one mystery he hasn’t been able to crack. The chance to grill a cousin about you? Irresist—”