Cubanita by Gaby Triana Read Free Book Online Page A

the boom. “Plus, Mom’s all in my business! Do you have any words of wisdom for me, DJ Díaz?”
    DJ Díaz doesn’t know wisdom. He knows body movement. He boogies over to me, pulls me by the waist, and invites me to dance. The music is unrelenting. Hey, it’s actually a pretty good beat.
    â€œTo all you freaks, don’t stop the rock…” I hear the words somehow flow from my mouth, as well as from Stefan’s. How the hell did that happen? We’re singing! Oh, God, we’re both singing! “That’s Freestyle speakin’ and you know I’m right!”
    We bounce. We sway. We sing. This is fun! How did I know those lyrics? Years of old school filtering into my subconscious, that’s how. Osmosis through bedroom walls. We bounce and sway some more. My hair’s swinging, tickling the back of my arms. We’re laughing. Stefan and I, laughing, dancing, like little kids again, practicing for the show we’re going to put on for Mami and Papi in the living room.
    What did I come in here for? I forgot already. Oh, yeah. My problem. Stefan’s not helping, is he? Well, hold up, maybe he is. I mean, my brother may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but he is saying something with this. So you got two boyfriends coming tomorrow? And the problem is?
    Yeah, really. Two guys both coming here for me. A face-off. One will get on Mom’s good side. One dares to bring a Key lime pie made by another.
    Are these lyrics actually starting to make sense?
    There’s a party in the house and we’ll be rockin’ tonight…

Six
    They arrive in clusters, ruining the Sunday afternoon silence. Tía Marta, Tío Pepe, Michi, Nereida, Abuela Mimi, Abuelo Jaime, Bisabuela Anita, and all their children, my primos —first cousins, second cousins, enough cousins to remind me that the Pill is one of the greatest inventions of all time.
    From my room I hear them laughing. And shouting. And cackling, filling the house with jokes, as well as food. Even from across the house, their voices are loud and clear, telling my parents all they’ve brought. Flans, cookies, ensaladas de papa y de macarrones, cerveza , bags of ice, and toys from the dollar store for the little ones.
    Someone flips on the stereo. Now Celia Cruz drowns out the other voices. Bubbly, flutey salsa music competes with the chatter. I guess there’s no point relishing my quiet room anymore. Either I go and greet the crowd, or I wait for my motherto find me and drag me out by the ear.
    I go and greet the crowd.
    There’s my mom’s friend Sandra. She sees me and paints a huge circle in the air with her plastic cup of Costco wine. “Sweetie! Congratulations! How does it feel to be a graduate?”
    I kiss her cheek and accept a wimpy hug. “Like I’m in limbo. Not in high school, not in college. Yet, anyway. Just working for the summer.”
    â€œOh, that’s right. So you’re still counseling the little kids out there in the Everglades? That’s so sweet.”
    â€œIt’s not counseling, really, it’s teaching. Actually I’m just putting my artistic skills to use. You know, good practice while making a few bucks.”
    â€œOh, okay,” she says, nodding with a blank smile, probably because she can’t think of anything else to ask, even though she’s known me my whole life. “That’s great, good for you.”
    Stefan materializes out of nowhere, sticking his face between us, an arm around my shoulders. “And she’s dating the camp’s PE coach too.” He smiles a mischievous grin, then proceeds to splash some beer on my shirt and our plastic-covered sofa. Yes, that’s right, a plastic-covered sofa. As I examine the foul play and wipe the couch with a napkin, Stefan escapes unscathed.
    â€œShut up! I’m not dating anyone, idiot!” I shout. Dork. I use the napkin to blot my shoulder.
    Sandra’s got