Plus by Veronica Chambers Read Free Book Online Page B

arm on the small of my back, and that was it. He made it seem like I’d been dancing salsa my entire life.
    “Just follow me, cariña ,” he said. “ I’ll take good care of you.”
    We danced song after song until my forehead and back were dripping with sweat.
    A couple of times, Chela caught my eye and winked at me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun. But I also couldn’t shake the fact that we’d both gone out with Brian and now we were hanging out. What was up with that? I didn’t know exactly, but I knew that going out dancing was much better for my head and my hips than sitting at home crying about Brian and eating like there was no tomorrow.

    The next day, I met Aunt Zo for a quick dinner at Joe Allen’s. It was Wednesday, so she had a matinee performance that ended at five, then another performance at eight. I told her about how Consuela had come to my apartment and insisted that I go dancing with her. I told her about Adán, the old geezer that I danced with all night. And I told her how Consuela had been there when Brian told me off in the dining room and how she kept insisting that we be friends.
    “Why is she so interested in me?”
    Zo shrugged. “You’re bright, you’re beautiful. You’re interesting.”
    “Spoken like a true auntie. I mean really, what’s her angle?”
    Zo said, “You know who you sound like right now, don’t you?”
    “Who?”
    “Your mom.”
    I rolled my eyes.
    “This is one of those moments, Bee,” Zo said. “When you decide whether you’re going to go through life with an open hand or a closed fist. What your mom did was look around and say, This is my life, this is everything I’ve got, and I’m going to hold on for dear life. She holds on tight to everything she loves—me, you, your dad—but she doesn’t realize that she’s got a closed fist. Nothing can get out, but nothing can get in either. If you have an open hand, then people are going to take from you. People like Brian. But if you keep your hand open, it also means that people can give to you. People like Consuela. It’s up to you.”

    Friday night, Chela and I hit the Copa again. She was dancing with a guy named Alejandro. He was cute, baby faced, dressed in a suit—which was kind of a nice touch, since most of the younger guys just wear slacks and button-down shirts. The guy I was with dancing told me his name was Quintan. He didn’t speak a lot of English, he just kept whispering in my ear about how he wanted to “ toca su guitara .” When we left, Chela and Alejandro exchanged numbers. But I told Quintan that I didn’t have one. A lame lie, but he got the picture.
    Walking down Thirty-fourth Street to the subway, I asked Chela what “toca la guitara” meant.
    She burst out laughing. “Is that what he said? Oh, Quintan had game!”
    She explained that a woman’s body, especially one like mine, is shaped like a guitar. She made an outline with her hands. Toca means “to play.”
    “He wanted to play your guitar, chica,” Chela said mischievously. “You know, that may be the way to get over Lyin’ Brian once and for all.”
    “How’s that?”
    “There’s an expression in Spanish: un clavo saco otro clavo .”
    “Meaning?”
    “One nail takes out another.” She made a slightly lewd gesture.
    I rolled my eyes.
    “You know, the best the way to get over someone is to get under someone.”
    “Oh yeah, that’s not happening,” I said.
    “Why not?”
    “Because I’ve got the goodies on lockdown till I graduate from med school.”
    Chela stopped in her tracks. “You’re going to med school?”
    “Well, not if I don’t get it together on the grades front. But that’s the plan.”
    Chela stood on the corner of Thirty-fourth and Eighth and smiled. “I’m going to med school.”
    “Get out!” I said, punching her on the arm.
    “No, you get out!” she said.
    We went back and forth with our “get outs!” for about five minutes.
    We’d never actually