The Night It Was Read

She was excited. Her hair up in rolos as she slid on the boots her mother had only let her borrow for this special occasion. At fifteen, she had just begun to branch out–making friends, building a life that was all her own. Her best friend, Ruth, had just moved to Oregon, and her absence was a new kind of desperation–one that longed for intimacy and made her reach for new people, new experiences. The phone rang. “Ma! Pick up–pick up! I’m taking off the pinchos! These stupid rolos won’t come off!” She stomped around her room, arms twisted overhead, tugging at her hair in every direction. From the kitchen, her mother shouted, “He’s coming up now. Apúrate and put on your coat. It’s cold and rainy. Llévate la sombrilla–and don’t lose this one. You always lose the nice umbrellas and then-” “Yessss, Ma! Ya–ya! I got it. Can you open the door, please?!” At that moment, a knock traveled through the apartment. Her mother opened the door. From the bedroom, Allie heard the high, bright voice her mother saved for people from church. Finally, her hair came free. She slid on the brown leather jacket her cousin Farrah had given her before moving into her own apartment. She loved it when Farrah gave her things and used them only for special occasions. “Alexandra! ¿Ya?” her mother called from the door. Allie stepped out and walked toward the door. “Ya. I’m ready.” She smiled shyly. “Hola, Rafael. Sorry, I took so long.”

Rafael was older. She had known him for a long time. He had seen her grow from a little girl with pigtails into the teenager she was now. He had always been kind to her, never making her feel like an outsider because of her age. So when he asked her to go with him to the Valentine's Day dinner , she understood it for what it was–he was inviting her for his brother, Vincent.

Vincent–Vinny, as everyone called him–had been circling her for a while. They spoke on the phone, and she generally enjoyed the conversations. But Vinny had a friend, and her feelings for him were a different story.

The rain grew heavier as they drove down the highway. Music played. They made jokes. Charlie was sitting in the front seat while Rafael drove. Allie had known Charlie for many years–longer, even, than she had known Rafael. Charlie was older–maybe twenty-four–though she was never sure. He had always felt like a big brother to her, even though they barely spoke. Rafael stopped the car abruptly. "Ya llegamos. And good thing they have parking. We'd never find any at this time, bro, y menos con esta lluvia." Charlie stepped out first, opened an umbrella, and held it above her door. A true gentleman. "Mira, mi amor–so you don't get your nice hair wet, baby girl." It was a good thing, too–she had completely forgotten the umbrella. She could already imagine her mother telling her dad about it. "Ha! Se le olvido!" she would say, sarcasm oozing all over her accent-filled English, "I knew she would forget it." MOM, she thought, already annoyed. Charlie slung an arm around her shoulders. "Okay, let's go, let's go. I'm starving, man." If she had to walk into this thing as late as they were, she was happy that it was with Charlie and Rafael by her side. What an entrance.

The smell of fresh garlic bread filled her nostrils, waking a sudden, almost feral appetite. The restaurant was dimly lit, the air already thick with romance and cologne–a lot of it. She trailed behind Rafael and Charlie's tall, lean frames, scurrying to keep up. They dodged waiters and busboys as they made their way toward the back of the restaurant. Rafael slid the glass door open, and music spilled out. The room was already full–young and old pressed together at small tables. Candles flickered on every table, Cupid paper cutout dangling from the ceiling. Allie tucked herself behind Charlie, feeling the eyes in the room turn toward the door. The guys walked in, so cool, so easy, so naturally them. Allie, on the other hand, slipped into the first available chair, hoping any remaining attention would stay on Charlie and his antics.

She wasn't left alone for long. Familiar smiling faces greeted her. Excitement that became unbearable as she hugged and forced a smile through it. A part of her wanted nothing more than to run back home. All the people, the awkwardness, the nail-biting, the restless shifting in her seat–nothing like what she had imagined for the night.

She scanned the room from behind the curtain of her hair—small, careful movements—until she stopped. There he was. She knew he would be there. Still, seeing him only a few feet away made her heart jump, cliché as it was. Without warning—almost as if he felt her stare—he turned and looked directly at her. Oh, crap, she thought. He caught her staring. A familiar voice cut in. "Oh? ¿Y eso? What was that for?" Apparently, she had said it out loud. Not in her head the way she'd assumed. And of course, Vinny was close enough to hear it. "I'm glad you could make it, fea! Come sit with me!" This was going to be a long night.

She sat beside Vinny in silence. It wasn't difficult—he talked enough for both of them. He talked through the musical numbers, the dancing, the speeches. Straight through dinner. She had zoned out almost immediately, nodding and smiling when it seemed appropriate. Her thoughts crept back to him. What if they found themselves near each other? She wanted, briefly and intensely, to be someone else. To be the kind of girl who could walk right up to him and start a conversation. The thought alone made her hands sweat. Hey, how's it going? she could say. Too informal. Hello, how are you? And he would say, Who are you? She no longer needed him to shut her down. She had learned how to do it herself.

"Allie? ¿Estás allí?" Vinny's voice bringing her back. "Oh–sorry, Vinny. I was just–" "It's okay," he said. "I know what you were looking at." Then he stood and walked away. Stunned, she could only hope he didn't really know. And if he did, hopefully he wouldn't tell anyone–especially not him.

The night carried on. She made small talk with the girls at her table. They were loud and confident, which was exactly why she liked listening to them. Through the laughter, she heard the man with the microphone call out, "If there are any more secret admirer notes that haven't been turned in, this is your last chance. So get some courage and write to that person you've been eyeing tonight." The idea arrived suddenly. Maybe this could be a way–just once–to empty the feeling out of her chest, even if he never knew who it came from. She grabbed a Post-it from the stack at the center of the table, scribbled a few lines, folded it into a small square, and dropped it into the box as she walked past.

She sat back down, regret crashing into her instantly. It felt like a mistake. When the chocolate mousse cake arrived, she ate it quickly, hoping it could distract her from what she had already done.

"All right!" the man with the microphone boomed. "The moment everyone's been waiting for–secret admirer notes!"

She listened, waiting.

Jokes, laughter, applause.

The excited ooo's and ahh's.

"Muy bien, la próxima. Let's see...wow. This one is deep."

She looked up, heart pounding, and exposed. She understood Lauryn Hill completely now. It felt like a page torn from her journal was being read aloud.

"I like your eyes. I like your smile. I like your laugh. Sitting here, I just wish you knew how I feel. But I know you don't even know who I am. And I don't think you ever will. All I can do is wish you would notice me and feel the same. Secretly yours–the girl you'll never notice."

The room went quiet.

"Wow," the man said finally. "Qué carta de amor. A true secret admirer. I wonder who she's talking about."

Laughter followed. Names were shouted.

She felt someone watching her. When she turned, one of the girls at her table was looking directly at her. Allie smiled and looked away.

"Omar!" the girl called out. "It's about Omar!"

Allie looked up. The girl was still watching her.

"Right, Allie?"