“To go with the dress,” the woman says. I’ve got to hand it to her; she’s milking this for all it’s worth.
I take the shoes and slip them on.
“Perfect,” Max says.
Max hands the woman U.S. dollars, which she’s happy to take, and we leave the store. If I didn’t feel like I was wandering through someone else’s life before, now I really do. I’m in costume; I’m just not sure what part I’m playing. The obvious allusion to Cinderella does not escape my attention. I’ve got the ball gown, someone has slipped a new pair of shoes on my feet, and there’s Max, the prince. Two big problems with this picture: Max is someone else’s prince, and I’m so not a princess, it’s laughable.
As I’m burrowing into these thoughts, Max makes a beeline for a small plaza with a stone fountain in the middle. He takes my hand and drags me with him. A couple of teenagers emerge from the fountain, dripping wet, and wander off, laughing. Otherwise, the plaza is relatively deserted. A few old men stand in a circle smoking cigars. Several couples wander by, hand in hand. A man to the side of the fountain is playing the violin, and a woman next to him plays the cello. This is not mariachi music. It’s not even Mexican music, as far as I can tell. It’s mournful, sweeping, and romantic.
“Dance with me,” Max says. It isn’t a question. And it isn’t a command. His comment lies somewhere in between. He’s serious, not even a little bit joking.
I don’t say anything. But my eyes say, Yes, yes, yes. I’d love to. Right here. Right now. In the middle of this street in Ensenada. And, like we’ve known each other for years, like we have some kind of secret way of communicating, Max takes me in his arms without my ever saying anything. Without him ever responding.
My heart is beating so loudly I’m afraid Max can hear it. I put my head on his shoulder. Our bodies are pressed close. Every one of my senses is on high alert as we move to the music, slowly, perfectly in sync. I am completely transported. I can’t remember being happier than at this moment. I wish I could stop time just for an hour or two.
The musicians and a few other stragglers watch us. A couple wandering by stops and starts to dance as well. I take my head off Max’s shoulder, pull back and look at him. He’s staring at me intently.
“What?” I say, suddenly self-conscious.
“You should wear your hair down more often. And you should wear that dress, like, every day.”
“That would be kind of weird.”
“Yeah, maybe.…”
“And it would start to smell.”
Max doesn’t say anything; he just gazes down at me. I realize that he is going to kiss me. We’ve been on the verge of this for what seems like weeks. The interruptions have only added to the anticipation. I’m literally shaking from the suspense, the desire. Max leans into me, his lips hover over mine. I can feel the warmth from his breath. I want his lips on mine so badly my whole body feels the craving like a deep ache. My pulse races. I try to slow it down, breathing deep. I’m waiting, eager, and scared to death. I’ve never done this before.
Max’s lips move in, and, at the same time, due to nerves or some kind of sudden onset of Tourette’s, I turn the slightest bit to the left and his kiss lands on my cheek. I’m mortified and disappointed. Such an amateur. I completely blew it. I’m a total freak.
Max pulls away, not much, just enough to look at me. Is he mad? Hurt? Confused? It would all make sense. I mean, what am I doing sending mixed signals like this? I don’t know what I’m doing, that’s the problem.
But he’s none of those things. He breaks into a big smile.
“How about we try that again?” he asks.
“Excellent idea.”
Max takes my face in his hands, to prevent any sudden moves, I’m guessing, and plants his sweet, soft lips on mine, and then I hear—
“Go for it, Kylie!!” Someone yells from a window above the plaza. Someone who sounds suspiciously like Will.
Max takes his lips off of mine. No. Wait. Please. Don’t go.…
Damn. What the hell? Foiled again.
We both look up and scan the buildings nearby. I can see someone leaning out of a fourth-story window, waving a T-shirt in the air like a war surrender.
“Kylie! Over here.”
It’s Will. I’m happy to see him but pissed at the terrible timing.
“‘Darling, I don’t know how to tell you this, but there’s a Chinese family in our bathroom,’” he yells from the window.
On the upside, we found Will. On the downside, we lost the moment. Maybe we’ll find it again.
“Your movie thing?” Max asks me.
“(500) Days of Summer.”
“Get your butts up here. Now,” Will insists. “We’ve got a party going on and we’ve been waiting forever for you guys to show up.”
That makes absolutely no sense, which is perfectly consistent with this whole day.
“We’ve been looking for you for the past two hours,” Kylie says.
“Look no further, darlings, ’cause here I am!” Will exclaims, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he left us stranded.
“Yeah, would have been nice to know where you went,” Kylie says.
“Shit happened, if you know what I mean.”
“Why do you look so…straight?” Kylie asks.
“I’m trying something new,” Will says. “Just like you.” He peers at Kylie with a knowing look, and she turns away.
He obviously saw us dancing, kissing. I feel embarrassed for Kylie and for me. I really don’t need Will Bixby making jokes at my expense.
“Dude, you totally disappeared on us,” I say. “We can’t leave till morning now.”
“My bad. Sorry. Guess we’ll just have to party our asses off until then.”
“Seriously, Will, I’m not missing graduation,” Kylie says.
“No worries, Kyles. Your chariot awaits in the morning. I’ll get you to that podium in plenty of time. I just think we oughta play while we’re in the game. You only live once, baby doll.”
Will is acting like we’re fashionably late to a party we didn’t even know about. Normally I’d be pissed, but I can’t exactly be mad at the guy who drove to Mexico on a moment’s notice to get us.
“Loving the look,” Will says to Kylie, referring to her dress. “It’s so not you. And that’s a very good thing.”
“Max made me get it.”
“Max Langston has taste. Who knew? I’m impressed. God knows, I couldn’t get Kylie into a dress if my life depended on it,” Will tells me.
“She should wear them more often, right?” I’m talking to Will but looking at Kylie.
“Okay, message received. I dress like shit most of the time.”
“Not most of the time,” I say.
“All the time,” Will says.
“That’s not what I meant,” I say, because it isn’t.
“I’m officially insulted,” Kylie says.
“I’m officially kidding,” Will says. “You look hot in jeans and a T-shirt, but even hotter in a crazy-ass Mexican dress.” He polishes off the rest of his beer. “Okay. I need another one,” he says. “And so do you guys. You’re way too sober.”
“Trust me, we’re not sober. We’ve been drinking all night,” I say.
“Well, you’re more sober than me. You guys need to play catch-up. Especially since no one’s driving anywhere tonight. The bar’s in the kitchen. Help yourself. I’ll be floating around the room on a cloud of romance and inebriation. Come find me.”
And with that, Will disappears.
“He is one wack dude,” I say, hoping Kylie won’t take it the wrong way.