Friday night, Lori and I took in the 7:30 showing of E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial at the Pacific 4 Theater in the Galleria. The other four screens were showing Poltergeist, The Thing, Blade Runner, and Grease 2. I had already seen Blade Runner back home (with Rafe) and I vetoed Lori’s choice of Grease 2. So, I convinced Lori we should join the masses and see the hit of the summer. She muttered something about it being a kid’s film but acquiesced and we out-ran the capacity audience to sit in a row in the center of the auditorium.

After the movie, we went to a lower level of the Galleria to the food court where we had a late dinner of pizza from Perry’s Pizza. Before I took my first bite of a slice of the Superstar Combo (pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms, onions, and bell peppers), I looked at Lori’s freshly re-made-up face.

“You clean up nicely, I must say,” I complimented her. “How do I look?”

“Not bad. We both looked like raccoons after the movie ended.”

“It seems like all the women in the theater who rushed into the ladies’ room looked like raccoons.”

“I never thought a kid’s movie would bring me to tears,” sniffed Lori, picking up a slice from the pan.

“It was the final goodbye scene between Elliot and E.T. that really broke me…”

“I heard you sobbing. Quietly, mind you. But there was a girl behind us who just burst out wailing,” laughed Lori.

“Spielberg triggered the emotional vulnerability of women, especially young girls like you and me.”

“I’m a grown woman, Joey. 25 if I’m a day.”

“The movie explores the themes of separation anxiety, empathy, and heartbreak. All wrapped up in a silly sci-fi premise about an alien and a group of children,” I summarized as I picked up another slice from the pan.

“You really are a girl, Joey. A precocious, analytical girl but a girl, through and through.”

“Before I forget to remind you—”

“Yeah, I know. You’ve got a date with Mateo tomorrow at the Santa Monica Pier.”

“It’s not a date. He just asked me if I had any plans for the weekend. He suggested the Pier. They’ve got video arcades and carousels and the ocean. And it’s only for the afternoon. His band’s playing at some club off the Strip later on. Anyway, he’s picking me up around 11.”

“What about Blaise?”

“What about him?”

“I thought the two of you were getting along really well. Did you guys have a fight or something?”

“Lori, you of all people know this…this being chaperoned around town by Blaise…is my job. Mrs. Glover’s paying me the royal sum of 100 smackers a week. I’ll admit he’s kind of cute…”

“I admire your professionalism, Joey. But you’re right. It’s a job. And, in any case, there’s no future in a relationship with Blaise. After all, he doesn’t know you’re a special girl,” Lori pointed out, winking as she finished her first slice. “So, what’s this with Mateo then?”

“Oh, come on, Lori. What girl, never mind a special girl, wouldn’t be interested in a working-class boy with good looks and great hair who’s a grease monkey during the week and plays in a rock band on the weekend?”

“You’ve got me there, I’ll admit.”

“Now what should I wear tomorrow? You’re the one who gathered together my entire trousseau.”

“You should go casual. No sundress, sweetie. I picked out a cute pair of cuffed denim shorts that would be perfect for a day on the Pier. You can wear that striped polo shirt that you’ve already worn before.”

“Do you think it’ll make me look fat?”

Lori rolled her eyes.

Wearing my dad’s old Columbia University tee shirt that came almost to my knees (he’s a six-footer; I’m barely 5’7” in my stockinged feet), I padded my way into the kitchen, eyes still half-closed and yawning. Lori was cooking eggs at the stove. The smell of crisp bacon wafted to my slightly congested nose.

“Morning, Joey. How do you want your eggs?”

“Over easy.”

“Coffee or milk?”

“Orange juice, please. Freshly squeezed.”

“You brat. You’ll get Sunkist from concentrate and like it.”

“Can’t you get Tropicana around these parts?”

“Sherman Oaks is the headquarters of the Sunkist Growers cooperative.”

“Does dad still have a beer with breakfast?”

“Now you know he’s given up alcohol. Doctor’s orders. Not even a drop in the last year. I keep an eagle eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t fall off the wagon.” She placed a plate of over easy eggs and bacon in front of me. Seemingly out of nowhere, she conjured a pitcher of orange juice and placed it next to my empty glass.

“You’re doing something mom couldn’t do. Get him off the sauce. His doctors back home gave him the same warning about his liver. He wouldn’t listen to reason. The drinking was the reason for both losing his job and the divorce.”

Lori held her coffee mug in both hands, impervious to its hot exterior. “I like to think I’ve been a good influence on him, Joey. He’s a different man than the one you knew. He’s worked really hard. I think they’re going to make him an executive VP soon.”

The doorbell rang, disturbing our contemplative meal.

“Who could that be at 9AM? Are you expecting something from UPS?” Lori got up from the table, wrapping her robe tightly around her as she walked toward the front door.

“No.” She peered through the sidelight. “Oh my god, it’s your mom and sister!”

“Don’t let them in yet! I’ve got to change!”

“Don’t panic. You look…okay.” She opened the door.

“Surprise!” my mother shouted. Standing next to her was my little sister Erica.

“Helen! Erica! Yes, what a pleasant surprise. Come in, come in. We were just having breakfast. We’re sort of late risers in this house.”

“You don’t have to tell me. Joey would sleep until noon on weekends if I didn’t drag him out of bed. Where is the boy? You said you were having breakfast. Oh my, that bacon smells yummy. Say hello to Aunt Lori, Erica.”

“Hello, Aunt Lori. Nice to see you again.”

“You’ve grown since I last saw you.”

“Children have a habit of doing that over time.”

“Erica’s quite the comedian. Joey! It’s mom and Erica. Come out!”

I inched away from the hallway and into the living room, trying to obscure dad’s tee shirt with my hands, which made it even more incongruous to be wearing it.

“Hi, mom. Hi, Erica.”

“Don’t stand way over there, son. Give your mom a hug. And your sister too.”

Sheepishly I did as she asked.

“What are you wearing? My god, that’s your father’s old college tee shirt. It’s long enough to be a dress on you.”

“It gets a little chilly at night even in the depth of summer in these parts, Helen. I grabbed the first thing I could. You have to admit it gives him good coverage.”

Erica burst out in titters. “Joey, it looks cute on you.”

“I don’t think that’s what he was aiming for. Right, Joseph?”

“No, mom. It’s like what Lori said. I was really cold last night.”

“I swear I packed your pajamas in your bag,” Mom said, scratching her head.

“Please sit down. You too, Joey. Finish your breakfast. Have you two had breakfast yet?”

“No, we wanted to touch base with you and Joey first. Thought we could spend the day with you two. Go someplace fun. We just got in last night. That’s our little rental car outside. It’s a Honda Civic. Is that a good car? I’ve never driven a Japanese import.”

“Sure. You’ll get mileage from it,” Lori said matter-of-factly. “How do you like your eggs? And Erica?”

“Erica prefers cereal for breakfast. We don’t have Fruity Pebbles in the pantry, do we?,” I pretended to ask.

“Very funny, Joey. I like ‘em scrambled, please.”

“Done. Helen?”

“Over easy. Thank you.”

“Just like Joey.”

“Well, I did give birth to him. You’d think we have some traits in common.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Erica interjected.

Lori shot me a worried look, but I shook my head in response, as if to say “Don’t worry about it.”

I quickly finished my glass of juice and brought my plate, glass and fork to the sink. With my back shielding my exchange with Lori, I spoke in a whisper.

“You’ve got to do something. Mateo’ll be here by 11. Help me…”

Turning around to face them, Lori started speaking rapidly. “You know, Helen. Joey had plans to go to the Santa Monica Pier today…with a friend.”

“Well, the more the merrier, I say,” Mom said with glee. “I’d like to meet Joey’s new friend. I’m sure Erica would too. If he’s a good-looking young man—"

“Mom! Why do you always try to embarrass me?”

“I’ve got a better idea, Helen. The Pier is for kids and the homeless, not for adults like us. I can take you shopping in the Beverly Center. It just opened this year. 8 floors of shops. And we can tour Rodeo Drive, where all the elite couturiers have their flagship stores. We’ll make a day of it. Let the kids go and play video games at the Pier.”

“Would you like to go with your brother, Erica?”

I shook my head, partially hidden behind Lori, hoping against hope that Erica would say no.

“No offense, mom, but I’d rather go with Joey and his friend.”

My head hung down, defeated. But at least Lori got mom out of the way.

“Finish your breakfast. I’ll go and change. We can be on our way by 10:30. If we go for an early lunch we can grab a salad at the Irvine Ranch Market. It’s a celebrity magnet. Who knows, maybe we’ll see Joan Collins.”

“Oh, I just love her British accent.”

Erica was riffling through the closet of new clothes Aunt Lori had bought me for the summer. She alternated grunting and sighing as she went from one end to the other. I was sitting at the little vanity Lori had surreptitiously placed in my bedroom, trying to competently apply eye liner. Lori and Mom had left the house almost a half hour ago and I expected Mateo to show up at the door any minute.

“Boy, Lori bought you a complete summer wardrobe! I love these sundresses.” She pulled one out and paraded around the room with it tucked under her chin. “But, you know what would be really cute?”

“What, Erica?”

“Let’s dress exactly alike…like twins! There’s another pair of denim shorts and a top just like what you’ve got on in the closet.”

“They won’t fit you,” I sneered.

“Yes they will! Maybe a little loose on me but acceptable. Come on! We’ll look like the coolest sisters!”

“I was hoping you’d go with Mom and Lori. I don’t need a nosy little brat like you to spoil my day at the Pier.”

She was already changing into the outfit. The top she was pulling on muffled her reply.

“Afraid your new boyfriend will be distracted by a real girl?”

“Erica, that hurt.” She rushed toward me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders.

“I’m sorry, sis. My mouth disconnects with my brain sometimes.”

“You’re crimping my shirt. Get off me! I forgive you!”

The front doorbell rang.

“Oh my God, he’s early!” I gave myself a final once over in the mirror. Satisfied I was presentable; I walked out of the bedroom.

“Mateo, my darling, I’m coming,” Erica trilled.

I looked through the sidelight and my mouth was agape. It wasn’t Mateo. It was Blaise!

“Hey, Joey. Love the outfit! Very summery,” Blaise said when I opened the door.

“Blaise, what a nice surprise. Come in. What…uh…brings you here on a Saturday morning?”

“Well, you said you weren’t sure about your plans for the weekend so…who’s this?” Blaise asked, pointing at Erica, now dressed almost exactly like me.

“I’m Erica, Joey’s much prettier younger sister. You’re…Blaise?”

“Joey’s mentioned you. Nice to put a face to the wild stories.”

“Wild?” Erica laughed. “Did you tell Blaise about the time you broke your leg trying to do a 900 flip on a skateboard and Rafe’s dad had to carry you to a clinic near the park or the write-up you got in the New York Times for your performance in A Christmas Carol or—”

“Enough, Erica. You’re boring Blaise.”

“You’ve been keeping secrets from me, Joey,” Blaise chuckled.

“Minor events in a long and glorious childhood. Too trivial to mention, Blaise.” I pressed my index finger into my cheek.

“You’re shit out of luck, Blaise. Joey and I are going to the Santa Monica Pier…with another boy Joey knows. He’s due any minute.”

“Who’s this? Family friend? One of the neighbors?” asked Blaise. “Is it the son of one of the celebrities who lives in this neighborhood? Linda Gray has a teenage son, right about our age. Is it him?”

“No, silly. I haven’t even met the neighbors next door, let alone a famous actress like that. Look, I don’t want to be rude, but you should really go before he arrives. It’s bad enough my sister’s coming along—”

“So, like this is a date?”

“Why does everyone assume it’s a date? He’s kind enough to show me the sights…like you’re doing. That’s all.”

“I hear a car coming up the drive, Joey,” Erica alerted me.

“Might as well meet this other tour guide you’ve collected,” Blaise declared, standing with Erica, as I braced myself for the doorbell to ring.

“Morning, Joey! Ready to go?” Mateo asked when I opened the door. “These are for you.” He held out a fistful of wild daisies with beautiful white-tipped, yellow petals.

“Oh, thank you, Mateo. These are so nice.” I took a whiff of their sweet and clean floral scent.

“I picked them myself. From our garden.”

Erica came forward to take the daisies from me. “Hi, I’m Erica. Joey’s sister. Let me put these in a vase, if I can find one”

“Sister?”

“My mom and her are visiting from New York. Lori took Mom shopping, so they’ll be out of our way. Unfortunately, I’ve been asked to babysit Erica.”

“I heard that!” Erica shouted from the kitchen.

“Blaise?” Mateo saw Blaise standing by the sofa. “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to horn in on my girl, Cortez?”

“I’m not your girl. I’m not anyone’s girl. I’m just here for the summer. I’m enjoying seeing the sights with you guys. You’ve been perfect gentlemen. Let’s keep it that way. OK?”

“Joey can’t stop talking about either of you,” Erica teased as she walked back into the living room.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” I screeched.

“Is he coming with us?” Mateo asked.

“I’ve got the whole day free. Why not?” Blaise replied.

“Alright, but Joey’s riding in my car,” Mateo insisted.

“Fine, let her ride in your Ford-150 truck like an orchard worker. I’ll take Erica in my Mustang.”

“Way cool, Joey!” Erica exulted. “Let’s hit the road already in your mean machine, Blaise.”

I left my shoulder bag in Mateo’s truck in the parking lot as we walked toward the entrance to the Pier. I had packed my boy’s clothes just in case Mom and Lori returned home before we did. A little quick change in the backyard and presto!, no one’s the wiser.

The air smelled like salt water, sunscreen, and fried food as we stepped onto the wooden planks of the Pier. Erica had brought along her own point-and-shoot camera, a bright yellow Konica Pop our dad had given her for her birthday earlier in the year. As we approached the iconic blue-and-gold neon Santa Monica Yacht Harbor sign, she insisted on taking a round of pictures in front of it. There was one of me and Mateo, me and Blaise, me and Erica. Finally, we inveigled a passerby to take a picture of all four of us together.

Our first stop was the Looff Hippodrome, a building that dates back to 1916. Inside is the historic carousel. A merry-go-round of hand-carved wooden horses. With change of a few dollars, we started plunking down quarters two at a time to ride the carousel, slowly rotating in place while the loud, mechanical calliope organ envelops the hall in a sonic cloud of whirling tones. Erica and I rode the carousel half a dozen times, screaming with joyful laughter, as Blaise and Mateo waited impatiently, arms crossed.

“What do we do now?” asked Erica.

“This is more your kind of locale, Cortez. Any suggestions?” Blaise stood with arms akimbo.

“The bike path is a happening place. Lots of bikers, surfers, roller skaters, you name it. And the ocean’s right there on the left. Sun, surf, bikes, music. Who could ask for more?”

We stepped off the platform of the Pier and found ourselves strolling along the Santa Monica Bike Path. The July sun beat down on the pavement, radiating that dry, salt-crusted heat unique to a Southern California afternoon. The Bike Path was a swirling vortex of rolling chrome, neon polymer, and the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of polyurethane wheels hitting the concrete dividers. Mateo led our group down the path, tightly gripping my hand, weaving past a blur of locals. To our left, the Pacific Ocean was a deep, shimmering turquoise, dotted with surfers waiting out a midday lull. To their right, the sun-bleached sand stretched out toward the coastal highway.

Erica wheedled her way into holding hands with Blaise, though he barely paid attention to her. He was frantically making sure to keep pace with Mateo and I. The Path had its own acoustic ecology. Beyond the susurration of the surf lapping the beach and the noise of traffic on Ocean Avenue, every few hundred yards, a different heavy cassette player balanced on someone’s shoulder blasted a competing soundtrack—the synths of The Human League, the driving bass of Joan Jett, or the smooth yacht-rock grooves of Toto. At times, though, Erica’s incessant questions to Mateo and Blaise threatened to drown out even those sounds.

Roller-skaters dominated the scenery. They glided past in high-waisted denim cutoffs, retro striped tube socks pulled up to their knees, and bright yellow quad skates, expertly dodging pedestrians with a theatrical sway of their hips.

“Hey, kids, look! I’ve never had one of those,” Erica cried out, pointing at a boardwalk vendor selling frozen bananas on a stick, dipped in chocolate, and covered with sprinkles.

“What are you? 5 years old instead of 15?” I sneered.

“I’ll buy you one,” Mateo offered, reaching into his jeans to pull out his wallet. Blaise slapped his hand away.

“Let me. One please, for the little lady,” Blaise said to the banana grabber.

Quickly, before Blaise even reached into his wallet, I placed a dollar bill on the vendor’s counter. “Keep the change.”

“She’s my sister,” I announced. “That ought to hold the little brat for a while.”

“I’ll let you have a bite, sis.”

“Go for it,” Mateo said.

I took a small bite. It was pretty good actually. We walked on. For the next half-mile, Erica was entirely silent, single-mindedly focused on consuming the melting treat before it could run down her wrists and ruin her shirt. This allowed Blaise to catch up to Mateo and me. They flanked me on either side as we managed to avoid being run over by various skaters and boombox toting boppers.

“I’m hungry. It’s a little after 1PM already. Anyone else, other than Erica, hungry as well? Where’s a good place to go for lunch?” I asked.

In unison, Mateo and Blaise answered, “Sinbad’s!”

As we turned back to walk south, the grand, weathered silhouette of the Santa Monica Pier began to loom ahead. It didn't look like a shiny theme park; it looked like a massive, wooden monument of graying timber, jutting out proudly into the surf. The underbelly of the pier cast huge, crisscrossing shadows onto the sand below, where local kids hung out in the cool shade near the massive wooden pilings. The closer we got to the pier’s ramp, the more the air changed. The crisp ocean breeze suddenly mixed with the heavy, mouth-watering scent of frying batter and hot oil rising from the Hot Dog on a Stick stand at the base of the boards.

We left the pavement of the bike path, shook the loose sand from our shoes, and headed up the wooden planks of the pier. The boards groaned and rattled beneath our feet as a station wagon crawled past them looking for parking. Walking past the flashing neon sign of the Playland Arcade, we tracked the smell of fresh seafood until we reached Sinbad’s Restaurant. Stepping inside, the blast of air conditioning felt like heaven against our sunbaked shoulders. We were guided to a table right by the panoramic glass windows, where they could look straight down through the floorboards at the churning whitewash below, ready to order a basket of fries and clam chowder to mark the transition of breezy summer morning to blazing hot afternoon.

The bickering and back-biting started immediately after ordering.

“I’ll take care of this. This might stretch Cortez’s budget. I’m sure he wasn’t expecting two additional people on this date,” Blaise sniped.

“It’s not a date,” I protested. “We’re just friends on a convivial outing by the ocean.”

“Yeah, conviv…conviv…what she said,” Mateo agreed. “Just lighten up, buddy. We’re trying to have a good time.”

“Why don’t we just go Dutch. Everyone pays for themselves. OK?” I proposed.

“Everyone? Does that include me?” wondered Erica.

“No, silly, I’m paying for you. You’re family. Anyway, I’m sure you’d tell Mom that I didn’t pay for you. And she’d read me the riot act.”

On the way to the Playland Arcade to go nuts on video games, Erica pulled me over to one of the public restrooms.

“I’m about to burst. Come with me to the ladies’ room now!”

“I can’t go in there,” I pleaded.

She took my arm and waved to Mateo and Blaise, signaling we were entering the ladies’ room.

“Nonsense. No one will suspect anything. We’ll seem to be what we really are, two sisters needing to pee.”

After an uneventful respite in the ladies’ room, including a lovely compliment from an older lady who said we were the prettiest pair of sisters she’d seen in a long time, we came out to witness an escalating dispute up against the railing between Mateo and Blaise. They were shouting at each other. Blaise was poking his finger into Mateo’s chest. You could see the steam coming out of Mateo’s ears.

“Boys, boys! What’s going on?”

They both turned to me, placing their hands at their sides. Mateo hemmed and hawed. Blaise was the first to speak.

“Nothing. We were just remarking on the beautiful weather we’re having. There was a little disagreement on the actual temperature at the moment. I say it’s only in the upper 80s. Cortez says it’s at least 90 degrees.”

“Yeah. That’s all,” Mateo nodded in agreement.

“Okay, let’s go play some video games.”

We beat the midday heat by ducking into the dark, noisy neon glow of the Playland Arcade, the pier's longest-running legendary enterprise. Stepping out of the bright, blinding midday sun and through the threshold of the Playland Arcade was like entering another dimension. The crisp ocean air vanished, replaced instantly by a dense wave of heat, the metallic tang of hot circuit boards, and the sharp, distinct scent of greasy pizza crust and spilled Coca-Cola.

The atmosphere was an overwhelming, euphoric assault on the senses. The room was cast in dark shadows, illuminated only by the strobe-like neon glow radiating from dozens of cabinet screens. The noise was deafening—a chaotic, symphonic soundscape of electronic bleeps, lasers, chirping sound chips, and the heavy mechanical thump-thump of classic pinball flippers coming from the back of the room. Dozens of teenagers in ringer tees and dolphin shorts crowded around the machines, their canvas sneakers sticking slightly to the weathered floorboards.

As Erica and I alternated turns on a Ms. Pac-Man cabinet, flipping control of the joystick whenever a life was lost, Mateo and Blaise got into a kerfuffle about who was the better video gamer. They decided to compete against each other to see who could get the highest score but wanted to truly test their skills on a more advanced game. They chose to play the new Tron cabinet. Erica and I interrupted our Ms. Pac-Man game to watch.

Blaise went first, stepping up with an air of upper-class confidence. He gripped the joystick with precise, calculated motions, effortlessly clearing the Light Cycle stage by boxing out the computer grid with neon walls. He leaned back casually, smirking as his score ticked up into the top tier of the local leaderboard. Blaise topped out at a highly respectable 98,400 points after getting cornered in a brutal, fast-moving Light Cycle grid on the higher difficulty "User" level. He stepped back from the glowing blue cabinet, crossing his arms and looking intensely smug.

Mateo didn't flinch. He stepped up next, dropping his quarter onto the glass marquee with a theatrical clink. Rolling up the short sleeves of his graphic tee shirt to show off his biceps, he played with pure, aggressive instinct. He flew through the Tank and Grid Bug levels, his hand flying across the spinner dial with a mechanical speed born of spending every spare dollar of his day job money in dark rooms just like this one, I’ll bet.

But, by this time, Erica and I had tired of watching the intense competition between the two and gone back to a peaceful game of Ms. Pac-Man. Erica, especially, was in her element. She had spent much more time at the Old Game Room in Port Jefferson Village, on Main Street by the water, than I did. She giggled every time the digitized chomp-chomp sound effects sped up and managed to outmaneuver the blue, blinking ghosts. Blaise looked over our shoulders, laughing along with us, while Mateo labored on his Tron machine.

When I looked across the room to see Mateo’s final stand, his hand flying across the dial spinner. When the cabinet’s synth-siren wailed and the screen flashed his new score of 104,250, he let out a triumphant shout, slapping the side of the cabinet. He turned around, chest puffed out, ready to lock eyes with me, no doubt —only to find the space behind him empty. Mateo stood alone by the glowing Bally/Midway machine, the undisputed king of the digital grid, holding a completely worthless crown. I felt sorry for him and, at the same time, his desire to impress me further endeared him to me. Good thing I didn’t have to choose between him and Blaise.

After the intensity of the Playland Arcade, we chose to cool down by strolling the boardwalk. We passed the Angler’s Deck where local residents were doing some afternoon sport fishing along the lower decks. Looking out over the Pacific Ocean, we saw beach volleyball players setting up nets in the sand just below the south side of the structure.

Blaise shelled out for soft-serve ice cream cones, but Mateo declined, ordering some fresh-squeezed orange juice for himself. As the afternoon wound down, we decided to walk on the beach, leaving our shoes hopefully untouched on the boardwalk within sight. It wouldn’t be the worst thing if someone stole them. Mateo grabbed my hand first and led the way, taking advantage of the glacial speed with which both Blaise and Erica attacked their ice cream cones.

“Did you have a good time today?” Mateo asked me.

The earnest look on his face made me hesitate before answering. “It’s been a long, strange trip today, but, yes, I had a very good time. Thank you for inviting me.”

He laughed softly. “Maybe next time, it can just be the two of us? Can we do something again. Next weekend?”

“Sure. I’d like that. If you have the time. I know you’ve got your day job and the band on weekends.”

“I’ll make the time…for you.”

“I’ll only be here for another few weeks, Mateo. Let’s not get too heavy with this.”

“It makes me sad to realize you’re going away and we’ve only just met,” Mateo lamented.

“We’ll always have Santa Monica,” I said in my best Humphrey Bogart voice.

“You’re funny, Joey. There’s something special about you I can’t quite put my finger on.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” I muttered under my breath.

“Hey, Cortez! Didn’t you say you had to leave by 6PM?” shouted Blaise. “It’s probably close to 6 right now.”

“He’s right,” Mateo admitted. “I’ve got to go. The band’s first set starts at 7:30. It’ll take me about 40 minutes to drive from here to the Strip. Can’t just hop out of the car and step on stage. We need to set up our gear and everything.”

“I need to get my bag from your truck.”

“Hey, Blaise, drive these ladies home. OK?”

“It’ll be a pleasure, Cortez.”

“Guess I’m in the back seat this time?” Erica harrumphed.

When Blaise drove up the driveway of our house, I expected to run into the backyard and change into my other clothes, but no one was home. Mom and Lori hadn’t returned from their shopping expedition yet. That meant I could slow roll my transition from the femme fatale being fought over by two hunky teenage boys to the delicate (read effeminate) gawky boy that everyone back home knew and was confused by. I let out a big sigh of relief.

“Tired?” Blaise conjectured.

“Yeah, a bit. Thanks for driving us home. You know you probably wasted an entire day coming along with us. I’m sure there were better ways you could have spent the day.”

“I had a great time. I got to spend the day with you and meet your charming sister—”

“I’ve got your back, Blaise,” Erica contributed from the back bench.

“I don’t know why you and Mateo are so much at odds. After all, you’ve known each other since you were in elementary school.”

“Don’t fall for him, Joey. That’s all I’m going to say about it.”

“Come on, Erica. That’s all the car-car for you today.” Blaise just missed kissing my cheek as I turned to open the passenger side door and get out. “Where are we planning to go next week, Mr. Tour Guide?”

“It’s a surprise. See you!” He sped off down Beverly Ridge Drive. Erica and I waved. Silly thing to do but they do it in the movies and on TV all the time.

“Now what?” Erica asked, as we stepped into the house.

“Help me scrub this makeup off.”