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I’m laughing a lot, aren’t I? Who knew such a mean-looking dude could be so goofy? But somewhere in the back of my mind, almost too far to even notice, I realizethis laugh was forced. My own thoughts, not Mom’s, whisper, That wasn’t funny.
    At Ponce de Leon Boulevard, we stop in front of an art studio packed with loud, appreciative admirers. Andrew and I are still holding hands, so I haven’t been able to concentrate on much else. The canvases gracing the walls here are colorful interpretations of Cuban landscapes. A woman holding a tray of tiny cups of Cuban coffee offers us some.
    â€œ No, gracias ,” I decline. That stuff is pure liquid nitro.
    We stop in front of a small painting of a guajiro , an old countryman, dressed in the traditional white pants and guayabera shirt. Red bandanna laced around his shoulders. Wide-brimmed straw hat tilting over a rugged, smiling face. We stand there for a while admiring it.
    â€œThat one’s awesome,” he says. “It looks just like Iggy’s father.”
    I then decide to forgive his little joke earlier. After all, he’s a good guy, he likes the guajiro painting. A young boy, no older than ten, weaves in and out of the visitors’ legs, handing out sheets of neon blue paper. I take one graciously.
    Â 
    CUBA EXPO
    Coconut Grove Convention Center
    Come and enjoy the sights and sounds of old Cuba!
    Reminisce!
    August 8–9
    Â 
    On the back, the same thing in Spanish.
    Cuba Expo. Mom first went to this fair with Stefan and Dad, like, eight years ago, and has been trying to get me to come along ever since. Says I would love it. Lots of Cuban artwork, food, music, and dancing. But hanging out with die-hard cubiches (say it like this: coo- bee -chess) just isn’t what I do with my free time, so I always make some excuse not to go.
    I place the flyer in my pocket anyway, to take to Mami. It’ll make her day.
    Â 
    At 11:00, Andrew pulls his 4Runner into our semicircular driveway. I wonder who paid for the car, him or Daddy. I’m about to thank him and step out, when he jumps out of the car and comes around to open my door. I hope Papi’s watching.
    â€œThank you, sir!”
    â€œ Gracias a usted, señorita ,” he says in a light southern drawl.
    â€œHey! That was pretty good! Gracias for what, though?”
    He shuts the door and leads me to our front porch. “For coming out with me. For throwing napkins…”
    For showing me your cleavage…
    â€œFor a fun-filled evening,” I add.
    When we get to the door, I’m all too aware of a presence on the other side of it. Someone of the maternal nature is watching through the peephole. I try to ignore it and focus on Andrew instead. “We did have fun, didn’t we? This was kind of unexpected—”
    â€œUnexpected? Gee, thanks. Am I that much of a Frankenstein?”
    I imagine Andrew with a big green head, bolts sticking out of his neck, saying things like “Fire…bad.” What’s scarier is the thought that he could play a monster on film, with those eyes, those eyes, those eyes… Ay!
    â€œNo, I didn’t mean the fun was unexpected, I meant this.” I hold up our hands clenched together. “I haven’t told you yet, but I’m leaving for Michigan in August, I just broke up with someone, and I promised myself I wouldn’t get—”
    â€œIsa?” He smiles, pulling our hands up and moving in closer.
    â€œHmmm?”
    â€œOne day at a time. We just had one date, that’s it. It was fun, wasn’t it?”
    â€œYes, it was. I’m sorry I’m obsessing.” With my free hand, I tug on my earlobe furiously, but he grabs my fingers and pulls them away with a grin.
    Great, he’s figured out the effect his eyes have on me, and he’s milking it for all it’s worth. “It’s okay,” he says, lowering his eyes for a moment before looking at me