It’s finally 8th period and for the first time since Freshman year, I’m actually early for vocal.
I opened the classroom door and saw my dad sitting at his desk, shuffling through papers. He looked up and seemed surprised that I was there.
“Milo,” he said as he placed the papers in a folder. “You’re not on time, but early for class today.”
“We had a sub for trig last period,” I began to say, putting my bookbag on the floor to take out my binder. My dad got up from his desk and walked in front of the piano in the middle of the room. He folded his arms as he leaned on it.
“So, no running the hallways with Mollie today?” he teased, smiling as he spoke. I rolled my eyes, flipping through the pages of my lyric book.
“Mol is actually trying to pass her classes this year; you know this is the year colleges look at.”
“Wow, where did I hear that from?” my dad continuously teased.
“Some old, corny teacher,” I said back with a smile. My dad finally turned around and began to write today’s lesson on the chalkboard. To my surprise, someone else walks into the vocal classroom; it was Weston. He tightly smiled at both my dad and I and went to his assigned seat.
“So, any update on that new project you and Veronica are working on?” my dad asked. I quivered hearing Vero’s full name; it sound so foreign when people refer to her as Veronica.
“I’m meeting with her today; our first show is in like, two weeks,” I said, circling the date of the performance in my notebook for the umpteenth time.
“Two weeks? That’s awfully soon for a new band to be ready for a show,” my dad commented. He always had something to comment on.
“We’ve been practicing,” I said, scribbling in the notebook. “Once we get everything together, we’ll be ready–“
“Is Mollie singing lead for your band?” my dad asked, still seeming to tease me.
“She has 5,000 other things to do–“
“She’s a great singer though,” a third person chimed in. I turned my head, looking at Weston. “If you’re looking for a lead singer, I think she’d definitely kill it.” I looked at Weston, a bit confused and surprised to even hear him talking, yet alone about Mollie. I know he and Mollie have been hanging out a lot more, but the way he just spoke about her without her even being in the room was telling. She wouldn’t, and if she is, she better friendzone the shit out of him.
Before I can even answer, the first bell rings and more of my classmates begin to walk into the vocal room. I quickly placed my lyric book in my bookbag before Mollie came in, sitting next to me.
“Ms. Simon is out to get me,” Mollie said, slumping in her chair.
“Doesn’t Ms. Simon teach 9th grade algebra?” I asked.
“Don’t even,” she warned me as she looked at me. I couldn’t help but laugh; these were the moments that I missed during our sophomore year. It’s the first time in a while since it felt like I had my best friend for good.
…
Vero insisted that we meet up at this taco truck in downtown Brooklyn for our next band meeting. I didn’t immediately question her choice of hang out spot; maybe she was really craving some tacos after school that day.
I looked up from my phone and navigate where this random taco truck is parked at. Thankfully, Vero’s voice can pierce through crowds of people.
“Yo, Milo!” I looked forward and see Vero wave her hand down the block. I let out a sigh of relief, not having to look for the one person in a crowd full of people standing around.
I finally got up to where Vero was, standing right outside of the taco truck. I gave her a fist pound; something that we came up with just recently as our “handshake”.
“Hey,” I greeted back, looking around. “Had a craving for tacos or something?” Vero rolled her eyes at me as she grabbed my hand, guiding me toward the side of the taco truck. There stands a Hispanic man wearing an apron around his waist.
“This is my dad’s taco truck,” Vero finally said, pointing to the inside of the truck. she climbs in, then looks back down at me, still on the street.
“Wait, what?” I let out, completely confused at what’s happening. The man turns around and smiles at Vero, then looks at me.
“Papa, this is my friend, Milo; the one starting the band?” Vero said, introducing me. “Milo, this is my dad.”
He reached out for my hand to shake, then quickly patted my fist.
“Nice to put a face to the name,” he commented. Vero talks about me to her family?
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Rodrigo,” I finally said, trying my best to not call him Mr. Ron-drigo.
“Here,” he said as he turned around, placing two tacos in a takeout container. “As a free sample of what we have to offer.”
Vero sighed, holding her head with her hand on her forehead. “Papa…”
“No quiero oírlo, Verónica,” her dad said in Spanish. Whatever he said made Vero roll her eyes and stay quiet. Mr. Rodrigo then placed his attention back on me. “You’re always welcomed here, hijo.” Vero took the container and hopped off the truck, once again grabbing me by the hand dragging me in her direction.
We ended up sitting at one of the picnic tables in the courtyard where all of the other food trucks are stationed. For living in Brooklyn all of my life, I never came across this little setting before.
“So, does your dad give all your friends free tacos?” I slightly teased, anticipating her reaction. One thing I liked about Vero and I’s hangouts is witnessing her reactions to certain things. She never reacted just with her words; it was a whole body experience.
“Only the ones I feel sorry for,” she teased back, taking a bite of her taco.
I playfully grabbed my chest in shock. “Ouch.” Vero laughed, putting her taco down before wiping her mouth. Even doing mundane things like eating tacos from a taco truck was fun to do with Vero.
I finished my taco pretty quick, noting just how tasty it was. I wouldn’t have suspected Vero being the daughter of a taco truck owner. All I knew about Vero was that her mom used to play in a band as a young adult. She gets her musical talent from her mom, and her love for food from her dad.
After we had our free tacos, Vero took me toward a grassy park-like area. It was located just outside the circle of food trucks and it had benches to sit on for those who want to take their food on the go.
“So, I finally finished ‘There’s the Door, Baby’,” I began to say, flipping the pages of my lyric book. “I think this one just started off being punk rock so I decided to write some chords.” I saw my book to Vero, picking up my guitar from the case. She started playing the notes, fixing any mistakes she made with her hand placement or tone.
“Meet a girl; just turned fourteen / thought she meant the world to me / vowed to give her everything / just to find out she was a cheat.” Vero attempted to sing along to the chords she played on her guitar. She looked up at me before she spoke. “Oh.”
“Oh?” I repeated. “Oh what?”
“You didn’t hold back, huh?” Vero asked as she looked at me. “Just straight for the jugular?”
“You said to write from my heart—”
“Yeah; what I didn’t realize was how emo it was,” Vero commented, handing my back my book. “People are gonna know it’s about Sophie.”
“Isn’t art meant to be up to interpretation?” I slyly commented, raising an eyebrow.
“Not when everyone knows that you and Sophie are not together anymore. You’re never with her.” I didn’t realize that not once did I spend the day with Sophie alone since we broke up over the summer. To think we’re entering October and the last time I spoke to Sophie was over the summer was truly mind-boggling—
“She will always be your muse, huh?” Vero commented. I was confused at her statement.
“Whatcha mean?”
“Sophie,” Vero simply said. “Even after all this time she remains your biggest muse, just not in the way I expected it to be. Even after all you’ve been through, she remains the reason why she have songs for the band—”
“I don’t mean it for it to be that way,” I quickly defended myself, as if I was trying to convince her otherwise.
“I mean that in the nicest way possible,” she said, laughing it off. She leans forward toward the table and smiles. “I once wrote a song called ‘Braindead’; it was about how my ex made me believe that I wasn’t smart enough to see the signs of him cheating on me.” Hearing Vero open up like this surprised me. She was such an introvert extrovert and always hid her emotions. I knew her for having one mood, her “Ronnie” mood. the mood where she was tough-as-nails with a IDGAF-type attitude in life. I never thought Vero’s true self was much more vulnerable than that.
“It was his loss,” I began to say. I leaned in toward the table now, mimicking her body posture. “He didnt get the chance to see just how much of an amazing, bad ass person you are.” Vero smiled, shaking her head and scoffing. I went ahead and put one hand on top of hers. “I mean that.”
Then, something overcame me. I found myself leaning in towards the table, just inches away from Vero’s face. I looked down at her lips, trying to regulate my breathing. Vero hasn’t moved away from me yet.
“I, uh,” I began to say to Vero’s lips, almost tasting the vanilla chapstick on them. Something was magnetically pulling me towards her. Vero: once a girl who I couldn’t really stand, now the girl that gets me.
I slowly leaned my jaw turns hers, and gently kissed Vero on the lips. I thought I was going to be pushed away. Thrown outside of the courtyard to never return. I thought I was going to lose having the coolest girl I could think of for our band.
I opened my eyes and looked at her; reality settling in now. She smiled as she took my glasses off my face, putting it on herself.
“WWMD; what will Milo do?” Vero commented, bringing the bridge of my glasses lower on her nose. “I think he’d want to kiss again to see if perhaps we’ve been on the same page.”
This time, Vero grabbed me by the jaw and kissed me back. I felt her slip in her tongue, playfully biting the bottom of my lip. How could a girl be so hot?
She pulled back, still holding my jaw as she looked at me. We both knew it from there; same page, and following.
Letters From Liz. 