Raisin Rodriguez & the Big-Time Smooch by Judy Goldschmidt

I’ve accessorized the outfit better than Galenka has.
    And then finally it occurred to me:
    MAYBE GALENKA KNOWS WHERE CJ IS!
    â€œNice outfit,” I said, entering the elevator.
    â€œYes, thank you. You are wearing nice outfit too,” she said. I wasn’t sure if she realized they were both the same.
    â€œWhere is everyone?” I asked her. (I couldn’t ask her where CJ was. That would have been too obvious.)
    â€œEveryone, dey are on level P,” she said. And then she sniffled. I noticed that her eyes were red too. She looked like maybe she’d been crying.
    â€œAre you okay?” I asked. She nodded. Just then the elevator landed on level P. I got out, but Galenka stayed where she was.
    â€œGo to skybox numeral twenty-one,” she said.
    â€œYou’re not coming?” I asked her, keeping the door open with my hand.
    She shook her head.
    â€œYou sure?” I asked.
    She nodded.
    I felt bad leaving Galenka behind. Especially if something was wrong. But who knew? Maybe I was jumping to conclusions. Maybe she had a cold and wanted to go home. Or maybe she was wearing red eyeliner.
    â€œâ€™Bye,” I said, letting go of the door.
    â€œHave good luck,” Galenka answered as the elevator shut.
    It was surprisingly quiet as I walked down the hallway toward skybox twenty-one.
    But as soon as I opened the door to the skybox, I realized why there was no noise. A spectacle was in progress, and it was spellbinding to all who watched. The fact that this little performance happened to be my worst nightmare on display is merely an unhappy coincidence.
    Ladies, I won’t lie to you. I thought long and hard before deciding to tell you what exactly was going on in that skybox. Because when I tell you, you’ll want to pity me. And I don’t want your pity.
    So save it for someone more deserving.
    Even though pity’s almost all that’s left for me.
    I don’t want it.
    Even though I really do.
    Ladies, behind that door, amid the blur of other bar mitzvah guests, was none other than Ms. Junior Lingerie herself, Ms. Training Bra and Panties, Ms. My Stomach’s Flatter Than Yours (and BTW, so are her boobs. I’m just saying).
    The one,
    the only,
    Ms. Dylan Mulroney
    HAVING MY FIRST KISS WITH MY CJ.
    Just as I suspected all along!
    Yes. You heard correctly. I innocently opened the door of skybox twenty-one in the hopes of finally connecting with my friends and loved one. He was supposed to see me all dressed up in Sam’s green velvet dress and I was supposed to see him all dressed up in his blue suit and eyelashes and we were supposed to run into each other’s arms and twirl each other around and then we were supposed to kiss and kiss until Roger was finally promoted to eighth grade.
    Instead I found him two-timing me with that underwear model of ill repute. And all I could think of to say was, “Sorry, wrong room,” before booking out of there and bursting into tears.
    It’s just so unfair! I’ve loved CJ since the beginning of the school year. Underwear Breath has only been here for seventeen days. Plus she could have anyone. She’s an underwear model, for goodness sake. Boys must throw themselves at her feet on an hourly basis. Underwear model boys, even. She doesn’t know CJ. She can’t appreciate him the way I appreciate him. I bet she doesn’t even know what he keeps in that shopping bag he carries around with him all the time. She probably never even bothered to notice his cinnamon scent. Or his eyelashes. Even when they were brushing up against her cheeks! I mean, what kind of person doesn’t notice their boyfriend’s eyelashes?
    After stumbling around the hallways blurry-eyed, I eventually found a nice private terrace where I huddled in a corner. I hid out there until a photographer stepped out onto the terrace and told me he needed me to clear the area for a “photo op.” The paparazzi can be so