Will the Real Raisin Rodriguez Please Stand Up? by Judy Goldschmidt Page B

hysterically.
    â€œI don’t get it,” I said.
    â€œReally?” Pia asked, in a tone usually reserved for the extremely crazy. “Cuz it’s kind of like a joke you would make. Like, about how couples argue so much, sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between people who are boyfriend and girlfriend and people who just kind of . . . y’know . . . hate each other.”
    I guess I was just missing something.
    â€œDo you and CJ ever argue?” asked Vivvy as a way to break the silence. “Probably not, right? I mean he’s not much of a talker, so how could you really argue?”
    Now, how did she know that about him? And was I imagining it, or did she say “not much of a talker” like it was a bad thing?? Even if Pia and Claudia told her about CJ, shouldn’t she have felt me out first before diving into my personal life?
    I wanted to say something back, but I was so upset, I couldn’t think of anything. So I just said, “Not really,” and went back to being quiet again.
    It’s a good thing my friends and I are so comfortable with the silences. Otherwise I might start to feel like flying all the way to Berkeley to see them was a waste.
    About thirty seconds into the silence, the waitress came back to take our orders. “What can I get for you today?” she asked, pulling a dreadlock out of her eyes.
    â€œI’ll have the Oreo cookie pie,” said Claudia.
    â€œI’ll have the key lime pie,” said Pia.
    The waitress took down their order and turned toward Vivvy. That’s when I noticed that the same dreadlock the waitress had moved out of her eyes was now standing straight up on top of her head. But she continued to take our orders as if there were nothing unusual about suddenly sprouting an antenna. Comedic moments like that don’t come around too often. In the old days the three of us would have taken advantage of this rare opportunity by sharing a round of stifled hysterical laughter once she left. But now, thanks to Vivvy, nothing, not even this gem, seemed funny anymore.
    â€œI’ll have a glass of milk and the Fluffernutter pie,” said Vivvy as she smiled at me and winked. I guess she thought it was cute that we even like the same pie.
    Then the waitress, whose dreadlock antenna was now drooping over to the left, turned to me. “I’ll have a slice of Fluffernutter pie too,” I said.
    â€œI’m sorry,” said the waitress. “I think that was our last slice.” Few harsher words have ever been spoken.
    â€œThat’s okay, you can have it, Raise. I’m not that hungry anyway,” said Vivvy. But there was no way I’d let her be the hero of the day.
    I turned to the waitress. “Just a cup of hot water with lemon, thank you.”
    You’d think I had just made some kind of life-or-death announcement. Like that I had decided to swear off television forever. Or cut my bangs again.
    â€œAre you sure, Raisin?” (Claudia)
    â€œIs that really what you want?” (Pia)
    â€œAre you sure?” (What a thief! She stole my best friends and my pie and now Claudia’s line too?)
    â€œI’m sure,” I said, handing the menu back to the waitress. Just because they wanted me to order pie and act like everything was okay didn’t mean I had to. I refused to play that game. If nothing else, I still had my pride.
    At least I did until the orders arrived in all their sweet flufferlimoreo deliciousness. I almost choked on my own drool until Vivvy offered me a bite of her pie and I caved.
    Looking back, I wish I hadn’t. Because Vivvy took it as a signal that I had forgiven her, and as soon as I finished licking the last bit of marshmallowy splendiferousity off my lips, she asked me another one of her questions.
    â€œHave leggings hit Philadelphia yet? Everyone here’s been wearing them, but I think they look like the stores found them in their stockrooms