Quinceanera Page #4

- Carlos lives in the back house.

- Where are the limes?

- I'll be right back.

Do you know anyone here?

No one. Just James and Gary.

- They're nice guys.

- Yeah.

They love their Latin boys.

Shots!

- Hook it up.

- Yes. Please.

- Oh, it's a good one.

- Let's have a look. Cool.

See?

Cool.

You can zoom in.

I am so f***ed up.

- Is that a tattoo?

- Yeah.

- "Travieso"?

- Travieso.

What's that mean?

- It means troublemaker.

- Really?

Feel good?

Sure.

It looks like the opening

for one of those bad novellas.

I know.

- Wow. You have bells and everything.

- I know.

May? That's your middle name?

I didn't know that.

- You know that.

- No.

Wow, that looks good.

Is that a cake or a pillow

or what is it?

Cardboard.

You look cute.

You didn't have a tiara

on in your Quinceaera.

I know. I broke it

on the way to church.

- You did?

- Yeah.

- Your hair's cute.

- Thanks.

Those flowers are nice.

It looks like you're looking for bugs.

It looks like there is a bug.

You see it?

Oh, yeah. That's right.

Okay, it's not just me.

Oh, the dress.

That was cute.

It would help if you actually

applied it on your face.

She's putting it on the air.

- She has her whole face on.

- Her facial expression is like...

- You do not need more lip gloss.

- Oh, I know.

Lips all shiny.

So pretty.

Ta Silvia looks pissed.

I can't tell if she's gonna cry or smack

the crap out of you.

- Your dress is really pretty.

- Thanks.

My mom's supposed to alter it

for Magdalena.

Aren't you the same size?

Almost. She just has

to take it out a little bit.

In history they're signing up people

for a trip to Germany next spring.

- You gonna go?

- Yeah, if I win the lottery.

What do you wanna go there for?

I wanna see the world.

I wanna travel.

I mean, I'm sick of Echo Park.

I know every building,

I know every piece of grass.

I'm sick of it too.

What's wrong?

- Nothing.

- Really?

If I tell you, you'll think

I'm stupid and superficial.

- I won't.

- Yes, you will.

Come on. Tell me.

It's my dad. He's being a real jerk.

- About the Hummer limo?

- Yeah.

- I knew I shouldn't have told you.

- It's okay.

I mean, I know it means a lot to you.

Don't make like you understand me.

You don't.

You don't have

to go through this crap.

Okay. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a b*tch.

It's okay.

Here you go.

Twenty minutes in the oven on 400.

Okay. Thanks, Mom.

And I'll be back from work

about midnight.

Before you go,

can I ask you something?

There's this girl, a friend,

her Quinceaera's coming up...

...and I thought maybe Uncle Hector

could get us a deal on a Hummer.

Who is this girl?

- Just a friend.

- Oh, really?

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