Page 5 of 10 Things I Hate About Prom
Backing out of our spring break plans had hurt my soul, but nothing pained me as much as having to cancel our slushie-taste-test road trip.
Slushies have been our ultimate guilty pleasure for as long as we can remember. Probably because our abuelas told us about savoring the piraguas they’d save their allowances for as kids growing up. Sadly, shaved ice desserts haven’t made their big break in Elmwood yet—though Tío Tony is strongly considering adding them to the Casa Y Cocina menu—so we’ve had to settle for the next best thing.
The mini road trip was the perfect addition to our shoestring-budget spring break adventure. Better known asSpring Broke.On our way down to Wildwood, we’d stop at seven different restaurants to sample their slushies, collect our ratings, and crown the Ultimate Slushie Champion. Spending my spring break at home sucked, but missing out on the slushies just made the FOMO that much worse.
But thanks to Joaquin, I’m not missing out after all.
“How did you even get these here?” I ask, peeking into a white paper bag beside the slushies and finding an assortment of French fries and chicken nuggets, our slushie accompaniments of choice. “Shouldn’t they have all melted by now?”
“Borrowed a cooler from one of the guys,” he explains, carefully removing the slushies from their Styrofoam holders. Two cups per establishment. “They’re not perfect but should still be good enough for us to give impartial rankings. And I had to skip the place in Harrison. They’re closed on Sundays, so we’ll need to hit them another time.”
Eagerly, I sit down at the table and pull up the Notes app list I’d created weeks ago to keep track of our rankings. Once Joaquin is seated across from me, I reach for the closest option—from Iggy’s Ices—smiling when I notice my name written in Joaquin’s handwriting on the side of the cup.
On the count of three, we each take our first sips, savoring the sugar racing through our veins. My eyes widen as the sweet but not overpowering taste of piña colada washes over me—the taste so rich that if I closed my eyes I could easily picture myself sipping this straight out of a coconut on a beach in San Juan.
“You good?” Joaquin says around a laugh as my body trembles while I come down from the high of that mind-blowing firstsip.
“So good,” I mumble, doing a little dance as I take a second sip. “Amazing. Life changing. I could die right now, and I wouldn’t even be mad.”
Once he’s sure I’m not going to collapse from delight, he reaches for my cup and takes a sip for himself. His eyes go wide, his cheeks flush, and his shoulders shimmy in the same mini-dance I performed seconds earlier as he goes through the same life-altering experience I did.
“That shouldn’t be legal,” he says as he helps himself to another sip. “I would doverydangerous things for that.”
I nod in agreement and join him in one last shoulder shimmy. I’d gladly give up my firstborn if it meant getting to have these for the rest of my life and not risk my health. As Nurse Oatmeal paws at my leg, I wonder if they’d take her instead.
Joaquin’s cherry slushie isn’t as exciting as mine, but still pretty solid. Definitely not dance break worthy, though. After twosips each of both, we pop open the lids and go through our practiced routine of carefully mixing the two together to create our own masterpiece. The combo definitely bumps the cherry up a few points but doesn’t top the OG piña colada.
“All right, ranking,” I announce after we’ve sampled our swirl flavor. “I give Iggy’s a nine and a half. Would be a ten if their fries were crispier, but a very impressive start.”
Joaquin nods, chewing a chicken nugget and rubbing his chin thoughtfully before giving his own ranking. “Seven. Cherry could’ve been better, and I’m docking points for them not having a drive-through.”
“You can’t factor that into your ranking,” I protest. “This is supposed to be objective!”
“My ranking, my rules,” he insists.
Well, I can’t argue with the person who made this possible in the first place.
“So, did I miss anything exciting while I was gone?” Joaquin asks. “Besides you rendezvousing with Chris Pavlenko.”
“Oh, plenty,” I reply. “I went to work. Binged three seasons ofGilmore Girls,and watched Nurse Oatmeal try to take a skunk in a fight. Thrilling stuff.”
Joaquin snorts, swirling the straw in his cup. “Did she win?”
We look down at where she’s given up on trying to snag a French fry and has flopped onto the floor and presented her belly for pets instead.
“She got a few intimidating barks in,” I reply, leaning down to give her the attention she so desperately needs. “But then the skunk just sprayed her and bounced.”
I’ll never forget that smell. Like the love child of a rotten egg and a McDonald’s dumpster.
“Dirty game,” he says with a snort, waiting until his laughter has subsided to peer up at me with a more ominous expression. “Hear anything from Sarah Lawrence yet?”
“No,” I reply with an attempt at a nonchalant shrug.
Not that I’ve been counting the days since I found out I was waitlisted at my dream school—but if I had, it’d be seventeen. Hope started fading over break, when I realized I only have three weeks left to either put down a deposit at one of the schools I actually got into or risk my entire future on a school that may not want me.
No pressure.
“It’ll come,” Joaquin is quick to reassure, knocking his knee against mine. “And if not, you’ve still got Rutgers.”
