With or without you, p.13
With or Without You, page 13
“I think I’m okay right now,” I say.
But I’m not.
Something about him is sending my heart racing a little. And the way he moves and looks at me, tells me that he maybe realizes that. It’s surprising, and I try to shake it off, focusing on the task at hand.
There’s really only one person, or rather, one family, that the show expects me to argue with. Jordan. His parents. But all those spats, they happen at the trucks. Maybe a few times in the hallways at school, and once at the supermarket, but honestly, whenever we’d see each other in public over the last year, we’d just avoid one another.
Big Lord of the Rings vibes when it came to our relationship.
Keep it secret.
Keep it safe.
“Just a second,” I say to Jared, turning away, pulling out my phone for reinforcements. Just a few messages waiting from the girls. Nothing terribly important, some GIFs from the latest episode of Main Line Wives and a link to a Reddit thread breaking down a conspiracy theory about the latest 60 Days to Wed, how one of the contestants is only in it to secure an acting career.
Me: Hey, so, the reality show folks want me to crank up the drama
Eesha: Drama?
Ariana: Don’t you and Jordan have drama at the trucks all the time?
Me: That’s just it. We only have drama there, and the camera guy and Jared are both saying what I’m doing is boring
Eesha: Jared?
Me: Yeah, he’s an intern on the set, assisting the producers and stuff
Eesha: Oh interesting, I think I found his Instagram
A few little dots pop up in the chat window, and then vanish, and then pop up again, and then vanish...
“You doing okay?”
I startle back and drop my phone. Thankfully, one of the joys of an urban farm is that most of the ground is soil, so it falls into the patch of tomatoes I’ve been fussing over with a light floof, instead of a clatter with a shattered screen.
Jared picks it up for me. He’s smiling as he hands it over, and I notice the little creases on the sides of his dark brown eyes. Maybe he’s like me, or Jordan for that matter, operating on a constant lack of sleep.
“Thanks,” I say, trying to sound like I’m not catching my breath.
“Sorry I scared you,” he says, still smirking, and nods at my phone. “My Instagram, huh? What else did your friends dig up?”
“What?” I ask, looking to my phone, my heart pounding.
Eesha: Wow he is CUTE
I almost drop my phone again as I shove it into my pocket, and Jared laughs loudly, the sound melodic as he runs a hand through his hair.
“Look, I—” Jared starts.
“Whew!” Drew exhales, rejoining us, the large camera swinging from his thick hands. He hoists it back up on his shoulder and then shakes his head, settling it back down on the ground. “Nope, I think I’m done. They’ve got some killer snacks and drinks over there, youse two should go get something, you look all flushed.”
Oh God.
Jared chuckles under his breath and I shoot daggers at him with my eyes. But that only makes him laugh harder.
“I’m gonna take a breather, maybe wander this place,” Drew says. “Might not be any drama here, but it sure is nice. Anywhere I can stash my camera?”
“Oh, yeah, just go ask Kelly at the cash-out by the entrance. She’ll put it in one of the sheds or something.”
Drew looks at me, squinting his eyes.
“It’ll be safe,” I press, and he relents.
“Alright,” he says, walking away, and turns briefly to point a finger at me mock-threateningly. “I’m trusting you, Cheesesteak Girl.”
“Well,” Jared says, watching Drew with me as he heads to the entrance with his camera. “Union does say he gets a solid hour lunch break.” I look back at him—up at him, really, with how tall he is. “Do you, um...take a break ever?”
“Oh yeah, sometimes, it depends on—”
His phone rings, but it doesn’t just ring. It sounds like an alarm, incredibly loud and insistent. He hurries to pull it out of his pocket.
“Hey, yes, hi, Ms. Ireland.” His eyes flit to mine, and he makes a wincing face. “Yeah, I’m here. Drew was filming around the farm, taking a breather now. I’m not sure where we’re off to next, he wasn’t really liking the footage... Well, yeah, I’ll...” he looks at me and mouths I’m sorry and turns away, back to the phone “...see what I can do, but...”
He strides off, toward the entrance after Drew.
I think...
He was about to ask me out. Before Bethany called.
I don’t know how I feel about that...
My phone buzzes and I head away from the scene of the “nearly asked out on a date” crime, to a flurry of texts from the girls, and some email notifications. Probably just some messages from listeners. Lately we’ve been getting a few emails that we read aloud on the show, which is a lot of fun.
Eesha: Hello?
Ariana: What are you doing?
Eesha: Maybe she ran away with Hot Intern
Me: I’m at the farm, helping my parents out. Planting some tomatoes
Ariana: Sorry, I fell asleep
Eesha: More about this Jared guy, please and thank you
Me: Ugh. He SAW your text message, you know
Ariana: So it looks like WE are the drama
Eesha: Hahahah
Me: I’m losing my mind. Any ideas? Any thoughts?
Eesha: About Jared? Quite a few
Me: Oh my God stop it. You know I’m with Jordan
Ariana: And you know we’re just picking on you
Me: I know. But they want me to do something interesting. Drama. Other than you two
Eesha: Hm. Why not show up somewhere Jordan is going to be?
Ariana: Yeah, just roll in, make a scene
Eesha: Where is he now, is he working the trucks tonight with you?
And that’s when it hits me.
He’s not working the trucks tonight.
But I know exactly where he’s going to be.
Me: You two are geniuses. More soon
Eesha: Yeah more Jared please
Me: Oh my God
I move to put my phone back in my pocket when I spot those email notifications again. I give it a tap and the email subject line at the top of a bundle of messages to the podcast nearly stops my heart.
Congratulations from Northeastern University: Admissions Offer
My phone just falls out of my hand, again, and I scramble to scoop it up out of the dirt in front of me, brushing soil away from the screen.
I open the email up, my heart racing.
Northeastern University
Admissions and Financial Aid
Boston, MA 02115
Dear Cindy Ortiz,
Congratulations! On behalf of the admissions and financial aid committee at Northeastern University, we are delighted to inform you that you’ve advanced off of our wait list, and we’re pleased to offer you admission starting this fall. Please, do accept my personal congratulations at this monumental achievement in your young life. Your essay about your ties to Boston, your yearning for the city streets, and the connections you have there, absolutely moved this office.
We’re happy to admit you to this year’s class, and details regarding your scholarship are attached to this—
My mouth falls open.
Scholarship?
My God. This is it.
I’m going home.
But suddenly, my chest feels heavy, and there’s this sinking feeling in my stomach. This pilot, this...proof of concept for Cheesesteak Wars, what happens if I’m not around if the show gets green-lit? Do I have to choose between staying in Philadelphia and going to my dream school? To being back with my friends? I mean, I guess that’s part of reality television, right? People move, change jobs, careers, the cameras follow...but would it be interesting, without the rivalry in person? Just our parents? How would it even work?
What do I do about Jordan and the road trip?
With Northeastern, there’s no more gap year. Especially with this scholarship. It’s an offer I can’t refuse.
It feels like too much. The show. My family. My boyfriend. My friends. My hopes and my dreams and the things that I want for myself, weighed against what other people want for me. Want from me.
Suddenly, it’s all very much feeling like everything is outside of my control. I’ve been so focused on what I can handle, and this just sends it all into a spiral.
Okay.
Okay, okay, okay.
I look back at my phone, at the string of texts from the girls, and then shove it back in my pocket.
I have to call my parents. I have to tell the girls. Maybe I need to talk to Bethany and the production crew.
But I definitely have to talk to Jordan.
And tell him I’m not going with him.
PILOT:
CONFESSIONAL SHOT TRANSCRIPT
(CINDY)
Cindy: So, when my family lived in Boston, my parents had this farm. It was a nonprofit space where they employed lots of college kids and older folks who needed a fresh start. I kinda grew up on a farm, even though we lived smack in the middle of a major city.
I don’t know many people who get to have that weird dual experience. Most television shows, or the Lifetime movies I watch with my mom, it’s the big city girl who moves to the country, or the timid country gal who moves to the sprawling metropolis or whatever.
I’ve been both my whole life.
It’s...hard being two people, straddling two worlds. Not just in that space—I mean, an urban farm is a lot different from working on a farm out in the Pennsylvania countryside. I know that.
But you know, being Latinx and growing up in Boston. Moving here. Feeling American, but also not at all. Welcome at my home, but looked at strangely when standing right outside of it. Like I don’t belong here.
In the movies, the city girl and the farm girl usually realize they’re not so different from one another.
But I’m not sure other people ever get that message.
PILOT:
CONFESSIONAL SHOT TRANSCRIPT
(JORDAN)
Jordan: Ha! Of course I have a life outside the truck. I’ve got my tight group of friends. There’s Steve, who I’ve been close with since high school started. And Laura, my neighbor and best friend since we were in kindergarten.
But you know, I’ve been pulled toward food just as long. Working in my parents’ diner, sure, but also early mornings as a kid making my own breakfast before school and packing lunch, while my parents worked wildly early hours at The Stateside.
That’s where I get my independence, really. I had to find it. I mean, have you eaten school breakfasts and lunches? Not great, let me tell you.
So, I got up early, cooked for myself. Started doing that when I was... I want to say sixth grade? It became less about me too, soon after.
I had a lot of classmates who couldn’t afford the meals at school. Sometimes you end up falling into this weird middle space where your family makes enough to pay for things, but also really doesn’t, because you know, rent. Bills. Life.
We’d get all these extra eggs in the Italian Market, day-old rolls. Heaps of pork roll.
*LONG PAUSE*
I’d um...make breakfast for a lot of my classmates. Became a ritual. Breakfast sandwiches, sometimes cut up hoagies at lunch.
I got pretty popular for a while too.
What?
What do you mean, what happened?
I’m still popular. Or was. Whatever.
It wasn’t about that, though, you know? Being popular. Or well-liked. It was about the food. It was about bringing everyone together. It was about helping my community, something my parents did nearly every day with their restaurant before it was taken away from them.
The food truck, it’s not just about me.
It’s about showing up for people.
CHAPTER ELEVEN:
JORDAN
Tuesday, Five Days until Truck Off
Leaning against the cool steel of my food truck, I stare down at my phone and dodge the camera that’s getting closer to me. My eyes flit up toward Frank, the cameraman who has been following me nearly all day, and he sucks a bit of air through his teeth, irritated.
“You gotta avoid looking—”
“Looking at the camera, I know,” I interrupt, and he ambles off.
Cindy: Hey can we talk tonight?
Jordan: You make it sound like I’m in trouble ;-)
Cindy: Shut up. There’s just a lot on my mind
Cindy: I could use the alone time, together
Jordan: Same. My dad said some wild things during the thing where they record you talking to the camera
Cindy: It’s called a confessional
Jordan: Yeah, well it definitely was one
Texting with Cindy feels like an impossibility, with these reality show folks leering over my shoulder and breathing down my neck. At least when Frank and the on-site producer, Kory, decide to follow Steve around for a little while, I can get some time to myself. Though I absolutely overheard Kory muttering something about installing cameras in the food truck.
That’s gonna be a hard pass for me.
Kory looks a bit older than the woman who roped us into all of this, Bethany, and has this... I don’t know, just this look that tells me he’s been at this a long time. His eyes are a little tired, but his face, his bone structure, makes him look like a shark.
Or a knife.
I don’t trust him.
“You guys still open?”
I look up from my phone at two tipsy guys, who glance from me to the truck and back in a constant motion, like they can just teleport me inside of it with their eyes. I’ll admit, it is a bit early to be wrapping up—and for these two to be as drunk as they are—but I don’t want to miss Laura’s show tonight at Cousin Charles, a music café across town. And I’d prefer to not show up smelling like cooking oil and onions, so I wanna swing by home first to change clothes.
“Sorry, gents.” I shrug. “Closing early for a family event.”
“Oh no, sorry, bro. Who died?” one asks, leaning over a little too much. His arm juts out just in time to catch his fall, and he supports himself against the truck.
“No...no one...” I grimace, taking a step back when he starts moaning. “Are you gonna—”
And then he does.
Throws up all over the side of the truck.
“Sorry, man,” he says, in a tone that makes him sound years younger, like he might cry. His friend pats his back. “I was having such a nice night...”
I sigh and shake my head. At least the shutter wasn’t open.
“Did you get all that?”
I turn and there’s Frank and Kory, standing close to one another, grinning as they watch the camera’s monitor.
“You bet,” Frank says.
There’s a pause as they watch a little screen on the camera, and then the two of them immediately start cracking up. Kory slaps Frank’s back.
“Roll it again, roll it again,” Kory says, swiping at a tear streaking down his face.
“Hey,” I snap. “Are you two gonna help clean this up?”
“Well...no... I...” Frank stammers.
“Then let’s not celebrate in front of me, alright?” I catch a glimpse of Dad walking down the sidewalk. He waves to me, excitedly, and Frank turns the camera to focus on him as he approaches.
Dad looks across the street, at the Ortiz food truck. It’s been pretty quiet here today, since Cindy’s been working at the farm to get some footage for the show. Her mother is working the truck, and when she catches my dad’s line of sight, she gives him the finger.
He gives her the finger back and turns to me, smiling.
It’s funny, a week ago that would have felt pretty normal. Part of the show our families put on. But now, thinking about his confessional during the taping at the house, I wonder how much truth there is here.
I wonder what he’s thinking as he looks at the truck that was almost his.
Ours.
“Hey. There. Champ?” Dad says, and it’s hard not to laugh, his awkwardness bringing me right back from my worry. His tone is...weirdly robotic and mechanical, and I can tell he’s not used to being on cameras at all. He managed fine during the interview at home, but right now, out here in public, he’s navigating it like one of those animatronic machines at a theme park. His motions are all jittery, and his eyes keep flitting up between me and the camera. Even him giving the finger across the square looked off. I really thought he was going to be good at this. He’s such a showman in all other aspects of his life.
“Are you. Ready to. Uh. Head home?” he asks, and awkwardly turns toward Passyunk, away from the truck, waving me over with his arm in a perfect right angle.
I dump out another bottle of water on the street, and walk after him, the cameraman behind me groaning. And I definitely hear the sound of Kory’s palm smacking his own forehead. I take a few quick hurried steps ahead of them to catch up with Dad.
“Dad, you gotta like, loosen up,” I say, shaking my shoulders about.
“Sorry.” He chuckles, clearing his throat. “This is harder than I thought. Cameras all the time.”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “Same.”
“It’s okay, kiddo.” He reaches out and grabs my shoulder. “You’re a Plazas. You’re built for challenges.” He let’s go and we continue along the sidewalk, heading toward Broad.
“Here’s a challenge for you,” I say. “Can we get the truck washed?”
“What?!” Dad scoffs. “We don’t move the truck, Jordan.”
“Well...” I shrug. “That’s not entirely true. We do for festivals, and you know, we will this weekend for Truck Off. It would be nice if it was clean for that.”
