Chapter 2: Havana Nights
The first week in Cuba was all practicing. Havana hated her partner, Lionel Phelps, son of James Phelps. Mom always hated James. She thought as she left the practice room.
"Annie!" Marisa, Havana's best friend, called.
"Hey, ready to go to Havana?"
"Why yes Havana I am."
"I was named after the city you know." She says an hour later as she sat on the bus.
"Why?"
"My mother and father met here. My father still lives here apparently."
"Are you going to look for him?"
"I don't even know his name."
"Good point."
"Okay girls, and boys, stay within city limits. The bus leaves at nine sharp and if it has to wait for you then you don't come back tomorrow. Also if you don't have money for dinner meet at the palace, and we shall get you something. Also to rent a scooter it costs twenty dollars, so money here please." Kirk, the boys school dance instructor, held out his hand and kids started to come up to him to give him money.
"Come on Anna, we don't need to pay for scooters, there's one place that I think we should go." Marisa whispered. Havana looked to see her standing with Michelle (a classmate) and two boys from the Wards Academy.
"Where?"
"Come on." Was all she said before dragging Havana off.
They walked at least a mile through the town. Havana kept stopping to watch the dancers, but the kids kept pulling her along until they came to a small Cuban club.
"La Rosa Negra?" Havana asked.
"Come on." Michelle said pulling her along.
When they stepped into the club they realized it didn't have many people in it. "El verdadero baile es el sábado por la noche, usted debe ver." A Cuban boy said from behind the bar. You should see the real dancers on Saturday night.
The four looked at him. "Soy Jorge." (A/N: Pronounced, Whore-hay, ignore the mean word lol) he said.
"Okay…" Michelle said in an annoyed tone.
Havana smirked. Stupid students didn't bother learning the languages of the places they visited. She on the other hand knew a few different languages, some better than others, but Spanish was like a second language to her. Her mother had taken Spanish classes for three years and taught her at a young age, sometimes instead of whispering to her mother, she would just speak in Spanish so the person she was concealing her words from would not understand.
"Soy Anna, lo siento por ellos, no hablan español, son de América." I am Anna, sorry for them, they do not speak Spanish, they're from America
"Ustedes saben ellos?" You know them?
"Soy de América también, mi padre es cubano, aunque" I'm from America too, my father is Cuban though.
"Explicar que por qué no buscar en América, pero es lo que." Which explains why you don't look American but sound like it.
Havana laughed, the three looked others looked from her to the Cuban bartender.
"Sí, bastante. Pero el español es prácticamente mi segunda lengua" Yes, pretty much. But Spanish is practically my second language.
"Su padre le enseñó a usted?" Your father taught it to you?
"No yo nunca conoció a mi padre que aún vive en algún lugar de esta ciudad. Mi madre tuvo que salir de Cuba después de la revolución" No I never met my father he still lives somewhere in this town. My mother had to leave Cuba after the revolution. Why did she just tell a total stranger that?
"He oído que una historia mucho estos días." I hear that story a lot these days.
"¿Habla Inglés?" Do you speak English?
The boy smiled. "Yeah. I was just seeing how well you knew Spanish."
"Like I said, it's my second language."
"Okay, that was weird." Marisa said with a laugh.
The others laughed too. "His name is Jorge by the way."
"Hi Jorge." They said before walking off and starting to dance.
"Aren't you a little young to be working the bar?" Havana asked Jorge.
He laughed. "Aren't you a little young to be dancing like this?" He motioned towards the small crowd.
"Well I'm here with a Latin ballroom dancing school." She said with a smug smile.
"Well I am the only one in my family that has a job, so I'm taking care of my three little sisters and my Mama."
"Oh, sorry."
"It's alright. I'm sorry about your father; it seems we both lost a parent due to the revolution."
"Yeah except you lost one because it began, and I lost one because it ended."
"Yeah. So Anna, how old are you?"
"I'm turning fifteen in two months."
"I turn sixteen in four months."
"Wow. My mom said that my father had to look after his family too."
"What is your father's name?"
"I have no clue. Why?"
"You just look like someone I know. He's thirty-three and apparently he got fired for having an American girlfriend, not that that stopped them, they entered a dance competition together, kissed in front of everyone." He smiled.
"That sounds like a story my aunt told me about my parents." She froze and looked up at Jorge whose smile had widened.
"What's his name?"
"Never mind, I forget who I was talking about." Jorge said just as a customer came up and asked for a drink.
Havana sighed and went out onto the dance floor. Though she only danced for five minutes or so, she got too frustrated with how touchy everyone was.
"You don't like to dance like this?" Jorge asked as she sat down.
"I can't, it's…different."
"Your amigos seem to be enjoying it." They looked at the four people that she had come with.
They really stood out, being the only white people in the club, she suddenly felt relived that she had gotten her father's natural tan skin color. Hell she was relived that she looked and spoke like she had been living in Cuba all of her life.
"My friends…yeah…they act…very…mature, for their age."
"Friends?"
"It means amigos."
"Oh, sorry, I just started to learn English."
"It's alright. So this club doesn't care about minors?"
"Minors?" He looked apologetically at her.
"It means underage, isn't that right?" A deep voice said in a strong Spanish accent from behind Havana.
She turned slowly to find a man with Michelle, Marisa and the two boys in tow. "Yeah, it means underage." Havana bit her lip.
"Jorge, usted le sirvió una bebida?" He looked at the boy. Jorge did you serve her a drink?
"No señor."
"I am sorry, but I am going to have to ask you to leave, I have been asked by your instructors not to permit you in the club."
"It's alright, we should anyway… Jorge, a propósito, las gracias por no llamarnos Yankees tiene gusto de cada uno otro aquí." Jorge, by the way, thanks for not calling us Yankees like everyone else here.
"Marisa and Jonathon Cooper, Michelle Polli, Curtis Kooglieta, and Havana Miller! What are you doing in here?" A familiar voice said.
They turn to see Carrie, their instructor, standing in the doorway tapping one foot impatiently.
"They have not been here long Ma'am." The man that had rounded the five up said.
"Yeah, my mama knew Anna's mama when she lived in Cuba during the Revolution, she was just coming to say hola to me; we haven't seen each other since her mama was forced to move back to America after the Revolution." Jorge said quickly.
"¿Es eso cierto?" Is that true? The man asked.
"Su madre realmente no viven aquí durante la revolución y que realmente se vio obligado a regresar a los Estados Unidos, pero en realidad no sé su" her mother really did live here during the revolution and she really was forced to move back to America,but I don't really know her. Jorge replied.
"It's true; Havana just wanted to introduce us to her friend." One of the boys, he must be Curtis, said ignoring the Spanish conversation.
"Since when do people call her by her full name?" The instructor asked shaking her head.
"I have lots of friends that call me Havana, right guys?"
"Yeah." Everyone said.
"Alright, let's go, now." They all nodded.
"Anna! Usted no está Yankee, no realmente, pero Usted es un gran bailarín, me refiero con tus padres que no podría ser?" Anna! You're no Yankee, not really, but You are a great dancer, I mean with your parents could you not be? Jorge said with a smile.
Havana gave him a questioning look, he did know who her father was. "Uno minuto." She said walking back up to the bar, much to the man's and the instructor's chagrin.
"You do know who my father is." She said simply.
He shrugged. "Like I say, you look like someone I know."
"What's his name?"
"What's your mama's name?"
"Katey Miller…why?" She heard a gasp behind her.
"There you have it, there are people who are surprised to hear her name." He said before turning back to the customers.
"Miss. Miller, if you don't come right now you will not be coming back tomorrow!" Carrie warned.
"Wait, if you talk to your Mama, tell her that Javier says Hola." The man said. Havana scrunched up her eyebrows but nodded all the same.
All that night she was left to think about what Jorge had said. How had he known? And why wouldn't he tell her? She was so confused, she just needed to talk to her mother.