“Are you okay?” Monica asks.
“I can’t go.” I force a smile, which takes effort. “I have … stuff to do tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Disappointment runs across her face. “Maybe we can hang out later?”
“Uh.” I don’t know what else to say—can’t deny Monica is pretty and kind of nice, but Cole really-really likes her.
She glances down. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me.”
“It’s not that,” I say. “We can hang out at lunch if you want.”
Monica gives me an almost imperceptible nod. “I was hoping you could help me with my lines.”
“I really have to go.” Shit, I can’t say no—such a coward.
“Then go.” She waves me off.
I lean down to grab the too-short door handle and head out. As I pace to my car, I sense her staring at me, but I won’t look back. I get into my car and glance around—no sign of Cole.
When I get to my house, I park in the driveway and stay in the car, trying to gather the energy to confront Dad. After a minute, I take a breath, jump out, and enter a silent house. I guess Vi isn’t here yet, and he must be in his home office, typing away. I consider going to my bedroom, but I need to give him the stupid slip.
I step to his office and knock. “It’s me, Kiev.”
“Come in,” he says in Spanish.
I open the door.
He stands by his desk with crossed arms. “Me hablaron de la escuela.”
School called—he already knows. “What’d they say?” I play dumb.
He frowns. “Español, Kiev.”
I repeat my question in Spanish.
He uncrosses his arms and rubs his forehead. “Una chica…”
“A girl what?” I ask in Spanish.
Dad steps closer and points at my nose. “¿Una muchacha hizo eso?”
After I give him a yes-a-girl-did-that nod, he smirks, then turns serious and looks away. Reluctantly, I produce the slip and touch his shoulder, making him swivel his head to me.
“For you,” I say in Spanish, offering the dreaded piece of paper.
He takes it and scans over it for a couple of seconds. He waggles it. “Tú … tú…”
Me … me … what? I think.
Dad bobs his head and inspects my nose. “¿Que le dijiste a”—he glances at the slip in his hand—“Ophelia para que te hiciera eso?”
What did I say to Lia to deserve a punch? Oh, yeah. “I just said her first name—she hates it,” I reply in Spanish.
Dad gives me a little smile that soon transforms into a grin, then he explodes in laughter.
“What?” I shout.
He holds out a hand, then puts his hands on his knees, still laughing.
“It isn’t funny,” I say in Spanish.
When his laughing fit subsides, he moves his jaw, as if it hurt from laughing. “Did you apologize, like a gentlemen?” he asks in his native language.
“No.” I point at my nose. “She needed to apologize to me, not the other way around,” I say in Spanish.
Dad sighs, puts a hand on my shoulder, and tells me that words can be more hurtful than a punch, adding, “Piensa, hijo. Piensa.” Think, son. Think.
I guess he’s right. “I’ll apologize to her next time I see her,” I say in Español.
“Okay.” He concentrates on the slip in his hands. “You’ll be busy Sunday through Wednesday,” he says in Spanish. He looks up and rubs his forehead. “You’ll have to catch up with work afterward.”
I give him a reassuring nod.
Dad pays me to help him deal with the bills, keep track of other expenses, and order groceries online. Which is better than working retail or asking for an allowance.
With that, I leave the office and head to my bedroom. Somehow, talking to him calmed me down. Still, this has been a shitty day, and it isn’t finished. I check the time on my phone—not even five PM. I enter my room, close the door behind me, and drop onto my bed with my hands under my head.
I replay today’s events in my head—punch in the nose, infirmary, principal’s office, sentenced to community service, hitting Cole, and the cherry on top: getting fired from Hamlet.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I peer at the cage on the floor. “What do you think of this mess, Pepe?”
He pokes out a paw through the cage’s bars, as if saying, “I can think better outside my prison, Master.”
I open the door, and he exits and looks up at me with his tiny black eyes.
“Better?” I ask.
I expect him to nod or say yes, but he’s just an armadillo. He scurries under my bed—one of his favorite hideaways. So I drop back onto the mattress and close my eyes, trying to sleep the rest of the day off.
A discussion makes me flip my eyes open to moonlight filtering through the window. I listen carefully—Vi and Dad. Since I can’t make out what they’re saying, I step to the door, open it, and poke my head out.
“Not fair!” Vi says, standing outside Dad’s office. She rushes to her room in front of mine, stops, and stares at me. “What?”
I throw my hands up in surrender. “Nothing.”
“I’m just a little late and Dad goes all…” She pauses and inspects my face. “Oh.”
I want to check my phone to see the time, but I know it’s late. She gets home past ten most days, as if she hates being in the house. Maybe she does. I point at my nose. “It’s no big deal.”
“Does it hurt?” she asks in a whisper.
“Only when I breathe.” I smile.
For a moment, Vi gives me a rare little smile of her own, then wrinkles her forehead. “Is it true what they say at school?”
I point my chin toward Dad’s office. “What happened with you and Dad?”
She opens her mouth for a moment and shakes her head.
“That bad, huh?” I say.
Vi enters my bedroom and walks to the window in the back. She looks over her shoulder. “Close the door.”
“How mysterious,” I say.
She frowns at me.
“Okay.” I shut the door closed and join her at the window.
We take in the view—dust and dust, and bushes that, I guess, used to be green years ago. During the day, everything’s brown, but now the moon bathes everything in silver.
“So.” I break the silence.
She faces me and locks her brown eyes with mine. “Dad doesn’t understand me.”
I stop myself from saying she doesn’t understand him and me, perhaps everybody.
Vi relaxes her expression. “He lectured me for getting home late.”
I want to ask her where she was, but that will only upset her more. “He worries about us.”
She scowls. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Vi.” I sigh. “You know you can trust me, right?”
She turns, walks to the bed, and sits on its edge. “I don’t know.”
I squat in front of her. “Where were you?” I tap her knee. “It’s okay if you don’t feel like telling me.”
Vi glances at the door and hugs herself. “Since Mom … since that, nobody wants to hang out with me.”
I sit next to her. “You want to talk about it?”
Vi rocks back and forth, back and forth. “I miss my friends.”
I gingerly wrap my arm around her shoulder and wait for her to shrug me off. “We all miss you, Vi.”
She swivels her head to face me and blinks. “I…” She clears her throat. “I hate being here—this town, people pitying me.”
“They mean well,” I say.
“No, they don’t.” She shrugs me off and storms out of the room.
I take a deep breath and stand. When I thought I had a breakthrough, she runs away. She needs to talk about it and vent everything out. I wonder if she blames herself for Mom’s departure—so complicated.
A few minutes later, my phone vibrates with a text.
Cole: Need to talk to you. Parking lot. 30 mins before first period
.
His text is so unlike him, as if ordering me. I’m sure he’s still upset with me for punching him.
Me: Okay.
The following day, I get to school early, entering an almost empty parking lot. I spot Mr. Corey—Cole’s beat-up Corolla—up ahead and park next to it. I jump out and knock on his window.
He faces me and stares for a long moment, before getting out of his car. “You owe me, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.”
I look at the pavement for a second. “I know. Sorry for punching you.”
He swats a hand. “That’s already in the forgotten-memory archives.” He points at me. “I’m talking about Miss Monica Serrano.”
“Oh, that.”
Cole crosses his arms. “You’re trying to steal my girl.”
I avoid rolling my eyes. “I have zero interest in her.”
“Right.” He rolls his blue eyes. “You aren’t interested in hot girls with dangerous curves.”
I nod.
He uncrosses his arms and raises a brow. “Are you being honest with me?”
“Of course.”
He rubs his forehead. “Are you…? I mean, it’s okay if you are—I’ll understand.”
This time, I do roll my eyes. “You know I like girls.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t understand how a straight guy dislikes a girl as perfect as her.”
“Dislike is a strong word. Monica’s pretty, but it’s not all about looks, dude.”
He points at me. “See?”
“What?” I ask.
“Straight guys don’t say that.”
I flinch. “You have a twisted definition of a straight guy. Besides, I don’t want to date her or anything.”
“Oh, now you’re gonna say you like her as a friend.”
I sit on the hood of his car. “I don’t like her like a friend.” I’m not lying. Although I promised to hang out with her, I’m not feeling it.
He slides next to me. “You’re excrementing me, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.”
“I’m not, Mr. Cole Novotny.”
He concentrates on my face. “Do you swear you’re telling the truth and nothing but the truth?”
I chuckle. “Yup.”
He inches closer, his nose almost touching mine.
I slide to the side. “Personal space.”
Cole gestures to my face. “I believe you. But you have to tell me what happened between you and the owner of my heart.”
I sigh in relief. “Sure. Short story is: We talked to Mr. Butrow, he fired me from the play, and Monica invited me to the festival’s kickoff party.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”
“I’m not going to that stupid party.” I give him a little nudge. “Relax.”
He presses a hand against his heart. “You scared me.” He bobs his head. “So, you got fired?”
I point at my nose. “This is the culprit.”
“Oh, that is indeed pretty shitty.” He rubs the back of his neck. “You know … you should go to the party with Miss Monica Serrano.”
“Huh?”
“As I said before, you owe me, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.”
I motion for him to elaborate.
“To fully pardon you for punching me, you’ll take her to the party, and deliver her to me.”
Deliver. As if she were a package or something. But I understand this is him being desperate to be with the girl of his wet dreams. My shoulders slump and I mutter, “Okay.”
Cole curls a hand around his ear. “What’d you say?”
I say a reluctant, “Okay.”
He points his ear at my mouth. “I’m a little deaf.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” I shout.
He pokes a finger in his ear. “I’m not that deaf.” He side-hugs me. “You’re awesome, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.”
“Whatever,” I say, still trying to digest what I agreed on.
He lets go. “What should I wear?”
Hell if I know. “It’s getting late.” I slide off his car’s hood and head toward the school’s entrance without looking back.
“I love you, man,” Cole shouts behind my back.
Chapter Twelve
Lia + Trains
When I woke this morning, I was relieved—my night consisted of dreaming about fists, fists punching things, a gray-eyed boy’s nose to be exact. There was also bacon surrounding us. Oh yeah, that’s a nightmare signaling what is to come.
I drive Barnabas to school today, since he doesn’t have to practice his harp. The bell rings as soon as we walk inside the school building.
“Don’t get into any more excursions with your new volunteer—” Barnabas shouts and stops before finishing his sentence as his eyes catch on something.
I look to my left and notice the younger Jimenez—Kiev’s sister Vienna. She passes us by with black hair covering her face, staring at the ground, seeming to hate life. Barnabas watches as she thoroughly passes before clearing his throat and speaking again, “You get the drift. See you at lunch.”
He turns and heads in the direction where the little Jimenez is going. I forgot he has first period with her. I wonder if Kiev told her what happened.
Swiftly, I yank my hat off my head and stuff it inside my backpack, not wanting to have the “Dead” Walker hat problem again today.
When I walk into the classroom, almost everyone is there, staring at me like I’m an axe murderer. Who was that lady? Oh yeah, Lizzie Borden—now, she could actually be considered certifiably insane. After a second, bewilderment is lost from the students, and the shift is immediate as they turn to their phones or conversations with each other.
Cole is missing in action from my seat—thank God. Kiev looks up from his phone as I slide in my desk. “Hey,” he says.
Are we talking? Best buds now that I punched him? “Hey,” I say back, trying to be all polite. “Your nose looks better than yesterday—no more tampons.”
He gives a small awkward laugh. “Yeah.” I don’t want to stare at his nose because it still looks bad, which makes me feel bad. So instead of my eyes glancing up at his gray ones, they distractedly lock on his lips.
Kiev does have a good smile, well-formed lips. What? I slap my cheeks with both hands, and turn back to face the front.
“You all right there?” Kiev asks.
“Yeah.” I frown at the wall for the remainder of the period.
When the bell rings, I shoot out of class so I don’t have to think about why I was looking at stupid Kiev’s anatomy traits. Screw Kiev’s lips.
The next few periods pass by not slow or fast, but in between. I find Barnabas waiting for me when the bell rings for lunch.
Barnabas plops his elbow down on my shoulder, black polished nails in my face. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“Oh, what’s that? I’m intrigued.”
“Party tonight at the train graveyard. You know, the kickoff for Piggy Palooza.”
“Barnabas, don’t tell me you’re giving in to peer pressure. You know it’s just some stupid party where all the kids go to get drunk.” Last year it was at some old barn, and that’s all the kids in my classes would talk about.
“But it’s at the train graveyard. That’s my style, right?” He lifts his shoulders, and holds his hands palm up toward the ceiling.
“We can go visit the lonely trains another day, if you really want.”
As we approach the soda machines, he shakes my arm several times, making me feel like I have convulsions. “Come on,” he pleads.
“Why don’t you ask Sophie?” I stare at her up ahead. She takes a swig out of a water bottle, bag of chips in her other hand.
Barnabas’s eyebrows furrow. “She’s already going.”
I slide my dollar into the soda machine. “Well good, then. You’ll have company.”
“You owe me, remember?”
“For?” I quirk an eyebrow and grab my drink.
“For finding you those two super-old Nintendo games… Disney Adventures and the Little Mermaid,” Barnabas poi
nts out.
“Okay, first off, can you keep that quiet?” Not that I care what people think, but I would rather people think I’m all hard and play only Zelda or something. “Second off, I could have found them on eBay myself, but it’s the thought that counts.” I actually didn’t even think to look on eBay, though, and Barnabas did find them for my last birthday.
“So…” His face gets all up in mine.
I shove him away. “Fine, Barnabas, but you owe me now, and I’m also grounded, just so you know.” I wonder why he wants to go so bad this year.
He puts change into the machine and grabs his drink. “Only at Mommy’s and not the Daddies’.”
I shake my head as we walk to sit down by Sophie.
I hadn’t paid much attention to her in third period, but my eyes seem to narrow automatically at her face. “What’s new here?” I ask, finger tapping at an invisible wall toward her face.
She lets out a sigh. “I must look hideous. I didn’t have time to do my makeup today.”
“What? You look great.” She really does—it’s not all caked on.
“Agreed,” Barnabas pipes in quickly. He seems to actually be able to see her face now without the shivers.
“Really?” She smiles.
I slide my fingers across my own two eyebrows. “No need for eyebrow makeup.”
She giggles, like I just said the funniest thing in the world. She starts talking about the party, exchanges numbers with me, and she’s excited because she’s never been to the train graveyard. The party gets thrown at different locations each year. However, this place is mine and Barnabas’s jam—we love going there—well, when no one’s there. It just has that cool and creepy vibe.
****
After school I came home and hopped on the Nintendo at my dads’ house and have been playing ever since then. I really need to get a second one, so I don’t have to cart this thing back and forth between my mom’s and here.
I’m in the middle of having Kirby inhale this creature to get a better superpower when my cell rings. I pause the game and glance at my phone to my left. Mom. Crap.
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