Edgar smiles and I exhale.
“Right, golf’s not for everyone.” Brittany doesn’t drop whatever show she’s putting on. She grins at me and it’s super over the top and forced. I know Brittany well enough to be able to tell when she’s being fake. I don’t return her smile.
“Golfing can be slow,” Brittany admits, not taking the hint. “But my dad says it’s like the best game to play if you want to be a professional, so you can network and make deals.”
When none of us say anything, Brittany looks at Nina and Edgar and adds, “You two should try it sometime, you know, get some lessons.”
My face and chest are on fire, and I’m completely stunned speechless. Brittany knows I can’t afford golf lessons, and the only reason I’m even taking them is as a favor to her. Neither of us know Edgar’s financial situation, but from how things were with Nina’s family back when we used to all hang out, it’s safe to say they wouldn’t waste money on golf lessons either.
Nina’s response is slow and seemingly measured. “Oh, um, I think there are a bunch of other things I’d rather do.”
I give Brittany the most powerful glare I’ve probably ever given, before I nod at Nina. “I don’t blame you.”
My subtext is clear. I don’t want to go to these stupid lessons either. And if Brittany keeps this shit up, I probably won’t.
Brittany blinks several times, her eyes round and her mouth puckered. Like she’s surprised at my response. Which is shocking because what normal person would respond any other way to her bullshit right now?
Edgar clears his throat and shifts his weight. We are all silent for an uncomfortable amount of time.
“Well, we better get to class,” Edgar eventually says.
I turn to Nina and Edgar, and we start to walk away, without a word to Brittany.
“See you at lunch,” I hear her say from behind me.
Inside the Spanish classroom, Nina sits behind my desk in her usual spot beside her boyfriend. “You know what I just realized?” she says, looking from Miguel to me. “You two haven’t officially met, right? Miguel, this is Ri. We used to hang out all the time when we were kids.”
I swallow, still not used to Nina talking to me, publicly. First in the hall, and now this. “Hey, Miguel.”
“Hey, Ri Ri!” Miguel answers. “Can I call you Ri Ri? Like You can stand under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh?”
Nina laughs and playfully shoves Miguel’s shoulder as he continues to sing Rihanna’s “Umbrella” off-key.
“Don’t listen to this fool singing that old-ass song.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Embarrassing.”
“Classics have no age!” Miguel exclaims.
I’m trying to think of something cool to say but all I can do is laugh. And then Carlos walks in, just before Señora Almanza. He leans toward my ear as he passes and whispers, “You look good today.” I can’t keep my smile from spreading, my body tingly and light.
“Buenos días, clase,” Señora Alamanza says.
She heads to the board and starts the lesson. Quickly, I find myself lost in the fast-moving lecture. I was supposed to study extra hard yesterday, but I didn’t even open the textbook. I couldn’t face homework when my head was swirling with thoughts of Mom and Grandma.
Señora Almanza goes silent. She asked a question, I think. No one raises a hand.
“¿Y tú, Miguel?”
Miguel answers, in Spanish I mostly don’t understand. I picked up what was said in line at the mercado, but this isn’t like that. I hear one sentence and try to decipher the meaning only to get lost in the next and the next. My throat tightens, sadness turning into panic.
“Muy bien.” Señora Almanza steps back from the front of the room and consults her teacher’s textbook. She continues to call on people, asking questions in Spanish that she expects them to answer. In Spanish. Then she looks at me.
“¿Y tú, Maria?”
My throat starts to close, my face burns, and it feels like a weight is crushing my chest all at once.
“¿Y tú, Maria?” Señora Almanza repeats, staring at me. Like the rest of the class.
“What?” I mutter, squeezing my sweaty palms tightly on my lap. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat the question?
Señora Almanza clicks her tongue. “En español, por favor.”
I bite my lip, blink rapidly.
“¿Puedes repetir?” I finally mumble, not using the correct conjugation for speaking to a person you respect, like a teacher. But I don’t know how to say it that way off the top of my head.
I hear a few guys snicker behind me. I sink into my seat. I want to disappear.
Señora Almanza gives me a small smile before slowly repeating, “¿Cómo tomas tu café?”
I lick my chapped lips. I love chocolate mochas, but I don’t know how to say that. Everyone’s staring at me. “Negro,” I blurt.
A few snickers behind me again. I close my eyes and force myself to ignore everyone around me and think. “Me gusta el café solo,” I say.
Señora Almanza watches me quietly for a moment and I plead with my eyes. Please move on, please, please, please.
“Muy bien,” she finally says. And then she picks her next victim. I try to deepen my quick and shallow breaths.
“You feeling okay?” Carlos whispers. “You look like you’re going to puke.”
On his other side, Edgar glances from Señora Almanza to me and back quickly.
“Yeah,” I croak. “Just . . . I hate talking in class is all.”
Carlos nods, and then shifts away from me when Señora Almanza glares in our direction for not paying attention.
I bet I spoke better Spanish when I was five. I understood more of it then—I was around it so much. Even though Grandpa insisted we speak English at home, Mom and Grandma didn’t always listen to him, especially when he was at work and didn’t know. But Grandpa scolded me whenever I tried to speak Spanish, and now here I am, struggling.
I close my eyes and rub my temples, my thoughts racing. I don’t know how I’m going to do this.
By the end of Multimedia later in the day—during which I tried and failed to forget about the horror that was Spanish earlier—my eyes hurt from staring at a screen for so long. I close my eyes and rub them. I should talk to Grandma about getting glasses, but it’s not covered on our insurance.
“Are you okay, Ri?” Brittany’s eyebrows furrow as she looks at me. I’m pretty sure, based on the careful way she greeted me after Spanish and ever since, that she knows she messed up earlier with Nina and Edgar.
I roll my chair back from the large computer screen—the class is full of the highest tech, paid for by the boosters and rich PTA parents, and my family can’t even afford basic health care.
“I think I need to see an eye doctor, but . . . it’s expensive.”
Brittany’s eyes linger on me for a moment before she focuses back on her own screen. “Have you told your grandma?” she asks slowly. “I mean, I know money is tight, but I’m sure she’d want to prioritize your vision over—”
I cut her off, unable to stop the anger from coming out of my voice. “Over what, food?”
Brittany’s mouth falls open. I was pissed earlier about her golf comments but didn’t expect to get heated so fast right now.
Eyes wide, Brittany looks away and stammers, “I didn’t mean . . . You don’t have to get so mad.”
I don’t have to get so mad? It’s not like she, Brittany, didn’t just put her foot in her mouth again. Earlier, she went out of her way to throw her family’s money in Nina and Edgar’s faces. But it wasn’t just theirs.
I can’t pay for golf lessons. So, by her separating herself from them by talking about something so out there, that’s what she was doing to me too. Even if she didn’t mean to. Even if she doesn’t know she did.
Even though I want to yell at Brittany for telling me not to get mad, I don’t. Because I can’t keep expecting her to be better if I don’t tell her.
“Brittany.” I look at her and wait for her to meet my eye. “I know you know . . .” Uggh, why is this so embarrassing? I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You know my grandma and I don’t have that much money. It feels shitty when you say stuff like that, when you forget. Because, like, of course she would want to get me in to see an eye doctor and to buy me glasses if I need them, but we just can’t afford stuff like that a lot of the time.”
Brittany’s quick to respond. “Totally, you’re right, you’re right.”
“And with the golf lessons, you know they’re expensive. You know that I couldn’t afford them on my own.”
“Of course,” Brittany cuts in, her voice reassuring, like this is what she can comprehend, “and you’re doing it for me, so you’d never have to! Don’t even worry about it!”
It takes a herculean effort not to glare at Brittany.
“I know,” I say through clenched teeth. “But when you said, like it was no big deal, that Edgar and Nina should get lessons too, it’s like you don’t even think about how that would come off to them either.”
Brittany’s eyes pop. “I didn’t mean it that way, I swear.”
I blink. I want to believe Brittany, with the way she’s looking at me, like she’s embarrassed and guilty and sorry. I don’t say anything as I let unease fill the air.
“I get it,” Brittany finally says.
“Cool. Good.”
“Good.” Brittany repeats and nods.
As we walk out of the lab, an awkward tension between us, I see Carlos and Edgar at his locker. Behind them, Finn is strolling down the hall.
“Hey,” Finn says, nodding to Carlos and Edgar as he stops next to Brittany.
“Hey, surfer boy.” Carlos answers Finn before I can. He slides his arm around my shoulders. “I was just going to walk my girl Ri home again.”
Brittany raises an eyebrow. “My girl?”
“Not my girl. Damn, Britt. I don’t own her.” Carlos grins at Brittany’s discomfort. “I meant my girl, like my homegirl, Ri.”
I lock eyes with Brittany for a tense moment.
She hesitates before looking at Edgar and then Carlos. “Riiight,” she laughs awkwardly. “So, how’s it going?”
Edgar perks up next to me. “Good. We’ve got a Spanish test coming up on Wednesday, but other than that, same old, same old.”
The test.
With everything else going on, I completely forgot about it! Normally, I’d be afraid to study with people in class, because they’d be likely to discover how truly terrible at Spanish I am, but my fear of Grandma’s wrath at a bad grade supersedes that fear.
“Actually . . .” I look up at Carlos. “I was hoping we could study together for it. Are you free after school today or tomorrow?”
“I got something today,” Carlos says. He doesn’t offer anything else.
“Don’t you guys all speak Spanish already?” Finn asks.
I hold my breath. Do they? Maybe I’m not the only one who doesn’t—
Edgar answers, “Carlos and I do. But learning it in class is kind of like learning it for white people.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Brittany and her face flushes. “We speak it a little differently, but we’re graded the way you would learn it, Finn. So, brushing up on what we’ve learned helps.”
Finn nods. “Makes sense. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that the Spanish teacher looks like she does, am I right?”
Carlos whistles. “Don’t I know it!”
“That’s why I’m there,” I deadpan.
Edgar catches my eye. “Never feel bad for wanting to study, Ri.” He smiles, but his expression is so sincere, I’m taken aback.
Carlos pats Edgar’s shoulder. “This guy’s got a four-point-oh GPA. Making the rest of us look bad.”
I look at Carlos, his broad shoulders, toned chest, and muscled arms. I guess there’s nothing wrong with appreciating someone for their physical attributes, although I wish Carlos would be appreciating mine rather than Señora Almanza’s. “You ready to go?”
Carlos nods. “Later,” he says to Edgar, Brittany, and Finn.
“Bye, Carlos! Good talking to you!” Brittany calls after us. I try not to roll my eyes at her, but I’m smiling despite myself. She may have totally botched it with Nina and Edgar earlier, but she’s trying.
I wave at Edgar. He continues talking with Brittany and Finn as Carlos and I head out. Carlos slides his hand into mine as we walk out of the school parking lot.
“So, what does a girl like you do when not at school?”
“What do you mean a girl like me?”
“Pretty, smart, amazing—a girl like you.”
I laugh softly, relieved, but my voice comes out higher than I mean it to. “What do you do for fun?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Nothing that special—watch sports on TV with my dad, try to keep him and my mom happy with my grades, hang with the guys after school.” Carlos runs his thumb over mine. “Although I’ve got to say things are looking up—way more exciting, now that you’re around.”
I smile big, my whole body warm, especially my hand in Carlos’s.
“So, don’t dodge the question. What are you into? Other than me.”
I blush but don’t argue. Damn, this boy has game. I’ll give him that.
We turn onto my street, and I lead him toward my house. “I like running,” I say, ignoring his comment about me being into him. “I sometimes go alone just to think.”
Carlos looks into my eyes. “Maybe I could join you sometime.”
I nod enthusiastically. I imagine Carlos’s body moving next to mine, him getting sweaty. I’ve got no chill just thinking about it.
Once outside my front door, Carlos tucks a piece of hair out of my face. We lock eyes. He leans in. Slowly.
I can’t believe this is happening right now, but I don’t have time to think as his warm, soft lips graze mine. I breathe him in, my body seemingly melting in his arms.
His kiss deepens. And then his lips move to my neck. Each spot his lips graze tingles, waking up nerves I didn’t know were there. I want more.
“Want to come in?” I surprise myself by saying the words aloud.
Carlos keeps kissing my neck, and then moves back to my mouth as if he hasn’t heard me.
“My grandma’s not going to be home for hours,” I mumble against his soft, full lips.
His hands slip down to my waist and then move to my butt.
I step away from him quickly and look around. No one’s outside, thank God.
“Hmmm.” Carlos smiles. “Sorry. I’d love to come inside, but I’m meeting a friend.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I promised I’d come over after school. Sorry, girl.” He takes in my expression and laughs softly. “I’d love to come in and pick this up. Another time.”
I adjust my dress, make sure it’s covering the right places. “Um, yeah. Of course. That’d be great. I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”
“Looking forward to it.” He leans in and kisses me again, sending shivers down my spine. I laugh a little as he pulls away slowly.
“This must be a really important friend.”
Carlos grins at me, walking away backward a few steps, before he turns around.
Inside, I skip the kitchen and head straight for my laptop in my bedroom. I flop onto my bed, wondering what it would be like if Carlos had come inside. Images race in my head. I bite my lip, grinning. I’ve never felt that way before, tingling at someone’s touch, lost in someone’s hands.
Breathless, I grab my journal. Write what I’m thinking and feeling until my wrist cramps. If I had Mom around rather than my strict-ass grandma, I’d be able to tell her about Carlos kissing me. I could tell her how I feel giddy when he looks at me, how I almost don’t want to wash my hand after he holds it.
But who am I kidding? Mom doesn’t want to see me. She hasn’t messaged me with a time to reschedule seeing each other. She hasn’t called.
I make myself get started on the practic
e exam and worksheets in my Spanish textbook until my phone buzzes. I practically jump with surprise when I realize it’s my mom. Finally.
I want to tell you why I didn’t meet you when I said I would. Can we meet at Leadbetter this afternoon?
My heart hammers. My mom didn’t just blow me off for no reason? She wants to tell me why. She wants to see me. Today.
Though Grandma’s not here, I still need a cover for where I’ll be and why. Just in case. So I put on my running clothes and text Mom that I can make it before heading out. My feet hit the pavement loudly to the beat of the music on my running playlist as I pass each house on my street and the next, bringing me closer to my mom.
After she left that last time, Grandpa never talked about Mom. But I could hear him and Grandma fighting about her late at night. Back then, Grandma wanted to talk about Marisol. Grandma sometimes told me I reminded her of my mom when she was a little girl, because we were both so sweet and loving. Grandpa was the one who wouldn’t have it. Once he died, I thought the silence around the topic of my mother would change.
It didn’t.
I reach the beach sooner than I normally would have, given how fast I ran. I bend over and try to catch my breath. The ocean breeze feels cool on my sweaty, sticky skin as I stare at the ocean, seemingly endless.
“Maria?” Her voice says my name tentatively.
My skin prickles and my breath catches in my throat.
I turn around slowly. My hands and shoulders start to shake.
I know her because she looks like Grandma, only younger, with longer hair.
I know her because I have seen her, although I can barely remember.
I know her from the pictures I’ve committed to memory, the face I see in my dreams.
“Maria, it’s me.” The woman says, her deep brown eyes welling with tears. The lines around her mouth curve as she smiles.
I know her because she’s my mom.
Chapter
Eight
I stare at her for a moment. As though I’m taking a photo in my mind, I try to capture everything. Her large eyes that are locked on me. Her eyebrows that look as though they are tattooed on. Her tight curls that make her hair look like wires. Her brown skin that is lighter than Grandma’s but darker than mine.
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