“Out back, wey. ¿Esta es tu chava?” he asks as he appraises me; I grip Tomas’ hand tighter.
“Sí amigo. Así que no hagas nada para avergonzarme.” I was totally lost in this conversation.
“Well, come on Then, homes.” He waves. I suddenly realize that all the eyes in the room are still watching us. As we start to follow Jorge, Tomas smiles to the women on the couch. “Tia’s hola, este es mi amiga, Lana,” he says.
“Hola, Lona,” they say staring at me with straight faces.
“These are my aunts, Pita and Maria.” With such a warm greeting, I’m not anxious at all to meet his parents. Yes, that was sarcasm.
“Hi,” I smile and give them a small wave.
“Vamos, Wey,” Jorge calls from a room to the left of the dining room. We follow him to this room, which is the kitchen. It is small but has trays of food lining the counters and four tall metal pots on the stove. We step out onto a small concrete porch and descend the stairs into the party. There are all kinds of lights strewn across the fence. A mariachi band plays on a platform in the back corner near the garage. Tables are everywhere and people dance in an area I assume is the dance floor since there are no tables there, just grass.
“Is your skinny chava hungry? Jorge says his I’s like E’s, his Y’s like J’s, and his U’s like long O’s. He takes something from a girl’s plate as she walks by. He unrolls it from its cornhusk wrapper and bites half of it off.
“HEY!” she squeals, stopping and staring at him. She’s really pretty with jet black hair, dark eyes darkened even more with smoky makeup, a round face, and a mole just above her shapely lips. She’s wearing low-rise, hip-hugging jeans and a black haulter tank that shows half of her stomach.
“You can go get another, Tina,” Jorge laughs and sits down at the table. She frowns.
“That was the last chicken tamale, Idiota.” Then she notices me. “Who’s your guera,Tomas?” He groans and rubs his forehead.
“Tina, this is Lana,” he says. “She’s my girlfriend, and she’s cool, so don’t be a bruja.” She laughs.
“Chill, Homes. Any guera that’s cool with you is cool with me.” She winks and smiles at me before she takes a bite of rice. “You hungry, wetta?” she asks with the same accent as Jorge, as she begins to make her way back to the kitchen.
“I’m OK, thanks,” I say. My hand is sweating against Tomas’ but I don’t want to let go; I don’t want to leave his side.
“Are you thirsty?” he turns and whispers, his breath tickling my hair against my ear. I look into his eyes close to me. I wonder if he’s questioning whether or not he should have brought me since this isn’t going so well.
“I’m OK, unless you are.”
“Sit down. I’ll be right back.” I nod and reluctantly let go of his hand. I wonder when his parents are going to get here. I sit down in the metal chair and look across table and realize that Jorge has finished his tamale and is now staring at me.
“So you go to that fancy school with my cousin? he asks.
“It’s not fancy; it’s a public school, but yes, we go to the same school,” I say.
“Aren’t you hot? You should take off that jacket.” He frowns as he looks at my hoodie. He’s right; it’s a warm day for November.
“So are you one of those rich, stuck-up bitches?” he leans forward and asks.
“No more than you’re a gang-banging drug dealer,” I return straight-faced because I know he’s a football star going to college on a scholarship in the fall. Tomas clears his throat behind me and quickly sits our drinks down on the table. He sits beside me and cuts his eyes to me like I said something wrong. Jorge is silently sizing me up. Then suddenly he bangs his hand on the table and makes me jump as he laughs.
“I like your chava!” he exclaims to Tomas. “Lona, you’re cool, mami.” Aahh, I have a name now even though he’s saying it wrong. I give him a reluctant smile.
“I got you a coke,” Tomas says, and I find his hand again. The band finishes playing, and a kid who doesn’t look much older than me arrives with a bunch of cases and stands.
“DJ is here!” Jorge claps his hands and goes to help the kid set up.
“Where are your parents?” I ask, as people filter to the tables clearing the dance floor.
“My dad got a call for the hospital; they send their regrets.” Then he watches his cousin jump around on the stage and adds, “You’d think this is his cincenara or something.” He rolls his eyes.
“I’m not Hispanic; I don’t know what that is,” I say half teasing him.
“It’s like a sweet sixteen,” he says, and I nod. “He’s going to Georgia Tech on a football scholarship next year. His mom is really proud of him, so I guess it’s OK.” I watch as he sets the cases on the platform and turns to come back to sit with us. “We were really close growing up,” Tomas says under his breath and then smiles as Jorge sits back down.
“Now we’re gonna get da beats going. You dance, Lona?” I shrug.
“We’ll have to show you our mo-oves.” He wiggles in his chair as he holds one hand against his stomach and another in the air by his head. I giggle, and this makes him ham it up, and he begins to sing a song that I don’t know in Spanish. Tomas chuckles and relaxes a little. The DJ begins to spin starting with a song that has a fast beat and accordion. Everyone around us gravitates to the dance area. I intently watch them dance, twirling each other from one side to another, their feet moving fast.
“Merengue dancing,” Tomas leans over and whispers as he watches them too. “Want to try?” I shake my head, not ready yet, I’m watching their steps. If I have a little more time, I might be able to do it.
“A few more songs,” I say encouragingly, and he nods but doesn’t move from my side. His arm rests on the back of my chair, and I smile.
And after few songs he takes me up on my word and drags me to the dance floor. He begins slowly, but I surprise him by matching his steps perfectly. He smiles as he picks up the pace. Soon we are spinning and keeping up with the best of them, and I’m surprised that I’m laughing and smiling with him. His hands are like feathers guiding me, twirling me, spinning around my waist. I’m out of breath, but we don’t stop. Little pools of sweat are forming at my temples, but I don’t care. The song finishes, and another type of song begins.
“Salsa, do you think you can follow?” he asks. I take off my hoodie and tie it at my hips. I’m still wearing my lycra arm warmers. I roll my eyes at him, listen to the beat, and begin making the steps and rolling my hips. He smiles, takes my hands, and falls into step with me. We dance song after song. I pull my hair up into a ponytail, so we keep going. It gets dark, but we still dance until finally we are just rocking back and forth, his thumbs hooked in my belt loops, and my arms draped around his shoulders. An Enrique Iglesias song plays in the background and he sings in my ear as we dance cheek to cheek. He spins me and brings me back to him. I smile. I haven’t been this happy in a long time, and it’s because of him.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“You’re welcome, but for what?” he asks.
“For bringing me with you tonight,” I say, and he nods as he puts his forehead against mine. The song ends and a Pitt Bull song comes on. I assume that now that it’s getting dark they are going to mix it up again with the fast songs. We begin to hip-hop dance and jump around.
Just before my curfew, we say goodbye, and he takes me home. We sit outside at my curb, but I don’t want to leave him. I do after a long kiss. I watch him pull away and finally go inside.
Lacey
Thanksgiving is around the corner, and I’m looking forward to my four day school break next week, but first I have to get through mid-terms. I’ve been studying like crazy, and I’m so glad it’s almost over. I really can keep up with every class except for English with Mr. Clancy. It’s almost like he singles me out. During class he asks m
e questions, and regardless of my answer, he takes the opposite opinion. He doesn’t do it nearly as much with anyone else as he does with me. My grade is really suffering. It’s not fair. I still have a semester and half with this dude. But I’ve been bearing down and focusing on the things he’s said in class and the notes I’ve taken of his opinions, hoping I will score the right answers on the essay questions. I find the table hidden in the far corner of the library. It’s my favorite place to study, and no one ever knows I’m there. I begin to spread out my notes when Byron comes and sits across from me. I’m surprised, so much so that I can’t say anything, I just stare at him. He looks around before he finally leans toward me and says, “I did it.” My eyes go wide and my mouth drops open. He rolls his eyes at me and smiles. We have worked together a lot in the past couple of weeks and have role played, read blogs, and watched videos on YouTube about coming out. I know you wouldn’t think there would be so much to go into it, but I’m learning that Byron likes to be an expert on things.
“How’d it go?” I ask shuffling my papers together as I realize I probably won’t get any studying done.
“Well, I just told Bea. At first she just stared at me for a while, which worried me. Then she said, ‘Why didn’t I know? We’re twins, shouldn’t I have felt this?’ which made us both laugh. I told her about what you and I had been talking about, and it shocked her that you didn’t use that information to make my life miserable. I think, like me, she has a new appreciation of you.” He smiles at me and I reach across the table and squeeze his hand silently thanking him. “I’m still building the nerve to tell my parents. I just hope that they will accept me.” He chuckles nervously and I smile. “And I’m still not ready to tell Henry. It’s not something I think he’ll take very well.” He looks down at his hands.
“You should do it when you’re ready, but he once told me you would always be his best friend no matter what you did. I think you two have gone through so many years together, that it won’t matter who you’re into.”
“Except, I’m into him,” he admits, and I’m taken aback by his honesty, with me of all people. I mean it’s not like I didn’t see it all over his face that night weeks ago at work, but he just admitted it to me. I’m at a loss for words, so I just look at him. “I know,” he sighs just as he looks up behind me. I turn to see Bea standing there. She appears to be unsure of herself as she looks at me. Then she takes a deep breath.
“What’s up, freak? What are we dishing about?” But she doesn’t say it with venom in her voice; she says it teasingly. I shrug, feeling really insecure. She sits down beside me and smiles at her brother.
“I was just telling her about our weekend,” Byron smiles.
“Yes, such an eventful weekend. I just can’t believe you were the one to realize it.” She looks at me sideways.
“You’d be surprised the things that I can figure out on my own,” I joke, testing the waters. They both laugh, and my lips find themselves curling into a smile.
“Well, I think you’ve more than made up for your past crimes,” she says with satisfaction. I guess that’s as close to an apology or make up between us as I’ll get.
“Maybe someday I’ll tell you the real story behind all of that,” I say sadly.
“I’d like that,” she almost whispers. It feels weird sitting here being completely honest and semi-relaxed with the two people who have hated me since kindergarten. It’s surreal, and I’m waiting for the cameras to pop out from behind the bookshelves and Miley Cyrus to jump out and say, “Ya’ll just got punked, ya’ll!”
As we’re leaving the library from our free session, the three of us actually leave together and are giggling at Byron’s spot-on impersonation of Mr. Clancy (apparently he has him, too) when I spot Chase leaned against some lockers. His hands are in his pockets, and he’s wearing dark jeans and an ADTR t-shirt from the concert we went to in Bloomington, Indiana, a few Saturdays ago. His eyebrows crease momentarily but then relax, and his face goes blank as Byron and Bea wave goodbye to me and go the other direction down the hall.
“Seriously, what’s up with you and him?” he asks as his phone vibrates in his pocket. “Has he asked you out or something?”
“No! Are you kidding me? But I could say the same thing about you and her,” I say pointedly.
“Who?” he asks as he glances at his phone and silences it before sliding it back into his pocket.
“Your secret girlfriend, who keeps calling and texting you nonstop these days?” I try to not sound jealous, but I’m not a good actress, and he begins to smirk. “By all means take the call don’t ignore it because I’m here.” I cross my arms and stomp off. I know I’m acting like a child. I can see it from every other angle and completely would roll my eyes if I saw another girl acting like this, but I can’t stop myself. He trails behind me at a slower pace and messes with his phone, and as I calm down, I slow down and allow him to catch up with me.
“Don’t worry,” he says as he drapes his arm around my shoulder. “You’re my only secret girlfriend.” The last part is loud enough for the entire hall to pause while my face flashes a crimson color.
“I hate you, Chase Livingston,” I whisper, frustrated beyond end.
“No, you don’t,” he chuckles as he gives me a squeeze before we part ways. He goes to the stairs, and I continue forward.
As the week continues, finals overtake everyone’s focus. I rarely catch Jade and Tasha these days between boyfriends, practices, and jobs, we mostly wave as we pass each other in the halls. Chase is pretty scarce too. Byron and I, however, always seem to be on the same work schedule. He trades Henry for every shift he has with me, too, and I’m finding he’s more tolerable when he’s nice. In fact he’s even charming. Of course the only person who seems to notice how friendly we are becoming is Chase, and it’s obvious he’s not crazy about the idea. Jade and Tasha are in their own worlds. After school on Wednesday, I head home to veg out. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I already know my mom will be at Nana’s house baking pies and prepping for dinner tomorrow. Dad will probably be working late as always these days, and Lana is probably with Tomas. I put on my comfy sweats and layer some T-shirts. The doorbell rings, and though I’m not expecting anyone, I race down the stairs to answer it. I was going to catch up on the DVR in the great room anyway. Chase stands there smiling at me mischievously.
“What?” I ask, as I hold the door open for him to enter.
“Can I eat here tomorrow?” he asks, as he leads the way to the kitchen where he grabs a coffee drink and then settles into the couch. “My dad and grandparents are having dinner on Friday.”
“You know you don’t even have to ask, but we’re eating at my Nana’s house,” I say, as I grab some bing cherries from the fridge and rinse them off before putting them in a bowl for us.
“That’s OK; my mom wanted me to come down but I don’t want to. I told her I had already made plans with you and your family.” We begin munching on the cherries. I realize that he hasn’t gone to Columbus to visit his mom in a really long time, like maybe the middle of summer if even then. I hesitate before I ask, “What’s going on with you and your mom?”
“Nothing,” he says looking me in the eye blank-faced. I know he’s lying.
“Chase,” I begin as I look at him sternly, and he looks down.
“She’s been trying to get me to come down, says she has some big news, and I’m just not. . . in the mood.” He leans back and pops a cherry into his mouth and then pulls off the stem dramatically. “You know they say you aren’t a good kisser unless you can tie a cherry stem into a knot.”
“Stop avoiding the subject. What does she want to talk to you about?” I ask, playfully slapping his arm. He ignores me and drops the stem into his mouth and begins trying to tie it into a knot, and I can’t help but to watch his lips purse and squirm. After a few minutes he produces a perfectly tied stem. He leans into me and holds
it up proudly. “I already knew you were a good kisser,” I say, shoving him away, but he grabs my upper arm and pulls me closer. With his eyes intensely on mine, I decide in that moment that if he kisses me, I won’t fight him anymore. I’m fighting myself as much as I’m fighting him, and the truth is I do want him, more of him.
He looks at my lips for a long moment before he releases me. “Sorry” he exhales.
I’m shaky, but I manage to say, “It’s ok.” He leans back and stares blankly at the blackened screen of the TV.
We sit like that in silence. I’m not sure what he’s thinking about, but I’m trying to come up with the words to tell him that I’m ready for more. You would think that would be enough, but I somehow don’t feel like it would express the way I feel. I mean, the fact that he didn’t kiss me just now, does that mean he’s moving on? What if it’s too late to put myself out there? What if he’s back with Emily, and he’s just humoring me? What if he’s realized that we don’t fit perfectly like he thought before? What if he leaves me? I don’t say anything as he turns on the TV and finds a movie for us to watch. I want to curl up under his arm stretched across the back of the couch. His fingers brush against the middle of my back. I stiffen, suddenly feeling butterflies flittering in my stomach at his touch; he looks at me from the corner of his eye for a moment before moving his hand further back on the couch, no longer touching me. I pull my legs up and hug them to my chest. I’m so confused; I should talk to him, but I’m a chicken. Why did the chicken cross the road? To prove he wasn’t Lacey. I wouldn’t blame him if he’s moved on. I mean, I’ve had months to realize that I like Chase. I like, like Chase. It’s weird the things that cause butterflies when you realize that you like, like someone. The more I think about this, the more my heart races, and sitting this close to him, my palms begin to sweat. I suddenly feel nervous and twitchy. I jump up and grab the empty bowl of cherry stems and go to the kitchen.
Mia Castile - [The Butterfly Chronicles 02] Page 14