Before You

by Amber Hart

  I leave. Watching me go, he seems sad. Which is strange. Because he must have known.

  I was already gone.

  30

  diego

  My face is finally healed and looking normal again. Purple is definitely not my color. Mi padre comments on it at dinner.

  “You look better,” he says.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking a bite.

  “How’s school?”

  I’m doing well. I tried to impress no one with my entry exams. In fact, I Christmas-treed most of the multiple-choice answers. Now I apply myself. Good grades are the reward.

  “All Bs,” I answer.

  Mi padre looks up from his food, a smile on his face. “Proud of you.”

  I guess he thought I would find more trouble to get into when he brought me to the States.

  “Gracias,” I say.

  It’s hard, really hard, to live a pure life after being dirty. My job doesn’t pay much, but I keep remembering that it’s clean money. If I want something now, I can’t threaten or intimidate my way into it. I have to work.

  And I haven’t carried my gun, not once. I still feel naked without it. Hopefully over time that will fade. Maybe one day I can stop looking over my shoulder.

  Hope is a beautiful thing—dangerous, but beautiful.

  On Monday, my first few classes are torture. I can’t concentrate on anything but Faith. I reread my chemistry assignment three times before I take in the words on the page.

  At lunch I search the cafeteria, looking for Faith. I don’t see her. Both good and bad. At least she’s not with Jason.

  I wonder where she went.

  “Lookin’ for your girlfriend?” Javier asks, messing with me.

  “Shut up,” I reply.

  “I’ve never seen Faith like she was at la playa. She’s into you,” Luis says.

  I glance around quickly.

  “Quiet,” I say. “I don’t need Luis’s big mouth ruining things.”

  While the guys continue to mess with me, I think about what it was like to crack Faith’s shield. I need to expose more of my past to deepen the crack. It’s tough, though. I don’t like to talk about the cartel or mi madre.

  As complicated as it is, I still hope for a glimpse of Faith. It finally comes in seventh period. We’ve got the same class. While the teacher is quieting everybody down, I steal a peek at Faith, snatch it out of thin air, hold it close.

  She’s looking at me, too. Her cheeks redden. Her eyes go back to her desk. I want to tell her that I like it when she stares at me.

  Javier grabs a chair next to me. He asks me something about a paper that’s due soon, but I can’t concentrate on him because Faith is looking at me again. She grins, and I practically forget the whole room.

  I don’t get a chance to talk to Faith until we meet in the library after class. We’re nearly done with book fair prep. My detention is over in one day.

  Faith walks in wearing her dance uniform: short purple and black skirt, tight matching top. I have to work hard not to let my body betray how much I like it. Behind her are some of her dance team members. I recognize them from her lunch table—or at least, the table she used to sit at before she and Jason split.

  Her followers are fake. Fake nails. Skin tanned by artificial sun. Colored contacts. Streaks of yellow woven through their hair like caution tape.

  “Please. Not now,” Faith says to them.

  Melissa steps out from behind the Fakes. She waves to me. Faith sees me and winces.

  They stop a few feet away. I pick up on part of the conversation, trying to figure out why Faith looks so uncomfortable.

  “We’re just saying, Faith. This is not normal,” the first Fake says.

  “Yeah,” a second Fake chimes in. “You’re, like, meant to be with Jason. You should totally give him another chance.”

  I tense.

  “He wants you back,” the third Fake says. “And as your friends, we think you should listen to us. I mean, who would’ve ever thought Jason and Faith would break up? No. You have to be with him or else, like, the world will stop.”

  Fake One takes control of the situation. “He broke up with you because he was having a stupid guy moment. You shouldn’t hold it against him. He really is sorry.”

  I price the books, acting unfazed. Anger swarms inside me, a thousand wasps ready to sting.

  They go on about reputations for what feels like forever. Finally, Melissa cuts in.

  “That’s ridiculous. Who cares what people think? If Faith doesn’t want to be with Jason, whatever.” She shakes her head, annoyed. “It’s her decision. Not yours; not anyone else’s.”

  The Fakes are stunned into silence. Faith glances gratefully at her best friend.

  So do I.

  Shrugging and flipping their hair, the Fakes walk away. Melissa asks Lori to follow her to another part of the library to get poster board and markers for signs.

  Faith and I are alone.

  Faith plays with the ends of her long hair. “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” she says.

  “It’s okay,” I say. I’m glad that she ignored her friends. I want her to myself.

  “I’m not taking him back,” she says.

  I step closer. “You sure?”

  You are incredible. So beautiful.

  “Yes.”

  “Why not?” I want to hear her say that she wants me. That she can’t stop thinking about me. Because I can’t get her out of my mind, either.

  “I don’t want to be with anyone,” she says.

  My heart slams into my chest.

  “No one?” I ask.

  Faith looks at the floor as she answers. “Nope.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I say. “The club. The beach. You can’t erase that.”

  “Can’t we just be friends?” she asks.

  “No,” I answer. I want to be more than friends. A lot more.

  “Well, that’s all I have to offer. Take it or leave it.”

  I respect her. She tries to protect her father’s image. But she doesn’t want to let me go, either.

  “Fine,” I agree. I’ll take it because something is better than nothing with this girl. I like her enough that I’ll settle for “friends.”

  For now.

  31

  faith

  Lying to Diego feels as though I am unraveling, coming loose at the ends, spinning out of control. I need a semblance of power, of having the upper hand. But I know in truth, I don’t. I don’t know when I lost it, exactly. Perhaps it was never mine in the first place.

  I can’t keep lying.

  I do want to be with Diego.

  Diego has spread through me, seeping into the cracks, infiltrating my mind. School was torture today. My eyes betrayed me, sliding to wherever he was in the room. Even now, I reach for my phone, thinking I’ll tell him the truth.

  I pull away at the last second.

  “Will you be here for dinner?” Dad asks as I open the fridge, searching for a snack.

  “No, sorry,” I answer. “Working on book fair posters with Melissa. We’re ordering pizza. I’ll probably be home late, if that’s okay with you.”

  I pull out a yogurt and cranberries. Should hold me over until dinner.

  “All right,” Dad replies.

  As I eat my snack, Dad stands next to me, staring.

  I pause. Look at him. “Is everything okay?” I ask.

  He rubs the spot above his eyebrows. His allergies are awful this time of year. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” Dad says.

  He looks worn out. I worry about him.

  “I’m fine, Dad,” I say.

  “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

  Like what?

  “No.”

  “You just seem, well, I don’t know what,” he says.

  Dad can talk to a congregation of people, but when it comes to his daughter, he’s tongue-tied. It’s always been this way.

  “I’m a little stressed,” I admit.
“But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  I’m not entirely sure that’s true.

  “Is it your grades?” he asks.

  “No. Grades are fine.”

  “Dance?”

  “No.” Besides Tracy Ram’s ever-present nasty attitude. Nothing new.

  “Any relapses?”

  “God, no. Dad, I don’t want anything to do with that stuff.”

  He has to ask. Any good father would.

  “I’m assuming that you and Melissa are fine since you’re going over there tonight, right?”

  “Yes. Melissa and I are okay.” We have the occasional best friend fight. But we duke it out and everything is fine right after. I can’t stay mad at her, and vice versa.

  “Jason?” he asks.

  What’s with the twenty questions?

  “There is no Jason anymore,” I remind him.

  “Another boy, then?”

  My face burns. “Dad,” I groan. “Boy talk? Seriously?”

  “What?” he asks. “I just want to make sure that my girl is doing okay.”

  When he calls me his girl, I freeze. He hasn’t done that since Mom left.

  “I’m okay,” I reply. “Just normal stress. No biggie.”

  “So you’re not seeing another guy?”

  I laugh. Bury my head in my arms.

  “This is so embarrassing,” I say. It comes out muffled.

  “Ah, I see. There is another boy.”

  I look back up and try not to grimace. Dad is uncomfortable but persistent.

  “It’s okay for you to like a boy, Faith. It’s bound to happen,” he says. “You’re eighteen now. I kind of expect it.”

  “I’m not seeing anyone.”

  Please make this stop.

  “Yet,” he amends. “But you clearly want to.”

  I don’t know when my dad got so good at reading me. “Are you done?” I groan.

  He laughs. “Yes, I suppose I am. Just be careful, okay?”

  “Okay,” I reply.

  “And don’t let anyone trick you into anything you’re not ready for. I, of course, want you wait until you’re married for, um, well, you know. But I’m also aware that things move a lot faster nowadays. Condoms do not protect against everything—”

  Oh. My. God. I cut him off. “I have to go.”

  Forget the snack. I cannot take another moment of embarrassment. I put my food back in the fridge and race out of the house. I practically break down Melissa’s door as I barrel through it.

  Melissa is cleaning countertops.

  “What’s going on?” she asks, dropping the spray and towel.

  “You will not believe what just happened!” I look around her house. “Is your mom home?”

  “No, she’s on call at the hospital all night,” Melissa answers.

  Good. I don’t want anyone but my best friend to hear this. “My father, my father, decided to have a sex talk with me.”

  Dad is not the type to mention the word sex, much less talk in any detail about it.

  “Sex?” Melissa asks. “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” I say. “It was mortifying.”

  “Oh Faith,” she says. “That’s good. I never thought the day would come.”

  “I wish it hadn’t.”

  Melissa pats the bar stool next to her and we both sit.

  “What made him want to talk to you about that?” she asks.

  “Diego,” I confess. “Only, I never actually admitted anything about Diego.”

  “What?” Melissa says. “Rewind. What do you mean?”

  I grab chocolate chip cookies from Melissa’s cupboard and pour a glass of milk.

  “My dad thinks I have a crush on someone. But he doesn’t know who,” I say.

  “Wow. Did he freak out?”

  I swallow. Take a sip of milk. “Surprisingly, no. He said he expects me to like boys now that I’m older. It was so weird.”

  “Definitely,” my best friend agrees, grabbing a cookie.

  “He’s been kind of different lately. He let me go to the club. And he didn’t freak when I told him about the breakup. Now he’s talking to me about boys.”

  “Maybe the tides are turning,” Melissa says.

  “Maybe. But I’m not banking on it.”

  I eat the last cookie. Finish my milk. I raid Melissa’s candy stash for a mint. “All right,” I say, changing the subject. “You want to get started?”

  “Sure,” Melissa agrees.

  I’m about to step on the bottom stair when Melissa stops me.

  “Forgot that I have to pick up the pizza,” she says.

  I balance awkwardly, resting one foot on the stair, one on the ground.

  “I would’ve paid for delivery,” I offer.

  Her mom does the best she can to afford everything. But occasionally Melissa picks up the pizza instead of paying delivery fees when funds are low.

  “It’s no prob. I’ll be back soon,” she says. “Relax in my room. I set out posters and markers. Maybe you can start on them?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  When Melissa leaves, I lock the door and walk upstairs. Spy someone in Melissa’s room.

  My heart pounds against my sternum.

  “Diego?” I say, confused.

  What’s Diego doing in Melissa’s bedroom?

  He flashes a lopsided grin. “Hey,” he says.

  “Why are you here?” I ask, suddenly realizing that I’m in casual home clothes, a tiny tank top and shorts.

  “Helping,” he says. He points to the markers and posters.

  Bull. It hits me.

  “Melissa’s not going for pizza, is she?” I ask.

  Diego grins wickedly. “No.”

  I am going to kill my best friend. “I can’t do this,” I say.

  Diego steps toward me. He’s wearing jeans and a black shirt. Simple. Sexy.

  “Sure you can,” he says. “Imagine we’re in the ocean again.”

  I try hard not to reach for him.

  “I really can’t,” I say.

  He shuts the door and leans against it. “Melissa won’t be back for a while. It’s just you and me. Stay with me. No one knows we’re here ’cept your best friend, and she won’t tell.”

  His cocky stance—arms crossed over his chest, one leg bent so that the bottom of his foot rests on the door—makes me uneasy.

  “Did you not understand when I said we could only be friends?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Yeah. I understood.” He smiles. “But I don’t think you meant it.”

  “What do you want?” I cut to the chase.

  He shrugs. “Just wonderin’ when you’re gonna quit living for everybody else.”

  Exhale. “Never. So drop it,” I say. “I have to go.”

  Diego doesn’t back away from the door. “So you don’t like me?” he asks, then licks his lips.

  Of course I do. Like crazy. I can’t tell him, though. It would never work between us. There’s too much stacked up against us: the church, Dad, people at school.

  “No,” I answer. “I don’t like you. Not at all.”

  He moves away from the door. I turn, watching each step he takes. Diego positions himself in front of me. My back is to the exit. If I reach behind me, I can grab the handle and leave.

  My body won’t listen.

  Diego shouldn’t be looking at me with his mouth twisting upward.

  How did he do that?

  One minute I was in control, the next I’m pinned in place.

  “Tell me again how you don’t like me,” Diego whispers.

  I swallow. Fidget.

  “ ’Cause if you ask me, it’s all a lie. Everything. Your clothes. Your standards.”

  He’s right. On every count.

  “Everything. Is. A. Lie,” he whispers.

  I try to find my voice. Finally locate it under a pile of nerves.

  “I can’t be with you, Diego.” My words tumble out in one breath, barely audible.

  “Fine,” he
says. “Kiss me one time, and if you don’t feel anything, I’ll back off. For good.”

  Kiss him?

  “I’m not kissing you,” I say.

  He smiles. “That’s what I thought. You do like me. Admit it. That’s why you can’t kiss me.”

  “It’s not that,” I say. There’s so much more. Dad’s reputation. My mask. The comfort of knowing that no one is close enough to ever hurt me like my mother did.

  Then Diego says something that throws me off balance, an asteroid colliding with my world.

  “I’m in a drug cartel.”

  32

  diego

  Faith’s mouth drops open, hanging like a crooked picture. I back away from the door. Sit on the floor. I can’t look at her. If she plans to leave, I don’t want to see her go.

  “You’re in a cartel?” she asks.

  I prop myself against Melissa’s desk. The edge cuts into my back.

  “Sí,” I answer. “El Cartel Habana. Faith, they are evil like you have never known.”

  She’ll leave now. The only girl that I’ve ever really cared about knows my deepest secret. And while I should be worrying about the repercussions of that, I can only think about how I do not want Faith to go.

  “You deal drugs?” she asks, appalled.

  “No. Never. I don’t do, touch, or sell,” I correct. “I’m more of a bodyguard.”

  “So you protect people who sell drugs?”

  I wince. It sounds awful coming out of Faith’s mouth, but I can’t deny what I am. What I was.

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “Why?”

  I don’t look up from the carpet. I don’t want to see the disgust that laces her voice.

  “To survive,” I say. “The town I came from is different from Florida, Faith. It’s touched by the finger of el diablo, I swear. On those streets, you’ll be lucky not to die of starvation or violence. You have to pick a side. Live or die. I chose to live. The cartel offered mi familia protection in exchange for my services. It meant food on the table and a roof over our heads. But most importantly, it meant mi madre could stop livin’ in fear every day. I’d do anything to protect her.”

  I still remember the times mi padre spent with me, teaching me how to fight. He’s the one who told me about El Cartel Habana. Mi padre isn’t a member, but he knew the cartel would offer a young, good fighter a position. He only survived the streets as long as he did because he’s a good fighter himself, one of the few people who actually lived unprotected. He didn’t think our family could be that lucky twice. It pained him to send me to them when I was fifteen, but the alternative was worse.