by Amber Hart
I don’t move. Don’t know what to say.
“Are you mad?” she asks.
“Not mad,” I answer. “Surprised, maybe.”
“Sorry,” she says again.
“ ’S okay,” I say. I play with a piece of her hair that has fallen down her shoulder.
She sighs. We’re quiet for a minute. I want to fill the silence with my questions but I know I don’t have any right. I’m definitely no angel.
Faith watches my face. Answers the question I didn’t have to ask.
“It was during the drug time,” she says.
“You don’t have to explain,” I say. I wouldn’t want to replay my past.
“I know. But I want to. I don’t want you to think I would ever cheat on you, because I wouldn’t,” she continues.
I believe her. We are starting fresh. She is laying everything out. Honest.
“I never slept with Jason. That’s why the school thinks I’m so untouched. But parties with Melissa’s older sister introduced me to a world that didn’t know the Faith I was pretending to be,” she explains. “I wanted to get lost in something, anything, to ease the pain of my mom’s betrayal. I didn’t think about who the guy was. He didn’t matter. What mattered was that for those moments, I forgot her. I forgot everything.”
I say nothing, sensing she’s not done.
Faith looks up at me then, pain etched in every crevice of her face. “The guy meant nothing, though, and it wasn’t worth it. I got checked afterward. I’m clean. I wish I’d waited until it meant something. It’s too late now. That’s the problem with doing things for the wrong reasons. Once they’re done, they can’t be undone.”
I know all about that. “I’m clean, too.” I want her to know. “I had a physical when I arrived in the States.”
She nods. Twirls a silver band on her pinkie finger.
“And you don’t have to be sorry. Neither of us is perfect,” I say.
She curls into me. It feels good, right. Nothing more needs to be said. Some bridges are meant to be burned.
I grab a cigarette from the nightstand and light it. Faith’s nose scrunches up.
“You don’t like when I smoke?” I ask.
She bites her lower lip. “No.”
“Why didn’t you tell me to stop?” I don’t want her to be uncomfortable.
“Because,” she says. “People have controlled my life forever. I would never try to control someone else’s.”
Faith could not be more different than I imagined. She’s not trying to control anything. But knowing she doesn’t like it makes me put the cigarette out.
“You don’t have to do that,” she says.
“I know.”
Faith reaches into her pocket and pulls out a piece of gum. Folds it onto her tongue but doesn’t chew. She leans toward me. I meet her lips, not expecting her to kiss the gum into my mouth. It’s perfect, the way she rolls it off her tongue onto mine.
She grabs another piece for herself.
“Maybe I’ll smoke if it means you’ll do that every time,” I say.
She smiles. We stay like that for a while. I don’t know how much time exactly. It doesn’t matter anyhow. My arms hold her tight. I want her near me always.
This time, I won’t let her go.
43
faith
Four weeks. Three almost-healed bones. Two hearts. One love.
Four seconds. Three breaths. Two joined hands. One Diego.
Four moments. Three kisses. Two joined mouths. One million fears.
Overcome.
Because of Diego. He destroyed all that I hated, all that held me down, every choreographed routine that sucked the life out of me like an engorged tick, taking all I have.
I refuse to be drained of what I love.
“Where to?” Diego asks.
He’s driving my Jeep to make it as much like a real date as possible. With my crutches gone, I can finally move around better though the walking boot remains.
“Movies?” I suggest.
We have been going on a lot of dates recently. It feels good, like we’re a real couple, doing real things, not hiding from the world.
“Sure,” he replies as we leave his apartment building.
Darkness plays with night, coloring it varying shades of gray and blue. Headlights illuminate the street like one giant glow stick. The windows are at half-mast, inviting a warm breeze.
Latinos with bandannas hang on the street corner. A regular fixture, like multicolored artwork in a museum: look, but don’t touch. Diego glances at them. His eyes widen, shooting daggers and warnings.
He curses loudly. Jams the brake at a red light.
“What?” I ask.
“Get down,” he orders.
“Why?” I ask, avoiding his command, regretting it immediately.
His only answer is a hand pushing my body down so my head is near the center console. “Don’t move,” he says through tight lips.
The seat belt buckle crams into my side. Spanish words are flung at our car, threats.
Diego guns it, a bronco in a rodeo. I wrap my arms around my waist as though I can stop my stomach from lurching into my throat. The Jeep shakes from cars whizzing past. Horns blare.
“What are you doing?” I yell, scared to open my eyes.
Diego ignores me, speeding farther away.
I don’t know where we are. I don’t know what’s happening.
Diego drives another minute before letting out the biggest breath.
“You can sit up now.”
Diego slows the car. I sit up, dizzy, the world tilting at an unnatural angle.
“Did you run a red light?” I ask.
“Yes,” he replies.
Diego glances repeatedly in the rearview mirror. His face is ashen, like he’s seen a ghost.
“Why?” I question.
His lips press tightly together.
“Why?” I repeat.
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to,” he replies. Slowly. Like each word needs to pack its own punch.
“We could’ve been pulled over. What if we got a ticket? You’re not on my insurance to drive this car, Diego. Why would you do something like that?” I ask.
“Trust me, mi reyna. A lot worse would’ve happened if I didn’t run that light.”
Diego rubs the back of his neck. His tension is contagious. “Now, can we talk about something else?”
“No,” I answer. “You’re hiding something from me. I trusted you. Why would you hide something from me?”
Silence.
“Please tell me you’re not involved with that gang.”
More silence.
“Say something!”
We stop at another light.
“This is nothing you need to be concerned with,” he says roughly.
I have to work to keep my voice steady. “It involves you. And those guys didn’t sound like friends.”
“That’s ’cause they’re not,” he replies.
I take his hand in mine. It is tense. It is hesitant. It is warm.
“Please tell me.”
The light turns green. Diego looks back at the road.
“They want to recruit me,” he says.
Please, please, please, no. Diego just got out of that back in Cuba. “You can’t—”
He cuts me off. “I’m not. That’s the problem. I said no. I fought them, Faith. That’s why my face was busted at the beginning of school. They don’t take rejection well.”
I run a finger down his profile. Bruises and stains and pain and blood and fear. Me and him and chances and possibilities and hope.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Don’t be,” he says, confident, somehow knowing that it will be okay. Or maybe that it won’t. But assured either way that it will be what it’s meant to be. “Forget about them. This is our night.”
They’re hard to forget, but I try for Diego’s sake. I stare, stare, stare, at his face until I can
see nothing but him on all sides. Consuming my thoughts in the best way. We pull up to the theater. Diego opens the door for me like a gentleman. We walk hand in hand to the ticket booth. Connected in a thousand ways. Touching in only one.
Some kids laugh off to the side. My ears are pierced by their mockery. My eyes are shot through with their stares.
They go to my school.
“Ignore them, mami,” Diego says.
I have not gone public. We’ve been on dates but I’ve told no one. I decided to deal with my healing injuries before I invited everyone’s criticism. Once the word gets out, it’ll spread like wildfire.
I’ve been lucky to not run into anyone I know.
Until now.
I’m not ready to tell everyone. But then again, I don’t know that I’ll ever be.
Diego rubs my tense shoulders. One, two, three, four, five fingers form a fist.
“It’s okay,” he says into my ear.
I know his words to be truth. It’ll be okay as long as I have Diego. He leans down to my lips, kisses me softly.
“Mmm,” he says with a grin.
I straighten my spine and square my shoulders and walk right past the gawking crowd. It seems as though the worst of my worries are over.
Then the person in front of me turns from the concession stand.
“Tracy,” I say. “Hi.”
I’m holding Diego’s hand. I want to hold it tighter. I want to drop it. I want to run. I need to stay.
Tracy Ram looks from me to Diego, and back to me.
“Oh my God.” She laughs.
She’s been heaving smiles at me lately. They’re not genuine. They’re condescending. She’s taken my position as the dance captain. She’s elated to see me fail. I wish the patronizing smiles would boomerang back and hit her between the eyes.
The moment is incredibly uncomfortable. I have nothing to say.
“Forget the popcorn,” Diego says and pulls me in the direction of the theater.
I don’t look back at Tracy.
“What’s her deal?” Diego asks.
“I don’t know,” I reply. “She hates me, which makes no sense because she got what she wanted. She’s the dance captain. Why waste energy on me?”
“Ah,” Diego says. “I get it. She’s probably the type of girl I thought you were.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” I feign anger but my grin gives me away.
Diego smiles. “There are always people like that, ones who want what everybody else has. Nothing will ever be good enough. She’ll always be jealous. You could give her the world and she would still hate you, still want more.”
I welcome Diego’s arms as he winds them around me. “Is it always going to be like this for us?” I ask.
“What?” he asks. “You mean movie dates with no popcorn? ’Cause if it means that much to you, I’ll go back and get some.”
I smile. “No. You know what I mean.”
He sighs. “Probably. People from your side of town will always look at you and wonder what a beautiful chica like you is doing with a Latino like me.”
“And people from your side of town will always look at you and wonder what a beautiful Cubano like you is doin’ with a gringa like me,” I say.
Diego raises an eyebrow, grinning. “Touché.”
“Do you think things will change in the future?” I ask. The possibility is as dark as the theater we walk into.
“Hopefully. One day,” Diego says.
That’s all we really have, isn’t it?
Hope.
Hope that this world will stop seeing people in terms of the color of their skin and the size of their paychecks, and start seeing them in the size of their hearts and the love they offer.
We slip into back row seats. I rest my head on Diego’s shoulder. My bones ache with a yearning for something out of reach, something obscured by hate and ignorance. As the movie begins, I block out the rest of the world, people like Tracy Ram included, and concentrate on the here and now.
I don’t see Tracy Ram again until the next day at school. She’s leaning against Diego’s locker, flirting with him. I am too far away to hear her actual words, but I recognize her actions from a mile away.
Stop.
Stop.
Stop.
Blood pounds, roars, in my ears. I’m holding my breath and my body is a pillar of ice.
Diego looks uninterested. Maybe a little angry. He cannot stand girls like her. Tracy runs a finger down Diego’s arm. He pulls away quickly, as though she burned him. His friends are standing nearby. It looks like one of them would love to be in Diego’s shoes. Ramon tries to talk to Tracy but she pays no attention. She is there for one reason. To anger me. She never cared about Diego before she saw us at the movies together.
Thief.
Backstabber.
Liar.
I’ve almost reached them, my walking boot slowing me down. The crowd parts quickly. I am Moses and they are the Red Sea and I will get to the other side and she will regret ever touching him.
Today is the day I decided to wear what I want to school. I promised Diego that I would eventually do this. Today seemed like as good a day as any. Especially since I knew everyone would have heard about my secret relationship from Tracy anyhow. Pull off the Band-Aid quickly. Get it over with all at once.
People stare. I am a picture of transformation. Before: conservative knee-length skirts and loose blouses. After: teal shorts and a white shirt with a pink tank underneath.
It’s refreshing, like a tall glass of tea on the hottest day of my life.
I don’t bother with everyone else. I don’t even look at them as I pass. The whispers have no effect. I am deaf and blind to anything but Tracy and Diego. This is my life. My choice. And my boyfriend.
I step in front of Tracy, ignoring that she’s saying something to Diego. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. Doesn’t matter who’s looking.
“Hola, mami,” Diego says.
I smile against his lips.
His friends hoot behind us, saying things in Spanish. One of them slaps him on the back. “Teacher’s comin’. Heads-up,” he says.
The crowd disperses, Tracy included. Our school has a no-PDA rule. No touching. No kissing. No grasp on reality. Diego and I pull apart before they catch us.
“What’s going on here?” a teacher asks. I recognize him. He teaches junior math. Nice guy. Rule stickler.
“Nada,” Diego says with a cocky grin. “What’s goin’ on with you?”
His buddies laugh. The crowd watches us like we’re a scandal in motion.
The teacher looks at me. “Get to class,” he says.
Diego gives my hand a squeeze as we part ways. I smile to myself.
That felt good, like running a marathon and winning first place.
Here’s to hope.
44
diego
“That was awesome!”
Mis amigos keep doing that, telling me how cool it is to finally see one of our kind hooking up with one of Faith’s kind. Though, to be real, I’m not just hooking up with her. They treat it like it’s a huge infiltration. Which, I guess, it kind of is.
“Faith Watters! Unbelievable!” Ramon continues.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, brushing him off as I take a bite of my chicken.
There are a lot of eyes on me today. Watching, watching, always watching.
I expect Javier to be mad about our fight. He’s not. My eyes tell him all he needs to know: I’m sorry.
“She looks good today,” Javier says, and points over my shoulder.
Faith and Melissa head our way. Faith is agility and beauty and love, love, love.
“Hey,” she says, stopping in front of me. My hands automatically go for her.
“Hey,” I reply. I look at Ramon, sitting next to me. He moves down a spot to make room for Faith. Luis tries to stand to make room for Melissa but she stops him.
“I’m good,” she says with a smile
and takes an empty seat next to Javier instead. My cousin grins at her. Then realizes the rest of the table is staring. Blood stains the underside of his cheeks, turning them red.
“What’s up, boys?” Melissa says, breaking the ice.
I introduce everyone.
“Mind if we join you?” Melissa asks. Faith and Melissa brought bag lunches.
“Of course not,” Javier says, a little too eagerly. Faith raises an eyebrow at me, catching on. Javier has never dared to date a Caucasian, knowing his mom doesn’t approve. She doesn’t see the beauty in diversity.
“You sure your people won’t mind?” Luis asks. “ ’Cause it looks to me that some of them are enojados.”
Back at Faith’s old table, Jason looks especially angry. His disgust is palpable.
“Who cares about them,” Melissa says, no question intended. “But it does look like we may not be welcome there anymore. You sure you don’t mind being stuck with us from now on?”
“Mujer, I’d love to be stuck with you,” Ramon says, all sleazy.
I laugh. Javier punches him in the arm.
“¡Ten algo de respeto!” Javier warns.
Melissa smiles, though I’d guess that she doesn’t understand a word he said. His actions are clear enough.
“So what are you guys up to tonight?” Melissa asks.
I have no plans. My friends mumble a chorus of “Nothing.”
“There’s a reggaeton concert going on. Twenty bucks at the door, but my sister knows the guy running it, so I can probably get us in for free. You game?” Melissa asks.
“Definitely,” a few of us answer at the same time.
“You got a sister?” Ramon says. He looks excited. Hopeful.
Melissa grins. “I have three.”
“Si ella se parece a tí—”
With one look from Javier, Ramon shuts up midsentence.
“You like reggaeton?” Javier asks Melissa. She pops a carrot in her mouth, smiling still.
“Yeah, why? Does that surprise you?”
“A little,” he says. “I love reggaeton.”
“Well, so do I. As a matter of fact, I like a lot of things you don’t know about,” she replies.