Even though I veered to the side, she still managed to cuff my ear, and the smack echoed in my eardrum. I noticed a tiny smirk cracking through China’s blank façade. I turned back to my mother and asked, “How’s the new house?”
“Overwhelming.” She shook her head as she gestured around her. “Stuffy. This entire floor’s decorated like the eighteenth century.” As she walked over to one of the wingback chairs, I noticed her coiffed black hair and stately red dress. But instead of pumps, she wore fuzzy house shoes over her stockings. I suppressed a smile. How would my family fit into this high-pressure, high-class scene? Instead of the Beverly Hillbillies, would we become the White House Texicans—burping and smoking in the State Dining Room?
“Are you smoking?” I asked.
One eyebrow arched. “No, Dr. Ramirez. I don’t want to be remembered as the only first lady to smoke in this historical landmark.” She patted the pink chair. “Ven acá. Have a seat.”
“No, thanks. That chair looks as comfortable as a cactus patch.”
She laughed. “Oh, Alejandro. I’ve missed you. Why haven’t you visited us before? You’re only an hour away, no?”
“Depends on traffic.” I shrugged. “I’m kind of busy with school, you know.”
“How are your studies?”
My stomach tensed. I had an exam coming up that I was nowhere near prepared for. But I didn’t want to worry my mother. “Great.”
“You sure?” Her gaze zeroed in on me.
She read me so well. I nodded with the hope she’d drop it.
“Well, I know you’re busy. Thanks for coming down to talk to Mateo.”
“Where is he?”
“In his room.” She nodded at the agents. “They’ll take you there. And your father said he could get away for a few minutes later.”
I hadn’t seen my dad since his inauguration. I thought his first presidential speech had been heroic, but the press had torn apart his plans to increase border security and national defense spending.
“I need to go pick the menu for a women’s luncheon.” My mother bounced on her feet. Hosting events was her favorite thing in the world. “We’ll catch up later, after you talk to your brother.”
I nodded, expecting her to leave. Instead she approached me, and her hand reached up to cradle my cheek. “There’s a sadness about you, hijo. You’re always so serious. You sure you’re okay?”
A pang of disquiet reverberated in my chest, but I ignored it. “Just the typical ennui of any med student, I guess.” I forced a smile. “Living the dream, you know.”
“You’re following your dreams?” Her eyes bored into me.
“Of course, Mamá.” I had to get away from her prying gaze. I leaned in to kiss her cheek, then looked at China. “Will you take me to Mateo’s room?”
“Yes, sir.”
I followed her out of the room and up a wide staircase to the second floor. As we neared my brother’s bedroom, I heard the strum of a guitar. It was a jaunty tune that built in intensity until it sounded like my brother’s fingers pounded on the strings. Just before we reached the closed door, Mateo’s voice joined the cacophony. When had it gotten so deep? China nodded at the agent outside his door and lifted her fist to knock, but I waved for her to stop. I wanted to hear this song.
Can’t go anywhere
Can’t do anything
You steal me
They leave me behind
But they don’t mind
You steal me
I’m steeling against you
Red reeling and pumping
Your sweetness is murder
Th-Thumping and thumping
You break me
I’m broken
You take me
I’m token
You steal me
You feel me?
You steal me
Fucking steal me
“Cuidado,” I said as I opened the door and strode into his room. “Let’s spare Mom the F-bombs in the White House, shall we?”
Mateo sat with legs crossed on his bed. He swooped the page of printed lyrics behind him and set his guitar on the duvet next to our cat, Escuincle. Both of them eyed me with disdain. Mateo’s dark hair spiked up on one side of his head and swept over his opposite eyebrow.
“Got a hug for your bro?” I asked.
“Don’t you knock?” His glare cut into me. “How long have you been listening?”
“Long enough to know what you’re singing about.”
He cocked his head to one side, looking just like our father as he stroked Squinky’s black fur. “Yeah? Tell me what my lyrics mean, then.”
“It’s about this.” I gestured around the foreign bedroom, with only a single poster of my brother’s favorite band to indicate he lived there. “You’ve been through a big change.” I pointed to China and the other agent standing outside the door. “Secret Service everywhere, no privacy…”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Your song. It’s to Dad, right? He’s stolen you away from your life in Texas.”
He scoffed. “You don’t understand anything.”
Though I hadn’t been invited, I sat on one corner of his bed. “Then help me understand. What’s your song about?”
“You’re too obtuse to even try to explain.”
I grinned at his burgeoning vocabulary.
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you.” I exhaled. “Why’re you so mad at me?”
“Why are you here, Alex?” He leaned back against the pillows.
“Can’t I come visit my only brother?” I smiled, but those wary eyes stayed trained on me. His eyes were lighter than Lucia’s and mine, with flecks of green and gold mixed in with brown. I shrugged. Neither of my siblings was ever glad to see me. “I also wanted to tell you about a new insulin pump that’d be perfect for you.”
“I knew it!” He shot upright. “Mom sent you here, didn’t she?”
“Only because she loves you, and she’s worried.” But despite that valid explanation, he continued to glare. Now who’s being obtuse? “The pump would allow you to have more freedom, not have to worry about carrying around insulin and syringes—”
“Exactly how would a fucking robo-box attached to my fucking hip give me freedom?”
“Whoa, Matty. Calm down.” I glanced to the hallway, wondering what Secret Service thought of this conversation.
“You calm down.”
I stood and crossed over to the door. I looked at China. “Okay if I close this?”
“No need.” Mateo was right behind me. “This conversation’s over.” He darted around me, and I noticed his faded, frayed jeans hanging off his thin body. He wore only socks, no shoes, which seemed strange in this uptight setting. “I’m sick of you and Mom ganging up on me. I’m gonna go find Dad.”
“Even if he’s available, which he’s probably not, how can he help? He wants you to get the pump, too.”
Mateo spun around. “Yeah, but he said it’s my choice. He respects my autonomy, unlike some people I know.” As he huffed out of the room, I heard a soft thump from behind, and turned to see Escuincle stalk toward me. I leaned down to pat his head. He bristled and hissed.
I stepped back. “Still a brat, I see.”
“I heard that!” Mateo hollered.
When I emerged from his bedroom, I watched him march down the hall with a male agent, the cat brat prancing behind them both. I opened my mouth to correct his misperception, but then I gave up.
“Quit while you’re behind?” China asked.
I blew out a breath. “Do you have siblings?”
She paused. “A younger brother, yeah.”
“Is he a petulant pain in the butt like this one?” I pointed down the hall.
She smiled. “Much worse.” Then her smile faded. “But he’s not battling a life-threatening illness.”
Fear rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down.
After China took me to the ki
tchen on the ground floor for a bite to eat, we headed back up to the third floor. The residence alone was huge, and that didn’t include the East or West Wings. I knew I’d be lost without my chaperone. Though the solarium on the third floor offered more pale green walls, it was bright and comfortable. I settled onto a tan floral sofa and propped my feet on a striped ottoman.
“Your father’s gonna pop up in a few to say hi,” China said.
I watched my mother swoop in from an entrance I hadn’t noticed. I stood and nodded at the same male agent who’d accompanied her earlier. Was I supposed to know his name?
“Sit, sit,” Mom said as she rounded the ottoman to join me on the sofa. “How’d it go with your brother?”
“How do you think it went?”
She sighed. “Stubborn boy. He knows he needs the pump.”
“Dad’s not backing us up on this?”
“Your father’s having a tough time with this situation. He knows what it’s like to be bossed around by older siblings.”
I smiled as I pictured my assertive aunt Maricela, who wasn’t a big fan of my mother. Not that my mother cared two tamales what Mari thought.
“And I think he feels guilty because the diabetes comes from his side of the family.”
Tía Mari also had Type I diabetes, though without the many health scares Mateo had endured.
Mom patted my knee. “You were always such a good boy, doing what we asked, following the rules. But Lucia and Mateo—they’re more rebellious. What we went through with Lucia in the fall…” Her eyes closed for a moment. “We’re still figuring out how to approach her. Her psychologist says Lucy needs to speak her voice.”
“What does the psychologist know? Children should respect their parents, no matter what.”
She smiled at me. “I agree there should be respect, but I also want my niños to have their own minds. To follow their own hearts.”
There was a bustle in the hallway, and in walked my dad, followed by Mateo and three agents.
“¡Mi familia!” Dad smiled wide as he came over to hug Mom first. He kissed her and murmured, “Amor.” Their intimate greeting amid five agents embarrassed me.
Then he hugged me, adding some firm pats to the back. “What do you think, Alejandro?” He gestured to the expansive room.
“You done good, Dad.”
He stepped back to sling his arm across Mateo’s shoulders. “I’m grateful to Latino voters in California for making it happen. But we’re still moving forward with plans to tighten border security. We need to enforce the laws on the books. We were just meeting with La Raza to try to iron out our differences.”
Some of those same Latino voters were now angry that Dad’s policies had curtailed illegal immigration. But he insisted immigration reform couldn’t begin before we had border security in place. I agreed.
“I wish Lucia could join us,” Mom said. “Then we’d all be together.”
“Why didn’t you fly her here today?” I asked my father.
“Secret Service says to keep travel to a minimum. There are many trips I have to make, of course, including my flight to Israel next week. But unless it’s essential, they told us to cool it.”
My stomach tightened. “What’re you hearing? Are there specific threats?”
“Don’t worry, they’ll keep our family safe.” Dad exchanged a glance with one of the agents, then looked at me. “Speaking of trips, I heard you visited Lucy?”
I nodded.
Mom asked, “How’s she doing?”
“Good.” I could see where this conversation was headed, and my heart thudded.
“Why did you visit her?” Dad cocked his head, and now all three members of my family stared at me.
I swallowed. This would be my cue to tell them about Lucy’s sexcapades. But Maddie’s voice entered my head: “Maybe Rez can take care of herself.” Then I looked at Mateo. He stood away from me, like he was still mad about the insulin-pump discussion—a discussion my mother had begged me to have. I hadn’t asked for the responsibility of being the oldest!
“Just wanted to be sure she was eating okay,” I answered.
Brad entered the room, all smiles now. After a quickie with his supervisor? He nodded at Dad. “It’s all set, Mr. President.”
“Thank you, Brad.” Dad turned to us. “I have a surprise! Follow me.”
Mateo looked at me and shrugged. As we filed down the stairs, I patted his shoulder. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you how much I liked your song.”
His eyes darted to mine.
“Even though apparently I don’t know what the lyrics mean,” I added, earning a shy smile. “The song’s got good energy…good fire.”
He continued smiling as we exited the residence.
We entered the East Wing, and the agents led us into a darkened room. When they flipped on the lights, I saw rows of reclining leather seats facing an expansive screen. There was a theater in the White House? I’d missed that one in my research.
“If we could have you four sit in the front row…” The agent I didn’t know pointed to those seats.
Was this a private screening of a new movie? As soon as we sat, Lucia’s face filled the screen. “Hey, guys.” She waved.
My dad grinned at the screen. “Mija.” He turned to my mom. “See, Sylvia, we do have the family together—just like you wanted.”
Mom cupped her face with both hands as she blinked at Dad with shining eyes. Then she waved back to Lucia, who appeared to be in the TV room of the greenhouse. I wondered if her view was as clear as ours. The screen was surely nowhere near as big. Lucia’s black shirt featured rhinestones spelling out Obsessed, with a volleyball for the O.
“Lucia, my darling!” Mom gushed. “How are you?”
“I’m good…” Her voice trailed off as she saw me sitting between Dad and Mateo. Our eyes locked, and I knew the question in her wide eyes: Did you tell Dad about Dane and me?
“We miss you, mija,” Dad said. “How’re your classes?”
She glanced at me again before looking at Dad, then seemed to exhale. “I got an A on my econ test.”
“Great job, honey.” Dad smiled. “You’re not buying into that awful Keynesian economics they teach, right?”
“Right, Dad.” Lucia shifted her gaze. “Hey, Matty. I loved that song you sent me.” She bit her lip as she looked up. “‘Steal Me’? That’s the title, right?”
“Yeah.” He looked pleased.
“Dane really liked it, too.” She sat up after she said that, like she hadn’t meant to mention her boyfriend in front of my parents.
My father seemed to tense next to me. “How’s volleyball, Lucy?”
I expected that redirection to relax my sister, but the line on her forehead deepened. “Not great. Maddie’s struggling, and Coach has been really mean to her.”
“What’s wrong?” The question left my mouth before I’d even formed the thought.
“Turns out Maddie’s ex-boyfriend Jaylon was cheating on her.” Lucia grimaced. “With Nina.”
“What?” I almost jumped out of my seat. Jaylon sounded like a total pendejo. And Nina? I couldn’t believe Maddie’s teammate had betrayed her like that.
I guess my outburst had been kind of loud, because Mateo’s eyebrows pulled together as he looked at me. “Chill, dude.”
Mom and Dad continued chatting with Lucia, but little of the conversation registered with me. All I could picture were Maddie’s wounded eyes as she cried about Jaylon. I wished I could gather her in my arms and tell her not to worry. But I had no right to do that. We barely knew each other.
“Time to go, Mr. President,” said one of Dad’s agents.
We all waved at Lucia and told her we loved her as we ended the video call. Once the screen went blank, my mother frowned. “She still seems kind of anxious. What do you think, Adolfo?”
Dad turned to me. “How’s she eating, Alejandro?”
“Um…” I shrugged. “She ate pretty well when I was there, but it�
��s probably hard for her to be alone. I’d be happy to visit her again—keep my eye on her, if you like.”
“And you should visit us more frequently, too,” Mom said, giving me the eye.
Dad rubbed his jaw. “I’ll talk to Brad, see what he thinks about security risks.”
And I’ll put a word in with Brad, too. I felt an irrational pull toward Highbanks.
Chapter Seven
“TIME FOR BIRTHDAY CAKE!” Nana clasped her hands together as her shoulders lifted to her ears.
When Nana, Gramps, Dad, and Braxton all stared at me, I lowered my fork and plastered on a smile. “Can’t wait.”
We sat at my grandparents’ cherry-wood table in the dining room of their Cleveland home. I’d driven here the day after learning the truth about why Jaylon had dumped me, but I hadn’t told my family about his cheating ass. It was far too embarrassing. At least I wouldn’t have to see Nina for two days since Coach had given us a rare weekend off.
Nana pointed at Gramps as she got up from the table. “Dim the lights, Darius.” Despite being in her late seventies, she practically flitted into the kitchen.
I hoped I wouldn’t disappoint her. I needed to drum up the appropriate excitement when she returned with the cake. My gaze lingered on the chair across the table, and I imagined Jaylon shoveling down Nana’s cooking. The chair was empty now.
“Brax, clear your sister’s plate,” Dad said.
My brother looked up from his phone. “She’s got two feet.”
Gramps made a grumbling noise in his throat as he dimmed the lights.
Braxton sighed and set down his phone. “Yes, Babu.”
I rolled my eyes but did say thank you when my brother took my plate into the kitchen. In college, Braxton had become enthralled by African culture and now spoke Swahili whenever he could. Nana hadn’t been impressed the first time he’d called her Bibi. “What the hell you calling me, boy?” she’d hollered.
Dad met my eyes. “You’re quiet tonight.”
“Sorry.”
“How’s it feel to be twenty-two?”
Terrifying. I shrugged. “’Bout the same as twenty-one, I guess.”
“Except one step closer to graduating,” he said.
Aced (Blocked Book 2) Page 7