Bait

by Alex Sanchez

  Diego listened and wondered, where was she going with this?

  “Anyway,” she continued, “Mom says that she knows she can’t stop me from seeing you and that if I’m determined, she wants to talk to you.”

  Little beads of sweat exploded onto Diego’s forehead. “You mean right now?”

  “No, not now. She wants you to come for lunch on Sunday after church. Can you make that?”

  “Um, sure.” He wiped his brow with a sleeve, more worried than ever. What would her mom say to him?

  Ariel switched topics after that, wanting to know what juvie had been like and asking about his mom’s reaction. He was relieved when the conversation finally turned to homework, school, and recent TV.

  After hanging up, he lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling, mystified that she was still interested in him. Was there a chance they might become a couple at some point? Or, like Kenny had implied, were they already one? That possibility made him jump up from bed to high-five the ceiling, feeling like he could almost touch the sky.

  For the next thirty-six hours, nearly the only thing he could think about was his upcoming date. On Saturday during his lunch break, he walked to the drugstore to buy a new bag of gummies for Ariel. While in the checkout line, he noticed a box of chocolates. Maybe he should get them for her mom. It could only help.

  On Sunday afternoon he biked to Ariel’s, pulled the gifts from his backpack, and rang the doorbell.

  From inside came excited barking, and a moment later Ariel answered the door, her dogs beside her.

  “Thanks,” she told Diego as he handed her the gummy bears. “You’re going to spoil me.”

  “And these are for your mom.” He held out the chocolate box.

  “Cool. But you should give them to her. She won’t bite, you know.”

  Inside the house, a good smell of tomato sauce, sautéed onions, and peppers came from the kitchen, where Ariel’s mom was pulling a tray of lasagna from the oven.

  “Um, hi,” Diego told her, and Ariel announced, “He brought you something.”

  Her mom set the lasagna on the counter. When she pulled off her oven mitts, Diego handed her the chocolates.

  “Oh, that’s sweet.” Her mom gave him a look as if to say, I guess you can’t be all bad.

  He helped Ariel to set the table and pour beverages, trying not to spill anything. During lunch, he felt so nervous he could barely swallow.

  “I understand,” Ariel’s mom said, “that you were arrested and put in detention for getting into a fight?”

  His face turned hot as an oven. “Um, yes, ma’am.”

  “So,” she continued, “are you going to learn to control your temper?”

  “I want to, ma’am. I’m trying.”

  Her skeptical stare made him wither. He glanced at Ariel, hoping to draw some encouragement, and she looked back hopefully.

  “Well, let me be clear,” her mom said. “If you ever hurt my daughter, lift a hand against her at all, I will personally see to it that you get put away for a very, very long time.”

  “Mom!” Ariel exclaimed. “You’re being hysterical.”

  “No, I’m not.” Her mom kept her gaze on Diego. “Am I being clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, wishing he could evaporate.

  After they’d finished eating, he helped Ariel to clear the table and accidentally dropped a glass, cracking it, he was so jittery. Oh, great, he thought and mumbled, “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she whispered, and buried the glass in the bottom of the trash so her mom wouldn’t see it.

  They loaded the dishwasher without any more mishaps and she told her mom they were going to watch a DVD. When they got to the den, he relaxed a little. They picked out a movie and while Ariel loaded it, he checked on her aquarium.

  “Your tank looks clear and healthy,” he observed. “You’ve got room for more fish, if you want.”

  “What would you suggest?” She walked over and stood beside him.

  “Well, your tetras and harlequins are mid-layer fish. See how they hover near the middle?”

  “I’d noticed that.” She bent over to look and he glanced down at her hair, imagining the feel of it brushing his cheek.

  “Yeah, so, um, you might consider adding a bottom fish. Personally, I like leopard corydoras. They’re neat-looking and scavenge for fallen food.”

  “Wow, you know a lot.”

  “Sort of. For the top, near the surface, scissor tails are fun to watch. You should come into the store one Saturday. I’ll help you.”

  “Okay.” She grinned and led him to the sofa, sitting so close to him that he could smell the perfume on her skin—a clean citrus scent that he really liked.

  As the movie started, she said in a gentle voice, “I’m sorry about my mom. She gets a little overprotective—”

  “But she’s right,” Diego interrupted. “If I ever hurt you, I should be put in jail. I’d never forgive myself.”

  Ariel glanced into his eyes, studying him. “I think she’s that way because of my dad. When I was in fifth grade, they started to get into arguments all the time. Then one day he hit her.”

  Diego leaned back, a little shocked, and she noticed his surprise.

  “I warned you,” she told him, “my life has been a little sketchy too. I wasn’t there that first time. All I knew was they tried going to counseling. But one night he got drunk and hit her again. That time I saw it.” Ariel’s face tightened. “The police came…. I was so scared. After that, my mom made him move out. Then they got divorced. For two years I didn’t want to see him.”

  No wonder her mom was concerned about her. Hearing her story made Diego want to wrap his arms around her, just hold her.

  “Eventually he went to AA,” Ariel continued, “and he stopped drinking. Now he has a new family and takes me to dinner once a week. So you see? My life’s hardly been normal.”

  Diego drew a breath, trying to think of the right thing to say. Then he recalled what Vidas had said to him in the holding cell.

  “I’m sorry that happened to you. You didn’t deserve it.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled a little sadly. “I just hope you don’t run away.”

  “I won’t,” he assured her, and noticed her eyes were moist.

  “Now it’s your turn,” she said. Pointing the remote, she turned off the DVD they’d been ignoring. “Tell me about you.”

  With the TV off, the room seemed painfully silent. His throat tightened. “Um, like, what do you want to know?”

  “I want to know you, who you are.” She took hold of his hand, slipping her fingers between his. “Like I told you about me.”

  “Well, um…” His legs jiggled uncontrollably. In spite of the things she’d told him about her dad, he wasn’t ready to tell her about Mac. “…Like I said before, my life has been kind of complicated.”

  “Yeah…?” she said encouragingly.

  He gazed down at the carpet, wishing he could tell her more, but no matter how much he wanted to, the words just wouldn’t come. Why couldn’t she simply accept him without wanting to know so much? He felt her staring at him, waiting.

  “What are you so afraid of?” she asked. “That I won’t like you? Well, I’m afraid you won’t like me, but I’m being honest with you.”

  He felt the sweat between their palms as a sea of emotions swirled inside him. He wanted to be honest with her, too. But what could he say that wouldn’t pull him in over his head? His free hand fidgeted with the sofa cushion. “It’s, um, about my stepdad…stuff he did.”

  Her brow crinkled as she peered into his eyes. “You mean stuff he did to you?”

  Diego’s heart nearly zoomed out of his throat. How’d she figured that out? Had she guessed what he meant? Would she tell people at school? He’d never be able to show his face again. Why had he told her anything? He couldn’t sit still a second longer.

  “I’ve got to go.” He pulled his hand away, standing up.

  Everyt
hing became a blur after that: what she said, what her mom said, getting on his bike…Next thing he knew, he was racing down the street toward his house, breathing in huge gulps of air, panicked by even the little bit he’d told her. To make matters worse, he realized he’d left behind his backpack, but there was no way he’d go back for it.

  CHAPTER 19

  AFTER DIEGO ARRIVED HOME, Ariel phoned but he didn’t want to talk with her, not after what he’d revealed, and running out like he had. The following morning, he slammed the alarm off and buried his head beneath the pillow, dreading facing her at school.

  The third time his snooze went off, his mom came in and shook his shoulder. “Are you getting up or do I have to call Mr. Vidas?”

  It was the first time she’d threatened to phone his PO. He blinked his eyes open, remembering that school was part of his contract. He had to go.

  Since he’d left his backpack at Ariel’s, he had to use an old satchel and barely made it to his bus in time. When he got to school, he skulked down the hallway, hoping to avoid her, but she appeared at his locker, holding his backpack.

  “Um, thanks.” He took the bag, barely looking her in the eye.

  “Why’d you run out yesterday?” she asked.

  He shifted his feet. “I just had to go…that’s all.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Um, yeah. Fine. Fine.”

  “You don’t seem fine.”

  “I am.” He forced himself to glance at her for an instant but had to look away.

  “All right,” she said as the bell rang. “Call me whenever you want to talk.”

  Talk? What could he possibly say? He’d already revealed too much.

  On Thursday after school, Diego biked to the courthouse, eager to talk with Vidas about what had happened. The receptionist greeted him with a surprised look.

  “Didn’t your school give you my message? Mr. Vidas got stuck in a trial—still going on. He’s sorry he can’t meet with you today but he’ll see you next week.”

  Diego remained standing at the counter, debating what to do. He really wanted to talk to Vidas. “Um, can I wait for him?”

  “You can if you want…but the trial could run all afternoon.”

  “I’ll wait.” Diego sat down beside the other boys in a row of chairs. As one boy after another met with a PO and then left, Diego stayed seated, watching the minutes tick by on the wall clock. Each time footsteps echoed in the tile hallway, he hoped it would be Vidas, but it wasn’t.

  At 5:20, Mrs. Ahern started to clean up behind her counter as other staff said bye on their way to the elevator. When the clock hands reached 5:30, she stood to leave.

  “I’m afraid you’ll need to go now,” she told Diego. “You can’t stay here by yourself. Mr. Vidas will see you next week. Or you can call him before that. Okay?”

  Diego didn’t want to talk on the phone; it wouldn’t be the same as seeing him. It made him angry that Vidas had blown off their appointment, for whatever reason. If Diego had to keep his appointments, then why didn’t Vidas?

  After biking home, Diego made dinner for Eddie and him, then retreated to his room. Still angry, he pulled the shark’s tooth out, peeled his shirt off, and examined the tangle of scars that snaked up his arms and across his chest.

  He settled on an unmarked spot on his right bicep and pressed the tooth against his skin. A prick of pain pierced through him. And a tiny bead of blood hemorrhaged out. But this time there was no excitement, no thrill.

  As he sliced the tooth across his flesh, his mind remained on Vidas. He knew that he’d tell him about this, and Vidas would listen understandingly. Now that the cutting was no longer a secret, it seemed kind of stupid. What was the point? Rather than take his feelings away, it was only making him madder. He pulled the tooth away from his skin and grabbed a tissue, staunching the blood flow, and thought how Vidas was making his life more screwed-up than ever.

  The following afternoon in the middle of English class, Ms. Hamilton called Diego to the door. When he got to the hallway, there stood Vidas.

  “Hi, Diego. Sorry I had to miss our appointment yesterday. Mrs. Ahern said you waited for me till closing. How’re you feeling?”

  “Um, fine,” he muttered. “I mean, good.”

  Vidas stared into his eyes. “Something bothering you?”

  Diego shrugged, confused as to why he wasn’t more glad to see Vidas, after wanting so bad to see him yesterday.

  “Let’s find out,” Vidas said, “if we can borrow a counselor’s office. Why don’t you go grab your books?”

  Although none of the counselors’ offices were available, the vice principal had gone to a meeting and the secretary allowed Vidas to use that one. Diego deposited himself into the same chair as last time, when Mr. Wesson had called him a criminal.

  “So, how’re you really feeling?” Vidas asked.

  “Why do you always have to ask that?” Diego exploded. “Can’t you just say something normal like ‘How’s it going?’ For somebody who says they’re not a therapist, you sure do talk like one.”

  Vidas quietly leaned back in his chair, looking a little blown away. “Okay, then. How’s it going?”

  “I cut myself,” Diego announced.

  Vidas raised his eyebrows. “When?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “After I missed our appointment?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How did missing our meeting make you feel?”

  “I don’t know!” Diego groaned. “Why do you always want to know what I feel?”

  “So I can understand you,” Vidas said. “And you can learn to understand yourself.”

  “I understand myself.”

  “Good. Then what did you feel when I missed our appointment?”

  “Angry! You make such a big deal about me having to show up for our appointment and then you blow it off.”

  “I had a valid excuse,” Vidas explained. “I had to be in that trial. Otherwise I wouldn’t have missed our appointment. I look forward to seeing you each week.”

  Diego pressed his lips into a smirk. Why was Vidas telling him that?

  “What else did you feel?” Vidas asked.

  Diego shifted uncomfortably. “Disappointed, I guess. I wanted to talk to you.”

  Vidas gave a nod. “I’m sorry I wasn’t available. What other feelings did you have?”

  Diego exhaled a long breath, letting his anger go, and thought carefully about what else he might’ve been feeling. “Maybe hurt.”

  “I can understand that,” Vidas said. “You felt hurt that I didn’t keep our appointment…. And then you cut yourself?”

  “Yeah.” Diego knew it didn’t make much sense. If he felt hurt, then why’d he hurt himself more? “It was like I wanted to get back at you.”

  “It sounds to me,” Vidas suggested, “more like you were getting back at yourself.”

  “For what?”

  “For having feelings. For feeling hurt that I didn’t show up. For being scared that I was leaving you.”

  Diego crossed, then uncrossed his legs, recalling his first conversation with Vidas: about people leaving.

  “Last time we met,” Vidas continued, “you told me more about Mac.”

  “Not again!” Diego let out a moan, sensing where this was going. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

  Vidas leaned back in his chair a minute. “There’s one piece left,” he said, unyielding. “What did you feel when he left you and your family by ending his life? Was it a relief?”

  Diego clenched his jaw, not wanting to respond. But at the same time, no one had ever asked him that before. Everybody had always assumed he felt sad, and he had, but Mac’s death had also been a huge relief. “I guess,” he admitted.

  “Was the abuse still going on?” Vidas asked.

  Diego bristled at the term “abuse.” “Why do you always use words like that?”

  “What would you call it?” Vidas replied.

  Diego
didn’t want to call it anything; he wanted to just forget it. “Yeah, it was still happening, but…I think I was getting too big for him.”

  “You mean big enough to fight back?”

  “No, I mean…” Diego hesitated, drumming his knuckles on the chair arm. “My brother, Eddie, was like five then—not a baby anymore. And the way Mac acted toward him had changed—the way he held Eddie on his lap…. You could see what was coming.”

  He paused to check if Vidas understood. Vidas nodded and said, “Go on.”

  “I couldn’t let him do it,” Diego said simply, then paused. Could he really keep going to where this was headed?

  “So, one afternoon, when nobody was home, I went to the garage where he kept the gun, the one from that night on the boat. He hardly ever used it—only maybe once a year, at the range. I’d found where he kept a spare key hidden on top of the cabinet. As I opened the drawer I kept looking over my shoulder. I could hardly breathe. To actually hold a gun was like, Man! What if it goes off?”

  With the memory of it, his chest tightened.

  “I hid it behind my nightstand, on this little ledge. During school, it was all I could think about. When I got home, I ran to make sure it was still there, scared that somebody would find it. At night I hardly slept. It felt like the gun was alive, in the room with me. And I waited.”

  Diego swallowed hard, wanting to keep going, but uncertain if he could.

  “It was confusing because sometimes he could be really nice. He’d take us all to the beach or the movies, and I’d forget about the gun. Then I’d catch him looking at Eddie, and I made sure the gun was still there.”

  Diego’s heart beat hard, his breath shallow and tight.

  “He was getting drunk a lot more and fighting with Ma. One night when he’d been drinking, I sensed he was going to come to my room. I just knew it. And I thought, This is my chance. My heart was beating a mile a minute, like ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump. I just let him do what he wanted, didn’t fight him at all, the entire time thinking about the gun.”

  Diego stopped and glanced toward the office door to make certain it was closed. Nobody else could hear.

  “Then I waited. After he fell asleep, I climbed out of bed, went to the nightstand. My hands were shaking like crazy…. And I pointed the gun straight at his face.”