But as I pass through Rico’s lobby, I put thoughts of Zina away. I have my own romantic fiascos to navigate. Noah had seen Whitney head toward the back, so I make my way there. I have no idea what I’ll say when I find her; avoiding her is pointless and won’t make our problems go away. I should say I’m sorry; she deserves the truth. And I am sorry that we ended up hurting each other more than we loved each other.
I go to the kitchen first. I look in and don’t see her among the cooks and the waitresses checking on orders, so I push through the double doors to make sure she’s not hiding out. When I don’t see her, I turn to leave, but I don’t get far.
“So what are you going to do?” I hear a man’s voice, low, agitated.
I pause to listen.
“I’m not breaking up with Zack. I don’t care what he says, and I don’t care what you say,” Whitney replies.
The sizzle of the grill, the slosh of the running water, and the hustle and bustle of a busy Mexican restaurant kitchen did an outstanding job of shielding her voice from the staff that was too busy to notice my girlfriend having it out with another guy.
Who the hell is she talking to?
“Man, you are one selfish bitch,” the man says.
“Excuse me? Don’t give me that whiney-ass bullshit, Bruno. You already knew what would happen. And the next time you call me something other than my name—”
I pick this moment to walk in. “What the hell are you doing?” I ask to no one in particular.
Their heads turn to see me standing in the doorway of the janitor’s closet. Whitney’s face lights up; her amethyst eyes are smoldering. She looks happy to see me. And I am more confused about her than ever.
“What are you guys doing? You’ve been gone way too long,” I say, my eyes on Whitney.
“You came looking for me?” She smiles warmly as she states the cold, obvious fact.
“Yeah. Where have you been?” I cross my arms across my chest. I’ve never felt like a big guy, even though I’m six feet tall, but after hearing the verbal assault on my girlfriend—and in a closet, no less—I instinctively puff myself up and prepare to defend her.
“I’m sorry,” she says as she walks toward me. “He wanted to talk to me.”
“About what?”
“About a shift change,” Bruno says.
“Why are you talking to Whitney about a shift change? She’s a hostess.”
“I wanted her opinion. I didn’t know if you’d approve it or not.”
“I won’t.” I’m tired of Bruno’s insubordinate crap. “You already had your day off. Remember when you didn’t come in last Thursday for that picnic catering job?”
“Ah…like you didn’t come in the day after that, and I covered for you with everyone?”
“I’m not giving you the day off.”
“Fine,” Bruno says. “It wasn’t that important anyway.”
You could cut through the air with a machete.
“Then why’d you ask?”
“You got a problem?” Bruno jumps at me. I don’t move; don’t even flinch.
“Watch your mouth when you’re talking to my girlfriend,” I say as Whitney gawks at us. “If you call her something other than her name again—”
“You’ll what? Fire me?” he asks, raising his voice. “Fuck this job. Fuck your scheming-ass girlfriend. And fuck that little bastard she’s carrying.”
Little bustard what?
From the look on Whitney’s face, I know she would’ve lunged at him if I hadn’t stepped between them. I don’t want this relationship anymore; it’s become a burden that I hate, and I was going to end it.
“What did you say?” I ask. “Little bastard?” Bruno glances at Whitney’s stomach.
“Goddamn it, Bruno! Shut the hell up!” she growls at him.
“You’re pregnant?” I stare down at her stomach, astonished.
She shrugs at me. “I wasn’t going to tell you just yet.”
I grab her hand and pull her from the closet, through the kitchen, and down the back hallway.
No way!
I shut my office door behind us and lock it. I turn to Whitney, who, other than her anger at Bruno, has remained remarkably calm about the whole situation.
I absolutely do not want this baby—no part of me does—and I’m not sure why. I always assumed I would graciously grow into a strong, loving father one day, but this pregnancy is unexpected…at least to me. I hate to think I’m the victim of a devious woman.
“How long have you known?” I can’t stop staring at her flat belly.
She shrugs again. “Not long…”
“How is it that Bruno knew before I did?”
“He heard me on the phone—I was scheduling an appointment.”
I’m not sure if I should believe her or not. I don’t know which I hated more—Bruno for breaking the news or Whitney for putting us in this situation, to begin with.
“I thought you were on birth control?” I whisper, my breath stolen by the uncomfortable nature of the moment. “Did you stop taking it?”
She doesn’t respond.
“When?”
Another damn shrug.
“I don’t know, Zack. I mean, it…it made me sick sometimes. I didn’t take it like I was supposed to.”
I sit in one of the hard chairs across from my desk.
“Besides, I thought it would be a good thing for us.”
Did she really say that?
“I don’t believe in this, Whitney. Having a baby out of wedlock is not on my bucket list.”
Her mouth drops open as she cocks her head at me. “How is it that guys can say that when they happily, with zero hesitation, fuck their girlfriends on the regular?” Her eyes pierce me like daggers.
“Wait a minute, Whitney.”
“No, you wait! I’m not the only one responsible for making sure the two of us remain childless before we wed.”
“I’m not blaming you.”
“Then what are you saying? You’re making it sound like I’ve wronged you by being pregnant, and it feels a hell of a lot like blame.”
I wait for more, but Whitney’s voice begins to quiver at the end of her little speech, so she bites her lip and stands there in silence. I can’t respond, though, because I do want to blame her; I feel like she is tying me to something I neither want nor asked for. She has a point: I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve protected myself in this relationship. But I didn’t. I am weak for her; I always have been.
When I don’t respond, she stomps away from the desk in a huff and heads toward the door. But I know I can’t allow her to leave.
“I’m sorry.”
She stops, her hand on the doorknob.
“I’m sorry, Whitney,” I say as I struggle to my feet. “I’ll be stronger for you…and for the baby.
She turns around to face me. “You promise?”
“Yes.” I swallow my nerves, my inhibitions, and my heart, which is beating so loud that I think it’d beat me.
CHAPTER 19
ZINA
I’m waiting for Uncle Tony, when Blanca comes out of Rico’s with Rachel and three junior varsity softball players in tow. After Shannon finally left, I sat on the bench alone in so much pain, I couldn’t believe it. I sat there for an hour, sobbing so hard that it staggered my breathing. My eyes had swollen, and my head hurt. I didn’t want a ride from Bee, Rocky, or Shannon, and I accepted I’d have to call Uncle Tony. I’d run out of minutes on my phone, so I had to text.
I really don’t want to talk to Blanca and Rachel, so I sit still, watching which way they’ll go. Blanca stalls at the edge of the parking lot and then turns to Rachel, who’d been typing on her phone. She looks at Blanca, a frown buried deep in her thick Persian brows, and lashes out in annoyance. Blanca jerks away from her and glanc
es around the parking lot. They were looking for me.
Antonio pulls into Rico’s parking lot just as Blanca is about to step off the curb. She stares at his car, and I’m sure she recognizes it as it slows down for a speed bump and comes to a stop in front of the bench where I’ve taken up residence. I spring from the bench without looking her way. I feel heat rising up my neck and across my face as I open the car door and slide inside as fast as I can. My heart melts.
“Seatbelt, chica,” Antonio says as I slam the door and duck my head. He peels out, cutting through Rico’s back parking lot, where there are no speed bumps to slow him down. As Tony navigates his way through the highway tollbooth, I get a text from Blanca, asking me if her uncle had just picked me up at Rico’s; then a text from Andrew, telling me the lights at home had been shut off.
I slide my phone into my back pocket without responding.
At school on Friday, Shannon and I had beef. Today, we pass each other in the hallway as if we’re strangers, the level of awkwardness as cold and thick as ice between us. It’s just the worst. Shannon sits as far away from me as possible during class; I do my best not to look at him. But then I get up to sharpen a pencil, turning in my desk so I could look at him. He angles his body, leaning against his right side so we can’t make eye contact.
Bitch.
The fire in my chest gurgles. After I sharpen my stupid pencil, I still can’t move. I stand at the back of the class, still hurt beyond anything I’ve ever felt. I shouldn’t be caring about this stupid boy so much. When I turn to go back to my desk, I stop and stare at him. He’s hunched over, scribbling back and forth on his desk and a sheet of notebook paper, lost in thought. I watch him scribble and erase like a mad person.
“Zina, what are you doing?” Ms. Boyd’s voice echoes across the classroom. A few kids turn to look at me.
“Sharpening a pencil,” I reply.
Now everyone turns to look—everyone but Shannon. And though he doesn’t turn around, he stops writing and looks up at the sound of my voice.
“Sit down, Zina,” Ms. Boyd says.
Shannon gets up, wads up the paper he was writing on, and tosses it into the trash can. He never even looks at me. After the dismal bell rings, I linger in the classroom, until only Ms. Boyd, the kid who passes notes between me and Shannon, and I are left. I gather my shit, ready to exit but can’t help myself. Before I leave, I retrieve Shannon’s paper from the trash. In the hall, I unravel and read it.
I can’t stand it. I don’t know what to do. We’re different now. Beatrice won’t understand. Why can’t you…
The letter stopped like an imperfect or forgotten thought. I don’t know what to do, either.
With one week left until prom and five weeks left in the school year, there’s a war brewing within the senior class. It’s fucking ridiculous, but it does force my hand in reconciling with Bee and Rocky, who I’ve been avoiding as much as possible as I wallow in my sorrow.
I would’ve made up with them eventually, but I also would’ve drug the shit out for a while longer. I’m still pissed by what looks and feels like betrayal to me. But with Beatrice’s fugazi-ass posse preparing to swarm, I need my friends. Yeah, I have other kids to talk to and other girls who like and respect me, but I trust none of them like I trust Blanca and our adopted daughter, Rachel.
As I walk through the hallway, looking for Rocky, two of Beatrice’s groupies—sophomore girls who are in her theater class—spot me. As we pass each other, they stare me down, one of them purposely brushing against me. I pull my shoulder out their way and turn to look at them. They roll their eyes and keep walking; I do the same.
“Beatrice and Shannon forever!” they yell in unison as they head down the stairs.
I stop in my tracks, fuming, because these hoes are absolutely right. Shannon had proven it. They’d pushed the right button.
I find Rachel buried deep in her locker, distracted and deep in thought as she shuffles through the mess she’s been tossing in there for the past few days. It’s unlike the Persian princess to let her locker resemble mine, but it does, shit falling everywhere; I know that she’s been out of it. I stand behind her open locker and gather myself and my thoughts as she digs. We haven’t spoken in almost two weeks. I don’t know if she’s tried to text or call, because I’ve been without a working phone since I ran out of minutes the night Tony drove me home from Rico’s. I actually find it surprisingly peaceful without one. It’s just me and my thoughts, and I’m forced to deal with stuff I try to hide from otherwise.
Rocky shuts her locker door and jumps when she sees me. She doesn’t say anything, and she looks nervous. That’s to be expected; I’m nervous too. But I don’t apologize. It’s not like me to waste time with all that. Rachel already knows I’m sorry for it all; otherwise, I wouldn’t be standing here now.
“I need you,” I say to her.
“I know,” she says with a nod.
“I’m sorry I got mad. I was acting like an asshole and taking my shit out on you. That wasn’t cool.” Rachel tears up, which makes me feel even worse. “I’m sorry, Rocky. Why are you crying?”
“I’m not.”
“You look like you’re about to.”
“I’ve been so sad,” she says. “It hasn’t been any kind of fun without you. Blanca misses the hell out of you, too. She hasn’t worn makeup to school in a week.”
“Bee doesn’t wear a lot of makeup, anyway.”
“Yeah, not like me…but you know, no lip gloss, no eye shadow—nothing. And now this stuff with Beatrice…” Rocky lowers her voice. “You made out with Shannon Smith at Rico’s?”
Embarrassed, I lower my head. “Yeah. Man, I couldn’t help it. He’s so sweet. We get along well. And you said he and Beatrice were fighting…the worst part—Shannon and I can’t even look at each other anymore. We’re really beefing over this.”
I look up at Rocky, who stares at me like only one of your very best friends could. This girl loves me—I know it without a doubt—and she cares about how I feel.
“You and Shannon got beef?” she asks.
“On the sickest level,” I say. She frowns. “I wanted him so bad, Rocky,” I whisper. “And he did kiss me back.”
“So it was mutual?”
“Yeah, I thought so.”
She frowns and grabs my arm as we walk down the hall together. “Have you heard the rumors, though?” she says.
I take a deep breath. “I hear I’m hated by many and loved by few.”
She laughs. “They’re saying you jumped on Shannon and tried to mouth rape him, and he told you to get the hell back and pushed you off so hard that you fell on the ground. And then when he tried to help you up, you got mad and told him to leave you alone.”
My mouth drops open. “What?”
“So that’s not what happened?”
“No! Hell no!”
“I’m sorry. Just asking.”
“First of all, Rachel, what guy is going to push me away?” I narrow my eyes at the ridiculousness of that shit. “Second of all, Shannon kissed me, okay? Yeah, I did kiss him first…but he didn’t push me away. He kissed me back—I mean, really kissed me.”
The memory of it is hard to face, and talking about it with Rachel brings it all crashing back. The memory of his tongue sliding across my mouth and his arms grabbing me, squeezing me, pressing me close to him—my heart threatens to stop. It’s the best memory. And it hurts me so much.
“It was mutual, Rock. I swear it was.”
I don’t play fair with Blanca; I get Uncle Tony to help me. I use Rachel’s phone to call him during our lunch period, while three varsity football players, who have crushes on our clique, surround us like bodyguards. I tell Tony I want to hang out with Blanca, but I haven’t been talking to her lately.
“I know,” Tony says. “She told me you’re mad at her.”
&nbs
p; “She did? When?”
He was silent for a few seconds. “I haven’t seen you in a while, and none of us could get in touch with you…I almost came to your house.”
“I’m okay. I just don’t have a working phone right now.”
“I’ll take care of that,” he says.
“No, you don’t have to—”
“Zina, I’ll take care of it. Let me do this.”
“All right. So…will you pick me up so I can meet with Blanca?”
“Of course.” I hear him grinning into the phone.
And then I catch sight of Beatrice sitting across from me in the courtyard, looking as if she has just stepped off the cover of Teen Vogue.
Surrounded by her hoard of fugazis, she stares at me, her eyes drilling a hole of pure hatred into my forehead. As she crosses her legs at the ankles, the fugazis follow her gaze. The four of them lock eyes with me and smile—all teeth, no love. It’s eerie as hell. They whisper among themselves, and my pulse rate spikes. I have no doubt about what’s coming—if not today, then soon.
I crave Blanca’s presence. I need her and Rachel here to help me handle this shit. One of them, the redhead fugazi, continues to stare at me as she pushes her food toward the middle of the table. I am definitely shocked. Has the fat, mean girl actually lost her appetite for the first time in her entire life?
Motherfuck. Do not come over here.
“Uh…Unc, I gotta call you back,” I say, watching them rally around each other. I don’t give him time to answer before I hang up and hand the phone back to Rocky.
“Rocky, look,” I say, pointing at the group of girls walking toward her.
“What do these bitches want?” she asks as she pushes past the most adoring of the jocks. She stands next to me and folds her arms. I shrug.
“Man, I don’t know. God, this is so freaking annoying.”
As Beatrice approaches us, Rachel whispers in my ear, saying, “You know, you’re right. Shannon wanted it. How could he not, with that bitch for a girlfriend?”
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