She looks at him and cups his face. “Okay. We’ll find someone with more experience then.”
“I already know who I want!” Cesar jogs over to his room and comes back with the laptop. It’s opened to a search for therapists with an LGBTQ+ client focus. The therapist highlighted is an older Latina woman.
Mom scans the screen and frowns. “She doesn’t accept our insurance, mijo.”
“Oh.” Cesar frowns.
“Do you think maybe it would help to join some kind of support group? Maybe something with kids your own age?” Mami asks tentatively.
“Nah. It’s hard enough telling my shit to just one person,” Cesar mumbles.
Jewelry making quickly turns into a therapist search. We all gather around the laptop and scroll together. Cesar has a few top choices by the time we have to go to the show. I’m just glad he told us about the problem instead of bottling it up. Right now, with Cesar smiling about therapy, I know we’re getting somewhere.
Amber, David, and Bo and her parents are all waiting outside the auditorium for us when we get to the art show.
“Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, this is my mom.” I sound a lot more formal than I usually do with them. Mom would be embarrassed if I used their first names or didn’t formally introduce her.
“Nice to finally meet you! I’m Maria.” Mom shakes their hands and hugs Bo, David, and Amber, even though she only met them all once before.
“Likewise!” Rick says.
All the art is set up in the gym, like a maze. There are makeshift hallways up so that you follow them and see each piece one by one. I pretend to be interested in everyone else’s art. Really, I’m there for David’s, Hunter’s, and Bo’s art . . . and mine, I guess. I’d rather not think about mine right now, though.
Bo and David both have several pieces scattered throughout the exhibit. I have two. One is a painting of the desert sunset. The second is the one I’m nervous for everyone to see, though. Ms. Felix told me she’d put that piece closer to the end, which makes me jittery walking past everyone else’s work.
I stop walking when something catches my eye. It’s me.
In class, Bo drew my portrait with pencil, but this one is painted over. She must have spent a lot of time finishing it up outside of class, because I never really saw her working on it after that day.
My mom walks up next to me and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Bo, you did this one?” She looks like she’s about to cry.
“Yeah. Do you like it, Yami?” She looks nervous.
I think it’s beautiful. She really captured that Selena vibe I’m always going for. She got my makeup looking exactly how I like to do it. The corners of my mouth are turned up a tiny bit, which I must have been doing subconsciously when I was modeling for her. She’s made me look like I’ve figured out the meaning of life, and I’m keeping it a secret. She painted every piece of me I’m self-conscious about, and I love the way I look through her eyes. My square jaw, wide-set eyes, big mouth, and hooked nose couldn’t look more perfect.
“You got my eyeliner right . . . ,” I say while I wipe a tear from my eye. I knew I was pretty, but damn. She made me look like a goddess.
Bo laughs out a sigh of relief. “I was worried I wouldn’t be able to do you justice.”
Mom hugs Bo tight. “It’s beautiful, mija!” Then she hugs me. “Just like my girl!”
I take a picture of the portrait so I can look at it when I’m feeling self-conscious. God, I love Bo.
Oh my God. I love Bo.
A few people are murmuring up ahead, which means they’ve probably seen my piece. We round the corner, and there it is. I focus on keeping my heart inside my chest, and make my way up slowly. It’s not a masterpiece or anything. I threw rainbow colors of paint on a canvas over a bunch of tape. The tape came off to spell out Prom? in white over the rainbow splashes.