Jamal nods. Then Mom changes the subject, thank God.
I guess I never really talked to Jamal before, or I would have probably clocked him. Something about the way he holds himself screams “gay” to me. I must not have that gay of a vibe, considering Cesar didn’t figure it out and Bianca tried to ruin my life when she found out. But now I am in a happy fake relationship, so I’m doing fine without her.
After dinner, I walk Jamal to his car like a fake girlfriend should. As soon as the front door closes, he lets out a huge sigh.
“Don’t worry, she likes you,” I say. He called Mom “Mrs. Flores” and always said please and thank you. She ate that shit right up.
“Really?” He grins and gives me an enthusiastic high five, then gets into his car. Cesar comes out before he drives off, so Jamal rolls his window down.
“You both did terrible,” Cesar says.
“What? What was I supposed to do?” I throw my hands up.
“Sell it. You should go on a fake date or something. Get to know each other, so you don’t look so stiff next time.”
“Whatever you say, amor,” Jamal says.
“Okay, fine, but you’re paying.” I poke Cesar. It’s only fair, considering we’re both doing this to save his ass.
“With what money?” he says.
“Use your puppy eyes on Mom. She’ll give you some.”
“So, lunch tomorrow?” Jamal asks.
“Sure.” I won’t complain about a free lunch and getting to know Cesar’s boyfriend.
“Cesar! YamiLET!” Mom’s muffled shout from inside rings loud enough to hear from the driveway.
“úfale, gotta go.” Cesar leans through Jamal’s window to kiss him on the cheek.
I wave, and we both hurry inside to do the dishes before my mom has a chance to loudly and passive-aggressively do them herself. Which it looks like she’s already started. Ugh.
“We got it, Mami,” I say as I gently coax the soapy plate from her hands like it’s a bomb only I can defuse. Cesar grabs a towel and starts drying the one she already washed. She sighs and relinquishes control before sitting on the barstool on the other side of the sink.
“Mami, can I have some money? For football?” Cesar asks with those big puppy eyes. He doesn’t even have to specify why he needs football money. She’s already reaching for her purse. She places two crisp twenties on the counter. More than enough for Jamal and me to get lunch.
The next day Jamal shows up right on time, and his car looks cleaner than it did yesterday. Did he clean it for me?
“What do you want to listen to?” he asks when I get into the car.
“Play whatever you want.” It’s his car, so he should get to pick the music.
“Do you like Saul Williams?” he asks.
“Who?”
“He’s my favorite poet.” Nothing wrong with poetry, but I was sort of expecting music. “I’m listening to The Dead Emcee Scrolls: The Lost Teachings of Hip-Hop. It’s good, I promise.” He smiles as he plugs in the AUX, all excited.
I’m not that into spoken-word poetry, but I see the appeal. The rhythm of the words feels like music without having too much going on. Deciphering meaning from the words is hard for me without being able to read along, though. I’ve never heard poetry like this.
Jamal seems to have the whole thing memorized. He chants along, not missing a beat. Some of the lines really resonate, so I snap my fingers along to Jamal’s voice, and I find my head bobbing with the rhythm of the words. There’s not a whole lot of time to listen, since we’re only going down the street. I barely have time to unbuckle my seat belt before Jamal jogs over to my side to open the door for me.